In the beginning, God managed it all. He made the light
and saw that it was good. He made the firmament and saw that
it, too, was good. He then made Adam and Eve, some parts of
which were good and other parts, well, not so good. They and
their descendents promised to be a problem.
For a very long time, God carried out His will flawlessly. He
was, after all, God. But it became more difficult as His
many followers became so self-absorbed they asked His assistance
for even the most minute triviality.
God do this. God do that. Pretty please, God.
Eventually he began to feel harried. Pestered.
Nagged. Even annoyed.
Finally, He'd had enough. An advisory board studied the
problem and made its recommendations, most notably to implement a
bureaucracy that would field the endless requests, prioritize
them, and provide God with a neatly typed, single-spaced, daily
To-Do list. He would start with the first prioritized list and get
to whatever He could. Whatever didn't get done wouldn't be
stressed over but instead archived for a slow day.
Slow days rarely happened, but the system seemed to work.
God could even rest on the seventh day. So He saw that it,
too, was good.
***
Sophie Brookenfeld just didn't know when to shut up. The
child who pointed out that The Emperor wore no clothes was by
comparison tongue-tied; Sophie would have also noted that the
Emperor was poorly endowed. Out of all the human beings who'd ever
spoken their unfiltered mind, she topped them all.
And so when she found herself before her Maker—the wounds still
fresh from losing a daughter to cancer—Sophie asked the question
so many others had pondered but been unable to ask in the presence
of God's majesty.
"Why didn't you answer my prayers?" she asked. "Why did
you make my little girl suffer?"
God had taken the form of a father figure with a long, white
beard and flowing robes. A condescending smile formed upon
His lips. "I work in mysterious ways."
Sophie blinked.
That was it? That couldn't be it.
"Then . . . explain them!" she demanded.
All the Heavenly hosts gasped. Throughout Heaven, the
angels, apostles, disciples, and prophets all held their breath.
It wasn't the question, nor the shrillness in Sophie's voice.
What had set the Heavenly hosts aflutter was Sophie's demand for
an answer.
God spread His hands wide. "You see, in my infinite
wisdom—"
Sophie slammed a fist into her palm. "We were told we'd
understand it better 'by and by.' Well now it's 'by and by'
and I want to understand it! Why could you answer my request for
an explanation but not my request to save my little girl?"
God frowned. "Answering this request was a high
priority."
"Saving my girl wasn't?"
God lifted his hands, palms up, in a gesture that asked what
she wanted him to do. From his robes, he pulled out an
almost endless sheet of paper.
"It says so right here."
Sophie looked at the list.
1: Give Sophie an explanation.
1: Let Jimmy hit the winning home run.
1: Make sure Cindy gets an A on her term paper.
The list went on and on.
"What is the number one for?" Sophie asked, perplexed.
"The priority." God looked pleased with Himself. "I
do all the ones first. Then if I have time, I get to the twos and
maybe the threes. It's so much better than the old days."
"But these are trivial!"
God shrugged. "Maybe you think so, but not Jimmy and
Cindy."
"So talking to me now is taking away from something else you
could be doing?"
"Of course. I am God and I am light, but even light has a
finite speed."
"But what about my daughter?"
"I must not have gotten to it."
"Must not have—" The Heavenly hosts drew in one great
collective breath, but Sophie didn't care. "This is crazy!
If these are high priorities, what do the low ones look like?"
God motioned behind him to where mounds of yellowed paper were
stacked, threatening to begin an avalanche.
"We're going to clean that out soon. It's a mess. A
fire hazard even." He grinned. "It wouldn't do to have
fire up here. A fire? Get it?"
Sophie strode to the corner and pulled out a sheet of paper at
random. It was yellowed with age and smelled of mould.
The date was 1941.
10: Stop Holocaust.
10: Topple Hitler.
10: Permanently discredit all Nazis.
Sophie's eyes widened. "What are the priority levels?"
"One to ten. Why?"
"And you start with the ones?"
"Of course. Priority One."
"Look at this!" Sophie's voice shook as she held the
tattered sheet of paper up to God. "This is a ten. You
didn't get around to this one. This one was 'Stop the Holocaust.'"
God stood frozen. Throughout Heaven, the bureaucracy's
lackeys and sycophants and incompetents grew pale and trembled.
"While you're giving me this explanation and making sure Jimmy
hits his home run and Cindy gets her A, the Priority Ten items are
left undone." Sophie pulled a newer sheet from the pile.
"Last year, fifteen million children died of hunger. AIDS
killed over two million people." Tears filled her eyes.
"And my little girl suffered so much . . . and died."
God looked dumbfounded. "I’ve been answering only the
most trivial of prayers?"
Sophie nodded.
"And nobody said anything?"
"You’re God," Sophie said. "It was Your will.
Beyond our comprehension. You work in mysterious ways."
God glared at all the Heavenly hosts, who shrank from Him.
After a very long time, even within the context of eternity, His
shoulders slumped and He suddenly looked very tired.
God closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Well I’ll
be."
