She had never, in the past, been confident in the existence of God. She had prayed, but it was in a casual, hopeful way, the way some people will have a cigarette on social occasions. She would send up a quick prayer, off-the-cuff, before job interviews or dates, hoping that whatever it was up there, it was on her side.
But there is something about the middle of the night that makes the barriers to belief a bit more porous, or at least, it did for her. For that brief time, with the cold of the bathroom tiles biting into her knees, forehead pressed against the rim of the bathtub, she believed, totally and completely. Perhaps it was desperation, more than the lateness of the hour. Or perhaps it is easier to believe in something greater than yourself when you are on the brink of losing everything.
Either way, she believed.
Tears ran down her face and she pulled herself up onto her knees.
“Please God,” she cried, out loud for the first time in her life. “Help me! Tell me what to do…. What should I do?”
The silence was complete. It was, after all, three in the morning.
She listened to the stillness for a few moments, hiccupping and wiping away messy tears, before the silence was broken by a voice.
“Go to sleep, Stupid!”
It was not God. It was, in fact, Mrs. Fitzsimmons from next door, rudely awakened from her own sleep by her neighbor’s rather boisterous tears.
She knew it was not God – not by a long shot. But she shrugged anyway, pulling herself up off the cold bathroom floor.
Good advice, she reckoned, is good advice, no matter where it comes from.
Sometimes, God’s a little busy. Sometimes, Mrs. Fitzsimmons will do.
Writing Prompt:
drabble (100 words) / humor / faith
(exceeded wordcount a bit…)
Writing Prompt Courtesy of:
Just a little lit 