You Don't Look Sick! by Steven S. Overman & Steven S. Overman

Author:Steven S. Overman & Steven S. Overman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Springer Publishing Company
Published: 2012-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

A Gift of Grace

My grandfather thought I wasn’t looking when he placed his palm over the domino tile, slowly slid it off the table and slipped it into his vest pocket. Later in the game, I saw him sneak the domino back onto the table and play it. On Sunday mornings, my grandfather quit playing dominoes for a day, slicked back his thin, gray hair, and went to his small Southern Baptist church. He put on his black robe, climbed into the pulpit and preached to a meager congregation about the wages of sin.

His long bony fingers clutched the sides of the scarred pulpit and he wagged his crooked, arthritic finger at his congregants. “Almighty God looks down from on high on all you sinners! Every one a’ you deserves to be cast into the pit of hell to burn for all eternity! Y’all are teeterin’ on the precipice, your sins heavy as an anvil on your back, pressing you down, down, down to the edge of the inferno. But praise be to the merciful God!”

My grandfather thrust his arm out over the podium and raised the volume a notch, “‘Just before the weight a’ your sins has pushed you into the flames, He has plucked you back!” He swiped at the air, pinched his thumb and forefinger together and made a sour face, as if holding a dirty, flea-bitten cat by the neck. “God is holding onta’ ya’ above the very pit of hell! But, sinners, there is an end to His mercy! And on that day, Almighty God will let you go, and you will plummet into the fire to burn, burn, burn! Repent! Repent now! The end is nigh!” He flung his arm over his head, palm open, empty-handed once again.

The congregation leaned forward, looked down as if to see that empty pit then looked back up at my grandfather, shaking their heads. “Amen, brother. Praise the Lord. But for the Grace of God, there go I.”

I remember sitting in the front row family pew when I was too little for my feet to touch the floor, swinging my patent leather Mary Jane’s back and forth as I listened to my grandfather preach. I gazed up at him doubtfully. First of all, I knew this man was a cheat at dominoes and therefore should not be trusted in any way whatsoever. Second, the kind-faced God I believed in wore a flowing white robe and sat on a big, golden throne. When I was sad or hurt, I imagined crawling into his lap for a cuddle. My God would never despise me, or fling me into the fiery pit. That was just plain silly.

I liked my father’s vision of God better than my grandfather’s. Daddy was a cheerful North Dakota Episcopalian and lived his life with more of a “peace that passeth understanding.” His idea of God was vast, beyond our simple human ability to comprehend, so he didn’t fret over it. However, he viewed the rules laid down for us as reasonable and straightforward.

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