“How ya doin’ with that life I gave you?” He asked, with a twinkle in His eye.
“Livin’ loud and free,” I replied.
“Oh, my. Sounds bold,” He countered.
“Let there be light, bolder still,” I returned.
He smiled.
I loved His smile. Always warm and left me enlightened.
He looked tired, but not aging–the kind of weary you might see in a friend when you suggest a nap instead of another cup of coffee.
I searched for words.
I suddenly realized why the visits between us were less frequent.
There was a great mutual appreciation, with not much common interest.
“I thought we could catch up,” He suggested.
“Good.” I nodded but remained silent.
I don’t know why He makes me nervous.
There has been no vexation between us. No major disagreement.
There are many things I like, which I hear He thinks are sins.
And the thoughts that cross my head seem unworthy to share with such a pure soul.
Yet venturing for a night that would be memorable for its difference, I said, “Sometimes I stay away from You when I don’t need to.”
I looked deeply into His eyes to see if I had hurt His feelings.
That was not my intention, but certainly could have been the conclusion.
He maintained a stare, as if waiting for more explanation. So I decided to push on.
“Sometimes I just don’t believe in You. Sometimes I feel foolish thinking that the apparition I’ve created of your presence has any truthfulness. Or for that matter, value. Sometimes I grow weary of my own mythology.”
I stopped speaking.
Only half of what I shared was honest. Like many words spoken in a spat, the majority are stirred to hurt instead of reveal.
But why did I want to hurt God?
Why did I want Him to know that I didn’t need Him?
Why was I taking this moment of reunion and turning it into a cup of poison?
Then…
God just walked over and quietly sat down in a chair.
Though He did not motion for me to join Him, the energy compelled me to find a nearby seat of my own.
The two of us, seated.
Old friends?
Or just strangers who finally realized the extent of the disconnection?
He spoke. “What would you think or feel if I said I don’t always believe in you?”
“I would be horrified,” I responded. “Even if I have made you up in my ego, I need you to be supportive. I need you to be my permanent cheerleader. I need you to give me unconditional love.”
“And what do I get for this gift?” He asked, tilting His head and squinting His eyes.
I didn’t pause for a moment. I answered immediately–almost impetuously.
“My guaranteed doubt.”
The Most High laughed.
“Quite a good deal,” He said, rubbing His chin. “Perhaps I should jump on it right away, in case you change your mind.”
I excused myself and went into the bathroom.
I sat in my stall, realizing that I was manufacturing an event in my head that was probably more spirits-in-a-bottle than Spirit-in-my-life.
Suddenly, there He was. In the stall with me, leaning against the wall.
“Stalk’er much?” I asked.
“It’s not really stalking,” He noted. “I thought we were still having a conversation, and just changing locations.”
“It’s a perfect example,” I interjected. “I am a person. I value my privacy. There are times I don’t like to be chased by a spirit or a theology or reminded of my inadequacies by a black book with a lousy cover.”
God burst into laughter.
“How true! For them to claim it’s the Word of God, and not even have great cover art… So much like those who only believe so they can hold it against those who don’t.”
“Would you turn your head?” I demanded. “I would like to finish here.”
Before I could complete my phrase He was gone.
I wondered if it would be another season of absence, or if I would find Him sitting in the chair when I left the restroom.
I stood in front of the mirror and splashed some water on my face.
I realized I was not ugly. Maybe just a little facially displaced.
I smiled, thinking how I wanted to share that with Him. How much He would enjoy it.
We always could make each other laugh. That’s for sure.
It’s just that sometimes, He doesn’t know how to stop my tears.
Feeling I was “stalling,” and then thinking that I must share that pun with Him also, I opened the door and stepped out.
He was gone.
There was this amazing smell in the air.
What was it?
Garlic, tomato and just a hint of oregano.
Of course.
All the ingredients of Chicago deep-dish pizza.
I breathed in deeply.
I shook my head.
He knew it was my favorite.
Our guest reader is Isabella, who is a student at Florida State University.
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