I put out feelers for a proofreader with the only qualifications being, “You must be a proofreader and not have plans on ascending to heaven anytime soon.” By the way, the proofreader job is real so hit me up if you are still on this Earth.
I promised to do a little personal grooming in preparation of my ultimate judgment. And I promised friends that as a sign of my devotion, I would jump the Grand Canyon on my motorcycle if God did decide to make an appearance.
From the looks of it, I wasn’t the only one whooping it up and having fun up to the alleged very end. There were Internet pages inviting sinners to Rapture parties and organized looting. Even businesses had fun. I was in Whole Foods buying my usual morning coffee and three small cookies when a cashier asked why I wasn’t indulging in even more sweets.
“Might as well live it up; we’ll only be here a few more hours,” he said.
I told him it would be just my luck that I would get cast into hell for giving in to his last temptation of the macaroon.
“You were close, kid. Real close,” God would whisper. “But up here we have this stigma against gluttony, and that fourth biscotti was very piggish, so we are going to pass on your soul. Have a nice eternity.”
OK. It’s obvious those of us who weren’t buying into the Rapture thing had a good time. And I have to admit I felt no real pity for anyone who ran up their credit cards, sold their property and wagered everything on the misguided prediction of a zealot.
That said, was there anything to learn from God’s most recent no-show? I think there was.
Jokes aside, I spent this weekend looking at life as though it might be the last time I was able to enjoy it. I found immense pleasure in the things I usually take for granted as always being readily available. In other words, the prospect of having everything taken away suddenly made it all that much better.