It’s the kind of book that makes you want to spread the word about it, makes you want other people to read it too. It’s also the kind of book to which many people have a first reaction of “I don’t know…”

When I read it first, I knew I’d want to read it again. On first reading, I wanted to find out what happened next in the story and so read quickly; the second time through I was able to be more thoughtful as I read.

I don’t want to give the plot away, so I’ll just say that it’s a story of a man who receives an unusual invitation and, when he skeptically goes to the appointed place—the shack—has an extraordinary experience of spending a weekend with the Trinity.

While admitting that the book has flaws, everyone I’ve spoken to about it has said that it made him or her think differently about God. The major problem is that because the author portrays the one God as three distinct persons in perfect communion (which meets the definition, I think, but is something about which we don’t often think), the reader can be confused into thinking that there are three gods—as the protagonist sometimes is confused, even though the various Persons keep reminding him of their unity.

I found most delightful a phrase the Creator uses frequently whenever discussion with the protagonist turns to another human being: God always says, “I am especially fond of him” or “of her.” I think that’s because I’ve always had to struggle with the idea that God might actually be especially fond of me. That’s not false humility, but a slightly neurotic conviction that I’m not exactly special. Only after years of praying for the grace to believe that God really loves me did I have an “aha!” moment when I knew God had created me on purpose, with my particular gifts and deficits, because God wanted to create exactly such a person. So when, in the book, God says with offhanded sincerity, “Oh, yes, I’m especially fond of her,” it allowed me to imagine God saying such a thing about me.

There’s much more to the book than that, and I recommend it highly—with the caveat that one must remember it’s fiction. It tackles some of the hardest questions we face as people of faith, from the nature of the Trinity to the suffering of innocents, and helps us to shift the prism through which we look at those questions in order to display them in a new way. I can’t guarantee that it’s totally orthodox, but neither do I see it as a danger to anyone’s Christian faith. And anything that gets friends and strangers talking to each other about God has got to be a good thing.

Lent is a time when preachers and spiritual writers often speak of going into the desert to commune with God. I remember a time when everywhere I turned I kept getting the message that I should go to the desert, and I didn’t like the idea at all.

I mentioned this to a religious sister who was acting as my spiritual director. She asked what I thought about when I considered going into the desert, why I was so resistant to the idea. I said I thought of the desert as a bleak, waterless, featureless waste where I would be lost and alone.

She said I had it all wrong, that being in the desert meant being alone with God, having God all to myself and giving all my attention to God, and that God wouldn’t take me to a terrible place. God, after all, is lord of the universe, and loves me and wants to help me love him more deeply. “Think silken tents!” she said, making me laugh and think of every sand-and-camel movie ever made.

The change in perspective made all the difference, as it so often does (one reason it’s so wonderful to have a wise person with whom to speak of things spiritual). Just as I look forward to silent retreats when I don’t have to deal with being sociable but can put all my energy into listening to what God has to say, I can “go to the desert” for briefer times, putting aside everything else and letting God take care of me. I remember that  Jesus went into the desert to pray, and he was certainly neither lost nor alone there, but came back refreshed.

Perhaps for people more advanced in the spiritual life, desert time is a time of giving up the consolation of sensing  God’s presence as well as the distractions of everyday life. Either way, it’s good to know that the spiritual desert is not a place to dread.

Lent is winding down, but it’s still not too late to find some time to spend in the desert with God.

I recently came across Robert J. Wicks’s Riding the Dragon: 10 Lessons for Inner Strength in Challenging Times. It’s a small book, about 150 5×7 pages, by a psychologist on the faculty of Loyola-Maryland’s graduate program in pastoral counseling who maintains a practice specializing in helping helpers—therapists, pastors, relief workers, all kinds of people who spend their time reaching out to those in need and sometimes need a wise listening ear themselves.

His opening pages include a quote from David Brazier to the effect that many therapists will oblige people who want help driving our dragons back into their caves, whereas Zen offers dragon-riding lessons, and a line from Shunryu Suzuki saying that one must be the dragon and then will not be afraid of the dragon.

Riding or being the dragon involves entering into one’s own dark places, illuminating them with the light of truth, and facing them honestly. It’s hard work, but work which allows a person to return to the bright gifts of life without being afraid of the unseen or unexamined.

Sometimes people need the help of a therapist or a very wise and trusted friend in order to make the journey to where the dragon hides out, but Wicks offers lessons in riding the various dragons that we stumble over in everyday life.

