The following is one of my short stories that was selected for publication in 'The Lyre' Greensboro College's annual literary magazine:
I was crammed into a middle seat on a cross-country flight from Houston, Texas. As we took off and rose above the clouds I leaned forward, placed my hands under the seat and pulled out my laptop computer. The computer's fan roared as it powered up and I began pecking away at the keys; turning letters into words and words into paragraphs. As my typing reached a fevered pace, God glanced over.
"What are you typing," he asked.
Always the studious journalist, I never traveled without my laptop and editorial ideas close at hand. "A column," I answered. "For the student newspaper, on campus. It actually has something to do with you."
God looked interested so I took it to mean he wanted to know more about what I was writing. "You know," I continued, "there is thins group in Washington D.C. putting billboards up across the country that say: 'Why believe in God?'"
He still had a curious look on his face so I turned my laptop around to show God a picture of the sign that I had saved from a previous Google search.
"Oh, that's got nothing to do with me," he said as he stared down at the screen. "That's about the first amendment and freedom of speech. I don't revel in those issues."
Startled at his reaction, I asked, "that doesn't bother you in the least."
Just as that question left my lips and reached God's ear, the plane shook violently from a crosswind. The guy who had the aisle seat next to me spilled his Bloddy Mary. "Goddamn," he shouted loudly, but God paid no attention. Instead he remained infatuated with the column I was writing.
"Just answer the question," he quipped as he continued to stare at my computer and then into my eyes.
I stared back into his eyes blankly as he continued,"you know, you can talk about things like Thanksgiving, Easter, Christmas, why we celebrate them and what people really are thankful for when they sit down at their table to say grace.
Dissatisfied with God's answer, I looked up from my laptop and began to speak. "I don't know what to do. Proving your existence is a deep and heavily philosophical question. Its theological. I suppose the pocket watch analogy would work: that just as something as complex as a pocket watch couldn't have been made without a clock maker, neither could plants, animals and humans exist without a creator."
God didn't seem to care at all about my talking in asides about proving he existed. He just sat there popping peanuts. "I don't need your writing to prove I exist," he said. "That's not the premise of the group of the group or the billboard you are writing about. It asks, 'Why Believe?' Quite honestly, thats a valid question. What have my people done to help answer it lately?"
"Well," I started stunned at God's answer. "I believe in you because I see you and have seen you, in person now and always in the world around me"
The plane rocked and swayed back and forth now more violently than it had the whole flight. I hated flying for this very reason. It terrified me. My ears popped for what seemed like the hundredth time making the noise of the screaming baby behind me even more audible. God looked over at the man who had spilled his Bloody Mary, then back out the window. He gave a sly smile as the sun sank below the clouds.
"It's not all poetry out there in the sky, you know. Where you see poetry, some people see cotton white clouds and a fiery ball of gas. Where you see eternity, others see an infinite ocean. Where you see my words, others see blank pages. When you hear my voice, others here silence."
At first, I wasn't following God's argument, but I allowed him to continue. He is God after all. I was now more focused on my heart as it raced with the pitching and swaying of the plane as he continued to speak.
"What do you hear then," he asked, "when no one else sees; when you find yourself in a place where no one knows your name; when you've reached the end of your rope and you are ready to curse the brokenness in your life? Where do you turn when famine and disaster strike, when the Doctor tells you its cancer or that your Grandmother won't make it through the night. Where do you turn when you find out your parent's marriage is ending in divorce. DO you hear me, see me or feel me then?"
I looked down at my laptop. "Sometimes," I uttered, "but it isn't like I don't want to all the time."
"Why," God asked.
"Because nothing else and no one else makes sense to me," I answer.
Suddenly the violent turbulence we had been experiencing for what seemed like an eternity subsided. The calming voice of the captain came over the intercom. we were about to land.
The man on the aisle across from me wiped up the last bit of his Bloody Mary and returned his tray to the upright position. The baby in the seat behind me stopped screaming. I felt the landing gear engage and minutes later, felt it touch the ground. I grasped my laptop in my arms and rested my head against the seat.
"What a rough flight," I thought to myself how much I hated those. I was happy to have landed safely.
"Thank God," I sighed. Just as I had said that God leaned over closer to my ear.
"You're welcome," he whispered.
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