I didn’t expect God to smoke pall-malls. ‘Course I didn’t expect him to spend his time fixing radiators either. I met him in a pool hall in Tuscaloosa, drinking Miller High Life and watching college football on TV. I didn’t recognize him at first but after some introductory comments we got to know each other. I guess really it was me that got to know him, seeing as how he’s already all knowing and all. He had a nice way of not rubbing that in your face.

He didn’t look like I expected. He was dark-skinned and had salt and pepper hair. He wore a blue work shirt with a nametag that said “Frank”. I guess he liked to stay anonymous. After we finished our third beer he asked if I wanted to come by his house on Sunday to help him with some work. Now I’ve never been too good at church stuff so I was admittedly a little nervous, but God had a way of making me feel like that didn’t matter. I agreed to stop by and help if I could. He wrote the address on a cocktail napkin and we said good night.

I showed up around nine o’clock that Sunday. It took me a while to find the place. I guess I expected a steeple or something. The address he gave me was just an old trailer in an RV park. The lawn was mowed real nice and there was a fresh coat of red paint on the door.

He met me on the porch with a white bucket in his hand and a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth. “God, I hate to let you down but I ain’t ever really been a church person and I’ve never really done this kind of work before.” I said. “You’ve never painted a living room?” He asked. “Paint a living room? I thought you wanted me to help you spread the gospel or something.” I replied. That must have really tickled him good because he chuckled real hard through his nose. “Son, I didn’t say anything about church stuff. I told you we have work to do. Half those folks up there ain’t ever done a day’s work in their lives. If I wanted nice feelings or a guilt trip maybe then I would have asked them for help.” I helped him move the buckets and brushes into the back of his old Buick Regal and couldn’t help but smile at the maroon seats.

He drove us down to an old white shotgun house sitting on a worn out driveway. He said an old lady lived there who doesn’t get around much anymore and was always real nice to him. We set out preparing those walls for primer and got to talking about his kid. I told him I had heard a few things about him. “Yeah he always was a little more famous than me.” he said “Someone has to be I guess. But between you and me he never was that good of a carpenter.” At that last line he let out another chuckle.

When noon came around we sat down on the porch and God pulled out a dinged up green lunchbox. He pulled two baloney sandwiches out and two cold beers. He handed one of each to me. About halfway through lunch I finally had the nerve to ask him something that had been on my mind all morning. “God, what I don’t understand is why you’re down here painting some lady’s house when so many folks are out there looking for you, trying to figure out who you are.” He took a long sip of his beer and leaned back on one arm, “Where do those folks think they are going to find me? Don’t they know this is my job; fixing things for folks who can’t fix ’em themselves?” I thought about that for a minute. Trying to figure out how to speak for everybody else in the world is a helluva thing. “Well, I guess they expect you’re supposed to show up at a church somewhere in a ray of light or something. I guess they figure you’re more in the business of fixing hearts instead of radiators.”

God just sat there for a minute. The silence wasn’t tense or heavy. He lit another cigarette and said, “Do I look like the kind of person that goes around in a ray of sunshine?” He started chuckling again. “No, I guess not” I said, chuckling along. “Son, let me tell you something” he said “the only person that can fix a heart is the person that owns it. I made them that way because I don’t believe anyone ought to trust anybody but themselves to do a good job on something so precious. And if you think fixing somebody’s radiator or giving them a new coat of paint can’t help somebody who is feeling down and out then maybe you ought to get more aquainted with what it feels like to be down and out.”

We worked the rest of that afternoon getting that living room all painted up nice and when we were done the old lady who lived there told me that it was the first time in a long time she felt she could have any visitors over. Her face was lit up like a ray of pure sunshine.

After that job I never saw God again. He stopped hanging out at the pool hall, and when I went by his trailer there was a “for sale” sign in the lawn. I didn’t feel too bad though. I figure that once you’ve found God you can’t really ever lose him again.

I can’t say much about wine or wafers but to this day I’ll never forget the holiest communion I’ve ever had, smacking on baloney and sipping on beer. I don’t know the gospel stories as well as I ought either but I reckon it can’t be too far off from fixing the things that need to be fixed for the people who are down and out and never forgetting what it feels like to be down and out yourself.