Me: God, what’s my purpose in life?
God: Well, you don’t have one.
Me: What do you mean?
Me: You have many purposes. I created you to do billions of little things, just like everyone else.
Me: But don’t I have an overall purpose?
God: No.
Me: That sucks.
God: Let’s call you, ‘He who is responsible for doing an assemblage of tasks under the moniker of Brooks.’
Me: Really?
God: Yes.
Me: Wow, I’m special after all.
Last week, the shovel said, “Hey, come over here.”
I went because I really like shovels.
I said, “What?”
The shovel said, “Let’s dig a hole.”
I asked what we would put in it.
The shovel said, “Me.”
I asked why.
The shovel said, “I’m tired of digging holes for others. I’d like to dig one for myself, and be buried in that hole.”
I said, “But what would you do while underground?”
The shovel said, “I think the metal part of me would break down and return to the earth as minerals, and the wood part of me would sprout and become a tree again.”
I said okay, dug the hole, put the shovel in it, and used my hands to fill the hole back up with dirt.
Everyday, I’ve been watering the spot where the shovel was buried. I actually check the ground for a sprout. I know it’s only been a week, but I’m prone to impatience.
I stood out under the stars. I waved and said, “Hi.”
The stars were silent. I wanted them to say a word or two back to me. So I waited.
Soon it was much later in the evening. I grew tired. I laid down on the ground and looked up at the stars. It was hard to keep my eyes open. And then I was asleep.
I woke up in the morning. I noticed a piece of paper by my head. There were words scrawled on it. I sat up and read, “Dear Brooks. We got your message, but it took a loooong while to get here. Anyway, we tried to wake you. You snored, gurgled, and drooled. Soooo cute!! Your friends, the Stars!”
Here I am visiting the falls that gave birth to me 56 years ago this week!
