The Work of the Lord

This is an excerpt of a longer piece that is in the process of being revised...



“M-M-Maggie?” he stammered, suddenly aware that he was trembling; quaking with fear and uncertainty. He took a brief glance at the bourbon, then back at the approaching figure. No amount of faith was going to convince him that any of this was real or even possible – certainly he was still passed out somewhere as a result of last night’s prodigious imbibing.

“Yes, Christopher – and regardless of your level of faith at the moment, this IS absolutely possible. After all, as you so often state at the end of your sermons, all things are truly possible with our God.”

The voice paused briefly, the figure outline still approaching slowly.

“Now REAL, that is another question – one man’s reality is often another’s fantasy.”

“So then what exactly is going on here? Am I dreaming, or just losing my mind?” cried the pastor, his voice shaking.

The voice laughed softly. “Aren’t they kind of the same thing?  Dreaming, along with thinking, praying, and reflecting – all also ways you can temporarily ‘lose your mind’; at least the conscious part. Unspoken communication with our Lord can take many forms – including the times you’re not even intentionally speaking to Him.”

“I don’t get it,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“Well, you’ve often professed that God is within us all.  Is that not true?”

Christopher snapped, “Fine, so you’re saying they’re all different ways for God to speak to me. Doesn’t exactly answer the question I asked. But if you don’t want to answer that, maybe you can explain how I still have no idea why our oh-so-wonderful Creator took you away from me!”

“Oh silly, you already know that – you did tell the congregation about the loss of their ‘beloved choir leader, your wife Margaret’. Remember?” the voice chided.

“Oh c’mon, Maggie – 'God needed someone with her beautiful soul to assist Him with his work in heaven' – that’s the kind of thing we tell ourselves to try to feel better about loss! You don’t actually think I believed that line of crap, do you?”

The voice was silent a moment before replying, “Well, I guess we’re back to that tricky reality issue, aren’t we?”

Appearances...

Sure, she was attractive enough in a plain, conservative sort of manner. But no one would have guessed what the staid, gray pantsuit was hiding as she strolled into the office. It was even less likely that that someone would have realized that her hair wasn't tousled by the wind during her lunch break...

Rivals

"This is why we are here, men!" the old coach barked, pounding his fist into his palm for emphasis.

"This is the reason we bust our asses every day. It's why you run twice as hard and practice twice as long, and why I yell twice as loud!"

He held up the daily sports page, pointing a battered, crooked finger at the headline.

"To finally defeat that damned team..."

Nose Tackle

The mud caked on the bottom of his cleats made his feet feel heavy as he walked from the huddle to the line of scrimmage and took a knee, waiting for the Blue offense to break huddle.  His rain-soaked jersey clung to him as if it were painted on, and his teeth chattered against his mouthguard as a stiff wind battered the young lineman.  Cold was an understatement - until the offense approached the line.  As he took his three-point stance, he shot a steely gaze at the opposing center and emotion boiled over, warming him to the core.  The ball was snapped; he let out a fierce roar and attacked the Blue line as if trying to defeat the source of the cold itself......