God’s annual Christmas letter to his children has arrived, and he’s disappointed 

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I had to ask myself, “Who, me?”

I’m a mere opinion columnist, so I have no way of second-guessing God. And thus, I can’t provide you with any sound explanation of why he chose my mailbox for his annual Christmas letter to the world. All I know is that the simple, unadorned envelope was there with my Monday afternoon mail, and that the sender explicitly commanded me to share it with all of you—my fellow men.

Frankly, I seem like an unlikely choice for an official “bearer of tidings of great joy,” especially since my only shot at becoming a TV evangelist failed so miserably. My sermon had been eloquent and inspiring, but, when I crushed a poor fellow’s skull during my only attempt at healing the sick, I must admit, it was a bit disconcerting.

My audience was literally in shock—a few actually barfed—but, I have to say that there was a certain warm, fuzzy feeling as the gray matter squished through my hands.

The only real miracles that day were that my “Tent Revival 2023” show hit the top of the ratings and that there were 19 civil lawsuits filed against my ministry before the broadcast was over. I’ve decided that TV evangelism is far too dangerous. In the future, I’m just going to leave the showy stuff to the people at the Crystal Cathedral and the Mickey Mouse Show.

Anyway, here’s that Christmas Letter from God:

“My Dear and Precious Children,

I wish to preface my words with a warning: It doesn’t matter which religions were bottle-fed to you during your childhoods. I refuse to accept any part in encouraging the ridiculous sense of entitlement from your belief that you are among “the chosen.” It doesn’t matter if you see yourself as a Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist or Rastafarian; you are all my little kiddies and I am no respecter of persons, so don’t try to claim that you have any more “birthright” than my favorite little pygmies in the Amazon. Christmas is for all of you—with no exceptions.

As much as I love you all, I can’t say I’m coming out of the year 2023 A.D. feeling very good about my earth experiment. Though I may be, indeed, whom you should recognize as the “real” Santa Claus, I’m finding it hard to be at all jolly this Christmas season.

Things that used to amuse me are no longer enjoyable. Despite my past record of cruelty toward my Old Testament-era children, I am, after all, in a state of evolution, just like you. For a “God,” I’ve been remarkably introspective. I’m trying to learn from my mistakes, and I no longer take any joy in seeing my children suffer.

I think that part of the problem is that you and I rarely talk anymore. People are just too busy with their iPad and androids to spend any time with me. I realize that some of that is attributable to me being a bit boring. And it’s true—sometimes I wish that I had a little more pizazz, but it’s a bit late for me to reinvent myself into some dazzling new avatar with 1,500-foot woofers, turbo-boost audio enhancement and a white robe that explodes into a pyrotechnic display.

After all is said and done, when it comes to God, I’m just going to be “the same ol,' same ol.'"

Now, getting back to my disappointment in the mankind experiment. It doesn’t seem that anyone actually remembers the razzle-dazzle of the burning bush and cast-in-stone commandments. Sometimes I think I made a mistake in making it into such a big production, although it did seem theatrically pleasing at the time. Considering how hard it is to lug along slabs of stone as reminders of my laws for you, I’ve decided to do a release this year of a paperback edition, spiced-up just a bit by an accompanying Harlequin Romance Novel. That’ll get your attention. (You know what they say about flies and honey. I have a better chance when I combine my serious stuff with a little bit of fun, and sex is great for selling just about anything.)

Well, kids, my biggest disappointment of this year is how sniveling malcontents claim to be purveyors of my word, posing as my disciples while spreading a doctrine of hate. Oh, yeah, U.S. House Speaker Mike Johnson is one of them, and half the Supreme Court is right up there with him—including that “People of Praise” Barrett starlet who angers me on every turn.

Of course, Johnson claims that God has his back, but I can tell you: Not only do I not “have his back,” but he’s right at the top of my hit list. The sad thing is that getting rid of one of these frauds does nothing to stop the charade. Believe me, these people don’t represent me, and their shove-it-up-your-a** attitude is offensive in every respect. Sometimes, I think that the answer would be to rapture up all these little weasels, but that would mean destroying the whole concept of what Heaven is supposed to be.

Sorry kids, it seems I’ve diverged a bit from my Christmas message. In short, I’m not happy with the so-called world “leaders.” They are an insult to the worthy goals of peace and goodwill, placing no value on the lives of others while incessantly feathering their own nests with adornments of wealth. I have more of my kids “wandering in the wilderness” than ever before, and the numbers of those, who are destitute and desperate, are growing every day.

Oh, my children. Why can’t you get it right?

Of course, I’ve told you that the “meek will inherit the earth,” so the upside of the present situation is that the oh-so-abused Palestinians, Ukrainians and North Africans are coming back to me in record numbers to claim their reward. It is good to see them smiling again, something that seemed impossible while they were on Earth.

The flip side is that, while I can’t use the word “hate,” I truly loathe the people and groups who stand in the way of a peaceful, kind world. Of course, they’ll have their reward but, as I see it, it can’t be soon enough.

There you go, kiddies! I’m finding myself a bit tired because I forgot to do my coffee-shopping at Costco, and my liquor supply is almost exhausted.

If you’re believing that there can be something merry about this Christmas, have at it. But I’m telling you, as much as I love you all, 2023 was a very disappointing year for mankind, and it’s time for a change.

Give your hearts to the real meaning of Christmas, every day of the year, and you’ll find that the world really can be a better place. Season’s greetings—God”

The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and their adorable and ferocious “Poppy.” comments@cityweekly.net