He urges readers to develop patterns in their lives, patterns of caring and having concern for others without adding their burdens to our own, a genuine compassion which is not spiritually depleting.

Wicks encourages frequent—at least daily—periods of silence during which one can quiet down and “let the dirt of the day settle.” For those without the time or inclination for lengthy meditation, he urges taking ten minutes or even two in the morning or at night to touch base with one’s inner self and put life in perspective.

Difficult situations, he said, shake us out of our ruts and offer the opportunity to see our lives in a new way. If we can accept them (however unwelcome they may seem) and put them to good use rather than just running away from them we will be riding our dragons to new heights.

Riding the Dragon could be useful for anyone interested in spiritual and psychological growth, but like Wicks’s practice it is geared especially toward those who spend time helping others through difficulties.

Riding the Dragon was published in 2003 by Sorin Books, Notre Dame, Indiana; www.sorinbooks.com.

At a shopping area about 25 miles west of my home, the term “Black Friday” took on a new and macabre meaning this year.

The now traditional day-after-Thanksgiving jump-start of the Christmas shopping season, so called because it helps merchants put their finances into the black, has been getting more hyped each year. Last Thursday as I was going to bed I heard radio reports of miles-long traffic jams leading to outlet centers where “midnight madness” sales were going to kick off the shopping day. Worse, in these troubled financial times more merchants stay open on Thanksgiving itself, depriving their employees of the chance to spend the holiday with their families or friends.

At the Wal-Mart in Valley Stream, N.Y., limited numbers of bargain-priced products—big-screen televisions and other electronic marvels—were going to be on sale from 5-11 a.m. Friday.

The crowds outside the store reportedly began to swell as early as three o’clock. At 3:30 a.m. local police were called and came with bullhorns to assist with crowd control, although stores are supposed to provide their own security personnel to handle matters.  Shortly before five, possibly in response to a joking remark by a store employee that there might be an early opening, there was a surge in the crowd, those in front being pushed by those behind, and glass-and-metal doors were broken down. The mob rushed in through the opening.

Jdimytai Damour, 34, who’d been hired as a seasonal employee and had been sent to the front of the store because he was a big, tall man, was trampled to death. Four other people, including a woman eight months pregnant, had to be hospitalized for minor injuries.

My mind can’t quite get around this incident. I can imagine someone being accidentally knocked down by the rush of a crowd—I’ve been jostled in crowds—but how could anyone step on a fellow human being and not stop to help? How could a man be trampled to death, not by a herd of mindless wild animals but by a herd of single-minded shoppers?

And when authorities tried to close the store in order to investigate the circumstances of the death and injury, some people ignored announcements that a death had occurred, refused to stop shopping, and continued to fill carts with those precious bargains.

So much is illustrated by this story. The mad pursuit of consumer products has become a kind of idol worship. We’re in a recession, frightened by comparisons to the Great Depression, and by golly we’re going to get those big-screen TVs while the getting’s good.

When we’ve done something hard, we feel entitled to a reward. Those folks who stood out in the cold beginning at 3 a.m. surely believed they deserved to get whatever it was they’d been waiting for—and probably felt more protective of their entitlement because there apparently was no orderly line: there was a real danger that someone who’d arrived later might get through the Wal-Mart door sooner, and how unfair would that be?

We can all too easily become part of a herd, or a mob. When the first person passed the fallen Mr. Damour without stopping to help him, most of those who followed probably felt no particular responsibility to offer aid. Heroes are heroic because they do the unusual, they do more than is required of them; they don’t stay with the group of folks each minding his or her own business but move out of line and act to help others.

We’ll never know what was going through the minds of those people as they surged into the store. One would hope that most had no idea of what was happening. Maybe others feared that if they stopped they themselves would be pushed over by the crowd. Perhaps the fault lies with the people running Wal-Mart, who hoped for a crowd but didn’t take steps or have enough personnel on hand to keep it from becoming a mob.

I used to have a secretary who did all her Christmas shopping early. Every year, sometime in October, she would say to me, “So, do you have all your Christmas shopping done?” And after the second or third year I would reply with some exasperation, “Marie, you know I never start until after Thanksgiving!” I think she was hoping to encourage me not to procrastinate. I actually enjoy seeking out gifts, especially happy-surprise gifts, for the people who are special to me, but I just don’t get into the spirit of things until the Advent candles show up. This year I’m afraid it’s going to take me even longer.

There was a lot of talk in the office Wednesday morning about who had stayed up to wait for news of the election returns. I didn’t; having voted at about 6:10 a.m., I put myself to bed while the outcome was still in doubt. But my first waking thought was to flick on the radio and get the news. Along with many other Americans, I believed this was the most important election in decades. 

However one feels about President-elect Obama, particularly about his record and platform on abortion, it is impossible to deny that his election marks a bright turning point in our history. However flawed he may be, there has to be a certain euphoria about the fact that our nation, where segregation was enshrined in law within the living memories of many, has elected a black man to lead us. I thought his acceptance speech was wonderful—serious as befitting serious times, while still optimistic—and Senator John McCain’s concession a model of gracious patriotism. 

I personally have struggled mightily with the question of single-issue voting. While trying to look at candidates’ entire platforms, I still felt that being in favor of legal abortion was an absolutely disqualifying issue. But having lived through the terms of such avowedly pro-life leaders as President Reagan and the two Presidents Bush, none of whom seemed able even to diminish the numbers of abortions being committed, I now question the utility of using such a criterion in that way.

I hope that a person pledged to promote other human rights might be educable about the most basic right to life from conception until natural death. We who strive to uphold that right can get busy now letting our next president know that whether we voted for him or not, we are profoundly dedicated to the pro-life cause and hope that, just as we will accept him as our president, he will accept us as his constituents and give our arguments a fair hearing. 

President-elect Obama will take office in the middle of two wars and a serious economic recession. He’s going to have his hands very full. He has promised to seek the counsel of the wisest people he can find, of whatever political stripe. I am hopeful that he will do that, and will be able to begin to fix all that is broken in our country. And I am hopeful that in nominating Supreme Court Justices, he will not allow Catholicism or a pro-life record to be a disqualifying factor, but will instead seek out the wisest jurists in the land. His election is all about the American dream, about a person of color from a disadvantaged background attaining the highest office in the land, and that is cause for rejoicing; let’s pray that he comes to understand that every American has a right to that dream.

When the dust settles after the election we may want to look back and see just what happened.

Is there going to be a “Catholic vote”? Should there be such a thing? Do Catholics heed what their bishops say about Catholic social teaching when deciding whom to vote for?

Separation of church and state is one of the hallmarks of our republic, and that phrase is stretched and pulled in myriad ways. From “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” we’ve derived tax exemption for religious projects, the provision of religious articles to prisoners who are practitioners of Wicca, a hypothetical “wall of separation” that regulates crèches on civic properties, and, of most concern in an election year, the rule that church officials who wish to retain tax exemption for their endeavors must not endorse or condemn particular parties or candidates.

In recent decades, the bishops of the United States, conscious of their responsibility to teach on moral issues, have wrestled with their need to provide non-partisan guidance, as voters tried to bring their Catholic sensibilities to bear on political decisions. In the most recent election year they produced the latest in a series of documents, “Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship,” a detailed and nuanced guide to what they considered the key issues in the election.

“Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship” and its condensed versions set out key themes for Catholics to consider. The first was the consistent ethic of life: the dignity and infinite worth of every human from conception until natural death. This took in issues from abortion and euthanasia to embryonic stem-cell research and capital punishment, unjust war, genocide, torture and weapons of mass destruction. Another was the importance of the family, based in the marriage of a man and a woman ordered to the procreation and care of children. With reference to Christ’s mandate to care for the least of his brothers and sisters came an option for the poor and vulnerable, with the rights of all to food and shelter, education and health care as well as other human rights. The dignity of work and the rights of workers; global solidarity—the responsibility to be peacemakers, to share our bounty with those suffering hunger and illness, provide asylum to refugees, and to stand up for human rights around the world; and caring for God’s creation, being good stewards of the planet on which we live, were all included as elements of church teaching.

