Give her the power to make things better

You appear in your living room. Your mother is there, sitting on the couch, looking at the TV with a deeply worried expression. The talking heads on cable news are talking about the collapse of stock markets around the world. Entire industries have been reduced to zero value in the blink of an eye. Weapons manufacturers, pharmaceuticals, utilities, and health insurance are all worth nothing now. Petrochemicals, agri-business, and healthcare have plunged. Their stock prices are down to pennies. Large investors, banks, and pension funds have no way to meet their obligations.

“See,” your mother says, pointing at the TV. “That’s what happens when you just do something without thinking it through first.” Her eyes are filled with tears as she looks at you. “People are losing their jobs, their retirements, their homes. People are going to commit suicide over this.”

“OK, no one’s starving though. No one’s going bankrupt from illness. I’ll make sure everyone keeps their homes,” you reassure her. “In fact, I’ll make sure everyone has a safe, healthy place to live.” You eliminate eviction and foreclosure laws worldwide, then create secure, comfortable buildings in every city and town that are large enough to house any homeless people there and give those people keys and knowledge of where their apartments are. “It’s taken care of.”

“And what blow-back will come from whatever you just did?” your mother asks you.

“Whatever it is, I’ll fix that next, then the next thing, and the next,” you insist. “Bit by bit, everything will get better.”

“And you just get to decide what’s better for everyone?” she says softly, but with a clear challenge in her voice.

“I’m the only one who can make the changes,” you say.

“People made changes, made things better, before you came along,” she reminds you. “You have the power to do anything, but do you have the wisdom to know what should, and shouldn’t be done?”

On the TV, there’s live footage of the giant gold ziggurat that appeared in Manhattan, and a clip of Mark, with a teaser promising an interview with the high priest of the new god. Your mother rolls her eyes, and just waves at the screen in frustration. “Really, Dave?”

“OK, that was a bit much,” you admit. “But Mark’s my best friend, why not give him something?”

Your mother just looks at you skeptically.

“And look what you did to me, trying to do something nice,” she gestures to her de-aged face and body. “I don’t recognize myself in the mirror, and, well, all the emotions and turmoil that come with a 19-year-old body are back, too. Can I please be myself again?”

You nod and your mother is back to her familiar form, a beautiful motherly figure, perhaps slightly trimmer in the belly since she was always dieting to try to lose weight there.

She lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

Seeing her that way gives you an idea. “Maybe I shouldn’t have all the power to do good. You’re kind and loving and want to help people.” You smile wide. “Now you can.”

“Dave, what did you do?” she asks with a nervous tremor in her voice.

“I granted you the power to enact miracles to help anyone you choose, in any way that you want, as long as it harms no one else,” you tell her. “You’re a loving, nurturing mother goddess now. You have the choice, you can use that power, or you can ignore people who are suffering or in trouble.” You can’t help curling up one corner of your lip in a slight smirk. If she’s going to criticize you for efforts to help, you want to see what she chooses to do with power.

“David! I didn’t ask for that,” she protests.

You ignore her and change her clothes to sheer golden robes that cling to her curves and display generous cleavage. Then long, white feathered angel wings grow out of her shoulder blades. You make a softly glowing halo circle her head.

She catches her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. “David!” she scolds.

“This is you now, Mom,” you grin.

“This is not funny,” she insists. You give her the ability to hear prayers for help. Her eyes go wide.

“You have to appear to people when you help them, Mom,” you inform her. “I want everyone to know who is making their lives better. Just think about going to them, and you will. Then you can do whatever you think best.”

She scowls at you, then looks indecisive. She disappears with a subtle flap of her wings, and you know she is levitating over a village in a third-world country rescuing it from devastating floods.

You head into the kitchen to grab some breakfast. As you’re munching on a big bowl of sugary cereal, Abbie comes in and wraps her arms around your neck from behind. “Nice, Stretch. Mom looks good as an angel of mercy. Any ideas where I fit in your pantheon?”