Taking a swallow of scotch and water, with his eyes carefully attending his glass, Gene Chemosh said nonchalantly, “Well, let’s get down to business, Joe. Much as I enjoy your company, you and I both know we’re not here for pleasure.”
“No, Chemosh, I know. I’m ready to get down and get dirty anytime you are.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s start with this proposition. Hold onto your seat. Just eat and listen. This is not your usual topic. OK?” He waited for Chemosh to balkingly agree.
“As sure as I’m sitting here, Chemosh, I know there is a Creator who made me.” He glanced at the shocked look on the other man’s face and held up his hand, explaining, “That’s the premise you just have to accept for this little meeting of ours. Two or three weeks down the road, I don’t think you’ll regret letting me spill my guts in this strange fashion, no matter how you might look at it now.
“So here goes, and thanks for your complete attention. Our Creator designed us to have fellowship with Him. When we don’t have that fellowship because we don’t know Him—or even know about Him, a very important part of us remains inanimate—our spirit. We still are able to live and laugh and love, but we operate in a two-dimensional framework—physical and mental (or soulish, as I call it), rather than in three dimensions: physical, soulish, and supernatural.
“God is not natural. He created the natural, Chemosh. He is supernatural. In a natural world, we can fare very well without even knowing Him. I was there myself until not so very long ago. But life without knowing God is like watching a black and white movie compared to color.” Seeing his friend’s dubious expression, Denspot looked intently at him. “I’m telling the truth. And until you get plugged into the source, you’re only short-circuiting yourself. An omniscient, merciful God has all the answers—all the answers, Gene, to any problem or discomfort we might have. And He doesn’t withhold the solutions from us. But we have to be plugged in.” Denspot emphasized these last words.
“How do you get plugged in?” Chemosh’s question. put with a yawn, was more polite than sincere.
“That’s the critical question. How do we get connected to God? Let me answer this way. The account of when man first began relating to God—’calling on the name of the Lord’—is in Genesis, the first book of the Bible. Now, if you want to know something about anything, like how we connect with God, what do you do? You read about it—in a magazine article, or a book. Or you listen to the ‘authorities’ that have supposedly done this very thing. Of course, the best way to get information is to obtain it first hand, rather than through middlemen. So if you’re a wise man, seeking true answers, you go directly to the source.”
“And the source is the Bible?” Chemosh’s lips smirked disdainfully.
Denspot, undaunted, nodded his head and replied, “Yes, Gene, the source is the Bible. And you can take care of the void in your life—the lack of the supernatural—by making a decision today to believe the information in that book. The Bible records the history of man’s encounter and relationship with his creator.”
Chemosh rolled his eyes as he took a sip of water, but he was listening.
“God created man because He wanted fellowship—relationship. It follows that He created man with a need to relate to Him. But He’ll never force the issue, because He only wants it with those who want it with Him. So the people who never desire this relationship come into this world and go out of it never experiencing the Technicolor of that third dimension, if you will. Though they attain to fame or wealth, they stay natural men. A few of them might even believe there is a God, but they never relate to Him.
“A natural man is by default some type of humanist—for whom all things revolve around humanity and temporal life. He has no sincere interest in the supernatural, or any comprehension of it.” Denspot paused, reaching into his inside suit coat pocket and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Chemosh,” he said, “you’re a humanist, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t put much stock in religion, per se, do you?”
“No,” Gene Chemosh responded with a chuckle, but he couldn’t deny the curiosity he felt. “No, I’ve never given any credence to religion.”
“Well, then it might be difficult for you to appropriate any benefit from the regimen I’m going to prescribe.”
“How’s that?”
“Let me give you the prescription. Then your questions can be more to the point.”
“I’m all ears. If there is a god, he knows I’m ready to try just about anything.”
“OK. Here’s my prescription. You first acknowledge that you’re not quite perfect, and that ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen years ago, you weren’t perfect either. Then you make a decision to let Someone Else begin making some decisions for you, based on a new value system.” Denspot looked at the man across the table from him and addressed the skepticism he saw. “I know. I know. You don’t ‘need this.’ But hear me out, because I think you do—that is, if you really want to rid yourself of the nightmare.”
Chemosh shifted in his seat, planting his left elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand. He was the epitome of skepticism.
“The new value system you’re going to implement is the Ten Commandments. Here are the first five.” Denspot pushed the small paper across to Chemosh, and chuckled to see him pick it up gingerly, as though it were contaminated.
“It’s all right, Chemosh. Remember, it’s an experimental treatment. All you have to do for right now is study these mandates and try to understand ways in which each one could be applied in your life.”
Chemosh glanced down at the list and said almost immediately, “The first one oughta be interesting: ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’ I don’t believe there is a god.”
“It will be enough for now if you just set your mind to adhere to the other four with a willing attitude. Don’t allow yourself to be critical—even in your mind, let alone out loud.” He paused. “The second one should be easy, though, don’t you think?”
Chemosh read the next commandment out loud, “‘Don’t make a graven image for yourself.’” He looked up. “What does that mean?”
