Saints

While reading this morning from Change of Heart by Jodi Picoult, I came upon these words:

"There was a time when I prayed to saints.  What I liked about them were their humble beginnings:  they were human, once, and so you knew that they just got it in a way Jesus never would.  They understood what it meant to have your hopes dashed or your promises broken or your feelings hurt."

My first reaction was shock, but then thinking it over, the statement brought answers to questions long held.  On my mission to the Philippines I often wondered at a land steeped in Catholicism.  One of my earliest experiences was a visit to the Quiapo Church in down town Manila.  There were life sized statues of every saint imaginable.  All of the Jeepneys had a statuette of St. Christopher, the patron saint of athletes, mariners, ferrymen and travelers, glued to the dash.  Idolatry aside, I couldn't understand why folks would pray to a saint or Mary rather than Heavenly Father.  I couldn't get my mind around choosing some other Mediator besides Jesus Christ.

The book I was reading yesterday, Bachelor Brothers' Bedside Companion by Bill Richardson, devoted a good deal of time ridiculing the invocation of blessings from the Saints.  Richardson made some lighthearted fun of various, sometimes, obscure saints whose patronage was both interesting and amusing:  Saint Gertrude of Nivelles is patron of cats and is invoked against mice.  St. Agatha is the patron of bell makers and wet nurses and is invoked against volcanoes.  St. Agabus is patron of fortunetellers, which seems a bit oxymoronic to me.  More familiar to most of us is St. Nicholas who is the patron saint of children (obviously), sailors, unmarried girls, merchants, perfumers, opothecaries and pawnbrokers.  St. Nick seems to have a conflict of interest on a couple of counts.  Richardson's character Caedmon was making a few bucks making bread dough saints, which he sold with an accompanying prayer.  Medal pedaling is a long held Catholic tradition.  Quite lucrative I'm sure.  Before I share Caedmon's prayer to St. Nicholas with you, you need to understand that Nicholas seemed to like the number three.  He is purported to have saved three girls from prostitution by giving each a bag of gold.  This spawned the practice of hanging three gold balls outside a pawn shop so the broker might invoke his patron's favor.  He also restored life to three boys slaughtered by a butcher, saved three sailors off the Turkish coast and rescued three men who were condemned to die.  If Nicholas is your patron you might consider hanging out with a couple of friends.  Anyway, here's Caedmon's prayer:

Yuletide comes, the bills mount up, the stores sell off their stock, 

Let us pray St. Nicholas will keep us out of hock.  

As he plucked the butchered boys from out the salty brine, 

May he always help us tow the sacred credit line; 

Otherwise we'll be compelled to leave the tinselled halls 

And swap our Christmas loot for cash beneath three hanging balls.

Please forgive my levity.  I commenced this essay in all seriousness.  As I said, I've found it difficult to understand the Catholic obsession with saintly intermediaries.  That is until now.  Picoult's observation cleared the entire thing up for me.  Clearly Catholics do not understand what we are taught in Alma 7:10-12

And behold, he shall be born of Mary, at Jerusalem which is the land of our forefathers, she being a virgin, a precious and chosen vessel, who shall be overshadowed and conceive by the power of the Holy Ghost, and bring forth a son, yea, even the Son of God.

And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.  

Contrary to the supposition in Picoult's book, Jesus does get it.  He gets it better and more entirely than anyone else.

He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows:  (Isaiah 5:3-4)

Apparently, Catholics are taught that Jesus was above sorrow and pain and because of His otherly nature cannot understand the vicissitudes of mortality.  My experience is just the opposite.  Jesus, more than anyone else can relate to our sorrow, pain and grief.  He experienced my own suffering on an intimate and personal level, known to no other besides myself.  And so it is for every single individual who has or will ever abide on this planet.  He is the only one qualified to mediate between us and the Father.  It breaks my heart to know that millions out there are not aware of the breadth and depth of His compassion.  Compassion available to us  for the very reason that He most certainly does GET IT.

