We’ve just returned from southern California which is home to some of the country’s mega-mega churches. The thrill of breathing the same air with folks who attend the Crystal Cathedral or with the super-preacher, Rich Warren, sends shivers down my spinal column. How can such a rarefied atmosphere not affect one?
I think it might have. While preparing dinner last evening I asked my husband to bring in a few potatoes from the larder. He brought three, one of which was naturally shaped like a heart. “Wow, call Jerry Springer.” I cried. I looked more closely at my “love potato.” Could it be? If I looked very closely—preferably with my glasses off—did I really see the face of the Lord? An amazing wonder lay on the counter, Jesus in the Potato.
It was truly a wondrous miracle, especially after cutting into three onions before finding one that wasn’t rotten. “Jesus in the Potato, praise the Lord!” Others have seen such miraculous wonders in wax drippings or on the walls of a Chicago viaduct. In fact, “Our Lady of the Underpass” is scheduled for the PBS pledge drive tonight. Now I have had a visitation worthy of the 6 o’clock news. The Lord had chosen my kitchen counter and I was inspired.
I brought the potato into hubby’s den. In my best ministerial voice I proclaimed, “Alleluia! Jesus has chosen to appear in my potato. Send money, brother, and I will praise the Lord in your name.” Hubby was curiously unimpressed. His attention was focused on the 250 plus stock market losses of the day. Philistine!
“Brother, the Lord wants me to save you.” I held the potato high in the air as I invoked higher powers. While doing so, I glanced at the back of the Jesus Potato. Sure enough, it revealed the three-quarters profile of a squirrel. “Alleluia! Jesus is speaking through this humble cook. Send money. The Lord loves you, hubby. And he loves the ground squirrels enough to share my potato.”
I explained that the Lord’s message to the world was clear. “Send money. Send money so the Lord and I can build a Squirrel Haven.” My husband is a particular sinner with respect to Jesus’ chosen rodent. He has been destroying nests high up in the oak tree again. “Alleluia! Jesus and the squirrel on my potato can only mean that I have been chosen to shelter the least of His creatures. Send money!”
Hubby offered to send money for a ‘Squirrel Heaven’ which reflects a certain insensitivity on his part. “Jesus in the Potato is a sign, you sinner.” I was pulling out all stops. “You need to be saved. Send money. This Potato was sent for your redemption.”
“More like for my dinner,” he mumbled.
As I left his den, sincerely praying for his squirrel hating soul, I tried to think of other ways to get my message to true believers while converting the doubtful. I rushed back into the den. “Jesus in the Potato has one final message. It’s your last chance. Send money.” My husband turned on his favorite news program, wondering if dinner would ever make it to the table. “You’re going to be watching me on that TV,” I prophesied.
He turned to look at me. “What’s Jesus’ final message?”
I knew I had him now. “Well,” I said. “Jesus also says that 'Roland Burris is the best man for the job'. So there!” He tossed me a quarter.
Returning to the kitchen, I whispered under my breath, “Praise the Lord.”
Alleluia! I only needed two of those potatoes so I decided to spare the ‘Jesus in the Potato’ potato—at least as long as the donations continue to trickle in.
Who says travel isn’t rewarding?
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3 comments:
i meant to say that you are sick.
And the cause of this malaise? Ennui.
What fun! Haven't read anything this
humorous in ages - Kathleen
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