By staff writer NG Hatfield
September 26, 2007
On account of it being our day to celebrate Freedom, I take it quite seriously that I saw Jesus Christ on the Fourth of July.
I had gotten out of the pool—my little, 15-foot deal I bought last summer from Old Dan Pursee—and walked myself inside to make a good ol’ bologna sandwich. I made one alright, but right before I took my first bite, my forehead itched something terrible. I can’t quite explain it, but it itched so bad that I had to sit that sandwich down on the counter to scratch myself with both hands. And as soon as I touched my brow, lo and behold a poof! The Lord God Almighty Himself was beside me, settin’ at my kitchen table, sure as I’m here in front of you just now.
For a long time, I stared at Him but I caught myself and looked away. Course, that’s what you do when you see The Lord; His robe and His skin are so damned white they hurts your eyes!
“I am not worthy!” I shouted, like any fine Christian would, and kneeled as low as these old bones would let me. He rose his hand like you’d think Him to do and I stopped myself from gabbin’ on and on. But I decided to look up one time more, just to get a real good look, and in His Holy Hand I came to see for myself that My Gracious Savior, too, was snackin’ on a bologna sandwich.
“I looked out and took a bite as big, if not bigger than the one I seen on God’s sandwich.”
Must’ve been only but a few seconds, but I could tell He wasn’t too impressed with the likes of me. He raised up, 5 or so feet tall and looked at me settin’ there, scared out of my right mind. His white garb flowed inside the kitchen like there was a June wind comin’ off my new jerky maker—which by and by, is worth the money if you got it. But I’m strayin’:
So then He, Our Blessed Savior, said to me straight in the eye, “My son…”
“Yeah?” I asked him, hardly breathin’ but for makin’ myself.
“Put that mayonnaise on the bread. Not the meat.”
Took me a minute to get the gumption to question The Right Hand Man of the Father, but soon as I asked, “Why?” –Poof! Jesus was gone to wherever He came from. Heaven, I take it.
I sat there, troubled somethin’ awful, but when I got the nerve to get up, I walked myself to the garbage can and tossed that old sandwich away. Felt it best to just make me a new one; you get me?
So I strolled back to the table and took the knife from the ol’ jar of mayonnaise. I stabbed that white jelly like it was my duty and for the first time all summer I heard thunder clap right outside. “Is that a sign, Lord?” I asked. The Thunder above rumbled, “Yeah.”
I took the knife out and lathered up that nice, soft bread. When it was covered, I opened the fridge, got out another hunk of bologna, and stuck it flat on my counter. Another smack of thunder bellowed out, but this one sounded Godawful irate!
I asked my ceiling, “Am I doing this right, Lord?”
“Yeah!” the Thunder said again.
I smacked the bologna on the bread without mayo, then the American cheese on top of that, then the heavy ol’ cut of white bread with the spread on top of that to finish it off. For a second all was pretty darn quiet, believe you me, and I didn’t feel quite so comfortable eatin’ without Grace, as I just saw Jesus and all, so I shouted the only thing I thought would be proper for such junctures, “Lord Jesus, my sandwich is now complete!”
In response, Our Savior sent a boom to shake my house. The fine china the wife had settin’ on her cabinets banged up against the walls; none of them fell or nothing, but it sure was loud.
In more curiosity than an alley cat, I walked myself over to the window to see if the Missus had seen the deal, looked out and took a bite as big, if not bigger than the one I seen on God’s sandwich. Must’ve been pretty good, I thought to myself, that Heaven sandwich.
Well, when I looked outside I couldn’t see the wife, but my yard is pretty big so I didn’t think nothing of it. I just sat myself down there at the window, enjoyin’ the sandwich and God was pretty right. It tasted better.
But I didn’t get to finish it; and you might say to yourself, “Don, if the Lord God told me to eat a sandwich I would finish that thing!” Well, I would’ve but right as I was takin’ the last bite I happened to look up at that those big, scary storm clouds that the Son of God had broughten upon me to deliver His message. And I could tell somethin’ was a shade off color. It looked like it were rainin’ somethin’ fierce. But no, it weren’t rain at all. No sir.
From my window I saw these long, thin-sliced slabs of something red or pink fallin’ from the sky. Some of them were real thin, and those pieces floated down like little Frisbees. Others were real, real thin, twirlin’ and swayin’ back and forth like salmon-colored feathers. Others were balled up like waste paper and they smacked real heavy and wet on the ground. And when I got a good look at them, I could hardly even believe my eyes!
But, as a fine Christian man, I said to myself to prove it, “Well I’ll be! It ain’t rainin’ no cats! No dogs! The Lord has got it snowin’ meat!” Then, in my preacher voice that the Missus is so fond of: “If ye ask, ye shalt receive!”
I’ll tell you, neighbor, that even though I didn’t quite believe it at first, of course, I remember I just seen Jesus. And if you ever seen Jesus on the Fourth of July, a little squall of bologna ain’t too terribly strange for you, I’ll tell you that much right now.