Going With The Current

I go for a walk or a bike ride every morning.  What ever suits my fancy.  Today, I preferred to walk.  Quite often I encounter a friend and we walk together.  I get better exercise on those days.  I don't walk with anyone who doesn't out walk me, speed-wise.  Many of these people are older than I, and still they push my endurance to keep up with them.  We can scarcely have a conversation I'm puffing so hard.  I've thought a lot about this phenomena.  One friend even told me I was going to have to pick up the pace or she flat out wouldn't deign to join me.  I suggested she might slow down to accommodate an old man, but she refused saying, "That would defeat the purpose."  That settled it for me.  I let her go on without me; for indeed it would defeat the purpose.  Mine.

Of course I hope for some aerobic and muscle development when I walk, but that is not the entirety of my purpose as it seems to be for the others.  There is some health benefit to strolling as well and speed walking.  I stroll for the benefit of my heart as well as my heart.  It strengthen's my core as well as my core.  It is as much a spiritual exercise as it is a physical one.  I may never be able to run a marathon.  Unless you think enduring to the end is a race.  I don't like races.  Who am I trying to beat?  What am I trying to prove?

Today on my walk I went by the ball parks on my way to stroll along the Kid's Canal.  There, I found an abandoned softball.  It was plastic, including plastic vacu-formed laces in stead of real ones.  It appeared to be regulation size, but much too light.  I picked it up and amused myself tossing it from hand to hand as I walked up the highway.  Part way up the road I was joined by a turkey who walked along with me for a stretch.  I gobbled, but he didn't.  I nodded, "You're welcome!"  To a passer-by who seemed amused to see two turkeys strolling up the road together.  At least our necks match.

At the canal, I tossed the ball into the stream and watched it float with the current.  My heart rate dropped as I waited for it to meander through the slow spots.  So did my blood pressure.  The ball took a loop or two through an eddy but persisted on its journey after a short delay.  A fly hitched a ride for several hundred feet.  I imagined I knew what the fly was thinking and that he was having a splendid time!  He rode the ball right to the edge of a waterfall and flew away at the last moment.  I envied him.  In my imagination I was he and the falls were Iguazu.  I wonder if anyone ever rafted over the edge carrying a hang-glider.  Wouldn't that be a rush.

I know, I sound like an adrenalin junkie.  I'm not.  Remember, I'm a stroller, not a walker, jogger or runner.  Watching a ball float down a canal is plenty of excitement for me.

At the bottom of the falls, a pile of trash had accumulated.  I worried that the ball would get hung up.  Not to worry.  He rolled with the punches and found his way through.  He'd transformed in my mind from an it to a he.  And I began to think about my life.  I too am floating along in the stream of life.  Occasionally, I've drifted into an eddy and stopped making progress.  Now and then I've got myself tangled up in the brush along the bank.  There have been scary moments as I've plunged into the depths of uncertainty.  I've even set my heart on something upstream and fought the current only to exhaust myself in fruitless effort.

I thought about retrieving the ball as I departed the canal, but felt like I was interfering with its destiny.  Maybe he will float down a ditch and wind up in someone's garden.  And maybe someone tired of weeding will have a little fun playing catch.  Or maybe he will get buried in the mud and be discovered in some archaeological dig 12,000 years from now.  Remind me to watch for him in the great movie in the sky at the end of the world.  I really would like to know, after all, what really does become of my little well rounded friend.

The stream of life is bound for a Celestial destination, it is a plan of salvation after all.  Every time I bail out on the bank, tread water in an eddy (a metaphor shared by a 12 Stepping friend) or fight the current, I become exhausted and frustrated.  But when I accept the will of the Lord and go with the flow of His intention for me, I seem to relax and enjoy the ride.

I friend of mine, just re-entered the flow and this morning reported on Facebook:  Good day.  Good content day.

Maybe, she's discovered Jesus' sweet invitation:

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.  (Matthew 11:28-30)

Perhaps there is a place for earnest, high intensity walking.  But there seems to be an anxious desperation in it and I prefer the relaxed, peaceful, fulfilling flow of a stroll.

Book Review - Bachelor Brothers' Bedside Companion by Bill Richardson

Bachelor Brothers' Bedside Companion is third in a series.  Bill Richardson might have quit at two.  I found it dull and cerebral and largely lacking in the pleasure of the first and to some extent the second.  These books are written on a premise that is sheer genius.  They focus on twin brothers who operate a B&B in British Columbia.  This eclectic collection of stories, poetry and  falderal are variously written as though, by host, guest, or neighbor.  Some are gathered from the wind, while others, from a plethora of books cluttering the shelves of the Inn.

