Mister God Is Poor

The bright morning sun streamed through the living room's window. It was a quiet early spring morning. Mom was peacefully asleep upstairs, worn from an exhaustive week of work. To pay the bills, to pay the rent. It was just mom and I, I never knew dad, but I knew of him, by the many pictures of him that adorned mom's scratched bureau in her small bedroom. At times I would peek into her doorway, catching sight of her with tears in her eyes, quietly worshipping his memory.

I was young and most innocent stretching on my tip toes to catch sight of the beautiful suburban morning outside the living room's window. In front, at the curb, where the tin garbage cans usually stood awaiting the loyal garbage man to ease their gouging pain, sat a man, a lonely man, in a tattered gray overcoat. His hair was long and dark, at his side, a stuffed green plastic bag. He slowly turned glancing back in my direction. Our eyes met in wonder. My first thought, I know that man! That's the man in the picture in mommy's bedroom. That's the man with his heart outside his body, that's God! Mommy always told me that man in the picture was God, there he is.

I raced to the top of the hardwood stairs covered with a thin film of dust. At the top, straight ahead, I leaped through the doorway of my bedroom. I bounced like a ball across my soft bed landing feet first on the other side. I quickly grabbed the loose handle of my closet door without effort it swung open. I eagerly pushed through all obstacles coming upon the jar containing my small fortune. Struggling to twist open its lid, my face red with exertion, it gave way surrendering its prize. I slowly reached in, pulling forward its contents. Three crumbled dollar bills with countless pennies, a fortune in my eyes, a lifetime of savings.

I quickly raced back down the steep staircase, I charged across the living room's red rug reaching the front door with my strongest tug it sprang open. There, sitting on the curb, sat God. All alone, he stared down to the cracked asphalt street. I slowly walked towards him in the hope to not startle him, as I approached I wondered what to say. He heard my approaching footsteps and slowly turned. Our eyes once again met, he looked just like the picture in mommy's bedroom. I quickly looked to see if maybe his heart was sticking out of his chest, he was wearing a heavy sweat shirt and I thought maybe it was hidden beneath it.

God had the saddest eyes I had ever seen, they seemed to look right through me. His smile was a warm one, it gave me a warm feeling, like mom's hug when she tucks me in at night. "Mister God, are you hungry?" I asked softly, "Cause if you are, I have some money for you so she can get some hamburgers or Big Macs at Mc Donald's. Mommy says you help a lot of people, so now I'm going to help you. I reached into my pocket and emptied every dollar and last penny into his outstretched hand. He again smiled accepting my gift with a slow nod of his head.

"Thank you! God, for helping my mom," I blurted, "For she has only me." Quickly running back through my front door I pushed it tightly closed behind me. I ran once again to the living room's window, stretching once again on my tip toes I hoped to catch a parting glimpse of God. Glancing to the curb, he was gone.

That night, mom was quoting from her bible as she so often did, she mentioned a few lines which surprised me. "For I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was alone and you stood by my side, now enter into the home of my father."

I never told mom exactly what occurred that day, but I remember how sad I felt hearing her quote these words. My only thought was just how sad I had felt for God. Poor! God I thought, he probably lost his home, I guess owning the world became too expensive? It became just too hard to pay his bills. My only hope was that someday God would return to my neighborhood, because if he did, I would introduce him to my mom. Mom would be so happy and let him stay as long as he wanted. God and mom would get married, and we would be one whole happy family again.

Contributing Story Teller  Daniel Jay Mc Shane katie163@verizon.net