November 28: Not Having All the Answers, Saint James of the March

My wife just called to tell me that my daughter phoned her from school to tell her that her ear is hurting her.  That means my daughter posibbly has an ear infection, which she gets frequently.  My wife wanted to know if she should make a doctor's appointment for my daughter.

I've had students e-mailing me all day with questions.  My cousin is calling me with questions about a paper she's working on for a class.  I've got a friend who's putting together a Christmas benefit concert for this weekend, and she's calling with questions.  My pastor is e-mailing me questions about the Sunday School Christmas program.

Questions.  Questions.  Questions.

I'm a little tired of questions right now.  I'm not tired of people.  I'm just tired of questions.  It's a little early in the Christmas season to feel this overwhelmed.  Usually, I don't get to this point until about December 11th or 12th.  I'm trying to maintain my good humor, but I'm struggling.

Today's patron saint, James of the March, knew a little about overwhelming responsibility.  Born in 1391 in Italy, James became a Franciscan friar.  During his life, he dealt with a lot of people's questions.  One story tells of how, with one sermon, he converted 50,000 heretics and "countless sinners."  He also "traveled all over Europe as the ambassador of Popes and rulers, sleeping little and praying much."

My book doesn't say anything about James of the March's sense of humor, but I have to believe it was pretty good to deal with all that crap.  About the only thing I have in common with him is the "sleeping little" part.

If my faith was as strong as James' faith, I would have told my wife to take my daughter to the doctor's office.  I would have e-mailed all of my students back.  I would have gone through my cousins's paper line-by-line, pointing out each comma splice, fragment, and run-on.  I would volunteer to put together the program for my friend's Christmas benefit.  And I would work on the Sunday School Christmas program bulletin for my pastor tonight.

But I'm not Saint James of the March.

I'm Saint Marty of the curl up in a fetal position and cry.

Where's Clarence when you need him?