This morning when I woke up I was still fat. My teeth are still slightly crooked.

I always wanted more from life but found that I was stuck with myself. If turning thirty hurt, how much more will forty. I need to be young again, and handsome; to look as good as my cologne suggests.

Thirty and thirty-three are significant numbers. Thirty is when you start to take the years seriously, thirty-three is when think about dying young like Jesus.

We take stock and are dissatisfied.

I have completed Forty Days of Purpose; now I wait for miracles to flutter in through the window, they come to the faithful, God knows it. They can come at any time, but I suspect they will come at the last second just to be dramatic. And there is still time.

Saturday morning.
Sleep in.
Think.

Saturday morning is my day to sleep in. I don’t have to work and church isn’t until tomorrow. As I lay here my soul goes on adventures, I think about the meaning of eternity, happiness, wholeness, entropy. Is there a complete answer? When the priorities of my life line up with God’s priorities, there will be harmony and blessing in the universe. The planets will line up. They will, I can feel it. (I roll onto my side) I wonder what it will be like to be normal, to be happy. (Only Jesus can straighten and whiten a man’s teeth.) It’s my turn now.

Black Coffee
All I want is a little creamandsugar, if I have to drink bitter water I might as well enjoy it. (My miracles must be perched on a wire somewhere along the way, but still coming.) When my heart is finally right will the planets jolt into their new places, or slowly grind into position?

Interesting.

I don’t want this to be like those other failed weightlossprograms. If I don’t win this time then I never will. I’ll be a size forty-two until I die of heart disease. Or stroke. But I know this book is the one!

New book: age-defying cream, breath freshener, muscle toner, cancer-free tan, keys to a sports car, answers to the exams, doe lure, winning lottery ticket, high ground, gold.

How can a thousand Protestants be wrong?

Everyone at church is so excited about this. So much can be done in forty days. So much can be done in a week. I just know this one isn’t going to end
up in that box in the back of the garage.

That box: unicycle, Journey albums, spice rack, jar of bent nails, wig, carpet samples.

I slept with an unsure confidence hoping that pastor and the congregation was right about this new revelation. I need a boost to my self esteem. This is the time, I can feel it. (Roll planets, roll into the right relationship so my soul will be free. Book wills it.)

The Wheels in the Sky
Over the course of the week I had my quiet time in the garage after work. When I returned home each afternoon I made a pot of coffee, opened the garage door and unfolded my camping chair. I sat there with Journey quietly playing in the back ground while I contemplated my forty days of purpose. I also smoked. It helped me relax while waiting for my life to change for the better.

God knows who is having their devotions and who isn’t. Here I am Lord, waiting to see your hand.

I looked at “the box” in the back of the garage. I sipped some coffee. “Feed me” Box said, “Give me more.”

“No, this is different. Once my priorities are synchronized with Abba-father’s, then my life will be right. I just have to triangulate my thoughts with His, and then with this book. That will be the right relationship.” I responded.

Box sat there quietly staring at me. “Hmmm”, it said.

I turned to face the sky, watching the horizon for the signal. My cigarette was ashing so I flicked it at the lawn. Faith can see a red flare where others see only night sky.

“Beautiful” said the blind man.

Terra Cotta Warriors
Hundreds of us stood in the sanctuary like Emperor Qin’s warriors; faithful reproductions of centuries of literate disciples. We stand together singing hymns and reading Bible verses. During each service pastor has someone give their testimony of how the new book has adjusted their spine and removed all the bird crap from their spiritual windshield. I am still washing and waxing my car by hand, but looking forward to the day when Book will smile upon me, granting me special powers.

Lumina.
Night light.
Solar powered.
Photosynthetic.

I want to be a scented candle in a world of religious diapers. Book will save me from mediocrity, from having to exercise and diet…

Twenty-five million copies of this book were sold, where are they now? Are they decorating book shelves in pastor’s offices, or in free boxes at yard sales? Have they been sent to Africa with our cast-off clothing? Is this the new fruit cake that we are going to keep passing off on each other every Christmas?

Twenty-five million fruit cakes. Merry Christmas.

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