The Wood of God

by PATRICK MICHALAK

The day had started off rather innocently. It seemed like just another day up at the cottage. But it wasn't just another day up at the cottage. There had been many other days up at the cottage, and to say that this was just another day up at the cottage would be laughable. No, this was definitely not just another day up at the cottage. This was a special day. This was the day that I found Jesus.

The morning had unfolded in an almost ritualistic manner: waking up at the crack of 11 for one of mom's world famous breakfasts, then down to the lake for some swimming, and finally, into town, to browse the old stores. This was our first trip up to the cottage in almost a year, and we were all excited to get away for a while. My family tried to get up to the cabin at least once a summer, ever since we had purchased the cottage at the police auction five years ago. (It's amazing how much the property value of a house will go down when a psycho killer use to live in the house.)

It was a cozy old town, full of small stores and mom and pop catering to the small flock of tourists who migrated to the lake each summer. It was made up of mostly older folk who had spent their entire lives their. Nothing really changed much in town, and that's the way everyone liked it. I think that's why the little wooden sign caught my eye.

We had come into town to browse the local crafts and specialty shops before we met for a bite to eat. I decided that I was way to cool to be shopping with my mom and little sister, so I decided to peruse the shops on my own.

As usual, nothing much really caught my attention. Aside this really old guy. Man, he was OLD. His face looked like some sort of a mask or something. It was weird. Anyway, besides that, everything seemed pretty uninteresting. I was cutting through one of the back alleys behind the boardwalk, when I spotted the small wooden sign crookedly hanging above a rickety screen door. On the sign, in little white letter, was scrawled "The Wood of God".

I could hardly believe my eyes. I figured it had to be some sort of mistake. I decided to venture inside to investigate.

As I entered the store, I was greeted by a collection of simple arts and crafts and the sound of hammering which ceased upon my arrival. Judging by the craftsmanship and complexity, I half expected to see a child greet me as I heard footsteps approaching.

A tall, thin man with a thick brown beard and long brown hair stepped out from around the corner. I assumed from the long hair, the necklaces and bracelets (which, much like many of the crafts in the shop, had the letters "W W J D" on them), and the sandals that he was one of those "hippies" I had seen on that VH1 Woodstock special.

"Hello. Can I help you with anything today?"

"Oh, hi. I'm actually not really looking to buy anything right now. I just saw the sign, and I'd never seen the store before, so I decided to check it out."

"Oh, well thanks a lot much for coming to visit, then. Take all the time you need to have a look around. If you have any questions, the name's J.C."

"Great. Thanks a lot."

As I browsed through the shops goods, consisting of, among other things, a collection of flawed bird feeders, spice racks, and what I figure were end tables, I couldn't help but think three things:

1. This guy looks so familiar.
2. These crafts look like the local high schoolers' rejects from shop class
3. Why is a hippie in a small town like this?

The shopkeeper was not terribly busy (by busy I mean doing anything other than watching me), so I decided to find out a little about him.

"I have to ask, have you lived around here long? Cuz you look really familiar."

"No, I get that a lot though. I guess I just have kind of a generic face. Actually, I moved out here a couple months ago. I was doing a some tv stuff out on the west coast, or at least trying to. Things just weren't going as planned, so I decided to find a small town to relax in for a while. So, I got in my car, and took an extended road trip. This is where I ended up."

"Oh, wow, that's great. JESUS CHRIST, M AN, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAND?!?"

"Huh? Oh this?"

He looked down and rubbed over the round scar that on the palm. I could see it ran through to the back of his hand.

"Uh, I had an accident when I was making a bird house, back when I first started with the crafts. It doesn't hurt or anything anymore, but it sure did leave a horrible scar."

"Wow. Hey, sorry if I got too excited or was a little loud. Put a few extra sugar packets in the coffee this morning. You know how it...GOOD LORD, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR OTHER HAND?!?"

"Oh, yeah, heh. I have another scar on that one too, don't I. Yeah, that's from an accident in the shop too."

"Same bird house?"

"Yeah, no. Umm, no. Different bird house. Just got a little confused, is all. Say, is it getting hot in here?"

"I didn't really notice. So, I guess your ambidextrous, then?"

"Yes...or no. I forget what ambidextrous means."

"Means your righty and a lefty. Or maybe you're neither. I mean, no offense J.C., but maybe that's a sign from God. Maybe you should get a desk job."

"Yeah, you might be right. I dunno. Believe it or not, my dad was a carpenter, so I'd always watch him work when I was little. It looked easy enough."