While the format enabled Richardson free rein as to the content collected between the covers (an enviable opportunity to publish everything he ever wrote); the books successively lost my interest as his stuff became ever more distant from my imagination.  There is one exception.  Hector:  In Came the Lady with the Alligator Purse may well be Richardson's finest piece, or rather masterpiece.  This is Bill Richardson (not to be confused with the Governor of New Mexico) at his very best!  I'll keep the book if for no other reason; well, that and to possess the whole set.

Hector and Virgil are great, enjoyable characters, as are Mrs. Rochester the parrot, Altona, the girl friend, Caedmon the hired hand and several others.  And there's the rub.  This volume largely abandoned the characters for other obscure and dusty detritus.  You'll love the first book, like the second and if you're like me, tolerate the third, with the afore mentioned exception which, standing alone, may just be worth the price of the volume. 

This one gets two stars.

Did You Know They've Removed The Word Gullible From The Dictionary?

My Conservative friend, Craig, frequently forwards emails to me that are meant to rally people to the Conservative cause.  An alarming number of them are bald faced lies!  Take the one I got today for example.  It's headline read:  VERY QUIETLY OBAMA'S CITIZENSHIP REACHES THE SUPREME COURT.

This email made claims that seemed to prove that President Barak Obama was not a natural born citizen of the United States and therefore, does not qualify to be President of the United States.  It claims to have proof and claims a suit to that effect has reached the Supreme Court.  My research shows that these allegations and supposed events are pure fabrication meant to inflame and divide.

I don't receive forwards from any Liberal friends, so I cannot judge if this dishonest practice is taking place among them as well, but if I were a betting man, I'd put money on it's likelihood.

This dishonest, divisive, egregious practice has soured my stomach.  Who can actually suppose that lies will actually advance their position.  One such email included a threatening in quote from the Koran in an effort to stir anti-Islamic sentiment.  I looked it up in my own copy of the Koran and found it to be complete fiction, no such verse existed.  I think whoever invented that lie is indeed an infidel.  Who could blame a Muslim for despising him and his dishonesty.  Who could blame me for despising him too!  He is an enemy to all of us.  By his action, and my discovery of its prevarication, he placed me on the side of the Muslim and in opposition to him.  The dishonest, Conservative does the same thing.  To maintain my personal integrity, I must stand with the Liberals and oppose him.

Would that he were just a lone fool with tin foil on his head, living by himself in an attic somewhere.  But, alas I fear he is not.  He is legion and inspired by the devil.  He's spreading lies, hate and discontent in every issue.  Recently, The Deseret News had a whole feature designed to get to the bottom of all the allegations regarding the Illegal Immigration issues.  It was utterly sickening to discover that most of the negatively slanted accusations against illegal immigrants were grossly distorted and meant to mislead and enrage us.

With the internet, he has become almost impossible to find, stop, or punish for his deceit.  But he is only half of the problem.  P. T. Barnum once said, "There's a sucker born every minute."  I'm beginning to think the ring master grossly underestimated that figure.  The wide spread gullibility of the American population scares me to death!  More and more, we'll believe anything.  And we're being taken for ride by conspiring con-men who are hell bent on destroying us.  He's in every camp, on both sides of every issue and if we sucker for his lies, we'll all go down in flames.

Propaganda used to be a dirty word attributed to the Soviet Communists.  Make no mistake, propaganda is alive and well in America today.  It's time we woke up, cultivated a bit of skepticism and directed it not at the Conservatives, or Liberals, or Muslims, or Illegal Aliens, or Democrats or Republicans but at the liars.  It's time for zero tolerance for dishonesty.  The calculated lie is the foremost cause of the polarization of America today and it must be stopped.  So come on Americans, all of you, even you Craig; united we stand, divided we fall.

I Love A Parade! Really?

I actually think I do love a parade.  I watch and enjoy just about every one that happens around here.  But if you ask my regular companions you'll quickly learn that I often ask, "Why do we do this?"  I mean we fight crowds, bake in the sun, wait and wait; all to be deafened by sirens and jet engines.  We watch a bunch of half baked floats and every politician from here to Heber.  The vendors who drag their coaster wagons behind four-wheelers don't ever vend anything that appeals to me.  I always bring money just in case, but the last time I bought anything was 1994.  I quite often get angry when people don't stand for the flag or show respect for the Veterans. And then I worry about the American Legion.  They're all getting way old and no body my age, AKA Vietnam Vets, seems to be picking up the baton. Who will present flags from a grateful nation to these guy's widows?

