Please. Come In.

Sharing Options

Once there was a man with gifts in accounting, but it has to be said that he became intolerable. He, of course, did very well at his job, which was an accounting job, but his problem was that he could not be made to understand that all of life was not like that. He thought that if his particular gifts were a hammer, then everything he encountered must be some kind of nail. He soon became an insufferable bookkeeper in everything. His ledgers were stacked everywhere—real ledgers, imaginary ledgers, and metaphorical ledgers.

His young daughters would not get a hug unless the emotional accounts were all balanced. One time, his wife was a nervous wreck for three days straight because she had gone five dollars over her grocery budget. On committee meetings for the church, he always knew whose turn it was to do anything. He didn’t mind doing his share of the work, but it had to be his share, and it had to be his turn. Whenever he made desserts for the family—banana splits, as it always turned out—he would count the M&Ms to make sure everyone got the same number. His work in accounting was meticulous, and his superiors were very pleased with that. But other aspects of life at work were not as pleasant. Every Monday, he would count the loose paper clips in the workroom, and try to find out whose they were. In short, he was a fussy, fussy man.

One day he died and went up to the gates of heaven. He found himself pushing a wheelbarrow full of all his ledgers up to the front gate. As he approached, an angel’s head appeared over the gate, and two other burly angels came out a side gate, and began walking toward him. It seemed to be kind of a regular routine for them.

“May I come in?” the man said.

“Just a minute,” said the angel at the gate.

The two angels reached the man, pulled his hands off the wheelbarrow—although he was very reluctant—carried the wheelbarrow over to a nearby precipice, and pitched it off.

The man’s face turned ashen white. “Where will it land?” he cried.

“Hell,” said the angel at the gate. “But as for you, come right in.”

“Don’t you have to look at my books?”

“Oh, no,” said the angel. “If we had done that, you would have been thrown over too. But, please. Come in.”

Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments