All I want for Christmas is toys

It seems as though Christmas is tomorrow and that I am late. I realize I am not really. The Superhero Nativity is never late.

I finally have everybody to choose from (mostly, one more box), so gathering the visitors was like Christmas. The Big Three return, as do Santa and the Humble-Bumble and Yukon Cornelius. The others, from the right:

We start with Buffy, making a triumphant return to the nativity. She, of course, will be valuable in fighting the forces of evil Jesus is destined to face, like those jackass money changers. She also represents the parable of Lost Sheep. She was lost for years, but I never gave up and bought another. I kept looking, meaning every so often I asked Mom if she had seen a bunch of action figures. Finally, it paid off. She also represents the kind of partnership that we all need in life. I lost her stand, but all was not lost. She fits well on an unused Speed Racer stand.

Freakenstein the Gorgonite from Small Soldiers is next. He can portray any needed animals, I am sure. Plus, the Gorgonites' noted pacifism fits in with the Christmas message.

As opposed to our next figure, Alien Spawn. I don't follow Spawn but am quite confident he is not peaceful. I realize that judging Spawn to be violent by his looks is the very prejudice the Gorgonites faced, but I am sticking to my judgment.

Pops Racer will be there the manger breaks or there are other needed repairs. Joseph could repair them sure, but he is probably busy. Plus, Pops can do wondrous stuff.

I am not sure the Humble-Bumble and Yukon Cornelius will be regulars, but I just noticed they were in last year, so ...

Kid Flash is one of my more valuable figures. Or he would be if he had his own boots (he is wearing Batgirl's boots) and if the main game we used to play with his type of figure was not sliding them down fishing line from a second floor window and trying to knock them off the line into a bucket of mud. As it is, he is just a nice reminder of youth and our friend Robert, the true owner of Kid Flash.

Finally, Darth Maul. His light saber will provide light in the manger, but really he made the cut to allow me to take a stand: The Star Wars prequels don't hold a candle to the originals -- bad dialogue, creepy romance (I never got over Padme meeting Anakin as a little boy), Jar-Jar, Hayden Christensen. But you also get pod races, Darth Maul, Yoda fighting, awesome light saber fights, the battles involving Clone Troopers. They're fun.

Not as much fun as Superhero Nativities ...

Here are the ones from 2007,  2008, 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2012. These posts also have some background. And God must be amused by this because I have not been struck down yet.

Our Father

Last night I prayed the "Our Father."

I don't say it often. I am not really a fan of God's work. I find God full of loopholes. We praise God for the good things in life, but are told that God bears no responsibility for the bad things. (I do not accept this, however, and let God know it.) God makes us "in his image," but again is not at fault when the DNA God made or the brain matter goes wrong and leaves us struggling to sit. (Again, I hold God responsible.)

This is all to say that when I pray, I usually go to Mary or a saint. Let them deal with God.

Last night, though, I went to the source. I was so mad, and I wanted to make sure God knew it.

I fell, transferring from my chaise to my chair before bed. I was hurt not at all, but it was late and everyone else had gone to bed.

So I tried to get up, several times. I succeeded in scratching my back really painfully. And I had to call my sister for help anyway.

She got me up and I went to bed. While waiting for the Advil to kick in,  I prayed the "Our Father."

Sickness sucks

I am surrounded by sick people, it seems, and it really makes me sad.

Not cold and flu sick -- although my officemate was coughing more than me today -- things no one likes to talk about: masses and ruptures and failures and lesions.

I'm confident God did nothing to cause any of these. And while I suppose good may come with a disease, I am sure it is despite the disease. God doesn't people to be sick. But ...

I still don't get why God doesn't do more to help people who are sick or prevent illness altogether (just spitballing here).

Illness in others about kills me. I can't do anything. And I hate that more. And most of me wants to remain healthy (except for the massive disease I already have), but a small part of me wishes I was sick and others weren't. As I have said I don't want to be sick, but I think I could handle it better. I also have no one depending on me. Others do.