I was in a parade once.  Sweetie and I were headed for Blanding and found ourselves driving down Main Street in Moab.  We hadn't gone far when we discovered the street lined with spectators, even some crowded bleachers.  Then we began to notice a number of hot rods in the traffic.  At a stop light we found ourselves next to a particularly obnoxious rod with a giant air scoop on the hood and flames painted on it side.  He was lettin' her rumble.  There was a baby asleep in his back seat.  How'd he do that?  We couldn't even run the dishwasher without waking ours up.  Sweetie rolled down the window, risking permanent ear damage and asked the fellow what was going on.

"You're in a parade lady." was his answer.

We found out later that there'd been a big car show in town and at it's conclusion everyone would drag main in their show cars for one last hoorah!  It had become such a tradition that the whole town showed up for the spectacle.

Sweetie began to enjoy the parade from this perspective and got out the video camera to record the crowd as we passed by.  Back home when we were viewing the video the scene passed a fellow standing on the back row of a grand stand holding a sign which read, "Show us your boobs."  Sweetie gasped and asked why I hadn't warned her about it.

"Well, why would I?  I didn't want you to show him your boobs?"  Fortunately, I was out of swat range for that one.

We both remarked that being in the parade was every bit as fascinating as watching one.  There's the whole town on display, sitting in lawn chairs, marinating in their own sweat and reacting in various ways to the spectacle parading by.

So it was today, as I pulled the Ward float in the Pioneer Day Parade.  They'd asked for a volunteer driver during Priesthood Meeting on Sunday and I had gladly raised my hand.  Had I known how pathetic our float was, I'd have realized why the Bishop, a truck driver, had opted to delegate this one to someone else.  Our float's theme, of provident living, featured a huge pink piggy bank.  It so scarcely resembled a pig though, that it's creators had put a sign on it's side indicating what it was supposed to be.  At it's best it couldn't have been too impressive, but shortly after its creation it suffered a cloud burst in the church parking lot that did something to the crepe paper that resembling a Mary Kay Cosmetics factory after a hurricane.

My son-in-law, whose daughter rode on the float, refused to accompany me.  He has a reputation to uphold I guess.  Hey, aside from the pig and scribbled poster paper signs along the edge, with nothing else to doll it up, the float was adorned with gorgeous children and a beautiful newly-wed couple and it turned out to be a masterpiece in a barn wood frame.  It definitely looked like it was built on a shoe string.  Even the trailer was homemade and rusty.  We should have posted a sign to read the old adage of thrift:   Use it up. Wear it out.  Make it do.  Or do without.  In that light we nailed it.

This year marks 100 years of Scouting in America.  The Scouts turned out en mass to march in their uniforms.  My grandson, a Cub Scout rode his bike.  He circled our rig the whole length of the parade.  What a kick to see him showing of his newly developed tricks.

Once again I loved watching the crowd as we made our leisurely way down Main Street.  Still, I missed the Drill Team on unicycles, the Model T carrying the Grand Marshall and the herds of little red faced dancers following Miss Barbara's Dance Class' promo float.  I missed standing for the Stars and Stripes and I missed applauding those resolute old Veterans who defeated Germany and Japan.  I missed the candy tossers and the squirt gun squirters.  Though, there was a new feature this year.  Someone had wheeled a huge trash can full of water to their viewing location and, with their own squirt guns, fought back.

On the way, it dawned on me why I love this business so much.  Our main street is also US Highway 40.  It is busy with lots of truck and tourist travel this time of year.  I relish the fact that five or six times a year we claim Main Street as our own.  Traffic is diverted somewhere else for a moment and we get our little piece of Heaven to ourselves.  And then we take a little time to celebrate who we are.  To show appreciation for the cops, firemen, National Guard, Vets, Representatives and distinguished citizens.  We take a little time to celebrate our children, their talents and beauty.  We pause in the middle of life's rat race and declare.  "This is us, such as we are!  And it tickles us to death to flaunt it in broad day light!