Day 7: I can’t create shit in 7 days, let alone heaven and earth.

Do many people wonder about what God thinks about? Like when He created heaven and earth. Did He wonder why the stuff came out the way they did, like when I write a story? “Shit, that wasn’t what I wanted.” Maybe there’s a celestial trash can filled with God’s rough drafts.

Well, I wonder about that sort of crap. I’ve wasted time thinking about such meaningless drivel for as long as I can remember. Like, when I was a kid, about the age when my parents sent me off to kids’ Sunday school, the base chaplain directed me to pray.

“What’s ‘Pray,’ chaplain?” I asked. “That’s when you talk to God,” the chaplain answered. “Does God answer me?” I asked. A smile from the chaplain. “He listens to you. That’s what is important. God listens to everyone’s prayers.”

“Well, what if He talks to me?” I asked. Chaplain’s smile evaporated like drops of water on a hot girdle. Er. Gridle. Only chaplains (and other clergyfolk) can study a well-made set of buttocks without having evil thoughts. “Does He talk to you?” chaplain asked. “Of course not,” I answered. “I’m not fucking crazy. God never talks to little kids. He saves His words for the colonel.” Chaplain’s smile returns.

“That’s right, son. What about the generals? Does God talk to them?”

“No, sir,” I answered. He listens, snaps a salute, then says, “Yes, sir.”

Another smile from the chaplain. “Very good, son. Someday you’ll make a good officer.”

Chaplain was wrong. Years later, after I had slunk through OCS (Officer Candidate School), I wasn’t a good officer. See, I had told the chaplain what I thought he wanted to hear, same as I did with God. It’s what they expected of me.

I never learned to do that for my military superiors.

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