The Marble Bench

She was sitting on a white marble bench receiving a gift from an Archangel when God appeared in a flash of white light. She looked up to see him walking toward her.

"My love, do not fear," God whispered to her soul.

She realized she had been holding her breath, afraid of his presence. Taking a deep breath in, she released a long, loud exhale.

God sat next to her on the bench. His attire had the feel of an adventurer, though it changed every few moments as if he was trying on different outfits on a new avatar.

"Love," he continued, then braced himself by placing his hands on each side of himself on the bench and leaning forward. "I have something for you." His voice was tender, questioning, as if his statement was a test to see if she wanted it.

Her curiosity was piqued. God could see her interest from the subtle changes in her body language, the slight raise of her eyebrows, the way her eyes shifted just enough to catch a glimpse of God out of the corner of her eye.

After a few moments, she turned her head to look at him, but he was gone. Her eyes dropped to the ground in front of her, then lifted up toward the distance. That was when she saw it, a small wooden treasure chest floating above a cut tree stump. A single point of light glistened on one corner, sparkling as if the sun had chosen to reflect only there. 

She stood up from the bench and slowly walked forward. After her second step, she hesitated and glanced around. The marble bench was gone.

Her eyes locked onto the chest, unmoving, until she was just one step away. She hesitated again, took a deep breath, and started to reach out, but before she could touch it, the lid popped open.

A chair scooped her up from behind and sat her down. The stump transformed into a table, and the chair scooted her up to it. An object popped up in the air from the chest before the chest itself disappeared. The object landed on the table with a solid thunk of a ceramic pot. More objects materialized out of thin air, table settings, linens, flowers in vases. Soon, another chair appeared at the table. And when everything settled, God was sitting next to her again.

“Love,” God said quietly, pouring a substance from the ceramic pot, the very one that had landed with a thunk on the table. It was shaped like a bottle, the base wider than its top, sealed with a ceramic ball attached to a cork. “I have prepared this for you. Eat, drink.”

God placed a small white ramekin in front of her. The aroma rising from the liquid was the most enticing, delicious scent she has ever experienced. 

“Love, you are worthy of a seat at my table. I have invited you here today but you are welcome anytime.”

She touched the ramekin with her right hand, it ignited multiple courses of food to appear on white platters. The liquid inside the ramekin rose like steam from a hot cup, swirling toward her. It moved with gentle intention, as if checking the credentials of her heart. It carefully wrapped around her in a beautiful spiral pattern. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, consuming its delicious energy. She held her breath for a moment, then slowly, gingerly let it go. 

She was compelled to breathe deeply again, as if the energy itself were guiding her, to receive and release, receive and release. The energy was loving, a feeling of holding her, caring for her, seeing her, understanding her, helping her, and purely loving her.

“What do you need, my love?” God spoke to her telepathically, soul to soul, as he sipped from his white ramekin.

“Courage, confidence,” her soul answered. 

Her eyes widened. She had never heard her soul speak before. Fear gripped her, she had no control of what it said.

“Very well,” God replied.

The energy around her shifted, delivering courage and confidence, a soulful delivery system through golden sparkles of light.

“Anything else?” God asked, taking another sip.

She could feel her soul continuing a long conversation with God. Though she knew they were communicating, she wasn’t aware of what was being said. Every now and then, God nodded and mumbled, “uh huh.”

When the conversation ended, she feebly asked, “What did it say?”

God glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, mirroring the way she had looked at him earlier when she was sitting on the marble bench. He picked up a sandwich made of two slices of bread and placed it on his plate. Then, scanning the table for something specific, his eyes lit up when he spotted a tray of grape-like fruit. He reached for it, took a handful, and placed them on his plate. He repeated this a few more times, until he had plated a full meal.

“Your soul told me about your desires for your future,” he finally said, chewing a bite of sandwich.

She watched him, caught between disbelief and confusion. “This is what God is like,” she thought to herself. 

The thought triggered a flood of emotions, fears, beliefs, and assumptions she carried about God.

“You are mad about this experience because you had expected God to be something and someone different. Let me ask you this, you are not satisfied with my behavior, yet, have I harmed you?”

New emotions surfaced, anger, rage, hatred, mad, hurt, disappointment. She was mad at God. 

She was mad and hurt and angry that God would allow so many bad things, so many hurts in her life. She was mad that God would take her son.

“Mom.” 

Her son’s voice echoed in her soul. 

She turned. He stood beside her chair. His voice, deep, familiar, simultaneously breaking her heart and filling her with overwhelming joy and love all at once. 

She had longed to hear his voice again. 

In disbelief, she leaped from her chair, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck. She embraced him for what felt like several minutes, her eyes closed, tears of grief streaming down her face. 

When she finally opened her eyes, her son was gone. But she could still feel him, his energy, his presence with her, by her, near her.

She sat back down in her chair, closed her eyes, and replayed his voice in her mind, “Mom, he said,” she said to herself.

“Love,” God spoke to her heart. “I would like to mend your broken heart. I know you miss your son. He is with you. He is near you. He is not lost forever. He is in your heart. But,” God paused, assessing her energy, checking in on her to see how she was handling and accepting the changes he had been making with her. “You cannot see him in your heart because of all of the broken pieces.”

His words stung. But she knew they were true. She had been stuck in her grief, stuck in her sadness and anger. It was easier to be mad at God than to heal her broken heart.

“I don’t know how,” she forced her voice to work through muffled tears.

A chocolate muffin lifted off the table, flew over and landed on a clean dessert plate that had been placed in front of her. It landed clumsily teetering back and forth before finally settling upright.

“Love, healing need not be perfect. I promise to love you through it.” 

God’s words allowed her sobs to come freely now.

“Release, my love. Release the pain you have been holding, the anger, the guilt, the heartbreak. Let your tears cleanse your heart. Let your tears release the hold your pain has had on your soul.”

She cried and cried and cried until her face was dry because no tears remained. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and stared at the muffin. 

“I don’t want a chocolate muffin,” she chuckled, thinking about how absurd that must sound.

“I know, love,” God replied, casually eating the top off of another type of muffin.

She sat, staring at the muffin, confused about its meaning, confused about this entire interaction, but acknowledging that she felt much lighter and a profound sense of love.

She closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of the profound love surrounding her.

When she finally opened them, she was back, sitting on the white marble bench.

“When you are ready, come see me again,” God’s voice echoed through the heavens.