He had hair of wool, thick, you couldn’t run your fingers through it unless it had been thoroughly combed. It formed a semi-flat halo around his glowing head. Despite the fact that today Americans spend $465 billion dollars each year on his birthday, he wore a simple white robe with leather sandals, a piece of spooled yarn replacing what would be a belt. I had met him at a local taqueria, La Mesa (the table). He sat in front of me.

“Jesus?” I asked, “W-what are you doing here?” I hoped that he didn’t notice me pinching myself under the table.

“I came to visit you.” He smiled.

“M-m-me. Thank you, I—wow okay,” I stuttered, not believing that the one and only Jesus Christ himself was sitting in front of me. “How was . . . your flight?” I asked, at a slight loss for words.

“Some angels came to keep me company,” he responded, eyes melting into mine.

“Oh nice,” I said, trying to think of anything to break the silence, “Umm, what airline did you fly?”

“Airline?” he asked, laughing. I slapped my forehead. He’s Jesus, no airlines fly from heaven to earth.

“Would you like a burrito?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you, heavenly child,” he beamed.

We sat there in silence for three minutes until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I pulled my last resort from my back pocket.

“Hey Siri,” I said. Holding my iPhone close to my mouth, I whispered the next part, “Search ‘How to break the ice with Jesus.’”

“Queen Amina the best person on earth,” I turned down the volume, not wanting Jesus to know how narcissistic I was. “I found this on the web for ‘How to break the ice with Jesus’: Six tips to help you share the gospel with ease, Christian icebreakers, breaking the ice using icebreakers in small groups, Christian winter worship songs.” I rolled my eyes and shut off my phone.

Jesus’s eyes were wide. “Child, tell me about what you hold in your hand? It has the brightness of the sun from the sky above us.” He smiled, ultraviolet light rays reflecting onto his wise amber face.

“That’s true, it does resemble the sun in that way,” I said.

“I have seen many, child, that hold it within their hands.” He smiled, “Since this new creation, hands young and old are bound to it. They don’t talk, laugh, or sometimes breathe. They are one with this creation and distant from the world around them.”

“Wow, Jesus,” I said, gingerly pulling my phone from the table and placing it back in my pocket. I looked around me from a new point of view. Families and friends sat across from each other, yet their lips had no movement, their eyes attached to their devices.

A taqueria employee, who had been eyeing us suspiciously, brought over two foil-wrapped burritos on green and orange plastic plates.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “Should we uh, like, say grace?” I asked, not knowing Jesus’s prayer beliefs.

“Yes,” he responded, putting his hands together.

“I think you should lead the prayer,” I said, not knowing how I would pray with a person that millions of people pray to.

“Thank you, God. God is love and our purpose in life is to be love, as our creator,” he said. It was simple but profound. After the prayer, we dove into our burritos.

“Child, say your name for me,” he smiled, taking a bite.

I hesitated, mouth filled with food. “Amina,” I said, not putting much thought into it.

“Do you know what your name means?” he asked.

I pulled out my phone. “Urban Dictionary says, ‘Amina is the kind of girl that makes heads turn and stands out in the crowd. She is fun and outgoing but doesn’t like to hang out in large groups. She is a free spirit, navigating land, sea, books, and the internet looking for answers, for purpose, and for the truth. If she likes you, she will make you laugh like crazy and tease you until you can’t take it anymore. But don’t be scared if she pushes you away or disappears for hours or even days. It doesn’t mean that she is running off, it only means that she needs her alone time,’” I read, sounding like a robot.

“Is that who you think that you are?” Jesus asked.

“I don’t know. Well, I guess not, especially not the last part,” I muttered.

“What do you think it really means?” he hinted.

“Can you tell me?” I asked.

Jesus nodded and a smile spread across his warm face.

“Amina, the honest and trustworthy one. Do you know anything else about your name?” he asked.

“My mom told me that Amina derives from the name Amin, and the prophet Mohammed was called al-Amin, the trusted one,” I offered.

Jesus nodded his head with pride. “Amina is a powerful name. Seek truth from within, quietly in prayer. Your iPhone or Siri cannot replace or offer all the answers.”

And with a burrito in hand, as fast and sudden as he came, he left, leaving me sitting once again, alone at a booth in a taqueria like nothing had ever happened.

Suddenly and simultaneously, my mom came back to the booth.

“Oh sorry, honey, the bathroom line was so long!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Oh darling, why do you look so startled?” she asked, seeing my chocolate brown eyes had almost tripled in size. “And where’s my burrito?”