March 1: Optometer, Ash Wednesday, Lenten Sacrifice

They were brought at last to a stone cottage at a fork in the road.  It was a collecting point for prisoners of war.  Billy and Weary were taken inside, where it was warm and smoky.  There was a fire sizzling and popping in the fireplace.  The fuel was furniture.  There were about twenty other Americans in there, sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall, staring into the flames--thinking whatever there was to think, which was zero.

Nobody talked.  Nobody had any good war stories to tell.

Billy and Weary found places for themselves, and Billy went to sleep with his head on the shoulder of an unprotesting captain.  The captain was a chaplain.  He was a rabbi.  He had been shot through the hand.

Billy traveled in time, opened his eyes, found himself staring into the glass eyes of a jade green mechanical owl.  The owl was hanging upside down from a rod of stainless steel.  The owl was Billy's optometer in his office in Ilium.  An optometer is an instrument for measuring refractive errors in eyes--in order that corrective lenses may be prescribed.

Billy had fallen asleep while examining a female patient who was in a chair on the other side of the owl.  He had fallen asleep at work before.  It had been funny at first.  Now Billy was starting to get worried about it, about his mind in general.  He tried to remember how old he was, couldn't.  He tried to remember what year it was.  He couldn't remember that, either.

Billy is an eye doctor by trade.  Time traveler by coincidence.  One minute, he's a prisoner of war.  The next, he's a confused--possibly old--man, falling asleep on the job.  He can't remember his age or the year.  And he's worried that he is losing his mind.

It is Ash Wednesday.  First day of Lent.  My forehead is smudged with a cross of ash.  It sounds like Billy is struggling in the above paragraphs.  He's not just unstuck in time anymore.  He's not even sure what time it is.  He is afraid that he's losing himself.

I went to a worship service this evening at my wife's church.  I played with the band and prayed for the people in my life.  I'm always greatly moved during the Lenten season.  I used to give things up for these 40 days.  Chocolate.  Cheetos.  Naps.  (Actually, I never take naps--so that was an easy one.)  Several years ago, I decided to pray for people for Lent.  Every day, I would pick a different person, and I would spend a good half hour lifting that person up to God.

This year, like Billy, I'm sort of lost.  I don't quite know what to do for Lent.  Nothing has really taken hold of my heart, pulling in a specific direction.  Usually, by Ash Wednesday, I already know what my Lenten practice is going to be.  This year, I'm sitting here, thinking about sacrifice and literally falling asleep.  (In my defense, it IS almost 11 p.m.)  I'm unstuck.

So, I am going to pray about it for a few more days.  Perhaps, after those days, I will simply discover that I am supposed to pray all Lent.  Give up watching The Lawrence Welk Show on Saturdays.  Work in a soup kitchen.  Start a soup kitchen.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful for the ashes on his forehead.  A gentle reminder of the need for sacrifice.

December 28: A Job Somewhere, Organist for Hire, New Cartoon

"...We'll stay in these cabin camps and stuff like that till the dough runs out.  Then, when the dough runs out, I could get a job somewhere and we could live somewhere with a brook and all and, later on, we could get married or something..."

Holden has a lot of plans for his future.  Most involve running away, living in some remote wilderness, and, eventually, getting married and acquiring a job.  You can tell he's a teenager.  He's full of the kind of optimism that a person who has been part of the work world for any length of time simply doesn't have any more.

I will soon be looking for work.  I need to find a church that needs a pipe organist because, as of January 1, I will no longer have a job at my current church.  It all boils down to the fact that people don't want to pay artists what they're worth.  I have over 25 years of experience as a church accompanist and musician.  I've earned a Master's in fiction writing and a Master of Fine Arts in poetry writing.  I've been a worship leader/planner at a couple of churches going back almost 15 years.

And yet I find myself unemployed.

I'm a little nervous about the whole job search process.  I haven't had to do it for a long time.  Until this year, I thought I was pretty secure in my employment situation.  Of course, I have learned there's no such thing as security.  All it takes is some accountants revising a budget, and suddenly I'm out of work.

I'm supposed to trust that God has a plan for my life.  That's all part of faith.  I'm supposed to know God has my back.

Saint Marty just hopes God's plan doesn't include foreclosure or bankruptcy or soup kitchens.

Confessions of Saint Marty