It has been raining three days now, with fish on the front porch.
God is in a depression. Just look at the weather.
He is drinking pot upon pot of black coffee while pulling dark clouds over his head.
He is questioning his own existence and omnipotence at the same time…not a very feasible idea when you are the creator.
No good will come of it. Just look at the weather. It is causing pensive thought.
God ponders his rationale for the design of the platypus and wonders why he didn’t consider an antidote for humanity.
He longs for a vacation that he’s never had and will never experience.
He is the “go to guy,” the righteous CEO with an on-call prayer on his hip.
Another pot of black coffee will not jolt a silver lining into the depressed dark cloud of God’s ennui. Just look at the weather.
If only the creator had parents he could visit, or a best friend to buy him a beer, or a therapist to listen to his rants.
Instead, he is his own father and son.
The Holy Spirit, while somewhat of an aquaintance, now speaks in tongues.
And everyone, yes everyone, seems to sit in judgment of him.
No wonder he is depressed. Just look at the weather. Raining for three days.
Somewhere on earth the platypus starts to sing. It adores wicked weather and warbling in the showers.
But it is an eerie, primitive tune – one only appreciated by monotreme aficionados. Humans have no ear for the chaotic jazz of the egg-laying mammal.
They have confiscated its cabarets and gagged all its gigs. But the platypus is always an artist.
Suddenly God sits upright on the couch.
Somewhere on earth the platypus’ soul has entered its song.
A small smile sneaks across the radiant countenance of the supreme deity. He designed the platypus out of recycled ideas.
The poor thing was an afterthought, an experiment of leftover parts, a spontaneous miracle of creativity.
But it is perfect, gorgeous, and happy. And it sings, even in the downpour. Even after three days.
God is off the couch now and running errands.
His “to do” list is infinite and awe-inspiring. It virtually yells out: “Go ahead. Bring it on.”
The rain ceases.
The nimbus clouds remove their dark overcoats to reveal cumulus underclothes.
God smiles. His depression has lifted.
Creation is bathed once again in the creator’s unconditional love. Just look at the weather.
I’m going to trash my umbrella and sing like the platypus.