"Ahh, a family tradition, eh?"

"Sort of. I mean, he wasn't exactly my real dad."

"Say no more, man. I know how divorce can be a touchy subject."

"Yeah."

"Jesus, man, are you ok? You're sweating like crazy. You nervous or something?"

"No, why...why would I be nervous. It's not like I'm hiding the truth from you or anything."

"Oh, ok."

"Fine! You win! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything."

"Oh, ok."

"You said that I looked familiar. Well, you probably know me, but not by my initials. By my name: Jesus Christ."

"Shut up!"

"It's true, it's true. Don't be afraid, my child. I have resurrected from the dead because my people have begun to stray from the faith, and it is my duty as their shepherd to lead them."

"So, wait...I don't even know what to say. It's good to meet you."

"Thanks. It's good to meet you too."

"Hey, thanks a lot for the whole dying for our sins, thing, Mr. Christ, sir."

"Please, J.C."

"Yes, sir, J.C. Say, if you don't mind me asking, where have you been for the past 2000 years."

"Well, I've been guiding from my seat up in heaven. But thanks to heavy metal music and violent movies, society has begun to rapidly decay. I decided drastic measures needed be taken to return my people to the path of righteousness. So, I returned for the millenium, to once again walk among my people."

"So, how come nobody knows about this? I mean, what happened?"

"Well, our market research showed that television is the best way to reach people today. But you try walking up to a network exec with your sandals and robe and proclaiming that you are the Messiah returning to lead your people who have gone astray. I couldn't even get in on a public access channel. Everyone just kept playing stuff about those boy bands and that "Willenium" song."

"Yeah, but couldn't you pull some strings or something, I mean, come on! You're dad's God!"

"I can't do anything too spectacular when I'm in human form. I mean, the water into wine is great for parties, but it's not getting me a prime time spot on the networks. I could just ask my dad for a miracle, but I wanted to prove to him I can do this on my own. You don't know what it's like, constantly in the shadow of you dad. I mean, he's God! How can I live up to that?"

"Yeah, I guess. But couldn't you have gone on the radio, or something? There had to be something you could do."
"Again, the radio stations were controlled by the boy bands and the Willenium. F*ckin' Will Smith!"

"Whoa, relax J.C."

"Right. Sorry. I'm still a little bitter, though, you know? And now my dad's gonna be all mad at me cuz I'm a failure..."

"Hey, it'll be all right. Trust me. You should try starting small, then working your way up. LIke, instead of starting out going global, try starting somewhere small. I know, you can run for governor of Minnesota!"

"Oh, they'd never vote for me. I'd be a novelty item. I mean, I don't know a thing about politics. All I've got is my celebrity image."

"With all do respect, I believe you're overestimating the good people of Minnesota. And hey, your dad will be proud of you as long as you try your best."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I can start small like you said. I've got time, that's for sure."

"See, everything's gonna be all right."

"Hey, thanks a lot. I really appreciate this little talk. I don't really have a lot of friends here. It's nice to get to talk to another person."

"No problem. Do I get like a "Get out of sin free" card or something?"

"Sorry, but your good deed will be noted."

"Eh, it was worth a try. Crap, I'm late for lunch. I gotta run. J.C. it was my pleasure meeting you. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I'm sure you'll be able to find me."

"Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I give you one piece of advice, though?"

"Sure."

"You might want to work on your craftsmanship if you're gonna stay with the whole arts and crafts thing. Not that it's bad, I'm just saying."

"Sorry, I didn't have much time to refine my skills in my last life. I was too busy hanging on a cross! Suffering for your sins! You remember that whole thing? You might've heard about it in church."

"Ooh, a sarcastic savior. Who knew?"

"Yeah. I'm just kidding around, though. I'd ask you to come visit anytime, but I don't think I'm gonna stay here much longer. I hear Minnesota is nice this time of year."

"Excellent. Well, gotta go. Good luck in Minnesota."

"Thanks a lot."

I hurried out the rickety old screen door and ran to meet my parents at the restaurant. I wouldn't tell them about what had happened. I wouldn't tell anyone. Who'd believe me? Heck, sometimes I can hardly believe it myself. But there are two things I am sure of: Now that I'm in good with Jesus, I don't have to go to church anymore, and if I ever see a bumper sticker that says "Jesus for Governor", I'm gonna move to Minnesota. I mean, it was my idea. The least Jesus can do is give me a cushy government job.