Fasting and Prayer

Karen gave the lesson in Church at the Detention Center this morning.  As she commenced the lesson she told us that she had prepared another lesson, but that this morning she'd felt inspired to teach a different one.  We had some pretty tough customers at the meeting and when she announced that the topic would be Fasting and Prayer I was not a little bit skeptical.

Before she finished though, there were tears in every eye.  Her lesson was filled with the Spirit and really hit home with each young man.  I was surprised at how fascinated they each were with the concept of going without food and water in order to gain spiritual strength.  One, young man, a Native American made the comparison to fasting at Sun Dance or on a Vision Quest.  You could see an interest in each of them to give Fasting and Prayer a try.

Most humbling for me was the wake-up call I personally experienced.  I haven't fasted very faithfully lately.  Something, that was once a very vital part of my life and commonly occurred more than once a month, has kind of drifted out of my consciousness lately.  Part of the reason may be that we don't have Fast and Testimony Meetings at the Detention Center.  I'm not saying we shouldn't.  I guess it didn't occur to us that these kids might like to bear their testimonies.  That will be an experiment I'd very much like to try next month.  Anyway, what I'm getting at, is that I haven't attended a regular Fast and Testimony Meeting more than a couple of times in the five and a half years I've served in DT.  I guess, I've just let the importance of Fasting and Prayer slide a bit.

During the lesson I was reminded of the story of a dear friend of mine.  We'll call him Chip.  Chip was an alcoholic, from his teens well into middle age.  His father too, was an alcoholic.  A few years ago Chip and his Dad attended a family reunion.  When, in the afternoon, the two of them passed out drunk under a tree at the park, the remainder of the family had a little meeting.  In the meeting they all agreed to Fast and Pray for their two beloved drunks, on a monthly basis.  It was July.  The family kept their commitment every month until December, and beyond.  December was the month that during a phone call Chip's Dad mentioned that for some inexplicable reason, he'd lost his interest in alcohol.  Shocked, Chip responded with, "Me too!"  They had no idea their family was Fasting and Praying for them.  They were more than a little bewildered about what was happening to them.  "It just became more difficult to drink and than it was to just not, so I didn't." says Chip.

Chip has since served as Elder's Quorum President and as a Councilor to his Bishop.  Fasting, Prayer and the love a wonderful family had brought down the blessings of Heaven, upon two wonderful men, not to mention their loved ones.

All of this is such a wake up call for me.  It didn't even occur to me until after I had eaten and gone to church today that it was Fast Sunday.  How remiss I've become.  My own recovery from addiction was hugely facilitated by Fasting and Prayer.  Why have I not taught it more carefully to these kids?  Why have I never, in five and a half years, ever specifically Fasted and Prayed in their behalf?  I made my Heavenly Father a promise today, that such an oversight, will never happen again. When I go to 12 Steps this afternoon, I'm going to make that same commitment to the kids.  Anyone familiar with 12 Steps knows that recovery doesn't come without the help of God.  What better approach is there, to acquiring that help, than Fasting and Prayer.

Since my last relapse, I've wondered and wondered what I need to learn to avoid another.  I think I got my answer today.  Thank you Karren, for listening to the Spirit and teaching God's lesson today, rather than your own.

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Growing Up In Himni, Utah - Episode 10

Half a pack of Philip Morris and a half a pack of Newports

Hank Simmons was a regular at Hanley’s Department Store. He came in every day. Pushing his walker ahead of him he’d come up to the meat counter and mutter that he wanted, “some a that there meat there.” We’d give him something different every day and he never seemed to even notice. Bobby, Bill and I thought Hank needed a little variety in his life. One day it was bologna, another, pimento loaf; always just enough for today. He’d be back tomorrow.

Hank was an institution in Himni. An old worn-out sheep herder, Hank now spent his days hobbling from his little house on Cranston Street to the Limerick Bar, from the bar to Hanley’s and back home again. His hair was snow white and short cropped. So was his beard. We always wondered how his beard always managed to have a week’s growth; never longer, never shorter.
When I first moved over from IGA to Hanley’s I was strictly in the meat department. Gradually, though, my assignment expanded to occasional checker.

On my first day checking, Hank came through my check stand. He placed his lunch meat on the counter along with a jar of Postum. Postum is a non-cafeinated coffee substitute. I thought it was funny that Hank had just come from the Limerick, but drank Postum instead of coffee. And then, he asked for a half a pack of Philip Morris and half a pack of Newports! I didn’t know what to do. I got Phil Hanley’s attention, who came over and explained to me that I was to open a pack of each and move half of each to the other. Customer service was paramount at Hanley’s. Hanley’s was also an institution in Himni. Besides Phil and his brother Frank and taken care of Hank like this since before I was born. It was then that I realized that I could sell the other split pack to Hank tomorrow. He paid in cash and hobbled out the door, meat, Postum and cigarettes in hand.

