I felt myself falling, but it was like an elevator with a quick descent.  My legs remained below, and there was something solid beneath my feet.  Even so, my stomach’s current venture against my lungs reminded me there was no question about the drop.

“You’re kidding, God.  This is your solution?”

Tell me again, how doubting My ways has worked for you?

“Tell me, God.  Do you write after-school specials?  I mean seriously.  Do I go back as myself?  Or some animal?  Then I need to do something worthwhile?  Or will other people follow my fate if I don’t lead them down the straight and narrow path.”

And then it happened.

He went quiet.

I waited to see if he was pausing dramatically, but when the motion abruptly stopped and I found myself looking in the bathroom mirror, my reflection diverted my attention.  Was I talking to myself again?  Fantastic.  Watch for the looney-bin headline: Man With God Complex And Split Personality Saves Self, Humanity.  Except I’m not crazy.

Despite how the volume of pills in my hand may indicate otherwise.

“God?  You still there?”

My face in the mirror looked haggard, as sleep deprivation did me no favors.  I was depressed, sure, but show me a teenager who doesn’t deal with regular spats of depression and I’ll show you a dog who doesn’t want to lick his balls.  It’s natural.  That’s how teenagers are.

The doctor didn’t call these anti-depressants.  They were numbing agents.  How politically correct.  No low, no high, no nothing.  Talk about depressing.

I scooped the handful of pills back into the bottle and reclosed the lid.  Before returning it to the medicine cabinet, I checked the label for potential side effects.  Hallucinations?  Schizophrenia?  Not listed.  Maybe I was a pioneer for side effects?

Or maybe I’d come face to face with God.  The memory was too fresh – and vivid – to ignore. 

I returned to my bedroom, praying silently.  “God, I know I’m a screw-up, but you created me in your image, right?  What’s that say about you?  I don’t know.  I know I’m not supposed to test you or anything, but really, I’m going to need some kind of sign to let me know what just happened actually just happened.  I’m not asking for locusts or frogs raining – though that would be pretty cool.  Howcome you don’t do that kind of stuff anymore?  Seriously.  If you truly wanted people to believe in you, you wouldn’t have to do that much.  So... whatcha got for me, God?”

I flopped down over the arm of the futon where I sleep, lied on my back and laced my fingers behind my head.  “Amen?”

Across the room, all the goldfish in the tank floated in the aquarium, belly-up. 

It certainly wasn’t the sign I expected, and I couldn’t understand why God would will the fish to die, but what was it he said?  What was the point in doubting his ways?

So what came next?  Alone in the house, I felt no shame in yelling.  “Hello!  Okay, you got my attention!  Now what?”

Figures with my luck, my mission was to prevent fish deaths.  Yeah, that made sense.  Not.  I remembered back when I used to have a little more than little faith and dug my Bible out from beneath the futon.  I couldn’t pinpoint the date when I picked it up last, and dust testing would be overkill.  I brushed a small cloud off, remembering how the preacher said something about God speaking through his Word.  I got better reception ten minutes ago in person, but without that current connection this would have to do.

I looked up expectantly.  Shrugged.  “Well?”

Fine, God.  If you don’t want to answer, I’ll come back to you later.

I dropped the supposedly good book.  It landed squarely on its spine and opened to John.  My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.

Great.  Now I’m a sheep.