So until God wakes the f up and gets rid of disease, I guess I'll just be sad.

Christmas is a-coming

Without a totally irresponsible but totally awesome action figure shopping spree, this will be the first year in many that I have fewer figures now than I did at the beginning of the year. Not only that, but I think this year may go down in Matt Trott history as the first year in many I have not added any figures to my collection. (Not really, I'll buy something between Christmas and New Year's if need be.)

I am still able to set up a Nativity, though I know there are a few repeats. Mom, my photographer, saved me from a humiliating faux-paus earlier when she saw Plastic Man and said, Wasn't he in last year's? I looked and was horrified to see Plas and Beast were duplicates. I quickly removed them.

The  Big Three are there, though without their Peanuts understudies. Charlie Brown, Lucy and Woodstock are going to work to help me win the festive door/office contest.

Yes, that is Speed Racer and his Mach 5 ready to spirit Jesus away to Egypt and out of the way of Herod. Spritle and Chim-Chim are in the trunk of the Mach 5 to facilitate the Jesus transfer. They also have a picnic basket in case anyone gets hungry. And let's face it: Everything is better with a monkey.

If they decide not to flee toEgypt, Batman will ward off any of Herod's soldiers. I'm not saying he could beat the whole army, but ... This figure also makes me think of a lounge singer, like he is holding a mike and just belting out a tune. So, lullabies are taken care of.

The Humble-Bumble and Yukon Cornelius are not new figures -- my older sister gave them to me years ago -- but this is the first year out of the box. My niece has a nice but totally unsupported  theory on the Bumble. She said he was just mean because he had a toothache and once Hermey pulled his teeth, he was good. A lovely idea, but I believe the Bumble was a bully a la Buddy Hinton. And when he is defanged, like Buddy, he becomes OK.

Santa is another regular but he doesn't quite merit Big Three status.

The Canadian Mountie would help Batman.

The Rocketeer is one of my favorite superheroes, not just because Jennifer Connelly is his girlfriend. And who better to serve as an angel and to go tell it on the mountain.

The Spirit was created by Will Eisner and he wrote wonderful stories. There was a story called like "What's 15 minutes in a man's life?" and it has a clock in each panel. This guy robs his employer, kills him by mistake, flees, sees the Spirit (the Spirit's only appearance), panics and gets killed running away even though the Spirit did not know he did anything. It is way cool.

Mom claims that Baby Jesus would be scared by my Gorilla Grodd knockoff. But the animals in the manger wer super-intelligent animals like Grodd if stories can be believed. Maybe they weren't super-villains like Grodd.

Last but not least is a little wind-up robot, who is in charge of teaching the Lord to dance.

Here are the ones from 2007,  2008, 2009, 2010 and 2011. These posts also have some background. And God must be amused by this because I have not been struck down yet.

St. Anthony knows how to answer a prayer

St. Anthony is starting to make the others I pray to look bad.

I pray to Matthew, Edward, Mary, Jesus, God, everyone to get better, to not get worse, to not fall.

I fall; I get worse; no cure comes.

I ask St. Anthony to help me find something, and it turns up.

Like today.

I went for a walk on the bike trail to see how long my weekly trike ride is (my chair keeps track of mileage). While walking, it occurred to me to look for an ear piece that fell off my glasses yesterday during the ride. I knew the general area that I lost it after all.

I scoured the area as I walked up the trail. I gave it up for lost, but as I turned I asked St. Anthony to "please come around; something is lost that must be found." Before I went a few feet, I saw the ear piece.

God could learn a few lessons if you ask me.

Trouble falling asleep

I could not sleep the other night, so I tried to name all 50 states.

It is hard to keep track if them when you are in bed and trying to fall asleep. I thought I had reached 50 when I came up with Tennessee, Kentucky and Wisconsin. But the next morning I remembered I had left out Colorado and Oregon.

