“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand is when I carried you.”

That was the last straw. Until now I had been polite about the whole thing, wanting to give the LORD the benefit of the doubt. “Bullshit!” I crowed. You should have seen the look on His face; you’d think the LORD would be all hip about that kind of language.

“What was that?” He asked, pretending like the sound of an incoming wave had masked my angry ejaculation.

“You heard me, Dickhead,” I said, wondering at the celestial autocorrect that kept capitalizing all references to the LORD . What kind of prick sets up a filter like that? “I said ‘bullshit’ and I meant it. ‘I carried you’ my ass.”

“You don’t trust Me?” He asked, coming to a halt, feet in the surf.

“Hell no,” I said, scowling. “You were sly about it, but I saw You teleport to that Starbucks three miles back. You told me to ‘look at the lovely colors of the sunrise’ when You did it, hoping I wouldn’t see.”

“Oh,” He said, looking embarrassed. “Fuck.”