Dear God: Before this begins, I expect chopped peanuts for the use of "sodomite" in an unaccusing sentence.

Jesus meets me at the gates of heaven. He is magnificently robed and emanates light. His eyes are moist and gentle. He says, "Bell, you have been a faithful servant. Here is your hot fudge sundae."

I am awed and humbled, barely able to say, "Thank you."

He shakes my hand solemnly, ushers me toward a row of chairs where I might eat my sundae, and moves to the next person at the gates. "Kathy, you have been faithful servant..."

I sit down next to a woman who has worked her way through most of her sundae.

I say, jokingly, "He forgot the cherry. I should probably shut up and eat it though, right?"

The woman frowns and looks over at my befudged cup of ice cream. "Uh oh. You’re in hell."

"What do you mean I’m in hell?"

"No cherry. No nuts. No sprinkles. You didn’t even get whipped cream."

I eye my meager sundae, which until now had seemed glorious. "You mean to tell me that hell is that you don’t get toppings? Or that you get a limited selection of toppings?"

The woman shrugs. "I heard that even Hitler got a Push-Up."

"You’re kidding."

The woman shrugs again. "Ours is a forgiving God."

"Well, I wish I had known all of this before," I say, suddenly pissed, thinking of all the things I could have done if I had been willing to forgo even the hot fudge.

"I’m not here to judge," the woman says judgingly, "but I’d have pegged you as a fudgesicle."

"Oh really? What did you get?"

The woman smiles, and I see cherry bits and sprinkle sparkle in her teeth.

Deflated, I quietly spoon my melting sundae. "It just would have been nice to know, that’s all," I mumble.

"I think I’m going to go sit with the other ‘Sprinkles,'" she  says.

A man takes her chair. I look over at his frozen treat. "Fuck! Me! Is that a banana split!?"

The man nods happily.

"What are you? A saint?" I ask.

"Sodomite," he says brightly. "The Bible got that one wrong, apparently."

"Apparently," I echo dully. I see him glancing sideways at my wretched sundae.

His eyes widen, and he reaches over to clasp my wrist. "Oh, honey, what did you do?"

At his unexpected kindness, I begin to cry. "I don’t know!" I wail.

"Lets think back. I’m sure we can figure it out."

I dry my tears with the back of my hand and roll through every shameful or wicked thing I’ve done. "I said the word ‘fuck’ a lot, and all of the g-words too. I cheated on a math test once. I wrote the answers on my arm and still made a C. I ate the last of my son’s Easter candy and pretended not to know what happened to it. The usual social lies about haircuts, fashion choices, ugly babies. Some envy, jealousy, wishful smiting. Um...I ran over a squirrel once, accidentally of course. Birth control? I used birth control?"

He shakes his head at each transgression. "That’s it? You didn’t kill anybody or preach hatred on national television?"

"No, no, no! I swear," I say.

"Well, then, I’m at a loss," he says. "I think you need to go ask him."

"Ask Jesus!? Complain about my sundae?" The thought horrifies me, but then I look down at my puddle of unadorned ice cream, and righteous anger flushes my cheeks. "Good idea," I say.

I walk up to Jesus and tap him on the shoulder. When he turns to look at me, I am once again mesmerized, and nearly forget my mission.

"Bell, is something wrong?" he asks, with great concern.

My anger evaporates, and humbly I say, "I’m just confused, Jesus. I tried to live a virtuous life. I wasn’t always successful, but I tried. And this woman sitting next to me, an awful woman, got sprinkles and a cherry, and there’s a rumor going around that even Hitler got a Push- Up, and...well, I’m just wondering why I got a cup with a scoop of ice cream in it, topped with cold chocolate syrup. I thought it was hot fudge, but it was just chocolate syrup."

"My dearest, Bell," he says. "You are such a kind and generous person, I knew you’d want your deserved treat to go to a hungry child, or someone loveless and hopeless. I was right, wasn’t I?"

I nod in agreement, and walk back to my chair.

"What happened? Did you learn anything?" the man with the banana split  asks.

"Nah, nothing," I say. "He’s fucking with me."