Dear Flying Spaghetti Monster,
I am writing this letter to thank you for saving my son with the celestial touch of your noodly appendage. Since you are the creator of the universe and the master of all beings, you already know my son’s story. It is worth repeating if for no other reason than to give you the true recognition you deserve. Seeing as you don’t have hands or fingers, you may have trouble opening this letter. I hope the inconvenience does not cause delays in your saving of other people.
For several months upon first eating solid foods, my son gobbled pasta like it was the best food on earth. Which, as you know, it is. He was indiscriminate with his pasta tastes. He scarfed down spaghetti, ravioli, egg noodles and anything else made of dough and flour. He even ate play dough, thinking it was uncooked pasta I’m sure. It was evident he was in touch with his inner noodle.
Then one day my son stopped eating noodles. Just like that. At the sight of noodles he screamed and pushed his plate away. As a man who has been a lifelong member of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and a devoted Pastafarian, this behavior was extremely troubling to me. No matter how I tried to coax and persuade him, he would not eat his noodles. I began to doubt my abilities as a father. I openly wondered if there was something I had done to upset Your Noodliness.
In my confusion and distress, I feared for my son and for what might happen to him for abandoning the values of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I was worried about how Your Noodliness would perceive our family now that our son had lost touch with his inner noodle, and had gone down a wayward path toward death and destruction.
Of course, had I been of a clearer mind, I would have realized that I had no need to worry.
The celestial touch of your noodly appendage would save my son just as it has saved millions, if not dozens, of souls around the world. There was no doubt that you would come to our aid in this crisis. After all, if you were able to create the universe and all things living in it, saving one small child from an untimely end would be no small meatball out of your clump of spaghetti.
And Your Noodliness did not disappoint us.
I remember the day well. As I was scraping yet another plate of untouched noodles into the compost bin, I looked up through tear-stained eyes and saw you hovering outside my kitchen window. I stared at you in wonder for a few moments, not knowing what to do or say.
I have to admit that until you revealed yourself in all your noodly glory, I was not entirely convinced of your existence. One of the many reasons I was initially drawn to Pastafarianism is that you openly embrace contradictions. Amazingly, I did not have to truly believe in you to become a member of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. While I appreciate that freedom to disbelieve, after having seen you with my own eyes I can say with clarity that all doubt of your existence has been erased forever.
Many of my friends and family openly mock me for believing in Your Noodliness.
I tell them of the day I saw you—a beautiful, giant clump of gnarled, wet spaghetti intertwined lovingly with two huge meatballs. They did not believe me. They tried to convince me that what I saw was an old plate of fettuccine dragged out of the compost by a raccoon and strewn across the neighbor’s bushes. Clearly they were not believers.
What happened next would remove any lingering doubt from even the most skeptical agnostic. You majestically reached your noodly appendage through the window and ruffled my son’s hair. You let some of the juice from your right meatball drip onto his forehead, and you allowed a few lose strands of spaghetti to drop onto the tray in front of him. Then with a wink of an eye and a jiggling of noodles you disappeared.
The celestial touch of your noodly appendage had immediate effect. My son wolfed down the noodles you left for him and, as would be expected after eating directly from Your Noodliness himself, he was an altogether changed person. You saved him from the wayward path of death and destruction and reconnected him with his inner noodle.
He begged for more noodles that meal, and to this day we struggle to meet his noodle demands. This of course is a minor inconvenience compared to what could have been. Thank you, Flying Spaghetti Monster, for reaching out and saving our son.
A Devoted Pastafarian