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Oprah: “There Can’t Be One Way” to Get to God
By Julie | December 1, 2008
I stumbled across a clip from Oprah a while back. In it, Oprah tells her audience there can’t possibly be one way to God. Then, when someone stands up for Jesus, she argues a little, and finally says, “I can’t get into a religious argument with you.” The clip bothered me, because she was trying to tell someone her religious views of heaven, but “refused to get into a religious argument,” when confronted with another way of thinking. The message of the clip stayed in my head for a few days, until a short story came to mind and I sat to write it. I have not posted it because it is longer than we usually try to post here. But yesterday in church I felt God leading me to share the clip and the story. It is a few pages longer than normal for us, you’re not obligated to read it. But if you’re interested, here it is…
Frank’s House (A Short Story)
One day a young man named George was going about his day when he fell down. He didn’t mean to. But there he found himself, hanging off the side of a cliff, dangling. “Help! Somebody help me!”
People passed by, above him. No one noticed George clinging to the edge of the ledge for his life. One man scampered along, so deeply lost in his own self pity he didn’t even notice he’d stepped on George’s hand (or that he’d nearly fallen off the cliff as well). George flinched, loosing a bit of his grip. He thought his life was over. What hope did he have if no one would pull him up? “Help! I’m down here! I need you! Help me!” He yelled again in desperation.
He heard the sounds of fast moving feet, and people saying. “Hey watch it!”, “What’s your problem?”, “What about me!”, “I’m getting trampled up here.”, “Don’t bother me now!”
George knew it was pointless. If no one heard his cry he would never be saved. He loosened his grip, knowing the fall would end his life. He couldn’t hold on any longer; his fingers were cramping. His strength was spent. He relaxed his arms; his body zoomed lower…
Suddenly a hand from above was gripped his own. Stunned, George looked up to see a man reaching down, pulling him up.
“Just hang on,” The man smiled; as he pulled George with more strength then his frame implied he had. The stranger’s smile told George he was saved, completely saved.
On solid ground, George thanked the man and asked why he stopped to help when no one else would. “I like saving people.” Then he reached his hand forward, “I’m Frank.”
“Um,” George stuttered, wondering how he’d transitioned from a dangling man to shaking a stranger’s hand. “I’m George.”
Suddenly, George and Frank were the best of friends. Frank began to help George clean up other areas of his life (a major feat, for young George had made many messes. George was introduced to other people Frank had helped; they all became friends, kind of. George listened as these people told Frank their troubles. George began to imagine how difficult their struggles would be, he felt sorry for them. This was a bit of a miracle, because George usually spent time feeling sorry for himself. Sure, some of the people had created their problems and couldn’t figure a way out of them. Others seemed innocent victims, stuck in the middle of something too difficult to overcome. As Frank offered them assistance George lent a hand, and soon more and more people came forward.
One day Frank told the group he had to go home soon. He asked them to care for each other after he left. He left them a promise: when they retired, if they wanted to, he had a great place and they were all welcome to come and stay. Frank described a huge mansion, with acres and acres of land, swimming pools, orchards, and room to run. He talked of games they’d play together. George imagined iPods, Xboxes, and plasma TV’s.
Before heading home, Frank gave them his phone number and told them to call if they ever needed anything. He told them, “Distance will never separate us.” While they were together, they all believed him. He left specific directions for how to get to his place, again telling them to call Him if they got lost. Before pulling away in his SUV he said, “When you get there ring the bell and say Frank sent ya! The door man will let you in.”
The group of friends stood and waved goodbye, watching Frank drive away until he was no longer seen on the horizon. Soon, they went back to their own lives. They saw each other less, before long they did not speak at all. Frank called often to check on George. For a while George called too. But after awhile he got annoyed Frank called so often, and he returned fewer of his calls. Didn’t Frank realize he had things to do?
George’s co-workers had never met Frank. They asked, “If you’re such good friends, why don’t we see him around. What a crappy friend!” George explained that Frank lived far away.
His co-workers said, “Right. He probably doesn’t even exist.”
In frustration George told them, “He does exist. And one day I’m going to follow the directions he gave me to his house, knock on his door and say, “Frank sent me!” Then we’ll play his Xbox, hang out with friends and swim in the pool, it’s larger than an Olympic regulation pool!”
His co-workers laughed. “Why do you have to follow his instructions? You could get to his house a million different ways. Does this Frank control you? Can’t you think for yourself?”
George thought they had a point. Soon, he became so obsessed with finding a new way to arrive at the same point, and impress Frank by doing so, that he stopped thinking of others. Simultaneously, he began to feel unhappy, though he wasn’t sure why. So he poured himself deeper into his task, seeking satisfaction that never came.
One workday George’s co-workers approached him, saying they’d been asking around, looking for someone who knew Frank. They said some had heard of Frank’s house. Some said Frank had personally given them instructions on how to get to his house. Still, others claimed they’d arrive at Frank’s house their own way, via a path they chose. One man spoke of barging right through the door, without even mentioning Frank’s name. He said if Frank was such a good person, it shouldn’t matter what name they used to get in the door. If Frank wouldn’t let just anyone in, there was something wrong with him. And, if Frank didn’t agree, he was just a self-serving jerk! They went on to say many people believe Frank was a legend, an urban myth, used to control people. Some thought he was created by a politician even more evil than President George Bush. Others said there is no historical proof of Frank. At all.
After George’s cubical emptied, his heart pounded, and he felt dizzy. He wondered, had he dreamed up Frank? Maybe he’d fooled himself into meeting him. He reasoned, he’d simply dreamed of hanging off the cliff, and he’d dreamed of Frank’s existence as well.
George abandoned his quest to get to Frank’s house. He stopped caring altogether. Why care about something that’s only a political scam to control people? People said it was pointless; surely it was. Some days angered George that he’d been pulled into a fantasy based on a guy with no historical records. His anger fueled him; he lashed out at people, and found himself having few friends. That really ticked him off! But there was no one around to listen since he’d driven everyone away. So George found pleasure in cursing Frank, pleasure that made him angrier.
Once in awhile he’d hear Frank’s voice was on his answering machine, asking for George. His voice sounded nice. But that was a scam, right? Two times there was a knock on the door, and when George looked through the peephole he thought he was looking at Frank. But he couldn’t be. Frank did not exist. George walked away, pretending no one had knocked at all.
(Continued on the next page…)
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Topics: Faith, Life and Living, Short Fiction | No Comments »
