It had been raining for days. The sky was grey, the ground soaked.
I was looking out my bedroom window at a water-logged backyard. I had been trapped inside since Saturday, and I was getting anxious. I wanted to get back to my mound project, but nature was not allowing me to. She had other plans, it appeared.
The phone rang. I walked into the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Harry, its Anne. Bad news.”
“Another strikeout?”
“Yup.”
I slumped into a chair at the table. It was our third rejection by an Ohio court. It seemed no one would take the case seriously. Either that or they were all trying to avoid the media circus that would certainly ensue.
“We could try again,” said Anne.
I shook my head. “It would probably be a waste of time.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “You don’t really think we’ll get the case heard, do you?”
I smiled. “No, not really. But that hasn’t stopped me from getting my hopes up. I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen.”
“Well, it’s up to you what we do next. I’m willing to keep going if you are.”
“I know. I’ll think about it today. My gut feeling is that it’s not necessary, and would be a waste of your time. I guess I need to decide where all of this is going.”
“Well, let me know,” Anne said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already accomplished what you set out to do. But if you want to keep going, I’m with you.”
“I know you are. I’ll call you later. It’s time for some rainy day soul searching.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be home this afternoon, and then I’m driving to my mother’s this evening. Leave a message on my cell if you don’t get me.”
“Okay. Thanks for everything, dear.”
“You’re very welcome. Good luck with the soul searching.”
“Right,” I said with a smile. I hung up the phone and sat back down at the kitchen table, mulling over my options. I knew that Anne would be enthusiastic about continuing with the suit, if that’s what I wanted. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wanted. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead.
All along, I had believed that the lawsuit would lead somewhere. And as things first began rolling, it appeared as though it would. But Anne and I had yet to find a court that would hear the case, and if the reaction we had gotten so far was any indication, the case would never be heard.
I realized as I sat there at the kitchen table that the disappointment I was feeling at that moment was not because of the series of rejections but because the momentum and enthusiasm I had felt earlier was now gone. There were less phone calls from reporters, less visits to the website. The initial flurry of attention was dissipating, and the case was being rejected everywhere we went with it.
So it was time to decide the next step. And I had no idea what that next step might be. None. So that was the real source of my frustration. I didn’t know what to do next.
I began thinking back to that day in April when I had decided to sue God. Did I know then where all of this would lead? Of course not. But back then it didn’t matter. I had reached a point where I wasn’t concerned with outcomes, and that had given me the courage to do what I did.
But as I sat there at the kitchen table, I wondered where that courage had gone. I no longer felt it. I no longer felt the enthusiasm, the drive to continue with all of it. And I was beginning to sense a gnawing feeling, deep in the back of my mind, that the entire thing was pointless. And that scared me.
If there was nowhere else to go with the lawsuit, what else was there for me to do? My teaching career was pretty much over. And even if I could get a position somewhere else, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to teach anymore. It didn’t sound the least bit appealing to me. I honestly believed that my teaching days were over.
The more I thought about my circumstances and my future, the more depressed I became. My finances were beginning to dwindle, and the legal fees were mounting. Fortunately, Anne was charging me very little and had indicated I could compensate her down the road when my financial picture improved. But I didn’t want to take advantage of Anne’s generosity, and I also didn’t like the thought of being indebted to her or to anyone else. At least not financially.
The day wore on, and I tried to think about other things. The house needed work. I hadn’t done any cleaning in months. But my thoughts kept returning to my circumstances and the need to decide on a plan of action. But the more I thought, the more frustrated I became. And I wasn’t getting any closer to knowing what to do next.
I needed to do something. Anything. I considered getting out the vacuum, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I considered rearranging the living room furniture, which usually cheered me up, but that seemed unappealing as well. Then I thought about the mound in the backyard, and I felt a jolt of excitement. Yes, I thought, that will keep my mind off of things for a while.
But it was raining. Raining hard. I walked into my bedroom and looked out the back window. The rain was coming down in sheets. The backyard was covered with huge puddles. And there was my precious mound, covered with weeds and getting drenched under a dreary grey sky. I sat down on the edge of my bed and continued looking out the window. Thinking about my mound project had brought me the only positive energy I had felt all day. I wished it wasn’t raining.
Suddenly, I stood up. Who cares? I thought to myself. Who’s afraid of a little rain?
I walked out to the hall closet and pulled out a hooded windbreaker and a pair of boots, then walked into the living room and put them on. I looked at myself in the mirror in the hallway and smiled. I hadn’t worn those boots for at least five years, and I couldn’t remember if I had ever worn the windbreaker. I hoped it would keep out some of the rain.
When I was ready, I walked back down the hall, through the laundry room, and out the back door. Down a few steps, and I was standing in a four-inch puddle. The boots were sturdy and waterproof, so I knew that at least my feet would stay dry. I walked toward the back of the property and stopped in front of the mound of dirt and weeds. There were small rivers of water running down the sides.
I placed one foot on the side of the mound. It was steep, perhaps forty-five degrees. The treads on my boots were new, however, and I easily walked up the slope without slipping. Soon I stood at the top, looking around at my backyard and at the neighbors’ houses that surrounded it. All was grey and wet and dreary. But standing atop the mound, I felt the weight of the day lift. I felt the depression and frustration slip away, leaving me standing tall atop my mound.
I looked over at the pile of bricks in the corner of the yard. I decided I was ready. I climbed back down the mound and walked over to the bricks. I had already sorted out the best ones, and I picked up four of them and carried them back over to the mound and up the side. When I reached the top I bent down and arranged them in a square in the middle of the very top of the mound. Then I stood up and looked down at my work. Four bricks. They looked good. They felt right. The whole thing felt right.
I soon forgot all about my previous worries – the lawsuit, the dwindling finances, the teaching career. They were all gone from my mind. Just four bricks. But it seemed more important to me than anything else. I had taken the first step. A step toward what, I didn’t know. But it felt important. It felt significant.
And somehow I knew, on that grey rainy day, that my real work had finally begun.
