An Interview with God Read online

  God nods again. “Agreed. Not sure how to be clearer. Certainly seems quite straightforward to Me.”

  Paul, getting fired up, becomes even more expressive. “But that can’t be right.”

  “No? Why?”

  “Because everyone is a sinner! We all make bad choices on our own and avoid the right choices way too often. Like when I lie, for example, that’s because in my heart I am a liar. I can so easily choose to avoid the truth by my very nature.”

  God responds with compassion, “Yes, unfortunately, that is true for everyone.”

  Moving forward, Paul asks, almost rhetorically, “So if we’re saved through faith, why would anyone follow all the rules? How could anyone even be able to follow them?”

  “So is faith all it takes for salvation?” God interjects.

  Paul’s distress becomes obvious. “You’re a murderer? No problem! Thief? So what! Adulterer? Hey, everyone makes mistakes!”

  “So what is the problem?”

  The frazzled reporter has really had it now. “The problem is . . .” He catches himself and stops mid-sentence.

  “The problem is . . . what?” God prompts him. “The problem is what, Paul?”

  Paul’s gone completely off the rails again. So much for a plan with good intentions today. Attempting to compose himself, he takes a breath. “Sorry. This keeps happening. I am not the story. We agreed.”

  God points to the phone where the recording read-out is moving constantly, and speaks in its direction, “For the record . . . I never agreed to that.”

  Paul takes in another deep breath and comes to terms with his utter exhaustion—mentally, physically, and yes, spiritually too. “What do You want from me, God? I mean . . . really. What’s this all about? It seems like You want something from me, but I have no idea what it is.”

  Glad for Paul’s moment of submission, albeit frustrated submission, God says, “Now you see why that burning bush worked so well. I talk. The person listens.”

  “I agreed to meet with You because it was an intriguing prospect, a great idea for an interview,” Paul confesses, “and I think I’ve given You the benefit of the doubt. But it’s clear to me now that You had some other agenda for this . . . this, this, whatever it is! Seriously, let’s get deadly honest here. What do You want from me? Give me something! Please!”

  “My math skills yesterday didn’t impress you?” God tries to lighten the tension.

  Paul decides to go along. “No, that was impressive, but there are people who can do that stuff. Like savants, I guess. How do I know you aren’t just a genius who’s done your homework on me and this is some kind of elaborate but cruel hoax?” He closes his eyes and waits for some invisible smite or something.

  It doesn’t come.

  “Okay, I’ll give you something,” God says when Paul opens his eyes. “But . . . you might not like it.”

  Paul just sits anxiously, unsure what God means. Finally, he says, “Okay. All right. Hit me . . . so to speak.”

  “First of all, I mean no offense, but I think you have a misunderstanding about the nature of faith.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Paul objects. “I told You I’ve always had faith. As long as I can remember, I’ve believed in You.”

  “You see? Right there.” Another surprise response from God.

  Paul throws up both his hands to gesture, What do you mean?

  God continues, “Your response . . . ‘I’ve always had faith.’ Do you see the issue there?”

  Paul stays on the defense. “Not really. No. What are You trying to tell me?”

  Showing His own frustration for the first time, God frowns. “Okay, I’ll come back to that.” He leans in, squaring up with Paul, looking deep into the young man’s eyes. “Have you ever thought what the world is like from My perspective?”

  “From God’s perspective? Frankly, no. I would never do that. Not sure how I would. How could that even be possible?”

  “Fair enough. But try to imagine knowing every deed, every thought, aspiration, and depravity from all time from every person. While also seeing and knowing all the isolation, the pain, and the emptiness of those same lives.” As God finishes, He tilts His head and raises His eyebrows for a facial exclamation point of His final statement. “Every human soul that ever existed.”

  Paul is overcome by the thought, even emotional. He looks down at the table and shakes his head soberly. Finally, he humbly says, “I . . . I wouldn’t want that job . . . Your job.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because . . . because it would be overwhelming! All the time. The world is full of such terrible things. Working for a news organization, I see it every day. Horrific events, crimes, circumstances that happen to the innocent and the evil alike. The toughest ones to stomach are those that come crashing down on decent people, people with dignity who only want to know why something so devastating is happening to them. And then to think how would I answer them when they ask? What would I say to them? . . . Trust me? I have a plan? No thanks! I don’t want that job. The thought of being tuned into everything, all the misery in the world . . . well, it would break my heart.”

  “And so I ask, why would you care?” God is drawing his young friend out into the open.

  Surprised by the question, Paul fires back, “What do You mean why?”

  “What I mean is why would that break your heart?”

  Paul gives his best, most sincere answer. “Because . . . I care. I have compassion for my fellow human beings.”

  “And where exactly did that morality come from?”

  Paul gives a lengthy exhalation, slumping down and back in his chair. He looks lost in those thoughts until quietly he says, “I’m sure the answer You’re looking for is ‘from God,’ but really, I have no idea.”

  “We already agreed that free will exists, right? So it wouldn’t be much of a ‘morality’ if I forced you to have it. You think faith alone is enough. But it’s not. If it was, would you, could you then start being an immoral person?”

