conversation. After a while my questions emerged at a more leisurely pace and I stopped addressing her as Grace. I now felt enough at ease to use the word, God. I began to feel a fellowship with her. "Grace," I asked, "how is the baton passed. Is there thunder, lightning! An ordination a coronation?"
"Oh, no," she responded. "Being God is hard work. This is not a job that anyone in his or her right mind would want, so the transition is accomplished in the rather mundane way. It could be over a drink at a party, a flight over Naples, in the library, at the seashore, or even in a pizza palace while enjoying pizza."
Trish brought our meals. She placed them gingerly on the table. "Be careful, they're very hot," she warned as she smiled and walked away.
"Robert," God said, "it's time for me to hand over the baton, as you put it. From this moment, you are God!"
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