Oh. God.
My god is not a jealous god.
You have to pay attention to someone and their actions to get properly jealous of them, and I don’t see that happening.
I pray to Him, and send Him good tidings, but I always get the feeling I’m joggling Daddy’s elbow while Daddy is trying to fill an inside straight and just go away for right now, OK?
My god is the sort of god that unsettles the other gods and makes them edge away from Him on the heavenly terrace.
He is a whimsical god. A large fish once plummeted from the sky, missing me by inches in my own front yard. I am many miles inland and I do not live near a lake or river, or any convenient fish-hurling trebuchet I am aware of, so I assume it was a deific blessing. Or was intended to be, anyway. What it mostly was, was a big honking fish splattered across my driveway and the bottom half of my car.
I’m pretty sure the celestial choirs announcing the triumphant arrival of my god at any end-of-the-world scenario would be largely filled in with accordions, sad trombones, kazoos and the noise Pac Man made when he died.
Still, we have a good working arrangement. I leave Him alone, and He leaves me alone.
Notwithstanding the occasional fish.
