God’s Suggestion Box

“Mrs. Owens, what in the world is that?”

“What is what?”

“That?” Natasha asked the 56-year-old owner of Sew What! as she pointed to a shoebox wrapped in plain white paper, with a wide slit at the top, and marked with black block letters that read, God’s Suggestion Box.

“What does it look like?” Mrs. Owens asked in her usual brusque manner. “I know you graduated from high school because I was at your graduation ceremony. What does it say? Spell it out, Little Girl.”

“It looks like a box where we can suggest things to God.”

“Bingo. You did well.”

“We can’t tell God how to do things, Mrs. O.,” Natasha commented, perplexed.

“And yet, we do all the time. I know I do. And I know that I know that I know, I’m not the only one who’s tried to be God of their own life or tell the Lawd’ how to do His job.

“Okay. But a suggestion box for God? That’s irreverent, even for you, Mrs. O.” She took out her phone, snapped a shot, and snickered as she posted the so-called irreverent invention on Instagram within 30 seconds.

“Oooh, irreverent. I’m proud of you for expanding your vocabulary.”  

If you were a stranger or new to Mrs. Owens’ seamstress business, you might be offended by her dry humor and chainsaw tongue. But her community just rolled with the punches and her verbal stabs. They knew from experience that beneath her salted, crusty demeanor was a kind heart.

While she would never win a prize for being Miss Congeniality, she was the first person to sign up to donate money for back-to-school supplies and to sponsor local activities. When the daughter of one of her former workers qualified to compete at the national gymnastics’ championship, she was part of the committee that raised funds for her training in Colorado.

Mrs. O. was a huge sports fan and loved attending local games to cheer on her community’s teams. She also enjoyed entertaining herself by making up funny names to harangue the referees when they made bad calls. Her rants were legendary.

“Mrs. Owens, I know you like to shock people and make them think about things in a different way, but this one takes the cake.”

“What’s your story, Natasha?” Mrs. O. asked.

“My story? My story about what?” she asked curiously.

“Everybody has a story about a suggestion they’ve made to God. What’s yours?”

“Well, I’ll admit that I did have an incident here recently where I had some conversations with the Lord and questioned how He was handling things.”

“Ahhh haaa, Keep going.”

Natasha was interrupted by the jingling bell on the glass-paneled door. In walked Chantel Russell, one of Mrs. Owens’ regulars.

“Good Mo’ning, Family. How’s everybody doing?”

“For once, can you walk through my door without waking up the neighborhood?” asked Mrs. Owens.

“And top of the morning to you, too, Dorothy.” Aside from her family, Chantel was the only person who had been granted the privilege of calling Mrs. Owens by her first name. And she was the closest thing to a friend that Mrs. O. had. 

“Chantel, you’re right on time.” Announced Natasha.

“On time for what?”

“For an interesting conversation,” she said, pointing to the suggestion box.

“God’s Suggestion Box,” Chantel read aloud and burst out laughing. “Only you, Dorothy Owens, would think to put something like this in your store. But the last time I checked, God didn’t need any of our advice.”

“So you say that with your lips, but does your life back that up?” Mrs. Owens challenged.

“Pardon me?” Chantel replied.

Mrs. O. ignored her confusion. “Listen. I had a blowout with God a few weeks ago. I mean, I was arguing up a storm. I didn’t understand why he was allowing a situation with my daughter to go on and on and on. I was like, ‘Just fix it. You’re God, aren’t You?’”

Natasha and Chantel looked bug-eyed at each other.

Mrs. O. continued. “I had had enough, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed my car keys, got in my car, and headed in her direction. My fuse was lit, and I was ready to explode. But then, I noticed my elderly neighbor, who’s dealing with dementia, wandering in her front yard. I got out of the car to make sure she was okay. I opened her front door, and her husband was asleep on the couch. He had no idea she had wandered outside.”

“Ahhh haaaa, keep going.” Chantel said attentively.

“By the time we got Mrs. Whitman settled down, I was exhausted. I took my behind home, made a cup of tea, and sat on the patio.”

“So, you didn’t make it to Gina’s?” Natasha asked.

“No. And I realized if I did, I would have lost my daughter forever.” She wiped her counter to hide the tears forming in her eyes, begging to be released.

“Wow, Mrs. O., I’m glad you didn’t make it to Gina’s,” Natasha said.

“Me too. Seeing Mrs. Whitman and her vulnerable situation stopped me dead in my tracks because God knows I was about to say some things to Gina that I would never be able to take back. I made a vow to God at that moment—that I would be “Dorothy” and I would let Him be “God.” Now, I don’t know how faithful I’ll be in keeping that vow, but I meant it at the time. Then, like falling rain, the idea for this box came into my mind. I think it’s His way of getting a little humor out of the situation and sparking some dialogue.”

“He is sooo merciful,” declared Chantel.

“That He is,” agreed Mrs. Owens.

The End

 I’d LOVE to hear what you gleaned from this story. Please share with us in the Comment section!

 © 2025 Felicia Harris-Russell. All rights reserved.