Jesus is my hitman
I had to take a trip to western Kentucky for a funeral. It was an awe inspiring experience. I was amazed at the sheer lack of independently run businesses there. For the most part it was just chain store after chain store after chain restaurant after chain fast food place. EEEEEK. I will have to say my country fried steak and biscuits and gravy at the Cracker Barrel was excellent.
The people were different as well. A woman, who reminded me of a religious zealot version of Betty White, attempted to convert me to whatever brand of Christianity she was. She drove this gigantic van with biblical passages up in the windows, and her Van was always parked diagonally across two spaces.
She started by assuming I was atheist and I assured her she was wrong. I very much so do believe in God. But then she started asking me if I believed in Jesus and the bible etc. etc. I have never been much for the hocus pocus of organized religion. One story about a burning bush didn't seem more believable than another about aliens coming to earth and living in my blood, or another about a supreme being made flesh, or even the much ballyhooed flying spaghetti monster.
Regardless of my own belief the conversation turned to the power of prayer. I kept my mouth shut out of respect (those of you who know me know how ridiculously hard that can be for ole' billy boy) and listened to this woman's story.
She looked about 70 with big frizzy gray hair. She had intense eyes. Imagine if Mike Singletary as an old nun and he just caught you just got caught talking in church. Now also imagine a slightly condescending southern drawl. She spoke quietly, but sternly and mater of factly, as though there was no doubting her words.
"Do you believe in prayer" she asked me, not really expecting an answer but soaking up the silence she paused. "I know that prayers real.... You know how I know?" her voice questioningly trailed up as she let another one of those eerie silences filly the funeral parlor. "Well my grand niece... my honors student grand niece took up with this horrible man." She said horrible with that was only a southern woman can to express total disgust. "He was an alcoholic, and a doper. He smoked dope. So I prayed to Jesus Christ. I prayed to the Holy Spirit that he mend his ways, or that the good lord would just take him. And do you know what happened? Do you know what happened?" she said again poking me with a folded hand much like my own grandma would when making a point. "Three months later he died in his sleep."
I could not believe what had just heard. At a funeral no less she told me that she prayed (or should I say preyed) that God kill someone and he did. So that's the take home message kids. Believe in Jesus and he'll wack you're home room teacher, or maybe the bully who gives you wet willys or maybe you we can all just pray really hard for God to kill all the religious nut jobs in the world... come on God can ya help us out?