Short Stories

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It’s Snow, RayAnn Snow. (Sorry, I had to say it that way, my brother had a James Bond movie party last Friday.)
Well, I think I must be one of the worst Christians on the planet. (Like there are Christians on other planets?) Anyway, for the past week–since my wristband fiasco–my life has been smooth, happy, plan ol’ wonderful.
I even lost a dress size.
But today, after I told God yesterday that He was great, and I was sorry for complaining so much, I when right back to whining.
Some people give you the impression God has baseball bat, just waiting to knock you for a loop once you make a boo-boo, but I know that’s wrong. If it were true, I’d been smacked into left field long ago.

It all started last night when I couldn’t fall asleep cause my tub’s faucet was leaking.
Drip. . .drip. . .drip.
It was like the Chinese water torture. I always thought that was a silly form of torment–but it works. After what was minutes, but felt like hours, I jumped up and stuffed a washcloth in the drain, mumbling something about how I’d reported this to my landlord nine months ago, and why couldn’t he just fix it for the love ‘a Mike.
I laid back down.
Then I noticed the hollow dripping noise wasn’t muffled by the cloth; it was morphed into a spat, spat sound instead.
I sighed, and got up--stepped on my cat’s tail in the dark. He screamed and hid under the bed.
I shut the bathroom door, and the noise was muffled, and I finally fell asleep.

When I awoke I found my view of Mobile Bay was hazed by storm clouds and rain.
“Ok, now You’ve taken my Gulf view?” I’d mumbled to God--even though I SO knew I was being stupid. I just wanted to slap myself, and really wondered why God never has.

I went to work and worked a long shift and came home. All I wanted was to get in my comfy clothes and have nice meal.
That’s where I am now.
I look in my fridge. . .grapes, cat food, milk, moldy broccoli–that’s it.
In my pantry–crackers, old potatoes that look like they’re growing some fungus, can o’ cheese, and stale cookies.
Charming.
My tea’s gone and the soda’s flat.
I have to make dinner out of squirt cheese, wheat crackers, and grapes.
Why am I not surprised?
I sit in front of the tube, and complain there’s nothing to watch as I cram crackers. I stop on a Christian channel that has children from other countries. They’re homeless, hungry, and forgotten by most, but they’re still smiling.
I’m slime.
I have food.
I look at my glass and see the proof of having clear, fresh water. . .and a home.
I look around at all my stuff, and think of the Psalm, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want.”
I need to be happy.
So what if my dinner’s cheese? I have dinner, and it’s not like I can’t go shopping tomorrow.
I look at the ceiling and ask, “Why am I so stupid?”
I don’t hear Him, but I feel He’s saying, “Because you’re a human.”
I look at my food, then to the TV, and back.
“Are you going to sit there and feel guilty, or do something?”
“Huh? God?”
I’m having a Heaven to gut conversation. I feel God say, “You don’t need to feel guilty, Dear, but you do need to do something about this.”
I smile and walk to my phone.
The line rings and a woman says, “Hello?”
On the TV, a little girl that gets some food smiles.
“Yeah, um, hi, I’d like to make a three hundred dollar gift. . .”

(c) 2008

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