The bishops did not say that all these issues had equal weight. It spoke of the “intrinsic evil” of such acts as abortion and said, “As Catholics we are not single-issue voters. A candidate’s position on a single issue is not sufficient to guarantee a voter’s support. Yet a candidate’s position on a single issue that involves an intrinsic evil, such as support for legal abortion or the promotion of racism, may legitimately lead a voter to disqualify a candidate from receiving support.” Moreover, “While people of good will may sometimes choose different ways to apply and act on some of our principles, Catholics cannot ignore their inescapable moral challenges or simply dismiss the Church’s guidance or policy directions that flow from these principles.” On the other hand, the document—which was accepted by a majority vote of all the bishops of the United States—said clearly, “There may be times when a Catholic who rejects a candidate’s unacceptable position may decide to vote for that candidate for other morally grave reasons. Voting in this way would be permissible only for truly grave moral reasons, not to advance narrow interests or partisan preferences or to ignore a fundamental moral evil.”

Interestingly, as of this writing some 50 bishops of U.S. dioceses—about 25 percent—nevertheless wrote articles or letters or gave media interviews in which they told Catholics that they should not vote for a candidate who supported legal abortion, in some cases specifying that as the Democratic candidate. A smaller number of bishops reiterated the call to consider a range of issues.

It is foolish to think that one can check one’s religion at the entry to the voting booth. A Catholic eating a hamburger does so as a Catholic, and certainly a Catholic casting a vote does so. Whether he or she casts that vote in full knowledge of Catholic teaching on the issues at stake, and whether or not he or she chooses to vote in accord with that teaching, are questions of conscience and questions for sociologists to study and debate.

The bishops who crafted “Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship” and those who have written and spoken out about the election are taking responsibility for teaching their flocks what the church teaches on the important issues of our day. Is anyone listening?

“Oh, bother,” as Winnie-the-Pooh would say.

The country’s financial mess seems to be getting worse and worse as our federal legislators dither; some suggest that using the word “bailout” was their big mistake. And of course everyone wants a piece of the pie, so the legislation is being festooned with tax credits, tax incentives, and similar goodies.

One of the reasons the bailout or “rescue” legislation is having so much trouble is that it’s being defined as rescuing Wall Street from its own excesses. Politicians are trying to communicate the fact that the credit problems of the current crisis affect “Main Street”—small businesses—as well as big corporate entities.

And people are inclined to forget that what happens on Wall Street affects ordinary Americans: more than half of us have investments in individual stocks or mutual funds, most of them representing our retirement savings.

I just made the mistake of checking the balance in my 403(b) account (that’s like a 401(k) for employees of not-for-profit entities), into which I’ve faithfully put a little bit of every paycheck for the past twenty-five years or more. After watching my nest egg grow pretty steadily over the years with only a few bumps, it’s distressing to see that the total has taken a substantial dip—more than twelve percent since last year, despite the fact that I’ve continued to make deposits into the account. I guess it’s a good thing I like my job.

Years ago when I first realized that I should put some of that 403(b) money into stocks and bonds to keep up with inflation (I’d first put all my funds into a risk-free interest accumulation account), the representative of the firm that holds my savings warned me that there was only one thing to be said about the stock market that is always true: “It will fluctuate.” And it does, and it has, and I hold balanced stock-and-bond mutual funds to let the professionals try to make the best of that, and for the most part they’ve done well by me. I’m certainly not going to panic and bail out now, but will sit tight and hope that what has come down will again go up. But it is scary when the sums aren’t so big to begin with.

Of course I want to blame someone. I want to blame the corporate executives whose annual salaries are many times the amount I’ve been able to save during my working life and are way out of proportion to the earnings of their employees. I want to blame the unscrupulous lenders who lured people into mortgages they couldn’t afford for houses they couldn’t afford, on the false premise that inflated home prices would continue to rise. I want to blame the financiers who sliced and diced and “securitized” those mortgages so that the risk was disguised and spread to institutions where it didn’t belong. I want to blame somebody for the jobs being lost, the savings that are evaporating, the anxiety of elderly people dependent on dividend income, the loss of trust in the American dollar that’s going to hurt us around the world. Greed is one of the seven deadly sins, and there’s little doubt that greed is at the heart of this fiasco.

Most of us grew up equating capitalism and free markets with democracy and apple pie. But Catholic social teaching has also warned against unfettered capitalism. Capitalism can be a very good thing, but the little guy, the worker, the small investor, needs some protections. The current crisis is, I suspect, the result of government deregulation or no regulation of sectors of the financial markets. Some parts of our financial system, notably traditional banks, have been regulated since the Depression, and people with their savings in FDIC-insured accounts are, in a saying now ironic, as safe as houses.

