My beef with god

October 11, 2018
By Anonymous

         I grew up in church. I went to Bible study preschool. I sat through all the teachings. I listen to all the stories. I knew all the tales. My religious education has evolved throughout my life to make me the person I am today. I know the difference between right and wrong. I know the man that Jesus was. I consider Jesus to be my friend. I have sought his help in the past and will do so in the future. I know his forgiveness, and have seen it for myself.
         One such occasion of this forgiveness was Easter Sunday when I was three. As always, I looked down at my stubby little fingers fiddling with the card I was handed on my way in. It’s crisp edges we’re sharp to the touch and it’s white canvas of meaningless words held limitless potential. That very card could’ve been anything. It could have been an airplane flying high above the world. It could’ve been a plate covered in the most delicious in succulent food to ever touch my lips. It could’ve been a spaceship flying high to a distant world that only I could discover. It occupied my mind. Perplexed by the waste of such a wonderful item, I drifted off into my imagination.
         The words of the man on stage melted together in a swirl of boredom. What could he possibly have to say that was important enough for me to be here all morning? My dreams we’re suddenly filled with the cool touch of chocolate and the bounty waiting for me at home. My mouth started to water. The card in my hand instantly became a beautiful painting of the most delicious foods across the world. All three food groups were covered, chicken nuggets, ketchup, and Milk. The smell bathed my nostrils in a symphony of aromas. At last I could stand it no longer. I searched anywhere for something to eat but as far as the eye can see, this ocean of chairs held know relief for my aching stomach. I searched high and low. Mining through my pockets. Rummaging through my mind for any clue as to where the nearest might be until suddenly I found it.
          My eyes landed upon what every ounce of my little body wanted, food. Like a hunter crouching in the grass, my moves were slow and deliberate. My hobbling was nothing short of a ballet of the finest quality. My eyes narrowed, the food was within my grasp. 20 yards away, my heart began to pound. 15 yards away, my stomach lurched in desire. 10 yards away, I couldn’t make out what it was. Crackers! A staple of the average American three-year-old. 5 yards away, the drool formed in my mouth. In a moment of pure animal instinct, my hands went wild, my mouth was relentless, the crackers were destined to feel my wrath. Satisfaction covered my body. Peace had been achieved. Sounds disappeared into the background of my mind. The world around me was gone and only my crumb covered shirt indicated that the crackers had ever existed.
         My peace was short-lived however, for almost as soon as it materialized, I was pulled from its warm glow buy a large pair of hands wrapped around my chest. As if awaken from a trance, I suddenly became aware of the world around me. I thousand eyes bore holes in mine. A cascade of assorted reactions came from the vast ocean of chairs. Some were of pitiful laughing, others of disapproving silence. The hands that awoke me belonged to my father. But his presence was no surprise to me, what caught my attention was a very large man standing in front of me. He seemed to be a stranger yet somehow familiar. Dear God! It was the pastor! I suddenly became incredibly aware of the fact that I was on stage in front of hundreds of people. The spirit of my hunt for victuals had masked the fact that I made my way up the stairway, to the middle of the stage, and eaten the communion designed for hundreds of souls.
Shame crippled me as my father dragged my lifeless body off stage and back to my seat. I sat, awaiting my damnation, and checking the ceiling for the bolt of lightning that would smite me down. What seemed like hours passed before the lights came on and the longest car ride of my life would begin. A little wobbly in the knees and wet in the pants, I forced the ground under my feet and left and quickly as I was able to. I anticipated the horrors of my future as I approached the car. What was waiting for me? Who would unleash their wrath first, God or my parents? Fear struck me deepest as I sat down in my car seat and my father approached to strap me in. He leaned over to me and I clenched every muscle in my face to block his fist as best I could. Do it! Just do it! What are you waiting for?!
      I’ll never forget what happened next. He held my face in his hands and told me that he loved me and that God will always love me. He didn’t care that I ate the crackers. I know his forgiveness, and have seen it for myself.
 


The author's comments:

I like crackers


Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.



Parkland Book

Parkland Speaks

Smith Summer