When Bubba Met God

Another Sunday evening. I sat in front of the TV, watching foot-ball and eating what I called a tuna special—tuna with whatever happened to be in the fridge. I wasn’t much of a cook. I’d eaten a lot of tuna specials since my wife and I separated a year earlier. Our marriage just couldn’t withstand the grief we’d endured since losing two of our kids. Our son James was born prematurely and lived only 10 days. His older brother, Robert, died six years later at 18 of kidney disease. Not a day passed that I didn’t think of them.

I worked as a landscaper. I had a lot of time to myself as I tended gardens and mowed lawns. My hobby was metal detecting. I’d found all sorts of old and rare coins. That was something I did alone too. My brother, who