Forgive Us Our Sins
Forgive Us Our SinsEvery morning at the stroke of 3:00 a.m., God smote Clifford Parsons awake. “Get your lazy a*s out of bed,” God said in a clear voice. “And don’t even think about giving me lip. You’re the laziest man I ever made.” God sat on the wicker chair in a corner of Clifford’s bedroom and shined purple. As often as he saw it, the glow always scared Clifford into obedience. He wasted no time throwing off the covers.
Frigid Lake Superior air filled the room, and although it was the middle of August, Clifford’s feet balked at the touch of the cold pine floor. He reached for yesterday’s blue shirt and brown britches hanging on the bedpost and fished his dirty socks off the floor. His hand brushed the King James Bible laying face down. It must have slipped from
