I find Christ in the most unassuming places. This very morning he was in the shower with me. Yes, that’s right, father, I found him in my drainpipe. I was merely washing my body, sir; I had just washed my face. I closed my eyes and stopped to feel the hot water run down my neck and back- momentary warmth overcame me until I removed myself from the faucet’s direct spray. When I ceased to bathe, I began to brush my teeth, as I oftentimes do. The toothbrush went far down my throat. I was distracted by the rhythmic tinkle that the water made when it hit the shower floor and I allowed my hands to be overtaken by the higher power. Christ himself, father, hit me in the stomach, and I began to wretch at once. Father, I first saw the carrots from dinner, and then the salad, and finally the meat and potatoes of which we partook only hours past.
Could it be, your excellence, because I had recently shaven away all my hair? Christ made my legs hurt so. They itched and burned all the way up to the crest where they merged and became one, sir. What choice did I have, but to shave every ounce of it off? Even after the hair was gone, sir, I continued to shave. I cut my body in lines, sir, which transformed into railroad tracks upon which my warm, red soul traveled. As I was looking down, shaving away my impurities, I observed my soul falling to the bottom of the shower in heaps. I was frightened by the separation of my inner and outer selves and began to scream for help. I was so alone, sir, what else had I to do?
So, I took the dryer, father, and I tried my best to dry my soul before it whirl-pooled into Christ’s possession. I plugged it in and brought it with me into the shower, shooting its heat directly at the drain. I began to shake, but I knew this was only His test. I proved myself true, father. I proved I am worthy.
I vividly remember when my father dealt the first blow: I began to fall at once. I grabbed onto the temperature knob in an attempt to lessen my fall- an unsuccessful effort which merely resulted in the chilling of my water. Needless to say, father, I slipped, and could not find my bearings. With toothbrush in hand, I decided to wait out my illness, remaining in the fetal position until I regained health. The cold water slapped my back, as if to help the food to come up- each drop stabbing my back like yet another frigid knife.
I was in such a position, father, that when he did, so graciously, break his grip on me, a river released from behind my feet and legs and went directly to the almighty, who concurrently was hidden in the pipes. I followed the river with my eyes and only then did I find him, with the larger remnants of my last meal, and I did thank and praise him so, exulting his mercy in the highest.
However, the end was not near. When I rose from my bondage, the water was far too clear, he said, so I took that razor, and I so did purify myself once more.
The man looked down from the rims of his glasses at me, ceasing the constant musical scribble from his legal pad and with an air of finality, he nodded his head. I had never felt the vibrations like I did that day, sir; the surges went from one hand, through my unholy chest, and to the other hand. It was, father, only mildly comparable to the hairdryer I used in your name that day, sir. So why, almighty, am I here before you today?
