Conversations with God: The Bargaining Table

Me: Father in heaven… 

God: (appears suddenly) BOO! 

Me: (clutching chest) WHAT IN THE HOLY VELVET TRACKSUIT?! 

God: (laughing out loud) You should’ve seen your face. Priceless. What’s up, kid? 

Me: Oh, nothing much. Just, you know, thinking about how I have this awful, ridiculous, uninvited guest known as cancer. Thought maybe we could strike a deal? 

God: A deal? Like, a cosmic game show? You wanna spin a wheel? Pick a curtain? 

Me: YES. Exactly! I’d like to trade my cancer for whatever is behind Curtain #3. 

God: (stroking imaginary beard) Hmm. Interesting proposition. But you do realize I control what’s behind Curtain #3, right? 

Me: Yes, and I’m trusting that you wouldn’t put something worse back there. You wouldn’t, right? (nervous laughter) 

God: (grinning) Ever heard of biblical patience? 

Me: Yeah, but I’m more of an instant gratification kind of gal. 

God: No kidding. Alright, let’s see… Behind Curtain #3, I could offer… hmm… mild arthritis? 

Me: That’s not great, but it beats cancer. 

God: Or… a lifetime of stubbed toes? 

Me: Okay, I don’t love that. 

God: Something,  something (mumbling) a goat? 

Me: YES! YES! I pick that one! 

God: Ooooh! How about permanent glitter in all your laundry? I love that one. 

Me: The goat! The goat one! 

God: Baaa haaaa haa! I was just joking. There’s no goat one... 

Me: (gasps) You monster. 

God: (laughing) Look, kid, I get it. This sucks. And you’re trying to find a way out. But I don’t do trades. 

Me: So you’re telling me there’s no divine loophole? No Buy One Suffering, Get One Free coupon? 

God: (chuckling) Nope. No cosmic coupons. But here’s what I can do. I can walk with you through this. Give you enough strength for today. And just enough humor to make it bearable. 

Me: (sighs) Okay. But, like, are we sure there’s not an option where I get a free beach house instead? 

God: Oh, that’s behind Curtain #7. You missed it. 

Me: YOU HAVE A CURTAIN #7?! 

God: (laughs) You’re impossible. 

Me: I learned from the best. 

God: (grinning) Yeah, yeah. Now, go rest. And eat something. You need to feed the Special Forces to help them take out biker gangs in your body. 

Me: You read that? 

God: Of course! I have read everything ever written. Well, technically, I have also written everything I’ve ever read. 

Me: Clever.  

God: Oh, and one more thing—quit trying to bargain your way out of this. You’re already winning in ways you don’t even know. 

Me: (rolling eyes) Ahhh, more  cryptic wisdom. Can’t you just cut to the chase? 

God: (laughing) Where’s the fun in that? 

Me: (smirking) I suppose you do love a good plot twist. 

God: Exactly. And trust me—you’re going to love the ending. 

Me: Spoiler alert? 

God: Nope. You’ll just have to live it. 

Me: Fine. If there’s a surprise party in heaven, I want balloons. 

God: Done. Now, get some rest. Your Special Forces are waiting. 

Me: Alright, alright. And I want goats, too. 

God: (laughing) Baaahaaahaaa! I wouldn’t expect anything less. 

Thinking about it, bargaining with God is nothing new. In the Old Testament, people didn’t just ask for atonement—they had to pay for it. And not with coins or good deeds, but with actual, living sacrifices. Unblemished goats, sheep, cattle—the best they had. Imagine if that were still the case today. If every sin required an offering. If every lie, every selfish act, every fleeting unkind thought demanded an unblemished lamb. I don’t know about you, but I’d need a full-time staff of shepherds (pun intended) and a never-ending supply of sheep. But then came Jesus. He walked among us, suffered, died, and rose again—not as a temporary fix, but as the ultimate sacrifice. He paid the debts no one could ever afford, and in doing so, He wiped the slate clean, literally—once and for all. No more livestock required. Just grace. Note to self: even in the worst of circumstances, even when I’m tempted to trade my burdens for whatever’s behind Curtain #3, I am reminded that what I’ve already been given is more than enough.