(But sometimes he just has to settle for me.)
There lived in a small village a woman of moderate age, who spent her days toiling in the fields of the “rat race” to earn enough to put food in her children’s mouths and keep a roof over their heads. Mir was her name, and one day God looked upon her and chose her as an instrument with which to beautify the land. Verily, he spoke unto her.
God: Mir, spring has come. Soon, it will be summer.
Mir: Yes, my Lord. I have a calendar. And eyes.
God: And an attitude.
Mir: Sorry. Did you need something?
God: I say unto you: it is time to purchase your annuals. Till the land, and plant them firm, and try to remember to water them. Do this in the glory of my name.
Mir: Uhhhhh… okay.
Mir: I mean, sure. Excellent idea.
Mir: Oh, did you mean NOW? It’s nearly midnight.
God: I trust you will know when the time is right. Be ready to act when the time has come.
Mir: Cool. No problem.
The days turned into weeks, and still Mir had not fulfilled her promise to the Lord to cultivate the land as He had required of her. She was not willfully disobedient, yet somehow the many demands of her life seemed to occupy all the time she had. The Lord was displeased and approached Mir once again.
God: The land is yet barren.
Mir: Wh–? Geez, you scared me. Hi.
God: Do not “Hi” the Lord your God! Where are my flowers?
Mir: I didn’t want to, uh, risk a late frost.
God: It is June. Start planting.
Mir: Yes, my Lord. I shall.
God: Tomorrow. Pinky swear.
Mir: I will buy the flowers tomorrow.
Mir: … pinky swear.
God: My will be done.
Mir: Do you, uh, actually HAVE pinkies?
God: BUY THE FLOWERS.
Mir: Okay, okay.
True to her oath unto the Lord, Mir journeyed forth the very next day to gather unto herself an abundance of annuals in a rainbow of colors. In addition to these she also collected sacks of compost and bark mulch, and they too were very
heavy good. All had been made ready, but once again, life intervened; and the bounty remained untouched outside the doorway of Mir’s domicile.
Mir: I’m going to RIGHT NOW! I SWEAR!
God: See how the impatiens wither on their stems! Behold how the vinca are eaten by mysterious bugs in the night! You have to PLANT THEM IN THE GROUND and WATER them and DUST them with that bug stuff!
Mir: Yes! You’re right! And I am, right now, getting into my gardening clothes!
God: It is already July, and great is my sadness. How can the blooms burst forth and multiply when they have been so long constrained?
Mir: I have some MiracleGro…?
God: Even now I am gathering the clouds above for a storm that will rain upon the earth. If you hurry, perhaps you can finish your work before the heavens display my wrath.
Mir: Yes, my Lord.
Mir’s hands sank into the earth. She toiled long and hard; weeding, cultivating the land and mixing in the compost, spacing and digging and settling the small plants in their spots. At long last–exhausted, filthy, and dripping with sweat–a protective layer of bark mulch was spread over each tiny bloom and the surrounding land. God surveyed her work and was indeed pleased. Mir gathered up the tools of her labors and staggered inside to cleanse herself of the filth that now coated her.
God: Behold, now my glory shall shine across the land.
Mir: Do you mind? I’m trying to shower, here.
God: I am all-seeing and all-knowing.
Mir: Yeah, I know. It’s still a little weird.
God: You’ve got a little compost under that nail, still.
God: You have complied with my commands, finally. I am pleased.
Mir: Glad I could help. Is it raining now?
God: No, I changed my mind about the rain.
Mir: You said it was going to rain! I didn’t water the flowers!
God: You said you were going to plant those flowers last month. Payback’s a bitch.
Mir: Fair enough.
Mir: I’m GOING. I just have to put some clothes on first.
God: And don’t forget–
Mir: –the bug dust stuff, I know. Thanks.
God: My will be done.
Mir: Yeah, yeah. Maybe your will could go water while I have some ice cream.
Mir: I just–
God: –go water now.