Random stories

“How do you take your coffee?” I ask Him.

“Have you any goat’s blood?” He asked.

“….no. Closest thing I have is oat milk,” I said. “And sugar.”

“Oooh, yummy,” He said like a child. “Six sugars and a healthy splash of oat milk.”

We sat at my kitchen table in silence for what felt like an eternity—not my best tactic, this dude could wait me out. I spoke first.

“Well, this is awkward,” I said.

“I imagine it must be,” God replied.

“I—I figured you wouldn’t show up,” I said after a sip of coffee, black.

“You figured I didn’t exist,” He replied.

“Can you blame me?” I said.

“You need faith, my son,” He replied as he gulped his coffee. “Another,” he demanded.

I rose to refill his mug. It said ‘World’s Best Dad’ on it. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

“What amuses you, child?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, then thought better of lying to the dude as he sat in my kitchen. “It’s just, you’re drinking from a mug that says ‘World’s Best Dad’ and you claim to be a Heavenly Father, but it’s ironic because you are anything but the best dad.”

“I made you,” He said after some thought. “You would not be but for me. All of this that exists is by my hand. How can you not see my love?” He asked.

“You’re serious?” I laughed as I dumped the obscene amount of sugar into his coffee mug and returned to the table. “You think you’re a good father? You are an absentee father! You built us a house, turned on the gas stove, told us to make dinner, and you left for cigarettes. Then you have the gall to punish us when the house burns down? You’re negligent to the point of malice. No father on Earth would be considered anything but a deadbeat if they acted in the manner you do.”

“Is your free will not celebrated?” He asked. “Do you not enjoy your autonomy? Would you prefer I predestine all things? That I put your life upon a set of guide rails and allow for the script to run without a hitch? Where is the life in that? Would you really prefer that?”

“Why should it be one or the other?” I asked. “If the stories are to be believed, you used to walk among us, guide us, provide some evidence that you even exist. Hell, I know more about the origins of my ceramic coffee mug that says ‘Made in China’ than I do about you.”

It felt good, cathartic even, to speak with this guy face to face. Were it nearer to the right time of year, I’d say this was an adequate airing of grievances for the Festivus celebration.

“So you do not heed the Book?” He asked.

“The Book? You mean the Bible?” I asked. “If so, I guess I would turn the question around to you. Have *you* read that thing lately? Because, boy, is it awash with contradiction and some fucked up shit—pardon my French.”

“What do you mean?” He asked. “The primary message is to love thy neighbor. Shouldn’t that be sufficient guidance from an ‘absentee father’? I left instructions on how to live a good life. Do you not live by my words? Do you not know to treat others as you would want to be treated? Do you not practice servant leadership? Do you not embody my love for you each day?”

I laughed out loud. “Hold on, big guy,” I said. I rose and grabbed the pamphlets the old hags left when I shooed them off yesterday. I set them in front of God’s empty coffee mug. “Take a gander and you tell me if the message has landed.”

I grabbed his mug and mine and went to refill them. His head was down, reading the pamphlets with a look of focus, his brow furrowed and his face grew pale.

I sat back down at the table and slid him his coffee.

“This—I mean….how did they get all that?” He said in horror. “They’ve misunderstood me completely. Holy Moses!” He declared.

“I think maybe you’ve been gone too long, big guy,” I said as I sipped my coffee. “Father stays away that long and the kids are bound to get into some trouble.”

“It’s worse than I could have ever imagined,” He said. “The hate, the bigotry, the idolatry!”

“I mean, maybe the idolatry isn’t the worst part, but yeah those other things…” I said.

God rose and walked over to my cupboard and pulled something out.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“No, I found it,” He said as he returned to the table. He pulled out a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 23 that I definitely didn’t actually own before this—hell, that bottle was probably worth more than my car. He poured a healthy glug of the bourbon into his glass and offered the bottle to me.

“A glass of Pappy 23? You don’t have to ask me twice!” I nearly shouted with excitement. “Although, why are we drinking?” I asked.

“I—no, we—have a lot of work to do, son,” He replied.

“Right, but like, in that case, shouldn’t we be sober?” I asked.

“You think I made any of this while sober?”

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r/InMyLife42Archive

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Submitted by IML_42 on Mon, Mar 20, 2023 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

"God can come have coffee with me if he's really interested." You said, shutting the door on some irritating guys with pamphlets. The very next day, God taps lightly on your door, to have a coffee.