The Weekly Fare . . . April 24, 2003

Just A Conversation With God

The world is coming to an end . . . I know it.

I am absolutely convinced that the earth is going to spiral out of its assigned place in the cosmos and it will all be over . . . No more blue skies . . . No more green grass . . . No more Fifth Symphony . . . No more Merle Haggard . . . No more Mu-goo-gai-pan . . . No more Christmas Turkey . . . No more, no more . . .

Complete . . . Fini' . . . It's a certainty.

I just don't know when.

But I had this daydream the other day that God whispered through one of his Angels or however he does such things that it would all be over soon and he wanted to talk . . .

"How???" I immediately questioned. "Is some natural catastrophe going to occur? Is it an asteroid from out of nowhere? A massive volcanic eruption from below? Or are the North Koreans even crazier than we thought??"

"It doesn't matter," came the response. "Think about it. It really doesn't matter."

"You're right," I replied. Several moments passed.

"I usually am," he finally said. "But I was wrong about mosquitos and baseball . . . neither one of those really worked out as planned."

"Baseball?" I queried.

"Yeah - it was meant to be for kids. It doesn't seem to be for kids any more. Which is one of the biggest problems I've had with all of you since day one . . . You take yourself too seriously."

"We do?"

"Yes. You do. Relax a little bit - give me some room to work . . . can't work with you if you're running and gunning all the time . . . "

"Did you just say 'running and gunning?'"

"As soon as I start to put something in progress, Pow! You get in the way with ideas that are almost always too serious and way over-thought. Which is symptomatic of your biggest problem - you don't trust me"

"Did you just say 'over-thought?' I don't think that's a word . . ."

"I'm God. I can say what I want."

"Oh yeah, I guess so . . . what if the editors whack that part?"

"They won't."

"But how do you . . ."

"See . . . There you go."

"Oops, sorry - forgot . . . guess that's part of the Trust thing . . ."

"Bingo."

We hit another rather long period of silence. I really wanted to ask one of the fourteen billion questions I've always had for him, but I couldn't think of a single one save how bumble bees manage to just sort of hang in the air like they do . . . I finally settled on one that I often ask the children when they are reflecting on a recent experience.

"What has surprised you the most?" I asked. It sounded so inane and open-ended. "Why did he pick me to talk to?" I wondered. He must have heard the thought.

"Perfect question," he replied. "What surprises me the most is how hard it is for you to love each other . . . or even tolerate one another for that matter . . ." The words caught me off guard. They also hurt somehow - as if I alone was responsible. Maybe in my own way I was. God continued.

"I'm not talking about tolerating someone because their skin is different or they don't speak the same language or have the same customs or anything like that . . . What I'm talking about is finding compassion for even the old codger who's as half-baked and crazy as a june-bug in January . . . Or the person standing next to you in the checkout line whom you don't know in the slightest and who's maybe a little too heavy or homely or something else relative to the standards set forth by the so-called media 'giants' . . . Who the hell are those guys anyway?

"Did you just say . . ."

"You get the point. Stay with me a minute. If you only have it in your heart to love those things that seem attractive or have something to offer you, what kind of love is that? That's not love - heck, even the evil one is capable of that, so don't think for a minute . . ."

"That's one of the questions I wanted to ask!" I shouted without thinking. "Whats up with him?! Just think of all the horrible things that could have been avoided if . . ."

"Did you just interrupt me?" God interjected.

"I did . . . ," I said sheepishly, voice trailing off.

"I thought so," he replied.

"I am so . . ."

"No problem. You're forgiven."

"I am so, so sorry . . ."

"Accept it, will ya?'"

"O.K." But I wasn't really sure I had.

"And that's another thing . . . you aren't very good at offering forgiveness - seems you could at least accept it. As far as evil goes, know one thing. Satan thought he could end everything in the first couple of days - that's about 120 million years to you - but he had it all wrong. In fact, he's brought a great many of us a lot closer together if you really think about it. He doesn't get 'the big picture' if you know what I mean, but I'm convinced he will one day. In the meantime just tune him out the best you can . . . He hates to be ignored, but it's the only way to avoid him."

"I'll work on that," I replied.

"You better," God responded. "I've seen some of those emails . . . not exactly 'Sound of Music' material there . . ."

"Uhhh, . . . Oh, . . ." I gulped

"And by the way, slow down will you? If you think you notice something a little different along the way, don't just pass it by . . . Stop and listen. There's no substitute for paying attention . . . It's important."

"I will" I responded. (I hoped I would.)

"Oh, and one other thing. Remember a little while ago when you were wondering how the end might come - from above or below or some such thing. The creation is not like that. Ultimately there is no perfect spot to be in - no past or future as you know it. Each and every moment is your moment - always - forever . . . You're just experiencing it a little differently right now . . . But that can all change rather quickly."

He said that as if such a moment was just a breath away.

"It is," he said before I could ask.

"Am I supposed to understand all that?"

"No," he replied, (I could feel the slight smile upon his face.) "I don't suppose you are . . ."

There was a long period of silence and then a whisper that sounded like the sort of rush of wind that scatters leaves over pavement, driving them up and over curbs and bushes and walls and beyond . . . "Trust me . . ." it said, fading - distant but strong . . . and then again, "Trust . . . "

So I fixed pancakes for the kids with butter and syrup and bananas, and took them to school and set my schedule for the afternoon . . . And then I wrote all this down.

It was a really good day.