"Hello, parts department, Ray speaking."

"Is that cylinder in yet?"

"No, Mr. Willard, I'm sorry, your cylinder still isn't in."

"You told me yesterday you expected it today."

"Yes, they said they shipped it Monday."

"I ordered that thing almost two weeks ago."

"Yes, Mr. Willard, I'm really sorry they shipped the wrong part the first time."

"Well, if you can't get it in here by tomorrow, you can just forget about any more business from me."

As Ray hung up the phone, he brushed his fingertips lightly against his pulsing left temple. He could feel the blood shooting through as it hurried to the throbbing spot over his left eye. That phone had been a torture instrument this afternoon. The last three calls, in order, had been first Sharon's history teacher, scheduling a conference to discuss an "attitude problem;" then Marjorie, who had gotten home from her job to discover their roof leaking; and now a very unhappy customer. Usually Ray hated going to the dentist, but it would be a relief to get away from the phone for a while. And anyway, it was only a checkup.

He opened the door to discover it was still raining outside. Striding through the rain, Ray shielded his glasses with one hand while reaching into his pocket with the other. He drew out the keys to the Ford. And then, as he reached out and began to squeeze open the car's door handle, it happened.

Who knows which particular straw will break the camel's back? When Ray inadvertently glanced at the rear tire while opening the door, with his pounding headache, in the pouring rain, and saw the tire nearly flat — something snapped. That piece of Job that lurks in all of us broke through the surface in Ray.

"Why do these things have to happen to me?" he griped, shoving in the trunk button. "Why me, God? I'm not a bad guy. I don't beat my wife and kids. I go to church. I don't get drunk. I don't deserve this kind of treatment."

Ray was in that mood next door to fury where we dare life to provoke us. (Go ahead, do one more rotten thing to me; that'll prove I'm right.) The hubcap popped off, and four of the lug nuts loosened, but not the fifth. When the wrench slipped off that nut, and Ray's knuckles raked against the wheel, drawing blood, he had what he felt he needed — license to be provoked.

"See?" he growled to no one in particular. "I don't deserve this!" Though Ray crouched beside a tire, in spirit he was standing up, challenging the sky. "Life is so rotten to me! Just once in my life I wish I could get what I deserve!"

Ray was startled by a sudden sonic boom — or was it thunder? In either case, the rain stopped. It amused Ray to pretend, as he put on the spare, that his outburst had stopped the rain. "Well," he said as he tightened the nuts, "maybe I will get what I deserve. It's about time."

Ray pulled into the medical complex parking lot a few minutes late and hurried into the office. "Ray Benton," he announced to the receptionist. "I have a 3:30 appointment."
"Fill out this sheet, and then go to Room 2," the receptionist said. "We've had a cancellation, so Dr. Lewis will be ready for you."

No waiting? Ray thought. Maybe I am going to get my just deserts.

That was Ray's last pleasant thought of the day.

"Six cavities? I don't understand, Dr. Lewis. How can my teeth be fine for years and then all of a sudden I get six cavities?

Dr. Lewis looked at his chart again. "Mr. Benton, how often do you floss?"

"Oh, not as often as I should."

"How often is that? Twice a week? Once a week?"

"No, not that often."

"How about sweets? Do you eat a lot of those?"

"I get candy bars from the vending machines at work every day. I eat a couple of
donuts for breakfast and have some kind of a treat for a bedtime snack. Why?"

"Well, Mr. Benton, I'll be honest with you. I don't know why your teeth haven't decayed before. You've just been lucky is all I can figure. Now it looks like all these years of sweets and improper care are catching up with you. I've never seen so many teeth go bad all at once."

Wait till I tell Marjorie, Ray thought as he walked in the door at home. But he didn't get a chance.

"Oh, Ray, guess what? We got a letter from the IRS. They found some problems with the return, and now they're going to audit us for the past five years."

"Five years?! But I haven't done anything wrong — I mean, not really, anyway."

"Ray, what if they find something wrong?"

Six decayed teeth, and now this. Plus Ray was beginning to feel stomach cramps. Severe stomach cramps.

"Why do I have an ulcer, Dr. Prentiss?" Ray had hardly been able to make it through the night until this morning's emergency appointment.

"Do you worry a lot at your job, Mr. Benton?"

"Yeah, I — well, no, I wouldn't say a lot. Only when things go wrong."

"Do things often seem to go wrong?" Dr. Prentiss probed.

"I guess so. Yeah, in my line of work things always go wrong. I guess I've worried almost every day since I got to be parts manager eight years ago."

"In that case, Mr. Benton, you were fortunate not to have this ulcer before now. Nature has been kind to you."

"And you say I'm in danger of heart trouble too?"

"Yes. Mr. Benton, how much do you exercise?"

"Oh, I don't know. Whenever I can, I guess."

"How often is that? Every week?"

"Well, not that often." Ray thought for a minute. He finally said, "I washed the car a couple of weeks ago."

Dr. Prentiss nodded his head. "I see. Well, Mr. Benton, you're a lucky man."

"With a heart condition and an ulcer?" Ray was irritated. "What are you talking about?"

Dr. Prentiss began writing on a pad as he talked. "I mean what you've done to your body, Mr. Benton. You've filled it with tension, haven't exercised, haven't eaten right, but still you got away with it for over 40 years." He handed Ray a sheet of instructions. "You've been a very lucky man."

What else do I deserve? Ray wondered as he pulled the car into the driveway. Now that he considered it, maybe he wasn't as deserving of good as he had thought. Maybe he'd been too hasty in asking for his just deserts. He remembered tasks he hadn't followed through on, people he'd failed to love and appreciate fully. Why, occasionally he even took Marjorie for granted. Sometimes he wondered what he'd ever done to deserve a woman like her. Oh, no ... .

"Marjorie!" he yelled, running up the driveway. "Marjorie!"

She ran to meet him. "Ray, are you OK? Catch your breath a minute while I tell you what I've been doing today on my day off. I've been doing some serious thinking about our marriage, and I don't feel like we're really getting anywhere —"

"I don't want what I deserve!" Ray cried out. A sonic boom accompanied the words as he broke down in Marjorie's arms, sobbing over and over, "I don't want what I deserve."

"Ray, what on earth are you talking about?" she asked.

"I don't want a divorce," he gasped.

"Well, I hope not!" Marjorie exclaimed. "I don't either. I love you."

"But you just said our marriage wasn't getting anywhere," Ray said.

"You didn't let me finish. Our marriage isn't getting anywhere spiritually. That's what I was trying to say. I was wondering if you and I could start praying together."

"That's it?" Ray asked in disbelief. Marjorie nodded and wiped away his tears. He held her tighter. "Yes, you're right. We do need to pray together. Let's start right now."

"On the front porch?" Marjorie started to protest, but Ray had already begun.

"Righteous Judge and kind Father, I thank you so much for blessing me more than I deserve. ..."