Very Funny, God.

In an effort to fight Global Warming, big brother takes a stand against the person in his household whom he believes to be the worst environmental offender, Mommy. I’m attempting to vacuum up the remnants of last night’s festivities in the den, when the lobbying begins. He’s spread out across the floor, blocking my machine. I turn it off.

“What are you doing? Mommy is trying to clean up. You have to get up so I can finish vacuuming.” I say.

Big Brother does not budge. His little facial muscles are locked in an expression of righteous determination.

“Mommy: You are making GLOBAL WARM’IN with your vacuum and your washing machine. It is time that you stopped ruining the Earth. If we have no Earth, then there will be no more happy family, …or sports. Now, put away the vacuum and go find a broom. Brooms do not use up energy.”

I just stand there, wondering when my first born became such a tree hugger, and feeling a pang of guilt, because in the most pure of ways, he’s right.

“Mommy is trying to clean. If vacuums were bad, then they would not be sold to mommies. As far as the washing machine is concerned, unless you want to walk around naked or stinky, I need to wash your clothes. Now, move out of my way, please.” I say, not in the mood to be corrected, because I’m right in the middle of my holiday cleaning frenzy.

Big Brother does get up, sighing, and continues his crusade on foot, following me around the house.

“I have an idea, Mommy. Get a bucket and suds, and wash all of our family clothes in the there. That will save energy!” Big Brother thinks he’s a genius.

“No.” I say. “If YOU want to wash all of our clothes in a bucket, and see how much work that is, go right ahead, little boy.”

“I can’t do that, Mommy. Washing clothes is your job. School and playing is my job. That’s why God made me a boy and you a mommy. Sorry.” He’s patting me on the back while the vacuum drowns out my grumbling.

I work as a Director of Youth Ministry in my community, and the next day I go to a local television station to participate in a taping of a Catholic talk show called “A Reason For Hope.” Four teenagers from our parish youth group and a deacon come with me. We know that the first show will be about teens doing good works in the community. The taping goes well. As we’re leaving, the next segment is about to be taped and one of the scheduled guests is sick. The producer asks me to substitute for the guest. I say yes, and go back into the studio. They duct tape the body microphone to my dress and the couch, so I can’t really move. Next thing I know, the tape is rolling and the show is about “Saving the Environment.” The host, a well-loved pastor, poses a question to me.

“Loren, as a mom of three, what do you do to conserve energy and care for the environment?”

“I bet God is having a good laugh right now.” I think. Luckily, a recent Internet test informed me that I have linguistic strength.

(The shows will be aired on Telecare in February. I’ll link them to the blog then.)

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all my blogger friends!

Dave

The youth center is pretty full tonight with teens who are in the middle of their favorite prayer, a tradition started by a member who is now in college called A Rose and a Thorn. They thank God for a blessing in their lives, "a rose," and a present a concern, "a thorn." Tonight the roses are plentiful, and the thorns are dull, and that's a good thing, in a way. "Um, My rose is being here, and my thorn is... that I have school tomorrow," says a girl in a lacrosse sweatshirt.

Then we are suddenly interrupted by a thorn. A disheveled man stumbles into the room. How he got in the building is unclear, but here he is, a living lesson of the true meaning of Christmas: "Love one another."

"Excuse me, I am looking for a certain street, I have no place to sleep and I am very cold."

He is shivering, and he reeks like pot, so I take him into the hallway and sketch out a map that will lead him to that certain block where there is a shelter. All I have to offer him is a box of crackers. He asks for a Bible. I ask his name.

"Dave."He says. "Thank you for asking." His eyes are glassy and I feel bad that he has absolutely no one in this world who cares for him. High or not, a person is a person. It's warm inside and he says he just wants to sit for a while in the hall, but I say no. I have to think of the safety of the teens in the next room, so I send him on his way. As I open the door the frigid air blasts in, and he blesses me leaving with a Bible and a box of Saltines tucked in his coat, but no gloves. I lock the door behind him and think of the stray cat I stumbled upon last week, dead and frozen solid in the bushes beside this entrance.

I watch Dave walk towards the road, knowing he'll haunt me indefinitely. I come back into the youth center visibly disturbed.

"Aw! Do you need a hug?" asks a thoughtful youth.

"No, Dave needs gloves, and I couldn't really help him." I respond, and they all stare at me for a moment, understanding. No living being should be cold, hungry and alone.

"Your Charms Have Not Gone Unoticed By All the Angels"

This is my YAHOO! fortune today, and I like it a lot. At least all the angels read my blog:) That might not be a good thing, for me, eternally speaking. However, if they looked down from Heaven today and saw me cutting back the overgrown Yucca plants in the cemetery, then I'm sure I scored brownie points. Mostly for kicks, but also as part-time work, I organize community service for local teens. This morning I had Paris Hilton and her friend Nicole Richie doing yard work among the dead. (Not the actual celebrities, but just as amusing.)

At one point they come across a century-old family plot with the name "Jonas Brothers" inscribed on the monument. "I want to be buried right here, between the Jonas Brothers...That would be hot," says Paris. Yeah, that would be like...heaven," Nicole agrees.

I just can't keep my mouth shut; I have to interrupt their fascinating conversation. "You know that these Jonas brothers were not rock stars, but probably just poor, maybe toothless, settlers who are now skeletons, right?" Paris pauses raking to check her hair in a small mirror from her Coach handbag, "Yeah, well, I bet they were hot farmers." Her sidekick agrees, while flipping her cell phone open. "Yeah, maybe like, hot skeletons too."