Betsey still isn’t going to church or Sunday School. No one has asked about her, but I’ve been hiding out in kitchen at Coffee Hour, where everyone is too busy gossiping to notice.
But we had a breakthrough. We were having dinner and Josh said, “I think it was mean of Jesus to kill those pigs.”Cilla shrieked, “Don’t say that Josh! You’ll go to Hell and I’ll miss you!”
Betsey sneered, “What makes you think you’re going to Heaven?”
Cilla looked panicky. “I’m going to Heaven, aren’t I Mommy?”“Of course you are. We’re all going.” Then I changed the subject.
“You know, in Heaven you can eat whatever you want. And you never have to go to bed.”
This impressed them and probably sounded so good that they didn’t want to spoil things by asking how I knew.
Then Cilla had an idea. “I’m going to pray to the Blessed Virgin Mother that God forgives Betsey and Josh.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I said, ”but why don’t you ask Jesus?”
“I couldn’t do that. If He knew Betsey was mad at him, His feelings would be hurt.”
“You know, Josh said, “I’m mad at Jesus, but I still love Him. Like when Mommy got so mad at Daddy she threw a pillow at him.”
Not one of my prouder moments, but I was trying to get his attention during the Super Bowl. I forget about what.
“And I forgave her,” Ed put in.
“Very gracious of you.”
“I know.”
“The point I’m trying to make here,” Josh continued, (He got that from my father, except he left out the “damn it.”) “is that Jesus knows we get mad at Him, but it’s OK. He forgives us. Just think of all the stuff we do that makes Him mad.”
Betsey looked like she wanted to believe him. But of course she couldn’t admit it. “Who are you, Father Josh?”
I started adding in my head: four years of college, three of seminary. But it’s a long way off.
Josh laughed. “No way, Jose! I want to be a paleontologist.”
That’s college, master’s degree and doctorate. And the job prospects are even worse than for clergy.
Well, it is a long way off. 
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