writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 


This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.

cc&d v203

get this writing in the collection book weathered
Download (PDF file of the full book, in color): $4.95
paperback (5.5" x 8.5") w/ b&w interior pages: $18.95
hardcover (6" x 9") w/ b&w interior pages: $29.95
paperback (6" x 9" perfect-bound book) w/ color interior pages, for 89.95
hardcover (6" x 9") w/ color interior pages, for $74.95
 Weathered
Godmother

Joan Steffens

    Whe I was a child, God loomed before me as a huge, omnivorous, omnipresent Being, ready at any given moment to swoop down upon me, gobble me alive, and spit me into the fires of hell. He possessed a gigantic, all-seeing eye that missed seeing absolutely nothing I ever did, however secret it may have been.
    There existed Satan, too, of course, but about him I worried very little. God was the one to fear. It was He who was all-powerful, all-wise, and all-seeing. The devil, who paled by comparison, was so inconsequential as to be almost non-existent. It was God, after all, who made the decision as to who would and would not be thrown into the fiery pit. I used to wonder what the Devil did with all his free time.
    I loved God dearly, of course. Who could afford not to! When I was very small, I was so completely loyal to God that I proclaimed to a friend one day that there was NOT and had NEVER been a devil! My friend vehemently denied this allegation and insisted that there was indeed a devil and that he lived underneath the very ground on which we stood. I, who happened to be holding a stick at the time, shouted that indeed there was NOT a devil, and to prove it I gouged a hole in the ground with my stick. My friend peered fearfully at the hole and fled. I turned to leave also, but as an afterthought, I turned back and covered the hole over with dirt. I was ever a cautious child.
    As I grew older I loved God more and liked Him less. He interfered with my life dreadfully and made my teenage years a misery. One day while in the midst of a terrible argument with God, I made a most curious discovery. God looked a lot like my mother. Upon closer observation, I found that He was definitely, and without a doubt, the spitting image of her. I wondered why I had never noticed it before. I was quite shocked and sat down to think things over.
    The situation was perplexing and quite distressing. I found I could not possibly discuss this with my mother, for by now she looked exactly like God. She was overbearing, overly critical, found me quite sinful, and by no means could she see a place for me in the Kingdom of Heaven.
    I did not react well to this state of affairs. I had borne for years the over-powering presence of God, and I had managed fairly well to live with my mother’s mind-stifling religion. But there was no way I could cope with both at the same time.
    I puzzled as to the course of action I should take. Should I try to separate God and my mother? Alas, it was impossible, for by now they looked so much alike I could no longer tell them apart. Could I continue to live with them in our not-so-peaceful abode? Alack! I could not. It was too painful for all three of us.
    And so we went our separate ways. I, out into the wide wonderful world, to live in stupendous, unbelievable freedom. And they. God and my mother? Why, they lived happily ever after. And that, after all, is the way all good stories should end.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...