There were two Drug Stores in Himni. One had all the trappings of the time, soda fountain and hamburger grill, magazine rack, small appliance department, isles of first aid and medical items and, of course, the pharmacy. It was privately owned by Robert Mueller, who was a franchisee of the Rexall brand. The other, was strictly oriented to medicine and was owned by Alvin McWherter. Some thought Alvin must be more serious about medicine. Apparently, that was Hank Simmons’ opinion.
Hank hobbled in to McWherter Pharmacy one day and made his way right to Alvin.

“Watcha got for constipation?” Hank snapped abruptly.

“Have you tried a good laxative?”

“Exlax, castor oil, nothin’ seems ta work!” said Hank, a mix of desperation and aggravation in his gravelly old voice.

“Well then, let me give you a couple of suppositories, that ought to do the trick,” counseled Alvin.

“What do I do with these?” Hank queried.

“You place them in your rectum.” Alvin answered with a professionally matter of fact tone.

Hank hobbled out the door and around the block to Cranston Street.

Three days later Hank was back in front of Alvin McWherter. He looked angry, frustrated and not a little distraught.

“They never worked!” he scolded.

“What didn’t work?”

“Them suppo, suppose, aw hell what ever you called ‘em.”

“Suppositories?”

“Yea, them, well they never worked!”

“What do you mean, “They never worked!?”

“I’m still constipated, that’s what I mean, “They never worked!” Hank growled through clenched teeth.

“With professional calm and assurance Alvin questioned, “What did you do with them?”

“Well, I didn’t have no Rectum so I put ‘em in ma Postum. Hell, for all the good they done me, I might as well a shoved ‘em up ma rear!”

It makes me wonder, looking back on my life, how many times was I like Hank? How many times would I have settled for familiarity, only to have God spice things up with a little unsought variety. How many times have I made rediculous requests of He and His servants, who happily complied anyhow? How many times did I have spiritual constipation? How many times did I misunderstand God’s remedy for me? I sure hope He laughed as heartily at my botched efforts as I have at Hank’s. I rather think He did.

Sunshine On My Shoulders

The leaves usually fall from our Mulberry tree all at once.  This year it has not been quite so dramatic.  Only half of them fell this morning when the sun came up.  I've seen all of them fall in five minutes!  It always happens first thing.  I suppose the frost in the night, when met with the warmth of the rising sun causes them to disconnect themselves from the branches that have held them all summer.  When it all happens simultaneously, it is a wonder to behold!  Mulberry leaves don't change color before they fall; so there was a thick blanket of green beneath that tree and a lovely blanket of yellow beneath the Linden when I looked out this morning.

The weather is supposed to change drastically tomorrow; so I decided to get out there and pick up what I can before the big chill.  I like to mow rather than rake.  It mulches and makes the pile more compact.  Compact enough to fit into my compost bins.  Composting, is much like cooking for me.  Adding this ingredient and that, letting it cook, summer and winter, until it stews down to a rich, aromatic loam - every bit as satisfying as a well simmered pot of chili or chowder.  Compost has to be blended just so and though I don't use a recipe, experience has taught me to go easy on the grass clippings - too hot and smelly, be liberal with garden waste and saw dust, and to give it plenty of time to cook just right.

The raised bed gardens needed attention too.  There were the last of the beets to harvest.  The onions did so well this year.  The frozen tomato plants needed pulled as did dried up bean vines and other spent odds and ends.

Six year old Megan came over to help.  She found the biggest beet and was so proud to show Grandma.  The bunnies love it when Megan comes because she's sure to toss some Swiss Chard and carrots their way.  She balances her way around the edges of the garden boxes, sweeping the spilled dirt away as she goes.  For her, it's all so good.  Harvesting and cleaning up; just as fun as planting and imagining.  Because of her, it is for me too!

I don't get finished, there is still a pile of canvas drop cloths, a pastel sheet and an old table cloth on a bench under the awning.  They'd been used to spare the tomatoes from frost for a couple of weeks.  There are a few tools to put away, but that'll keep.  I sit on the bench beneath the arbor with the sunshine soaking through the shoulders of my sweat shirt and just simmer in the last good day of fall.  I've rubbed some Rosemary in my palms and they smell so good.  The air is fresh and crisp, and I am warm and drowsy.  Composting.  Megan is trying to catch falling Mulberry leaves and Grandma has come out to sit beside me.  A few Chrysanthemums, snap dragons and an odd mallow are still blooming and a lazy wasp wanders up my sleeve.