I sometimes try to name superheroes starting with all letters of the alphabet, too, or Tolkien characters.

The problem here is I get too obsessed and an obsessed brain is not one that falls asleep easily.

Prayer is another good option. Saying simple prayers I have know since childhood is relaxing and repetition lulls me to sleep.  Usually. But it depends on the prayer.

Several times that night, I started the "Our Father," but each time I stopped. It doesn't feel right to pray to God.

I do not  blame God for giving me Friedreich's ataxia, but as the author of Where the Hell is God? put it, God does bear some responsibility for the world he created. God's world has so much beauty that we rightfully praise, but it also has ugly and unavoidable things that I think God needs to answer for. Things that have no human cause. Things like FA.

It feels disingenuous to blame God for something and in the next breath ask for his help. I realize that is what the psalmists often did, and I love some of those psalms. But I am not there yet.

I guess I have not forgiven God. I would like to, but I am not sure what it will take.

In the meantime, maybe I'll count sheep.

Where the Hell is God?

If ever there is a book title that was meant for me, it is Where the Hell is God? by Richard Leonard, SJ, a Jesuit in Australia. Mom must have thought the same thing because she gave it to me for Christmas.

It is very good -- I will never again pray for it not to snow -- and he knows what he is talking about -- his sister was in a bad car accident. But I am still not sure where the hell God is.

Here are eight points from his introduction (his words, my bullet points):

1. God does not directly send pain, suffering and disease.
2. God does not punish us, at least not in this life.
3. God does not send accidents to teach us things, though we can learn from them.
4. God does not will earthquakes, floods, droughts or other natural disasters: can we stop praying for rain please?
5. God’s will is more in the big picture than in the small.
6. God did not need the blood of Jesus. Jesus did not just come ‘to die’ but God used his death to announce the end to death.
7. God has created a world which is less than perfect, else it would be heaven, and in which suffering, disease and pain are realities.
8. God does not kill us off.

The problem is I knew all these before I started.

The one that comes closest to answering my main question -- what kind of God allows genetic disease? -- is #7, and the author does say that God bears responsibility for the world he created.  But he does not really investigate that responsibility. Instead, he points out correctly, that most problems have human causes and solutions if we are strong enough. He uses famine as an example. It could be cured if enough people cared to help and if people were not caught up in war, terrorism, tyranny and more. He suggests we could solve many of the world's problems.

But not genetic disease. It is in our makeup. So is God responsible  and what does that mean? Will I get some reward? Can I curse God?

The author also gives God a pass for performing miracles -- my other big problem because God did heal some people. The author suggests that the miracles may have been less external healing but people letting their bodies heal themselves after being touched by God. I don't buy this.

I still don't know where the Hell God is, but it does make me happier to know that I am far from alone.

Christmas for superheroes

It's Christmas time, and I finally have my own toys again! Well, some of them. Others, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and First Appearance Batman remain hidden in a big box I still need to unpack. I have plenty to fill out Matty's Nativity.

The Big Three are back, in original wooden form. This year, though, they are backed up by the Charlie Brown folks. Should Jesus, Mary or Joseph prove unable or unwilling to perform any required duties, Woodstock, Lucy or Charlie Brown are authorized to step in.

On the far left is Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Michelangelo. I figured Michelangelo needed a chance to paint the nativity, less depressing than the Pieta.

Next is Space Ghost from talk show Space Ghost Coast to Coast. who will help provide needed publicity for the savior. As Judas tells Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar, "If you'd come today, you could have reached the whole nation. Israel in 4 B.C. had no mass communication." Space Ghost answers that need.

Next is Green Lantern who will be the heavenly host. This particular Green Lantern came from a friend who reminded recently me of important things. Green Lantern will easily portray angels, and his oath gives me goosebumps: "In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight; let those who worship evil's might, beware my power... Green Lantern's light!" I like the box, so I did not take him out. It has nothing to do with keeping in Mint Packaging.

