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On a Wednesday Afternoon.

originally published Jan. 14, 2015

I was recently gifted with a writing prompt from The Writing Fairy. I was to ‘write a letter from God to me’. Not wanting to decline a gift from a fairy, here is what happened:

Dear. Ann.

The words reverberated in my head like the footfalls of a staggering cave troll. Nothing in my kitchen, from the china plates stacked in the sink to the crystal snowflake dangling in the window, moved. The cat’s grey-ticked ear twitched, but he didn’t rouse from his afternoon slumber.


Not. Really. I always sound this way.

“Technically, you aren’t making any sound.” I said it out loud – making some kind of intuitive reality check. “Sound requires the vibration of air molecules and I don’t see any evidence of that.”

So glad you chose to be a scientist. It’s what we had hoped for.

As though someone had pinched my cheek, doting grandma-style, my right upper lip curled.

Seriously, did whoever-exactly-this-was know I wasn’t a practicing scientist?

We are omniscient. Of course we know.

“Do you have to read my thoughts?”

Part of the job description. What do you mean not a practicing scientist?

All knowing? Ha!

In the old days, that kind of scepticism would get you smote with plague. Err, plagued with lightening. Hurrum. Never was very good with discipline.

“Did you contact me for a specific reason?” I felt okay, so it didn’t seem like meet-your-maker time. Outside, the sun was shining and I could see a school bus letting kids off at the corner, which happened most days around this time. Life continued.

Ah, yes. I’m sending the annual holiday letter around.

“Bit late, isn’t it?”

We try to be inclusive and take the average of all the holiday observances. Gives us a bit of extra time too. Something that sounded like a booming chortle followed. It warmed the inside of my eyelids.

“I don’t remember this from any previous year.”

New marketing plan. We are trying to be more accessible with frequent communications, in formats that are familiar to you. It seems that our former methods are not getting our message across.

I rolled my eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to not think of what I really thought of that. “Okay, let’s hear it.”


“Your letter. What’s the trinity been up to this past year?” The cat raised his head, yawned and rested his chin on a front paw. “Been on any exotic vacations? Won little league tournaments? Grew roses?”

Yes. I particularly like growing roses. Green ones.


But that’s not what I’m here to tell you.

“I’m sure you have more important things to deal with.” I said, guilty about making light of this visit. Considering that I thought I was being clever, I wasn’t able to steer the conversation. Then a thought hit me like a wall of frigid slush sprayed by a passing bus in February. “I’m not pregnant, am I?”

Wrong department. The angels handle that.

Phew. “Is it someone else? My yoga instructor? I can’t believe how positive she is about everything.”

I promised my son not to make him come to earth again. As he says ‘Been there. Done that.’ The non-existent voice changed, took on a more… down to earth tone. Did I really think that? No, I wasn’t in control.

Yes, yes you are. We created you, each of you. Gave you the tools and environment you need to succeed. We don’t want to watch every one of you, all the time.

That would be creepy.

Something that felt like supreme giggling made my nose tingle. I decided to try arching my eyebrows in disbelief, to see how perceptive the divine presence was.

The tingling stopped.

We don’t take ourselves too seriously.

This I share with you.


Stop fretting the little stuff.

We expect you to do good, And You will.

Fear not. You will find peace. All of you together.

Then, as clearly as you know the power has gone out, because of the absence of noise, I knew He was gone.

The hanging crystal in the window rotated slightly, catching the sun, and glinted through the colour spectrum.

As though from a great distance, I heard: MARKETING.