As a child, I had two distinct thoughts about what God should reveal when I achieved the afterlife. I was raised Catholic, but these ideas were certainly not ones taught in church or in CCD. I didn't discuss them, as I sensed they would be met with outrage and arguments or depressing denials. I kept them close in the make-the-maybe-come-true part of my heart.
First, God would provide me with an extensive list of all stats related to my life. He could tell me how many times I read my favorite book, The Westing Game, how many episodes of Blossom I watched, how much of my allowance I blew on stickers and Smurfs. He could tell me how many times I did a front aerial walkover in gymnastics, how many minutes I spent practicing the piano, and how many minutes I spent pretending to practice the piano. He'd have every stat related to anything and everything I'd ever done, even the things I didn't realize or remember I'd done. He'd even know how many hours I spent at Woolworths arguing with the Clarion Color Computer to skew the results so it recommended the soft pink blush I thought was ideal, although it clashed with my skin tone. Microsoft Excel didn't exist when I thought up this impeccably organized information that God would illuminate for me, but obviously he would have pre-used it. He had/has that power.
God also would answer all of my questions related to the 001.9 section of the Dewey Decimal system, where the unsolved mystery books reside. He'd reveal the truth or lies about Bigfoot, aliens, the Mary Celeste, ghosts. He'd know if the yellow Volkswagon the murderer drove on the true life TV show, Unsolved Mysteries, really did belong to the family member who my brother and I were sure harbored evil secrets. He'd know what happened at the end of the TV show when the power went out and we never found out who the criminal was.
Yes, I saw God as a personal mystery solver and numbers cruncher. I wouldn't have to ask Him for these things; He'd auto-provide them as was His pleasure and duty. I'd be so thankful and grateful that He'd spill all about my life, in a buffet and bouquet of charts, graphs, and personal A to Z encyclopedias. He'd solidify all my secrets, which would grant Him grand author credit to my story, gaining Him glowing reviews.