Green Arrow is a fast friend of Green Lantern's so he is visiting the nativity, too. He could be a shepherd, I suppose: They both probably used bows. Mainly though, he is around for protection.

We know, thanks to Stargate and other shows, that aliens visited Egypt and built the Pyramids. I don't know if they stopped in Rome and Judea later. I, for one, am taking no chances. Luke Skywalker is there, manning the anti-aircraft weapons.

Plastic Man, in the rear, is mainly there for comic relief. Things get too tense, he can stretch his face into an amusing appearance and make folks laugh.

Wolverine and Beast, just behind Charlie Brown, can be just about all the animals in the stable, especially Beast who changes from monkey-like to feline to other, depending on the artist.

Between them, you can see the front of Professor X's wheelchair and an arm in his trademark blue suit. If Jesus turns out to be a mutant, Prof. X can help mentor him.

Finally, Superman makes his first appearance in my nativity. I just started this year to warm up to Big Blue. He is mainly here, though, in case Lex Luthor time travels back to wipe out Christmas. He can also make the Flight into Egypt a real flight.

Here are the ones from 2007,  2008, 2009 and 2010. These posts also have some background. And God must be amused by this because I have not been struck down yet.

Theological conundrum

My latest theological conundrum: The things that convince me that God is not friendly, is not loving and may not even be there are the same things that make me plead with God for help.

Today, we had an office party for someone's birthday. So uncomfortable. It's loud and I Can't hear. Plus, I wind up staring into people's chests. Then my head started hurting. Then, I coughed and flew into my computer. Then there was an with my wheelchair controller and the metal toilet paper box in the stall at work. I can't believe neither broke.

I finally got home, took some Advil and a little nap. Right before I dozed off I said out loud: ""God, help me."

I am not sure he did. My head still hurt, my glasses were still bent, and my hearing is no better. That's OK; it would have been weird to wake up fine.

Are you there, God? It's me, Matty

The other night God and I had a chat. Well, no. A chat suggests two people talking. I didn't hear any response to my questions.

I was asking, maybe demanding, that God be there for some people I know who could use him. (I use he and him just for simplicity.) More than me.

I know you are thinking "more than Matt," is that possible?

It is. I like to whine and gnash my teeth, but I'll be OK. I know I will survive what I can and figure out what to do when I face something else. My life is rarely easy, and that pisses me off no end. But I can take it. I suspect that after the despair and pain, or maybe even in the depths of them, I will laugh and I will have family and friends who make sure I do.

I am sure that my friends can take it, too, but I don't want them to have to. Because of Friedreich's ataxia, I expect my life to be fairly miserable or at least really hard. Life should not be like that for others.

God better be helping my friends, so I can get back to feeling sorry for myself.

I don't feel thankful

It is Thanksgiving this week, but I am not feeling too thankful, more sad.

It isn't that I do not have many things to be thankful for, including a brother-in-law who is up on a ladder right now rewiring the light in my room.

I think it is like prayer: If I am going to thank God for things, I need to be able to blame God when things go awry. But that is not how prayer works. So I don't pray.

I mean I talk to God, asking over and over: WHY? Like why did I drive into a branch from a rose bush on my way home from Mom and Dad's. Sure, I ran into it because it was in my way, but how hard would it have been to bump my chair a little to the left?

I am jealous of my religion teacher

When I was a senior in high school, my religion teacher told us he never set an alarm when traveling because his guardian angel always woke him up at the right time.

I always thought this was stupid because it discounted your internal body clock, the thing that wakes me up before my alarm most mornings.

Lately, though, I have thought it rather nice, albeit naive.

I wish I could believe God takes such an active role in earthly life. God seems less involved than I was with my aquarium fish.

I fed them, medicated them a little, kept their environment friendly.

Here on earth people die of hunger. I have Friedreich's ataxia, which is still getting worse. I got on the floor today to brush Claren. I was right next to my bed, a super pole and my chair, and I still had to call for help. And it snows in October.

