Blather, Rinse, Repeat

Several years ago, we hired a contractor to install some doors. When he finished with the carpentry, he turned his attention to me.

Did I know that God could heal me? he inquired.

Physically? I asked, incredulous.

Yes indeedy, he assured me. To which I could only respond: Well, He isn't doing a very good job.

Somehow I managed to change the subject, but when the guy came back to finish, he thoughtfully slipped a couple of booklets through the mail slot as I skulked in the back bedroom, pretending to be out/napping/hanging from a light fixture.

One of those booklets recently surfaced in the towering pile o' crap on my desk. Having no alternatives, I took it into the bathroom and began perusing. Not only did the literature have the desired laxative effect, I discovered something revolutionary.

The first thing you learn in Club ALS is that the sole treatment is a surpassingly expensive drug that might give you an extra three months. That's it. So you can imagine my surprise when I read that complete recovery is not only within my grasp, but easy!

All I have to do is recite some affirmations (or confessions, as the author curiously calls them) as prescribed: To be spoken by mouth* three times a day until faith comes, then once a day to maintain faith. If circumstances grow worse, double the dosage. There are no harmful side effects.

The general prayers are followed by ones tailored to various types of ailments -- none of them neurological, unfortunately. Maybe I can remedy that once I'm healed.

The author's literalism had its appeal, although it seemed to wear a little thin towards the end of the 46-page tome when he argued that saying "My back is killing me" can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. My favorite example was the woman who developed a mysterious fever after carping "That just burns me up" one too many times. Call me a skeptic, but that sounds a touch simple.

Gotta go -- it's prayer time.

* Apparently anal recitation isn't as effective.