Heaven Is A Deal by Michael Gerber

“Supposedly by a kid,” Hayden said. “His dad really wrote it. It sounds totally bogus. Everybody walks around in robes and has wings.”

“They could!” I said. “You don’t know!”

Hayden dished out her patented “not-likely” frown. “Come on, Dad.”

Griselda tried to avoid the coming storm. “Time for you to go to school.”

As Hayden slung on her backpack, I gave her a piece of my mind. “No, no, don’t send her to school!” I said. “She’s already so smart, she doesn’t need school! She already knows more about Heaven than someone who’s actually been there!”

“Not listening…”

“…Not to mention her dad, who’s a pastor!”

“With a ‘b’!” The front door slammed. Teenagers! You can’t know until you have one, how much the stereotype is true.

As Griselda did the breakfast dishes, she said, “You know the boy didn’t actually die. That got me thinking…”

“I am interested in your thoughts,” I declared, “with the understanding that you are the sole author of them, and responsibility for any activities that might arise from said thoughts will be placed squarely on your shoulders for purposes of adjudication, with anyone also involved being considered ‘unwitting’ and held harmless under the laws of the State of Iowa.”

“I have 24 children between the ages of three and five,” Griselda said. “Twenty-four of them. With busy parents, struggling to make ends meet. Nobody would notice if we…borrowed one for a bit.”

“You’re saying, we kidnap one of your preschoolers?”

“You make it sound so unchristian,” Griselda said. “Think about it. It’s almost like God is telling us to do this. Me a teacher, you a pastor, us needing money, this book coming along to show us the way…Maybe we’d be rejecting the Lord by not doing it?

It’s like, Jesus is saying, ‘Here’s a bat and gloves and a ball and a field and a beautiful, sunny day.’ Don’t you think he wants us to play baseball?”

“I don’t follow.” I’m not good with metaphors.

“I think God wants us to do this.” Griselda turned off the water, then did all the rituals females do before they leave the house: checked her hair, straightened her outfit, touched up her lipstick.

“How will you get a kid?” I asked.

“Leave that to me,” she said. “How will we have him meet Jesus?”

“I’ll pray on it.”

“Fine. Be at the school at 2:00,” she said, then leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I won’t deny, we’ve had our share of rough patches as a couple, and as I watched her pink Cherokee trundle out of the cul-de-sac, I felt closer to her than I had in years. Children really do bring a couple closer together. Even other people’s children.