  Paul works hard to follow. “How do You know I’m not a completely immoral person?”

  “Because you just told me so. You have compassion. Your heart breaks when you witness the pain in the world. I believe you.” The delivery of the one point God wants desperately for Paul to get, and Sarah for that matter, comes in the form of a question: “So . . . what could you possibly do that is beyond My power to forgive?”

  The question flies into Paul’s ears, past his brain, and plants firmly into his heart. The truth of the question-turned-statement strikes him right in the soul, connects with the very essence of who he is as a frail, fragile, hurting human. Emotionally exhausted, he says, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we please just change the subject? Please?”

  With compassion and care, God simply asks, “Why?”

  Paul looks up, almost in despair. “Because like I said earlier . . . it’s personal. Deeply personal.”

  “You have no secrets from Me, Paul.”

  “Yeah, actually I do.”

  “No. You may think you do, but you don’t.”

  “Not to be argumentative, but I . . . have . . . secrets. And I keep saying this: my life is not the topic of this interview.”

  “But it really is, Paul. I don’t know how many more ways I can say it. You need to start hearing Me. Not your version of Me. Or the noise in your head and heart. But Me, My voice.”

  Paul feels like God just drew a line in the sand, daring him to cross over it, but he just isn’t ready. At least not yet. Not now. He needs to run, get far away. If it’s fight or flight, his answer of late, and right now, is most definitely flight. Deep in his spirit, he knows he can’t run away from himself and can’t really run from God either. But since when did that stop any human from trying hard to do both?

  Paul turns off the recording app and tosses the phone into his bag. He starts collecting his things. Exiting in anger doesn’t seem right, but he wants to leave, so he sug
gests, “You know, I think we’ve done enough for today. I need to go, and I’m sure You have somewhere important to be.”

  “Are you sure, Paul? You can ask Me anything you want. I felt like we were getting somewhere.”

  Paul picks up his bag and helmet. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Asking what I want. But that’s not really getting me anywhere! I think I’ve been more than respectful to Your claim of who You are. But I keep asking questions, and You keep giving me these evasive answers!”

  In a gentle, soothing voice, God responds, “You’ve been asking very good questions, and I’ve been answering them the best I can, but in My own way.”

  “But best for whom?” Paul blurts out.

  “For you, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well then, if that’s what You think, then You’re right. We did get to the part that I don’t like.”

  “Trust me, Paul. It can get worse than that.”

  “Hard to believe. I really don’t see how that could be true.”

  “Well, we could talk about your marriage.”

  Paul’s emotions are now starting to boil over, but working to stay professional, he insists, “No. No, we really can’t! And it’s off limits that You would even bring that into the conversation. The boundary line here is my personal life, and that goes double for my marriage.”

  Looking a bit surprised at Paul’s level of defense, God asks, “So do you not think I can help?”

  A mix of realism and paranoia washes over Paul. His mind is screaming, Is this person really God? Or maybe this is just something I’m imagining or some kind of mystical trick? Attempting to voice his confusion, he fires his questions, “Are you . . . did someone put You up to this? Where is this really coming from?”

  “I assure you this is very real, Paul. I’m just here to help.”

  “Thanks, but I believe I can manage my own affairs.”

  God eyes him knowingly at the ironic choice of words, and the young husband realizes what he said, or maybe subconsciously wanted to get out.

  “I . . . can manage . . . my life. Is this what You do to people? Is this what it’s like when no burning bush, clouds, or fire are involved?”

  “As far as the question, ‘Is this what You do to people?’ I get asked that a lot. And the attitude you have? Well, I get that a lot too. I’d like to help you . . . if you’ll let Me.”

  As if he were holding on to some imaginary barrier with white knuckles, Paul grinds out, “Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Everything’s under control.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll just take you at your word. By the way, you’re just about out of time.”

  Paul double-checks his belongings to leave. “We have about five more minutes, but I’m happy to forfeit my time to the next person on your list.”

  Softly, with a hint of warning, God repeats, “No, Paul. I mean you’re about out of time.”

  The change of meaning sends Paul’s heart into his throat. “What do You mean? Out of time? That’s cryptic. What are You telling me?”

  God just looks somberly at him, waiting for him to allow the message to sink in.

  “Are You saying . . .”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You’re telling me . . .”

  “Yes, Paul. I’m very sorry.”

  Paul laughs nervously. “Okay, now I know this is some kind of a joke.”

  “Sorry. No joke. I would never make light about anything that serious.”

  With a look of total disbelief and shock, Paul continues, “It’s a sick joke. I can tell You that. Why did You tell me that? Why would You tell me such a thing?”

  “You said it yourself, Paul. Dying is just about the when. So why can’t when be now?”

  Paul’s anger turns to outrage. “These . . . interviews . . . are . . . over! I’m done!”

  God remains calm. “We still have tomorrow. The agreement was three days.”

  “But there is no tomorrow, right?” Paul shoots back.

  God ignores the statement-turned-question and reminds him, “I’ll let you know where. Just in case you change your mind.”

