You never now when you'll need a Priest

 When he lays in a hospital bed and begs you to get the Catholic priest, what do you do? I’ll be the first to admit, our religious life knows no bounds. We loved a trip up the canyon to chant with the Monks, a Christmas Eve or bake sale with the Presbyterians, Obon festival with the Buddhists, UCC concerts, Lutheran lunch, Mexican dinner with the Catholics, cub scouts with the Mormons, Cowboy Church, service projects with the Masons, Greek festival with the Greek Orthodox, fundraising with the Shriners. On this day, after staring out this window for six days, he asked me to get the Priest to come pray with him. This shouldn’t be hard right? Well I bundled up and headed to church. What are the chances I walk in the doors and find a clergy person with free time to come pray with someone having a short, and getting shorter by the hour stay next door at a facility? I opened the door and there ready to leave is none other than Father Reuse. I explained my situation, and we had a chuckle about the funeral director needing a Priest for the living and he sang “Amanda” to me for good measure. We went back to the care center, and John Garcia and Father Reuse visited and hopefully prayed, while I talked with the discharge nurse about our next step, transfer home. We were headed out TODAY! The insurance was done paying and we were done staying. I made some quick phone calls and tried to figure how we would get him inside and up the stairs and how he would sleep in a non moveable bed or how I’d get a hospital bed on the weekend because they aren’t emergency equipment and are only delivered Monday-Friday. I remember walking out with Father Reuse looking through tear filled eyes, wondering how. Little did I know.

Black Sun

Tonight from the sanctuary: This book has been on my mind for a few months now. It seems to make a reappearance each summer. The first time I read it I was staying down South at the Casa for the weekend. It was mid March and the temperature was still brisk. I would hot tub in the early morning and read while I soaked and hot tub late at night to finish. In the middle of the day, I’d curl up by the fire with a blanket and read until someone needed a sandwich or wanted to catch lizards or bike in the red rocks. At that age, I thought a fire lookout would be a great profession. Years later, this book would float down the Colorado river in my ammo can waiting to arrive at camp. I’d read by head lamp light and fall asleep in the pages of Mr. Abbey. One year on the gear boat, it was a slow day on the river. I rummaged through my ammo can, found the book, and Miller and I read chapters while floating down river. For a few summers this book lived in the bathroom box and traveled to every rendezvous we camped at. Some nights, after putting guitars away and stoking the fire a bit to much we couldn’t crawl right into bed. John would pull out the book and read to me. Soon I’d be snuggled into wool blankets, dreaming about living in the high mountains watching for fires and waiting for the sight of the air attack plane. Listening to the fire pop in the stove fit right in to Mr. Gatlin’s story. I guess four years ago I read half this book again. Right to the good part where I left my bookmark and put the book back into my book shelf. I don’t really remember much about that read, but today I found evidence of it. I pulled this book out of my bag at the office today and quickly my friends noticed this book has seen some miles. It’s pages are stained, it’s been rained on, splashed on and has tiny bits of sand in the pages. It’s well loved for sure. Tonight after working in the rain all day, smelling the rain masking the scent of smoke, talking about how much I love the smell of fire, even though it’s not the most popular smell, I put on warm sleep socks, burned a candle and pulled a fuzzy blanket out so once again I can read Edward Abbey’s “Black Sun”, a book about the mystery, that is, and the bewildering grief of death.