Going toward the light
I was driving to work when God decided to have a talk with me. He seems to like it when I’m a captive audience.
“Hello son,” he said as he sat beside me, “What have you been up to?”
“You’re God,” I said, “Don’t you already know?”
“Yeah, but I like to hear you tell me.”
I sighed, and did. I finished about the time I pulled up to a red light and when I looked over at him, I saw he was unhappy. Considering what I’d said, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But he knew already and had watched me do it. I don’t see why telling him would matter.
“You know what you should be doing, don’t you?” he asked me.
I rolled my eyes. “Like you wrote the book on good things, anyway. How many people did you kill today, God?”
He didn’t lecture me on the foundations of the earth or the rings in the leviathan’s nose, he just sighed and looked out the window.
“You’d be better off if you just did what I wanted. I just want the best for you.”
“If you want what’s best for me, you could always make me do it.”
“I gave you free will for a reason.”
“You made me the way I am, set things up the way they are, and know everything I’m going to do. Next to all that, what does free will matter?”
“You can’t have love without choice.”
“What’s love got to do with it?”
The light turned green and I kept driving.
[Original title: Here in my car I feel safest of all]