  Paul shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure I won’t continue. I don’t even know why I agreed to this in the first place. This is crazy.”

  “Paul, I’m here because you prayed. Remember? You asked Me for help. I thought an interview would be the right setting where, as a journalist, you would be the most comfortable to create a dialogue.”

  Paul laughs mockingly and starts to walk away. “Well, then you got it exactly wrong. I’m not comfortable with this. At all. Couldn’t You just bring the answers I need instead of showing up to have this strange, cryptic conversation?”

  God smiles. “You mean, kind of like Santa Claus? ‘I’ve been good enough, so here’s my list and just deliver what I want when you’re supposed to’? That’s not the way I’ve ever worked, although most people today seem to think it is.”

  Paul stops on the steps and turns back around. “That’s not at all what I meant!”

  “Son, salvation is real and it can still happen for you. But you need to understand a very important truth. Faith isn’t something you can have, not in the conventional sense, because faith itself isn’t the end goal. Faith is the process. Just like a marriage, the vows you take aren’t the end, they’re just the beginning! And it takes time and dedication every single day to stay engaged in the union. Richer and poorer, sickness and health. The same idea. Same commitment.”

  Shaking his head in frustrated denial, Paul walks down the stairs to the theatre floor.

  Offering His final shot, God speaks in the most commanding tone He has used in their short time together. “Paul!”

  The young man stops his stride up the aisle and slowly faces God.

  “Would you like to know when it will happen?”

  Paul immediately whips back around. “No!” he calls out, almost running toward the door.

  The theatre doors slowly settle back into place after Paul’s frantic exit, and the stage and house lights dim, then fade slowly to total darkness. Silence reigns as the table and chairs now sit empty. This “scene” in Paul’s life is the biggest crossroads he has ever faced.

  His mind fighting his spirit.

  His lies battling truth.

  His attempt at logic warring against his faith.

  The spiritual realm confronting and questioning the physical realm.

  Sometimes the reality of death is all that will bring about the truth regarding life.

  Real life.

  Chapter Five

  Realizations & Revelations

  To say that Paul is rattled is most definitely an understatement. This man, this entity, this deity, whatever He is . . . just told him he’s living on borrowed time. Suddenly, the problems with Sarah, Afghanistan, Matt’s crisis, his work, everything else is shoved into the backseat, onto the backburner, every analogy he can think of that means being pushed to the rear of the line. Anger, sadness, and fear overwhelm him. While he’s already in a totally heightened state of emotions, just when he feels like he has driven his feelings to his all-time personal limit, now there’s something more.

  God did not say how or exactly when it would happen, so riding his bike on the busy New York streets now has new meaning. Everything around him, everyone he sees, feels like a threat. Will a car run a light and hit him? Or will he be so distracted that he rides into traffic in a self-fulfilling prophecy? Is one of the people on the streets actually a shooter or wielding a knife, and he’s about to be in another tragic international news story? Is he terminally ill and just doesn’t know it yet?

  Accompanied by labored and erratic breaths, Paul’s adrenalin surges through his body and anxiety confounds his thoughts. Just then, the light above him turns from yellow to red and he hits the brakes hard. So hard that the back wheel pops up slightly as he lunges forward on the bars, his messenger bag sliding around from his back to his right side. As the cars on the through street fly by, he looks around
nervously.

  On the opposite corner, a “ghost bike” memorial adorns the sidewalk, marking the place where a biker was killed, likely hit by a car. It’s painted a pasty, ghoulish white, surrounded by ugly candles and dead flowers. A sight Paul has seen many times over the years and always ignored, now suddenly becomes a mix of creepy and oddly cruel. Have even the people who knew this person already forgotten? Yesterday life felt chaotic but endless, yet today just seems futile and fleeting.

  Finally, Paul arrives at his office building. He’s safe. For now. Even locking up his bike feels foreign, as if he’s trying to recall how to make the ends connect. After hearing the familiar click, he removes his helmet and turns to walk through the glass doors of the front entrance. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection on the doors, then pauses, checking himself. Frowning at his image, he slowly shakes his head and with frustration pushes the door open. There doesn’t seem to be a single category of life where he isn’t disgusted.

  Walking to his four-by-four cubicle in the fishbowl, he recalls, I did pray for help. I remember doing that. But why when God shows up do things feel like they’re only getting worse? What is that about?

  At his desk sits a woman in her mid-twenties. Dark shoulder-length hair, attractive, and well dressed. As their eyes lock into a stare, Paul is visibly shocked by her presence. He then starts to glance around to see who has realized he has a mysterious woman waiting for him at his desk.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Not deterred in the least, she responds, “You never called me back.”

  “Yesterday was a bad day . . . and today is even worse.”

  “I know,” she says. “That’s why I called you. How about a ‘Hello, nice to see you’?”

  Several coworkers pass by, and Paul realizes his rudeness and changes tone. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Hey, can we, uh . . .” He stops and motions for her to follow him.

  She falls in behind him as he walks in his most professional manner to attempt to thwart suspicion. He walks around the corner, up to an office, and sees it’s empty. They walk in and he closes the door.