I ask for a white moth. I get, almost instantly, three tiny white moths behind a moon. I ask again - for proper this time, please. I get a white moth that may be a butterfly against a woman's face. I sigh. There will be no real white moth for me. I go to sleep, forget all about it.
The next day, I come across a thumbnail picture of a perfect white moth. It's past the deadline for divine intervention, but I click through anyway.
I see, of course, that it is actually green.
I shake my head, exasperated, a little hurting. But he laughs and hugs me. And I want green moths always, always, after that. Because I comprehend it now - they, and all the other not-quite-right things, are blessings that will wake me to the beauty and truth in life. I can not wish up for myself what I need to grow closer to my self, because I can seldom truly know, behind all my wishes and longings, what I actually do need. I must trust -
Trust in imperfection, and unanswered prayers, and love.