I think it’s a safe bet that a fix is going to be provided for Wall Street. But I want it to come with strings attached—oversight, regulation, transparency—some sticks, not just the carrots of tax incentives. And let’s throw in some direct help for the ordinary folks. Foreclosures aren’t good for homeowners, lenders or neighborhoods: let mortgages be restructured so that people can stay in homes they’ve been making payments on. If recession is as inevitable as it looks, provide as much cushioning as possible for the poor and the middle class (extending unemployment insurance and expanding the food stamp program, for example) instead of those who can get by nicely on their own. The trickle-down theory hasn’t worked too well when it comes to monetary gain, but it does seem to be a law of bad times that when there’s systemic trouble the poor take the hit. Can we change that?

I don’t have the answers. The system is going to be well shaken; I hope it shakes out in a way that helps the people who need help.  

I don’t think of myself as rich. 

Of course, rich is a relative term.

I only own half of one house, and it has a mortgage; but being a homeowner means I’m richer than a lot of Americans. I drive a seven-year-old car (running nicely, thank you) which makes me more affluent and gives me a larger carbon footprint than most people in the world.

I think of myself as middle-class, as I believe do most Americans whose annual family income ranges (depending on where they live) from thirty-something thousand dollars through, I’d guess, the mid-six-figure range. Even those at the high end of those numbers probably don’t think they’re rich, because it’s so hard to say when you have enough.

I’m thinking about this subject because the front page of the New York Times and most other newspapers have been loaded yesterday and today with stories about investment banks, brokerages and insurance companies, all in financial trouble, and about the tumbling numbers on the stock exchange.

And what’s weird is that it worries me, not only because I worry about the country sliding further into a recession, but because I have actual investments.

I never used to look at business stories.

It doesn’t seem so many years ago that all I had was a checking account from which the money went out as quickly as it went in, and a plain vanilla savings account (often with a balance of about $35, if that) and I thought that if I could ever get up to having $1,000 put away for a rainy day I would feel secure.

Now, having survived as a single mother the years of Catholic school and college tuition (with the help of my son’s scholarships and earnings) I have modest tax-advantaged retirement accounts invested in various mutual funds…and I don’t like hearing that the stock market is tanking.  I even have funds that I moved out of my savings account and into the market because the savings account was earning less than one percent interest: over about six years, that amount has gone down about ten percent. I guess nobody should ask me for financial advice—except that it is a good idea to save what you can if you ever hope to retire, even if the value of stocks and bonds invariably fluctuates and even though that fluctuation is a little daunting sometimes. (I also have what I think is a healthy fear of debt, but that’s another column.) And I don’t feel terrifically secure.

What rocks me a little bit is that back when I thought $1,000 was a whole lot of money—and I still think it’s a whole lot of money—I would have thought someone in my current position was rich.  Not quite a bloated plutocrat, but more than comfortable. And instead of feeling rich, I watch my nickels and look for bargains.

How does rich feel, I wonder. I once wrote a series on how Christians relate to material goods. As part of my research I interviewed a couple who had married when they had no assets and low-paying jobs (they lived in a rented room and she cooked on a hot plate), and when I met them were earning an annual income over $1 million. They said that being rich meant they didn’t have to think about money: when a bill came, they paid it; when they needed something, they bought it. They didn’t live ostentatiously. They sent their kids to private school but didn’t shower them with luxuries. They weren’t socialites. They were frank about the negatives as well as the positives of handling their wealth responsibly. They also said they’d always tithed, giving ten percent of what they made to the church and other charities.

Their example influenced me—and that was when I was pretty poor—to work charitable giving into my own budget, to write a check to my parish each week instead of giving from what was left over in my wallet. I still do that (I increased the amount a little each time I got a raise, although I haven’t reached the full ten percent) and regularly give to a couple of other causes.

But in a world where over a billion people live on less than $1 a day, where having a bank account, let alone retirement savings, puts me among the minority of the wealthy, I wonder how I dare to worry about Wall Street ups and downs.

How am I going to squeeze through that needle’s eye?

There’s been much ado in the news the past couple of days about the pregnancy of Bristol Palin, the seventeen-year-old daughter of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, presumptive Republican nominee for vice-president.

Reports are that  “family values” delegates and supporters of Senator John McCain are taking the revelation well, noting that out-of-wedlock pregnancies are among the things that happen in real families and that everyone makes mistakes, and applauding the fact that Bristol is going to give birth to her baby rather than have an abortion.

