Heaven Is A Deal by Michael Gerber

I gave a half-smile; next thing she’ll be saying that God doesn’t make the holier team win. There’s a little streak of atheism in my wife; one of her grandparents was a Catholic.

“God’s always involved,” I said patiently. “God made you screw up because…you did something wrong, or you’re not a good enough person.”

“What if it’s you that was a bad person, did you ever think of that?”

“Then I would’ve had car trouble on the way over, or gotten stomach cramps or something,” I explained. “My part of the plan went perfectly. It must be you.” I patted her hand. “Everything is God’s will. Everything.”

She whipped her hand away. “Then it must be God’s will that you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” Griselda slammed the door to our bedroom, and locked it. I sprinted through the living room, out the door and into the yard, but just as I was getting to the patio, Griselda was sliding the door shut.

“Ephesians 5:23!” I yelled, trying the handle. “The husband is the head of the wife!”

“Ephesians this!” Griselda said through the glass, and topped it off with a very unchristian gesture. Well, what do you say to that? When you’re talking with someone, trying to teach them, and they won’t even recognize the word of God—that’s clearly Satan at work.

So I did what any kind, loving husband would do—I went around to all the neighbors, and asked them to pray for my wife. It wasn’t that late, but some of them must’ve called, because when I got back home, the front door was locked, too. So I slept in our Ford Explorer. Thank goodness I hadn’t humored Hayden’s silly theories by getting a Prius.

Speaking of Hayden, around 10:15 I saw her in the picture window, with a mean little smile on her face, so I started up the car. “God, it’s great to burn fuel for no reason!” I yelled over the revving V-8. “I can feel the Earth getting hotter!”

She gave me the same hand gesture her mom had, and flounced away.

“Must be that time of the month,” I said sourly, and looked in my glovebox for some jerky.

5: THE S.S. JESUS LOVES YOU

When I woke the next morning, the front door was open, which was a bit of a disappointment. I’d been looking forward to peeing on Griselda’s roses—which is, of course, what Jesus would’ve done. Don’t let anybody tell you Jesus is a wussy; God either. They kick ass and take names. They don’t want to, they love the world, but people make them do it. I know just how they feel.