God’s #1 Fan

I was brought up agnostic, visiting churches only for the stained glass, looking up to the sky only to admire the sun, believing that only I had control over my future. I’ve remained adamant that there was a big bang, that we evolved from apes. And Noah’s Ark? Please. I have trouble fitting all my socks in a drawer. How the hell did he manage to fit all those animals on a single boat? If someone can prove to me that over 2,000 animals including predators and prey fit on that boat, I will drop to my knees and become a devoted believer. What happened if a lion escaped and ate all the cute little bunnies? Would that just be the end, like dinosaurs, extinct forever? Swaggering through life, armed with scientific skepticism ready to disprove anyone. That is, until trouble strikes. 

Just like that, like Jesus himself struck me with a bolt of lightning rewiring my brain and beliefs, I suddenly became a big believer, dialing up the heavens as if I was ordering DoorDash. Out with the old scientific skepticism and in with the desperate need for divine intervention. I’m left hoping that some celestial being living up in the clouds will swoop down and fix all my problems, like my own personal Bob the Builder. 

Picture this: It’s a serene day, fluffy clouds drifting lazily across the sky and the sun beaming down leaving a golden glow among the trees. But amidst this idyllic scene, something seems out of place. There I am, a pint-sized rebel with a grand cause: plotting my great escape from parental tyranny. I stand precariously on the second-story window ledge contemplating my next move like a tiny angst-ridden superhero, unable to stop myself from wondering how I got there. For some context, I was the kid who once thought I was knocking on death's door after getting dirt in a small cut. Yet there I stood, clinging to the ledge like a daredevil acrobat about to pull off the greatest stunt of the century, making Kevin McCallister himself raise an eyebrow in admiration.

Unfortunately, my inner Catwoman was quickly replaced with the fear of a look from an angry mother, who I heard shuffling up the stairs. This wasn't part of the plan. The plan was for her to walk into the room and become overridden with worry about my whereabouts. With this, she would realize her mistake of giving me a time-out for yelling, forgive me for failing the math test that I yelled about, and maybe take me out for ice cream to beg for forgiveness since I was forced to sit in my room like a hostage. The issue was that I couldn't figure out how to get from the ledge I was holding onto, to the pavement below me. Could I jump? I mean, I've fallen down a flight of stairs. How much worse could it hurt? 

Pulling me out of my thoughts was the sound of my mother's shuffling getting even closer. Before thinking, I scrambled back into the room, looking frantically around for anything to block her from coming into my room. Now that I had given up on running away, I had to hide all the evidence of my rebellious plan. Just as panic began to set in, my eyes landed on the small dresser beside my bed. Could I move it? Did I have time? Ignoring these thoughts, I had a surge of adrenaline as I darted across and pulled it with all my might across the room. 

As I struggled to position the dresser in front of my door, I could hear my mother’s footsteps drawing nearer, each one echoing impending doom. Sweat beads formed on my forehead as I took one final push. Pinning the dresser against my door, barricading myself inside and my mother out. 

Just as I started to catch my breath, something caught my eye, reminding me of the reason for my panic. The window screen. It lay twisted and broken on the floor. With trembling hands I darted towards the window frantically trying to push the screen back into place, but no matter how hard I tried it refused to cooperate as if it was punishing me for my ridiculous escape plan. As desperation clawed at my chest, I found myself uttering the words I never thought I would speak, a prayer to God I had so easily dismissed as mere fiction hours ago. 

“Hey God, wait is it Dear God or do I just call you sir? Anyway, umm.. could you by any chance lend me a hand down here? I mean I know you probably have more important things to take care of, like keeping Trump from running for president and the whole global warming situation, BUT I think you will find that helping me now will probably bode well for the future. I mean you never know, I might cure cancer, which I won’t be able to do if my mom grounds me for the rest of my life. Anyway is there anything I have to do like a sacrifice or something? I’m really not into the whole killing of animals but I’ve read a few Percy Jackson books and know that there is usually some sort of offering. Hmm okay, so I don’t really have anything other than week-old pizza right now and I’m assuming you might be insulted by that BUT what if I promise never to do anything bad again in my life? Okay…not really sure how to tell if you are listening, but I’ll end it here. Thanks? Goodbye? …is this where I say amen?”

In place of the adrenaline and panic I felt a newfound sense of confidence, as if I knew that the screen would slip back into place, and, at last, a pop like opening a bottle of champagne, the screen was back. Before I could begin to relax, a new thought dawned on me. If my mom wasn’t breaking down the door to confront me, then where on earth did she disappear to? My mind wandered back to the frantic moments of me trying to barricade the door. Why had it been so easy?

 Fueled by my confusion, I reached out and the door handle rattled in response. I could picture it then, opening the door to find a fuming mother directly outside. Choosing not to break down the door, rather she would stand there to catch me off guard and then she would strike. As the door continued opening, the images kept flashing through my mind, locked away in my room until I grew gray hair, missing every social event including my own birthdays as a consequence of my actions. I was about to begin another one of those half-assed prayers when I noticed something off. The hallway was empty. There was absolutely nothing that stood in my way and the floorboards on the other side of my door frame that I was currently bracing myself against. For some reason, the lack of my mother there left me slightly irked.

Did she not care? I could have died! She was simply leaving me to my own reckless, slightly dramatic devices with not a care in the world?! Not to mention, I had just participated in nearly two times the typical cardiovascular activity on top of not one but three near heart attacks. If she wasn't here, then where the hell was she? Stomping my way down the hall and making my way to her room, I eased the door open. 

There she was, sprawled out on her bed, looking peacefully asleep on a Sunday afternoon. My initial panic turned into a confusion so thick you could slice it with a chainsaw. Was this some sort of mom meditation technique? Or had she finally taken my advice and decided to catch up on centuries of missed sleep?

I tiptoed closer, half-expecting her to jump up with a “Gotcha!” But nope, she just lay there, snoring softly like a bear in hibernation. I poked her gently, like you do with a suspiciously quiet cat, but she didn't budge. Not even a snort.

“Mom?” I whispered, my voice sounding like a mouse in a lion's den.

She stirred, blinking up at me with the dazed expression of someone who had just woken up from a dream about riding a unicorn through a candy land.

“Sweetheart, what's up?” she mumbled, looking about as confused as a penguin in a desert. I blinked back at her, equal parts relieved and bewildered. 

“Um, nothing much, just checking if you're, you know, alive.”