I overheard the somewhat-shaken and wonder-struck process-server describing the events of the day to a Lancaster County deputy, apparently a friend, over coffee at the Crescent Moon Coffee Shop in Lincoln, where I was having coffee with my daughter and two granddaughters. I’m sure I didn’t hear the whole conversation, but here is how I recall what the Douglas County process-serving deputy said: “There was this e-mail message on my computer that morning at the office, see.” he said. “And I thought it was a joke. But I had some business in Lincoln that morning, so I drove south on US 77, and there was the place, just north of Beatrice. I’ve been down that road a hundred times, and I never noticed it before. I walked in, and there wasn’t a soul around except for God. GOD ALMIGHTY! I didn’t know what to do, but God said he would accept the notice. He even signed for it – initialed the receipt JWH. I’ll tell you what. Now that I know God exists for sure and certain, I’m going to watch what I do, and advise you to do the same. And I’m not crazy!”

Instead of taking my usual route back to Hays, Kansas the next morning, I drove south on US Highway 77. On the hill north of Beatrice, I found the Heavenly Rest Home. There were no cars in the well-surfaced parking lot. The white lines marking the parking slots had no tire tracks. The lawn was attractive without appearing to be severely manicured. The grass was green, even though the season was still late winter. The buildings were very white, and they seemed to shimmer until I blinked a couple of times. No one was at the desk in the spacious lobby. What seemed to be an administration office was neat and well-appointed, but there were no files in the pigeonholes, no papers on the desks, and nothing in the “IN” and “OUT” boxes. At the entrance to a long, well-waxed hallway, there was a room directory. The directory disclosed only one occupant – GOD, Room 123.

The door to Room 123 was open. God was sitting at the window, looking out at a number of squirrels, cottontails, and birds, all staring raptly at the window. I started to knock, but God, without turning, invited me to enter. I started to introduce myself, but God waved a hand as though to say, “I know.” God was wearing a freshly-ironed white robe. In the closet were six others. The bed was crisply-made, with freshly-ironed sheets and hospital (of course) corners. It was 7:30 a.m. Making small talk, I said, “I don’t think you sleep much. Housekeeping couldn’t have come around this early.” God answered, “Only every seventh day, and this is only Wednesday.” I gathered God was joking, but I was clearly out of my depth.

I asked if I might have a few moments. God replied, “Time is important to you, but not to Me. Please sit down.” After I was seated, God asked, “Why are you here?” I began to stammer. God waved a hand and said, “I know the answer to that better than you do. I won’t tell you why you are here in all the important ways – your mission, who depends upon you, the effect of your life upon all of Creation that will reverberate through eternity. Those things you must discover for yourself. The least important but most immediate reason that you are in this place at this moment, is that you are curious as to why I am here.” I nodded.

About this time I became aware that I was not speaking out loud at all, and neither was God.

God continued, “Several of your centuries (remember, time means nothing to Me) after the death of my prophet Jesus Bar Joseph, it appeared that the human religion associated with Jesus, Christianity, had become collectively convinced that its anthology of teachings, folk wisdom, tribal histories, prophetic writings, moral and ethical teachings, dietary and purity regulations, poetry, mysterious coded communications (the meanings of which, of course I know, but which – take it from me, God – are not pertinent to your present era), and pastoral letters was My Inerrant and Undisputed Word. Inasmuch as this anthology was declared as a finished product – in effect, My Final Word On Everything – I took it seriously. This Bible, as it was called, presented Me as positively schizoid. In some cases, it had me as an angry, vindictive, even cruel, deity. It had me favoring one tribe of humans over all others, even directing the favored group to slaughter residents of other groups who occupied coveted territory – combatants, non-combatants, and even animals. In other parts of this anthology, I was presented, more as I know Myself, as like a loving mother – merciful, healing, forgiving. Well, God is God. I am I. Contrary to the pronouncements of human religions, only God can know, absolutely, the Mind of God. I reveal Myself, of course, but humankind being humankind, My revelations are inevitably distorted. I did begin to wonder, however, if I were periodically experiencing some sort of psychotic episodes in which I acted or spoke out of character. So, I sequestered myself here at Heavenly Rest with appropriate recording equipment, to await such an episode.”

“Do you mean,” I asked, “that You and Heavenly Rest have been here since before there was a Nebraska or a Lincoln or a Beatrice?”

“I told you that time means nothing to me. And I and Heavenly Rest are ‘here’ only because I allowed Deputy Lawrence the process-server and you to find Us.”

“Why me, God?”

“My reasons are My reasons. You want to ask why there are no administrators here. No one can possess authority over God. Some people think I can be captured by some passage in the Bible, taken out of context, which seems to commit me to a certain action in response to a prescribed action or ritual, thus forcing me to do what they require. But I digress. You want to ask why there are no psychiatrists, psychologists or social workers. I told you that only God can know, absolutely, the Mind of God, though you may rely upon My good will toward My Creation at large – the ‘Big Picture’ if you will. You want to ask how I can govern the universe from Heavenly Rest. I can do anything, from anywhere.”

God glanced at the television set on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. It clicked on and conveyed the image and voice of Richard Nixon directing the erasure of 18 minutes of recording tape. The scene then changed and, in time-lapse mode, displayed the evolution of life on Earth from single-celled creatures to advanced intelligent life such as porpoises and bi-pedal tool-users. The set clicked off. “Would you like to see some of your misdeeds as a twelve-year-old?” I declined.

“God, may I ask whether, in your stay at Heavenly Rest, You have come to any conclusions regarding the Nature of God and the Mind of God? I mean, have you identified any psychotic episodes?”

“My joke. Some people think God has no sense of humor. I’m quite sane, regardless of what some people say I do, or say, or require. You have always wanted to talk to Me, so I arranged for you to do so. Over the brief existence of humankind on Planet Earth, I have arranged other meetings. This is Revelation. I reveal Myself, ordinarily, to individuals – Cecil B. DeMille epics, not so often. Off you go. God Bless!”

As I left, Heavenly Rest, the white buildings shimmered and disappeared. I remembered that I had failed to ask if God intended to appear for his day in Douglas County District Court. Nor had I inquired about the problems of harm, pain, suffering, death, deprivation, oppression, starvation, disease, war, injustice, hate, and evil in the world. Oh well, one can’t remember everything.