I sent a postcard to St. Peter asking for an interview with God. To my surprise I found myself standing at the Pearly Gates. I realized immediately that these were indeed the Pearly Gates because they were on a gold street and were made of gold too. Marble-size pearls glistened in the Heavenly Light.

As I stood there mesmerized by the splendor, I heard a voice say, “Is that you? Taylor Jones, the hack writer?”

I spun around. There was an old man with a fishing pole. I said, “You must be the legendary St. Peter.”

“Indeed!” he said. “The address is 100 God Street. I’ll zap you up there.”

Quicker than you could say, Jack Sprat Could Eat No Fat, I was at 100 God Street. Mrs. God greeted me and said, “He’s in the garden out back.”

I stood there absolutely paralyzed by her beauty, the most beautiful creature in the universe. Immediately I found myself on the back lawn.

I didn’t see Him at first. I heard the snapping of hedge clippers. I said, “What the?” The clippers had no hands operating them! A voice said, “I’m over here!”

I walked behind the hedge and there was God sipping lemonade. He said, “Here, I’ve poured a glass for you.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I bow? Should I prostrate myself on the ground? How should I address Him? Why didn’t I study these issues before I sent the card? He said, “Just sit down, Taylor Jones. I’ve wanted to talk to you?”

I wondered if there was any way I could get that postcard back. He said, “That is too late now.”

I wondered if he remembered what he told me that night on the line in Korea after we were shelled three times by our own 105mm howitzers. I wanted to know for sure it was Him that was talking to me. He said, “I remember what I said. I told you that you might be killed or maimed but it would make no difference in the eternities. I also told you to do as you were trained and to do your duty.”

I thought that God had a very good memory. He said, “I never forget.”

I wondered what he wanted to talk to me about, a hack writer, ex-executive of a large company, ex-engineer, and ex-scoutmaster. He said, “You forgot to mention lousy painter of landscapes.”

I wondered if He was angry about that section I wrote in Bull about the Mormon’s wife. He said, “You did tone it down quite a bit.” God laughed! It sounded like tingling bells.

Well, what did God want then? He said, “I’ve got something you can do for me.”

Relieved, I said, “Yes, God! You just name it!” They were my first words to God. I was very pleased with them.

He smiled at me and said, “Stop wasting so much time on the computer. Get out there and help the widows clean up there yards. They are all full of leaves.”

I thought, No, not leave raking! I absolutely hate to rake the leaves. Immediately I was buried under a huge pile of the distasteful things. Then I heard my wife say, “WAKE UP!”

I pushed the newspaper out of my face to see her standing there with hands on hips. She said, “You were having a nightmare. Now get out there and rake those leaves. I’m tired of telling you!

The End by John T. Jones, Ph.D

copyright©John T. Jones, Ph.D. 2005

John T. Jones, Ph.D. (tjbooks@hotmail.com)is a retired R&D engineer and VP of a Fortune 500 company. He is author of detective & western novels, nonfiction (business, scientific, engineering), poetry, etc. Former editor of international trade magazine. Jones is Executive Representative of International Wealth Success. More info: http://www.tjbooks.com. Business web site: http://www.bookfindhelp.com (IWS wealth-success materials / TopFlight flagpoles)

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