March 23: Pneumonia, Anne Lamott, "Help, Thanks, Wow," New Cartoon

Finally, I sat down on this bench, where it wasn't so goddam dark.  Boy, I was still shivering like a bastard, and the back of my hair, even though I had my hunting hat on, was sort of full of little hunks of ice.  That worried me.  I thought probably I'd get pneumonia and die...

Near the end of The Catcher in the Rye, Holden gets pretty sick.  He's been wandering around New York City in December, drinking quite a bit.  By the time he gets to the carrousel with Phoebe, he's pretty much at rock bottom, physically and mentally.


My daughter has been ill since Wednesday.  Low fever.  Tired all the time.  She missed school Thursday and Friday, including the school dance.  I know she's not feeling well.  It's Saturday, and she's too sick to go to her dance lesson.  In about twenty minutes, I have to take her to a doctor's appointment.  My sisters, the daughters of doom, think she has mono.  I do know there is a kid in my four-year-old son's class who has chicken pox.  Two of the symptoms of chicken pox--low grade fever, lethargy.  My daughter isn't covered in red spots.  Yet.

Writer Anne Lamott recently released a book titled Help, Thanks, Wow:  the Three Essential Prayers.  In the Prelude to the book, she says,

I do not know much about God and prayer, but I have come to believe, over the past twenty-five years, that there's something to be said about keeping prayer simple.

Help.  Thanks.  Wow.

Basically, she says that all prayer boils down to these three principles.  First, help.  That's when you reach the end of your rope and don't have any where to turn.  You raise your eyes to God and say, "Help me, God.  Help me, help me, help me."  Second, thanks.  That's when something good happens to you, whether it's expected or unexpected.  Then, you breathe a sigh of relief and say, "Thanks, God, for the toast I had for breakfast" or "Thanks, God, my kid doesn't have chicken pox."  Last, there's wow.  That's when you're totally in awe of something God has done.  You kind of sit back, shake your head with a little smile, and say, "Wow, God, that snowstorm was incredible" or "Wow, that pizza was really good."  Prayer is that simple, Lamott says.  That easy.


At the end of her book, Lamott writes,

More than anything, prayer helps me get my sense of humor back.  It brings me back to my heart, from the treacherous swamp of my mind.  It brings me back to the now, to the holy moment, whether that means watching candles float on the Ganges or bending down in my front yard to study a lavish dandelion, delicate as a Spirograph drawing, that looks like its very own galaxy.  Amen, amen, amen!

Saint Marty is going to the doctor this morning with "help" in his heart.  He hopes he can quickly progress to "thanks" and "wow."  And then amen.

Confessions of Saint Marty