In a brief bout of insanity, Melissa Price cut off her ear and mailed it to God. She was prompted, perhaps, by the voices in her head and the shadow of some distant memory in which she was told that Vincent Van Gogh, the great and misunderstood artist, once, in an angry rage, cut off his ear and mailed it to an enemy. Melissa was, you see, a great and misunderstood artist herself, or so the shadows in her head told her. She was in an angry rage and God, so it seemed, was her enemy, so, according to the shadows and voices and distant memories, the next logical step would be to cut of her ear and mail it to Him. It didn't matter that, without an ear, she couldn't easily hear God's response to her act of hatred; he wasn't talking to her anyway. But, to use a line in the spirit of the Great Poet Shel Silverstien, just because God isn't talking doesn't mean he isn't listening. It also doesn't mean that he isn't receiving mail.
That instant, for it does not take long for God to receive mail (one of the benefits of living outside of time), a lumpy, blood-stained envelope appeared at God's doorstep. God had just stepped out the door for his outside-of-time equivalent to an afternoon walk, so he decided to take the envelope with him. Being God, he already knew what it contained, but he opened it anyway and held the tiny severed ear in his hand. God looked at it and said nothing, but just because God said nothing didn't mean he wasn't paying attention or that he didn't care.
Meanwhile Melissa Price found the voices and shadows and distant memories in her head begin to quiet down as all voices and shadows and distant memories do after a time. Awakened slightly from her befuddled state, Melissa took a bottle of 409 and a sponge from her kitchen sink cabinet and proceeded to clean up the bloody mess she had made on the counter. Finding this impossible because the place where her ear had been was still bleeding profusely, she held a paper towel to her wound and walked to the bathroom where she kept gauze and antiseptic and ace bandages and proceeded to fix up her wound.
"I'm not so crazy," she thought to herself as she wound the ace bandage around her head, "At least I didn't drive myself to the hospital. That place is crawling with government conspiracies."
At that thought, she stopped, looked at her face in the mirror and saw the blood dripping down her cheek. The full realization of what she had just said crept into her head. She stood stunned for a full minute and then began to cry.
"Oh God!" she screamed, "What have I become?" She sank to her knees and sobbed. "Oh God, what have I become?"
She looked up at her face and saw the bandage dangling where her ear had been and the memory came like a knife: "I cut off my ear and mailed it to God! I declared him the enemy; he'll never speak to me again!" She placed her head between her knees and the pain of the raw skin where her ear had been reminded her, "Even he did speak to me, I could barely hear him." And somehow, through all the pain, she fell asleep. Or perhaps she passed our from lack of blood. Whatever the case, God came walking by Melissa's way and found her in a heap on the floor of her bathroom surrounded by gauze strips and ace bandages and antiseptic tubes.
God looked at Melissa and frowned, but said nothing. Just because God said nothing didn't mean that he wasn't saddened by her state or that he didn't love her. God reached down and picked her up and held her close to himself. He found a washcloth and began to clean the blood off of the spot where her ear had been and compressed it with gauze to stop the bleeding. He held her head for a while and, when the bleeding had stopped, he washed is some more. He applied some antiseptic and wrapped her head with an ace bandage, putting gauze underneath to cover the wound in case it started bleeding again. He then carried Melissa up to her room and tucked her in bed after changing her into some fresh pajamas. He soaked her clothes in cold water to get rid of the stains and cleaned up the kitchen and scrubbed the blood spots out of the carpet. As Melissa slept, God put her clothes- now stain free- into the washer and then the dryer and did another load while he was at it. While the dryer was running, God boiled some water and made Melissa's favorite chicken noodle soup so that Melissa awoke to the wonderful aroma of vegetables cooking with pepper and chicken broth.
Upon opening her eyes, Melissa's head pounded with pain. She turned to find two Ibuprofen tablets and a tall glass of water sitting by her bedside; these she swallowed heartily. God, being omniscient, knew Melissa had awoken and filled a bowl with piping hot chicken noodle soup and brought it to her room. Seeing God walking into her room startled Melissa.
"What are you doing here?" she cried, "Oh, you must hate me!" And Melissa began to sob again. God said nothing. But just because God said nothing did not mean that his ability to communicate his reason for being in Melissa's room by holding up the bowl of soup was at all hindered or that he was unable to demonstrate his lack of vengeful intentions with a gentle smile.