How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
Catharine Huntington was wide enough to block the sun. [2]
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Although few would ever take the opportunity to argue this point, fewer still would get close enough to Catharine to attest to its accuracy. Blessed with a round face and pale skin, Catharine resembled the fullest full moon on the clearest winter night. Her nose, mouth, and eyes were dwarfed by an excess of cheek and chin. As a result, her features looked like tiny craters on a strikingly barren moonscape.
As sad as that image may be, it's sadder to think of the pace at which Catharine was widening. At 28, she could already block the sun. By 38, she'd be able to block the entire solar system. In her golden years, the width and breadth of the vast Milky Way Galaxy would surely be eclipsed.
In contrast, slender Robert "Bob" Juet was both tall and dark. Unfortunately for Bob, the powers that control the universe had not seen fit to complete the triumvirate of Tall, Dark, And Handsome. To make up for his somewhat homely appearance, Bob had developed what he called "his witty side." In some ways, he was both affable and glib, but he was never especially smart. Certainly not smart enough to realize that each and every day he spoke to people who were cleverer than he could ever hope to be and polite enough not to point it out – such as a 28-year-old woman who was wide enough to block the sun.
At 7:02AM on this stunningly warm February day, 37-year-old Bob Juet knelt beside the front door of Louie's Bookstore & Café. Unlike most days, Bob wasn't just ten minutes late for work. On this day, it was more like an hour. Don't think he wasn't trying to be on time, because really he was. Bob always tried hard. There was just something about full-time employment that rubbed him the wrong way. More than anything, it was that annoying consistency of effort thing that came with every job he had ever had. (And every job he had ever lost.)
Mr. Wilson, the owner of the café, insisted that Bob arrive at 6:00AM. "Young man, get here an hour before we open and make sure you open for business precisely at seven. Not a minute before. Or a minute after." Words so firm and so silly. But men like Samuel Greenock Wilson have a million rules like this. They are born believing that they should command great respect from the world. And that belief is only strengthened when life hands them nothing more than a bookstore, a café, and an employee who is rarely on time.
It was now twominutes past seven and Bob still had coffee beans to grind and napkins to fold. Before he could begin to pretend that he was back on schedule, the salad forks also had to be divided from the dinner forks and the soup spoons separated from the teaspoons. Knives were simpler. There was only one size, but it was Bob's job to ensure that they were spotless. On his way to work, he pulled out his shirt tail in preparation for that task.
