At Least They're Committed

Smoothing out the bright yellow comforter over the bed, the thought struck me like a bullet to the head, “You’re missing the question,” it said. “Who is God?” I stood then, puzzled, although I well understood what it meant. For more than 15 years I’ve regaled and amused people with my story about being fired from a small New Mexico daily because “God” told the publisher I was evil. And while I’ve chuckled — after years of therapy — and tsked at God for saying such a thing, the truth is, of course, it was not God who told the publisher I was evil.  But someone did. The publisher was a gullible man, obsessed with evil vs. good. (He had nixed horoscopes at the paper because he deemed them satanic and was quite certain brass angels guarded his house.) Yes, I have no doubt he woke up one morning with the startling and frightening realization that I was evil, but it was by no means a vision from God, rather an insidious, deliberate and deceptive assault by someone or someones he trusted in our midst. A whisper here, a cutting remark there, a long sigh to draw attention to something that was accepted or even encouraged a day before. Until I was making the bed yesterday (I suppose I should do housework more often, I have the most interesting epiphanies in that dead-mind time), I hadn’t really considered the question: Who is God?

I know who God is. I’ve known all along. He is two people: One, my editor who obsessed over me, often calling me five times a night, leaving angry messages on my answering machine if I didn’t pick up, pounding on the desk and reminding me, ‘I’m your only friend, I’m your only friend.’ He had called a friend after my firing, crying, “I loved her! How could she do this?” (I hadn’t done anything. The trumped-up ‘charges’ they came up with don’t even exist), and this was the same friend he’d weeks before whined to because I didn’t care about him enough. She’d said, “Oh, you know she adores you!” (She lied.) The other was a woman who had started as a mentor to me, then turned when she realized I was every bit as talented as she (and a much better feature writer) and I drew more attention. It’s too bad. She’d lost a lot of weight and looked really good, but you can’t account for personality, or the lack thereof. I did like the way she pondered, so I’ve stolen that trait from her.

Ah, my ‘Gods.’ Sad, jealous, insecure people preying on the mind of a lost, gullible man too overwhelmed to notice their deception. I call it the Rohan Phenomenon: “Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe.” I’d picked up on their subtle mind manipulation, I’d watched the thought reform and the coercive persuasion. I thought good would win out. In the end God did. So much to think about; maybe I shouldn’t do housework after all. I know who God is.