Making Faces

by Amy Harmon

The TVs were new, the chalkboards old, the teacher ancient, so nobody paid him much attention as he stood staring up at the screen, watching a newscaster talk about a plane crash. It was 9:00 am.

“Everybody is a main character to someone,” Bailey theorized, winding his way through the busy hall and out the nearest exit into the November afternoon. “There are no minor characters.

Everybody who is somebody becomes nobody the moment they fail.

If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me? Does he make the legs that cannot walk and eyes that cannot see?

Does he sculpt us for his pleasure, for a reason I can’t see? If God makes all our faces, did he laugh when he made me?