"What happened to you?" demanded Arthur.
"Well," said Zaphod, attacking a boneful of grilled muscle, "our guests here have been gassing us and zapping our minds and being generally weird and have now given us a rather nice meal to make it up to us. Here," he said, hoicking out a lump of evil-smelling meat from a bowl, "have some Vegan Rhino's cutlet. It's delicious if you happen to like that sort of thing."
"Hosts?" said Arthur. "What hosts? I don't see any . . ."
A small voice said, "Welcome to lunch, Earth creature."
Arthur glanced around and suddenly yelped.
"Ugh!" he said. ""There are mice on the table!"
There was an awkward silence as everyone looked pointedly at Arthur.
He was busy staring at two white mice sitting in what looked like whisky glasses on the table. He heard the silence and glanced around at everyone.
"Oh!" he said, with sudden realization. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't quite prepared for . . ."
Arthur, the lone Earth man, isn't quite prepared to meet talking white mice. This sort of thing exists outside of Arthur's normal expectations. White mice are not things to sit at a dinner table with. White mice, in Earth terms, are pets or pests or the subjects of laboratory experiments. So, it takes Arthur a few seconds to adjust his view of the Universe.
Recently, I have found myself doing this a lot. Reconsidering. Rethinking. Adjusting. Notice that I am avoiding the word "change." It's a lot easier for me to say that I'm "adjusting" versus "changing." For some reason, adjusting sounds easier to me. It's just a matter of making more room, sort of like when I invite my son to sleep with me if he has a bad dream. I don't change my entire sleeping arrangement. I simply move over, give him a pillow, let him get comfortable.
My daughter's car needs some work on her brakes, to the tune of about $500. I found that out this evening. I had to adjust to that news. Because of this, I also had to adjust my plans for paying bills this week. My daughter needs her car for Monday. She starts college and her new job. She needs wheels. So, I simply said to the mechanic, "Get 'er done," or something like that. (I don't speak colloquial male speak very often. It's a foreign language to me, with words "caliper" and "brake pad.")
After I hung up the phone, I said a little prayer. It was pretty simple, consisting of one word: "help." I have been using this prayer quite often. It works in many situations. If it's for something like finding a parking spot, say it once--"help." If you're throwing up in the bathroom with an attack of vertigo, I recommend saying it at least five times, in quick succession--"helphelphelphelphelp." If you're dealing with incredible loss or struggle (the dath of a loved one, alcoholism, mental illness), it can be used as a mantra or chant for as long as you want--"helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelp!"
That word really is about surrender. You are admitting that you are powerless. You're handing over the keys to your car and letting someone else take the wheel for a while, because you've driven into a swamp. Of course, the real truth is that control is a fallacy. If I apply for a new job, I'm not in control of whether I get that job or not after I submit my cover letter and resume. If I'm sick, I dose myself with cold medicine and Nyquil and hope for the best. If mental illness or alcoholism or (insert overwhelming problem here) is your issue, the sooner you admit that you're not in control, the better off you'll be.
Help. I need help. That's a prayer. An easy, simple way of saying, "I give up! It's all yours, God! Round up some grace for me!" I can say it anywhere, at any time.
I said it just now, for a person who's sick and doesn't recognize it. I say it for this person's spouse and children. I say it as an act of complete surrender. I give this person and family over to God.
Say it with Saint Marty. Loudly. Often. Don't be ashamed. Try to sleep tonight, knowing that it's on the way.
ADDENDUM: My sister is helping to fix my daughter's car. That's how effective that little prayer can be. Grace walked through my front door.
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