Heaven Is A Deal by Michael Gerber

1: DECENT PEOPLE

If I’d just seen that story the once, I wouldn’t have thought any more of it, and you wouldn’t be reading this book. But I kept running into that boy and his family, and the book his Dad wrote. It was everywhere—as if the Lord Himself wanted everyone to know about it.

I know this is rare in this day and age, but I don’t “consume” a lot of “media.” You already know how my wife and I feel about the internet, and even though we do have cable, the only dirty buttons on the channel-changer are for FOX and ESPN! We’re a one-bookshelf family. My mother always used to say, “They call it ‘the Good Book’ because all the other ones are worse,” and I guess I feel the same.  I’ve never once been tempted by an iPad, and if you gave me a Kindle, I’d probably try to start a fire with it!

But I will say that every morning before work, my wife Griselda and I read the paper together. Nothing fancy, just the USA Today—a simple paper, for decent people. We used to read the local rag out of Burnt Turtle two miles up the road, but that up and left years ago, shipped off to India with all the other jobs. Times are tough in Buffalo Nut; like a lot of people, I have to work a couple of jobs. In addition to my pastor duties, I’ve got an egg candling business. Griselda brings in a few dollars, too, teaching preschool at the Not Jewish Montessori school over in Crying Indian.

Every marriage has its rituals, and for Griselda and I, those moments with the paper are it. After Hayden scampers off to catch the school bus, I can read, and my wife can fight with the crossword.

Two days after we’d returned from Nine Forks, there was the headline, right at the top of the purple section, as if someone had put it there for me to read: “A boy’s view of heaven? Is it real?’”

“I heard about this kid,” I said through a mouthful of cold meatloaf. “He says he went to Heaven, met Jesus and John the Baptist, saw a couple of relatives…”

“None of mine, I’m sure.” Griselda was grumpy before the coffee kicked in, stabbing the crossword with her pencil; she could never solve it, but always enjoyed making it “die.” But what I said next definitely got my wife’s attention. “The publisher says they have 3.4 million books in print. It’s broken all kinds of records.”