Every damn day something happens that should not happen if a loving God is with us. And I know God exists. I suspect God does care about us. It is awful hard then to buy that God is with us.

That is why I think it would be nice to ignore biology and believe my guardian angel wakes me up.

Heaven can wait ... until it is accessible

No rapture?

I was obviously shocked when I realized today had no "end of the world" vibe because normally you can count on doomsday prophets and numerology.

But then it hit me: Of course, there was no rapture; God is worried about lawsuits.

You have plenty of references to stairways to Heaven, ladders, even escalators. But you never see elevators to Heaven. Heaven is inaccessible to wheelchairs.

Sure, you can argue that wheelchairs won't be needed in Heaven, but that is a big assumption to make. I am sure that more than one lawyer would be willing to challenge God on this, and I figure that someone up there realized that, maybe Giles or one of the other patron saints of handicapped people. (Nice, non-offensive language there by the way, SQPN.)

I want to see ramped access before we even talk about this again.

Must-see theology

I am in a Rapture frame of mind so here is something I wrote a few years back.


You've read Revelations. You've heard St. Paul talk about it.

Now, coming Tuesday on NBC, it's must-see theology.

That's right. You know it by many names — Parusia, the Second Coming, the Final Judgment. Now see it live.

Watch as Jesus separates the wheat from the chaff. And you better hope you are the wheat.

From the mind of God, who brought you such Earth-quaking events as the flood, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, comes the one awards show you cannot afford to miss.

Says chief producer St. Clare of Assisi, the patron saint of television writers: "We all know Jesus talked about returning when least expected. But this opportunity comes along, what, once in an eon. The marketing people wouldn't let us just sneak in like a thief in the night.

"And the stars were lined up round the block to get a taste of the action. We had no problem at all casting the righteous. I mean our location [Heaven] means that we have tons of people ready and willing. Mother Theresa pops up. Eleanor Roosevelt has a hilarious cameo as herself.

"Heck, some people was so desperate for a spot, they even offered to be the damned."

Clare says they turned away those who wanted to play the damned. "Can you imagine Martin Luther King, as chaff? Pu-lease. I know it is unfair to typecast, but really."

In the end Lucifer was coaxed out of hell to reprise is role as the devil. "Hey, when Clare came knocking, I said no thanks," recalls the Prince of Darkness, relaxing by the pool with a drink in his hands.

"I mean it's springtime -- who doesn't love May weather -- and frankly I was tired. Cursing God and tempting humanity is tough work. I told her to go see Judas or Adolf. I remember I said to her: 'I love ya, Clare, baby, but it would take a miracle.' True story"

Clare says she was at wit's end, but then she got an assist from God. "You might even call it a miracle," she laughs.

"When the big guy comes knocking, you can't say no," Lucifer says. "I mean, literally. Here I am a fallen angel and here he is God. You know."

Once Lucifer was announced, the rest of the damned fell into place.

"We got Satan, that was key," says director Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists. "If you're evil, how can you not want to work with him?"

Starting at 6 p.m. ET, Sts. Homobonus, patron of tailors, and Martin de Pores, the patron of barbers, will host a pre-Parusia event. They will welcome the guests arriving on the red carpet.

The entire world is being judged, but only the A List will be judged at the Shoream Amphitheater. Some of them might wish the invites got lost in the mail, though.

"Just cuz you're righteous doesn't mean you know how to dress," Martin says with a laugh. "And just because you are damned doesn't mean you don't look good," Homobonus chimes in.

"We may be saints, but our comments will be anything but heavenly," he continues. "If Peter shows up wearing that same old ugly robe, you can be sure he will get grief from us."

"Oh, you know it," adds Martin.

At 9 p.m. the excitement begins. Host King David will begin calling out names. They will come up on stage where Jesus will give them a thumbs-up or -down.

"We've got a whole batch of neon lights to make sure the audience knows where the judged is going," says Clare. "It'll be wild."