Bravo, I say, to this family that is rallying around their daughter and sister and promising her their ongoing love and support. They are offering the country a model of a truly pro-life response by preparing to welcome new life into their hearts.

I am a little concerned, however, about the other half of the announcement that always follows immediately on the news of Bristol’s baby: “and she’s going to marry the father.”

If “legitimizing” the child is a key element for the family values folks—and its invariable inclusion in the announcements by people connected to the campaign makes me think that the campaigners at least think it’s important—then I have a problem with them.

There is, after all, no such thing as an illegitimate child. Every child is a priceless gift from God—a premise Sarah Palin upheld when she bore her own infant son knowing he has Down syndrome. 

So why is everyone so pleased that this pregnant teenager is getting married?

We haven’t been told much about the baby’s father, and that’s appropriate enough—this family is dealing with a tough situation with little enough privacy. But I wonder how old he is, and, if he’s near Bristol’s age, how ready either of them is to take on the lifetime commitment of marriage and childrearing. I hope for their sakes that they’re among the lucky few who are ready to become instant adults. I hope that what looks to me like an old-fashioned shotgun wedding is instead the decision of two young people with their eyes wide open to freely choose each other as life companions.

If the Palins were to ask my advice—something most unlikely to happen—I would encourage them continue to be supportive of their daughter, but to postpone the wedding. Let them let Bristol know that they love her outrageously and unconditionally—she’s going to need love more than anything else during these next months—and let her have her baby, bring him or her home, and take significant responsibility for his or her care. Let them help her continue her education, but help her also to know that she now has the primary duty of nurturing a new life. Let the baby’s father help her, if he’s willing, and let him continue to woo her if he wants her. Let him find out some of the realities of parenting, including that a baby’s needs have to come first, and that for responsible parents teenage pleasures run a distant third, after education or perhaps a steady job. Let them both change some diapers. Don’t buy them a condo and a new car.

Then, maybe, talk about a wedding. If they’re both still interested, he may have proved himself good enough for a beloved daughter. If not, he wasn’t worth having in the first place. For Bristol, being an unmarried mother will be hard (I’m sure it already has been hard for her), but not nearly so hard as being a young mother stuck in a bad marriage. Her baby’s father may be the right man for her—but should she really be deciding that at seventeen?

I haven’t been feeling very prayerful lately. The running conversation with God that makes up my informal prayer life is full of grumbling.

There are hundreds of things large and small for me to be thankful for, and I do know enough to put myself in an attitude of thanksgiving and remember them. When I settle myself down to pray, I have no trouble finding a list of them to run through, and I don’t minimize the importance of that.

But just now there are a couple of sizeable issues in my life that are distressing, and several of those average pebble-in-my-shoe, “What am I going to do?” topics that are distracting me. Instead of singing, “How can I make a return to the Lord for all the good he has done for me?” I find myself grousing, “Could you give me a break here?”

Pessimism is my natural state of mind, although I struggle against it. I’ve read that pessimists make more accurate assessments of what’s going on around them, but optimists have a lot more fun along the way. So I try to see that the glass is half-full. But God already knows I’m a pessimist, so I can admit my fears and worries to him. I know he’s not going to decide I’m too negative to hang out with. Nevertheless, as surely as I know God wants me to be honest with him, part of me thinks he’s going to get tired of my constant complaining.

Much of my self-inflicted aggravation comes from not living in the moment, from worrying about what’s going to happen next. That covers everything from whether I’m going to find a parking spot to whether my retirement fund will ever be adequate. Telling myself that most people in the world don’t have cars or savings accounts is somehow not comforting. I’m sometimes knocked back on my heels by the magnitude of the differences between my life and the lives of the poor, but I never find that comforting—just sad, like the rich young man in the gospel.

I could, I suppose, cultivate detachment from the things of this world. I’m too attached to having things go according to my plan, and so I fret that they may not. I want things to fit my design, and I grumble when they don’t. I want my body to work as well as it did twenty years ago, and I grouse about my arthritic knees. Very few of the things that trouble me are important in an objective sense. Most are things over which I have little or no control.

It’s probably better for me to grumble at God than at the people around me (although I wonder how many of them think of me as a grumbler). It would probably be good discipline to work on grumbling less, though, and at least think about being optimistic. And it wouldn’t kill me to send God fewer petitions and more praise, and trust that he’ll give me all I need. But I suspect the prescription sounds easier than it may be to follow. We’ll see.