He stared out over the fresh landscape – lush hills nestled underneath several thick spreads of powerful trees. Jim reflected for a moment upon the stunning resemblance of the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows of the autumn leaves to the outstanding wash of color emanating from the virgin sun, which was currently on a slow descent up from the hills.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

Jim looked over and found God sitting next to him on the swing.

“Oh, hello,” said Jim. “How long have You been there?”

“Rather a broad question,” replied God.

“Good point.” Jim continued staring into the landscape, lost in the beauty.

“That was my doing, you know,” God interjected into the silence, gesturing out towards the scene.

“Well done.”

There was an awkward pause. God coughed.

“Ermm,” He stumbled, “Don’t you think you ought to thank me, or something?”

“Would it make You feel good about Yourself?” inquired Jim, not breaking his concentration on the setting.

“Well, that’s not the point, no. It’s just that that’s what you’re supposed to do when you see something I’ve made that you like,” responded God.

“And why is that?” Jim watched a flock of geese trumpet their way into the air from a pond about two miles away.

“So that I’ll favor you, of course!”

“Why would that matter? Aren’t we all Your children?” he said, a bit apathetically (God felt).

“Of course you are, but that’s beyond the point,” the King of the Universe defended.

“So You’re implying that if we all compete against one another for Your favor, You’ll care for us more? The more we brown-nose, the better our seat is once we get upstairs? No offense, Majesty, but that doesn’t sound like the philosophies of a caring parent. Isn’t the point of parenting teaching your child to grow, rather than teaching it to be thankful? If that’s not the case, it seems like the human race should have given up on procreation a long time ago and just settled down with dogs.”

“Look, there’s a judgment system. If you do well, you land in Heaven. You don't, it's Hell. It’s as simple as that,” said God.

“But that’s not so simple. How can You expect people to live their lives healthily if they’re spending so much time preparing for the next stage?” asked Jim. He started lightly rocking the swing back and forth.

“There has to be a method for Me to decide who goes to Heaven and who goes to Hell – I can’t simply know a person off the bat once they’re gone.”

“Which is why I come to this conclusion; there is no such thing.”

“As what?”

“Heaven, Hell, You.”

“How do you figure?” God questioned.

“I’ve been married to Carly for twelve years, and every single morning I wake up, I look at her, tranquilly sleeping, and think to myself, ‘Holy crap, Jim, how in the blue hell did you ever land a woman as wonderful as this?’ And then I look around at our house – two stories, cozy, in good shape, in the middle of an astounding countryside, filled with memories of dinner parties, love making, board games, placid nights by the fire, and foot massages, and I cannot believe my luck, yet again. Then I think of my job and the genuine pleasure I get from it.

THIS is Heaven, God. I’m completely content. I have everything in this World that I’ve ever needed, and I didn’t have to die to get there. I found some of it. I made some of it. I’ve sacrificed for it, but I have it now.

Heaven has nothing to do with angels and pearly gates. It has to do with that last M&M in the bag. It has to do with the warmth of my wife’s cheek. It has to do with scratching my dog’s belly and watching her legs wiggle in the air in gratification. Heaven is inside of everyone, and most specifically, it’s inside of LIVING, not in preparation for what comes afterwards.

I look out from my porch and I see a brand new day arising. I honestly don’t care who made it…I just care that it’s here and I get to enjoy it. If I ever try making my own version of a sunrise, I’ll look for the True Creator, but frankly, God, I don’t know You from an especially arrogant voice from my subconscious.”

“Surely you can’t believe all of that,” gasped God.

“Oh?”

“Of course you can’t. I obviously exist!”

Jim smirked, his vision still absorbed into the vast landscape. “Prove it.”

The soft autumn wind wisped by again, and geese squawked chaotically as they got a little closer towards the house, but apart from that, there was quiet.

Finally turning his gaze from the incredible scenery, Jim looked next to him. God had left.

Oh well, thought Jim. I’m going to go make Carly and I some breakfast while she’s still asleep. I’ll make enough for three so that should God decide to come back, He can have some, too.

Jim smiled confidently as he slipped back into the quiet house.