“A graven image is a statue or object or picture of someone or something used as an object of worship as opposed to a picture or a bust of a normal person or thing—someone to honor, perhaps, but not worship,” Denspot explained. Then he smiled. “The third one you can do for sure.”
“‘You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.’ Which means?” There was cynicism in Chemosh’s voice.
“Just can the swearing.”
A negative reaction flooded Chemosh’s face. “It’s not quite that easy. It would be a trick for this old horse, in fact.”
“That’s why you first need the determination to carry through your decision to stick to this ‘experimental’ value system. I didn’t say it would be easy; I said it will work. Now, how about the fourth one?”
“Mmm…” Chemosh studied the little list of rules. “‘Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy?’” He groaned and looked up. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here going over the Ten Commandments with a…” He stopped himself from using a gutter word just in time, glancing at Denspot. “…shrink,” he said in a mixture of amusement and disgust. “I really have lost it, haven’t I?”
There was an inscrutable smile on Denspot’s face, but the doctor disregarded the comment and only said, “‘Holy’ in this case, simply put, means you rest one day a week. Some choose Saturday; most choose Sunday. The important thing is the rest part. One day of the week, if you are to faithfully follow the prescription, you must rest. Nothing stressful or physically tiring. It’s a time to recuperate and rest up for the next six days of work and activity.”
“Mmm. I could get used to that one, I suppose.” Chemosh turned over the piece of paper to read the next commandment, but the other side was blank. “What’s the next one?” he asked, surprised at his own interest.
“We’ll start with these five. They’re enough for now. If you’re really curious, you can find them in a Bible. Do you have one, Gene?”
“Naaah.” He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “And I’m not that curious.”
“All right. Well, try it for two weeks. We’ll meet here again—same time, if that suits you.”
“Sure.”
“Well,” Denspot said, standing up and reaching out his hand to Chemosh. “I wish you well.”
“But you’ve barely touched your food!”
“I had a big breakfast, and I actually have an appointment in fifteen minutes,” the doctor apologized.
Gene stood up as well. “Thanks, Doc—I think.” He smiled with a questioning look on his face. “It’s a strange prescription, that’s for sure.”
“You might find it as difficult as it is strange. But don’t let that deter you. Unless I miss my guess, you’ll be glad later that you accepted the challenge.”
Chemosh’s reply was a grimace as he watched the doctor walk away.
……….
That night, when he climbed into bed, Gene Chemosh felt confused. He didn’t know whether he wanted to tell Sal about Denspot’s ‘prescribed’ regimen for the nightmare problem. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure he was actually going to follow through on the strange treatment plan. And from that standpoint, there was no point in telling her. Still, he had to admit just thinking about following through seemed to have a profound effect on his nerves or psyche or whatever it was that brought on the menacing foreboding he had lately experienced almost every evening on the way home from his office. He had felt no menacing foreboding tonight. It was too good to be true, and he didn’t want to rock the boat; so for the time being—what was left of the day, he would let his mind believe he was going to follow the five rules.
While Sal was in the bathroom, he pulled out the little sheet of paper from where he had hidden it underneath a book on his nightstand and studied it again. As for the first rule, if Denspot’s god wanted no other gods in the picture, that shouldn’t be a problem since he had no gods whatsoever in his life. And there was no problem with regard to a graven image. Chemosh came close to laughing out loud.
The swearing rule might be a little difficult, but Chemosh decided to take on the challenge. He had already made an effort at home that evening that was partially successful. “God, it’s going to be tough learning how to talk again!” he smirked to himself. He had hardly completed the thought when another one came to his mind: even in his thoughts he had crossed the rule. He hadn’t been talking to ‘God,’ that was for sure, so that would qualify as taking his name in vain, whoever ‘God’ was. He read through the third rule again, determining to keep it in his mind to contemplate before he went to sleep. The second half of it made him curious about Joe’s god: “For the Lord will not hold him guiltless who taketh his name in vain.”
“A picky god!” Chemosh thought to himself, trying hard to think of anybody in his acquaintance who didn’t say ‘God’ at the front of every other sentence.
“Gene, would you turn on the news?” Sal asked, stepping into the doorway from the bathroom while she smoothed on her face cream.
“Sure, hon.” Gene used the remote to turn on the TV and then stole another glance at the paper to read Rule 3 again.
“God, it’s hot tonight,” Sal complained.
“Yes, it is,” Gene Chemosh agreed, but he was more focused on the words exchanged than the temperature. He wanted all the more to tell Sal about his meeting with Denspot, but he decided not to. If she were to ridicule Denspot’s instruction, Chemosh was afraid it would be enough to cause him to throw in the towel even before he’d tried this unorthodox treatment for even a single day. And that would be OK, except for the ______nightmares. He caught himself using swear words as usual and made a point to think the same thought again, this time dispensing with the swearing.
He kissed Sal on the lips and then closed his eyes, trying to remember verbatim that third rule.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight. What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, I’m just tired, Baby.” He turned his head to look at her and smiled. “But I’m happy.”
“Good,” she said, smiling back. “I am too.”