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          A                 "Calling God"              aNAda #18   A
        A                                                            A
     A                       by Oregano                02/28/00         A
 A                                                                          A
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        The other night when I was walking home in the early evening of a
 snowy winter's day, I stopped at a crosswalk and a homeless person stopped
 there too, we both waited for the light.  The snow was light but there was a
 wind and we were both chilled, the homeless person was dressed in only a
 light military jacket, no hat or scarf.  I was in a heavy coat with ill-
 fitting hat and too warm scarf, but still chilled by the strong wind.  

        The homeless man, from whose eyes I could see a bit of tipsy and
 perhaps a tinge of highness a just a little crazy looked at me and said, "It
 sure is cold, sir."  I agreed and tried to ignore him, the way homeless are
 to be ignored when you think they might be dangerous.  

        The street and sidewalks were snowy and slippery, not all the
 sidewalks had been properly shoveled, especially in front of the churches.
 And since I was walking through an area with a lot of churches, I had to be
 careful where I stepped.

        When the light changed we both crossed.  I am a habitually slow
 walker and I wanted to let the crazy man get ahead of me to seperate us with
 a little distance.  I walked carefully on the icy street and picked out each
 step with care to get to the far curb and the sidewalk.  But the crazy man
 held back a bit and matched my progress instead of chundering on ahead.
 Then he stopped on the sidewalk on the other side of the street and he
 pulled out a business card which looked like a normal enough card; it had a
 phone number written on it by hand in blue pen.

        "This is God's number," he said to me in an ernest tone, trying to
 hand me the card.

        I thanked him by saying, "No thanks."  I pulled my shopping bag
 closer to me and he walked ahead down the narrow path.  I followed, again
 taking each step with caution, wary for a nasty spill.  I saw him up ahead,
 at where the path again widened to full width of the sidewalk and he stopped
 and said, "I really think you should have this, sir."  I knew I would not be
 able to shake this guy.  I took the card.  

        I knew it would be a church.  Or worse, a cult.  But I called anyway.
 The card was a business card from AT&T.  Sometimes restaurants have big
 jars, throw in a business card and once a week you may be selected for a
 free lunch.  I figured that the crazy guy took the card from one of these
 jars.  But still there was the number hand-printed in blue ink with an area
 code that I had not heard of.  I called from work.  

        "Hello?  How may I help you?" a crisp voice answered.  Friendly
 enough.

        "I was told that this is the number for God, is God available to
 speak right now?" I asked.

        "I am sorry, but God is out walking His dog, please leave your name
 and number and God will get back to you as soon as He gets back in." 

        Seeing the obvious ploy for the cult to get my number, I said I'd
 call back later.

        I called later and God was taking a bath, rough day, and I called
 again and God was watching football and did not wish to be disturbed unless
 it was vitally important; seems He takes distinct sides in every football
 matchup (and expects proper credit from the players afterwards).  

        A different voice answered when I called one Friday evening, just
 after work, a calm, soothing voice.  "I'm sorry, but My father is not
 available."

        "This must be Jesus, His only son."

        "I prefer to have it pronounced 'Hey-zeus', but that is correct, I'm
 really busy myself, just leave a phone number and God will call you back."

        I refused and things went on for a few weeks like this, one time His
 mother answered and asked me to not call after 9:00 p.m. since phone ringing
 could waken even God.

        But then finally the timing was right and one morning there on the
 other end of the line:

        "Hello, oregano, this is God."

        Not having given my name, I was delighted to know that God knew I was
 calling.  I suppose caller-id could explain this.  I told God how I got his
 number and how I had been trying to call him for a couple of weeks.  

        "I am quite tired today, I was awake all night making millions of
 decisions of life and death, you know peace in your country, but I like to
 make war all over the smaller parts of the world and writing the fates of
 all those involved is tiring I don't know that I can give you my all this
 morning.  Perhaps I would make better company if I gave you a call back some
 other time where I can give you my full attention?" 

        I replied, "But God, I have tried so hard to reach You, and here is
 my chance and I only have a couple of questions."

        "Very well, child, I will give you a few minutes."

        And I did have just a few questions.  Since my first attempt to talk
 with God I had been thinking what I would ask Him if I talked to him.  I
 could go for silly questions for Him to prove He really is God.  Or ask even
 sillier questions like 'Why are we here?' or 'Why do bad things happen to
 good people?' but I am happy enough with the answers that have come to us
 from the theologians and I know that a fuller answer would not be something
 my small mind could comprehend, so instead I came up with three simple
 questions for God.

        "First off," I started, "why are You giving away Your phone number on
 business cards snatched from jars in restaurants?"

        God was weary and said, "I work in mysterious ways.  Sheesh, come on
 you know all these answers already.  Didn't you learn anything in Sunday
 school?"

        I said, "I was looking for something a little more down to earth."

        "Well," God said, "if I took out an ad on TV no one would believe it,
 getting a card from a crazy homeless man you at least have the ability to
 tell yourself you are calling as a joke.  Even though you want it to be
 true."

        I replied, "Fair enough.  Next question, why do you make only bad
 music really popular?  Why not some good indi bands?"

        God laughed and said, "Just to drive people like you crazy.  Really,
 I only choose a few to understand good music or movies or books, the rest I
 give simple tastes.  If I had to make music reflect the inner feelings of
 all people could you imagine how many different bands I'd have to have?
 There would be no common culture.  I bind people together by giving them
 bland entertainments." 

        "Okay God," I said, "here is my final question: why don't I get more
 poontang?"

        "Because there is something about you, dear oregano, that just pisses
 me off.  Now if you excuse me, I need to get some rest, have a good night."

        And with that, God hung up.

        Did I awake the next day with a renewed sense of purpose and
 wonderment?  Did I scurry off to church?  No, I decided to see if God was
 still answering the number.  I dialed and heard, "AT&T, what extension,
 please?"

        I asked for God and found His number was now unlisted.

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 {  (c)2000 aNAda e'zine *                         * aNAda018 * by Oregano  }
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