As if that wasn't enough, Clare says they added a few unexpected touches.

Clare gives credit for the twists to St. Bernadine of Sienna, the patron of advertising. "Bernie knows what she is about," Clare says.

She adds, "marketing was a little worried we might lose the 18-24 crowd if we didn't juice it up, so we created three special twists:

"First, there will be a defense lawyer and the right to argue against damnation. If he presents a winning case, his client might just slide over to righteous. We'll have an 800 number set up where viewers can vote for or against damnation.

"Second, the righteous will be in stands on the right of the stage. The damned will be on the left with a moat of burning hot lava between them. Across the lava is a rickety bridge so any damned person can try to cross over. Of course, the righteous have also been given rocks to throw at a damned person. But will it cost them their spot in heaven to knock someone into the lava? Watch; the answer will shock you."

"Third, we will have some surprise guests. I don't want to give too much away but how do you think David will feel when Absalom comes out to get judged?"

This is a live event so preview tapes weren’t available. But Tom Shales of The Washington Post calls it a “guaranteed winner.”

“I’ve seen Clare’s work before; it is stunning. If there is one show you watch this year, watch the second coming,” raves Shales.

And Clare can’t keep to herself one more spoiler: “Where else will you see Osama bin Laden, Jerry Falwell and a host of other false prophets -- living and dead -- say in unison 'Oh crap.'”

Yeah, Mom

Last Mother's Day, I talked about how I inspire maternal instincts in women who aren't my mother.

Last night, though, I fell apart and needed the real thing. As she always is, Mom was there.

I am battling recently some really rotten feelings. Not sure why, but depression is bearing down hard lately. I think I do a good job hiding it at work and putting on a friendly face, but it is exhausting.

Distress with God often pops up during these dark days and darker nights, and my youngest niece had her First Communion earlier yesterday. One of her gifts was a guardian angel pin with the saying that God will not let the righteous fall.

I said to Mom last night: "But he does let the righteous fall and pee all over the bathroom floor" as I had done earlier. I realize that declaring myself as righteous may make me self-righteous, but that was not a big concern at that moment.

Mom assured me God does protect the righteous, but I stuck to my guns as my tears started to run: "He talks a good game, but he really doesn't." And then I really lost it: crying and heaving.

She just hugged me, and that helped me recover. It didn't remove my doubt or solve my problems, but it's hard to despair when you feel how much your mother loves you. Plus, my allergies are so bad that the crying and sobbing made it so I could not breathe, so I had to settle down anyway.

But it was mostly the hug.

Why not?

I am convinced God exists. I am much less certain whether God cares or whether God has any kind of active role in our lives.

If God were anything like what I have often wished, I would not have had a day like today.

Someone, perhaps on his right hand or maybe his left, would have said, "Whoa, Dude. Matt has had a crap day. His mom should not have to do that. He has been humiliated enough for the day. Why not give him a fucking break?"

And then the compassionate God of my dreams would ease my struggles just a bit, take away some bad part of my day -- the digestive issues, the falling, the incontinence.

In the real world, with the absolutely baffling and seemingly cold God, the struggles multiply.

I love 'Lamb'

Mom's Easter reading is The Risen Christ at Eastertimeby some big-time Bible scholar. Mine is pretty heavy, too: Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore.

Despite it cursing, bawdiness and general irreverence, I find Lamb quite loving and beautiful. It is fast becoming one of my favorite books.

Lamb's Joshua (Jesus) is perfect (obviously) but not at all arrogant about it. He doesn't lord it over anyone even though he is, really the lord. He is kind, naive, goofy, loving, funny (he knows Peter won't be able to walk on water but eggs him on as a practical joke). Best of all, he heals everyone. It isn't just one leper or a certain blind man. If you asked, you were cured. No questions asked.

The biblical Jesus, as I have written, confounds me. Lamb's Jesus is someone I find less confusing, more willing to love and follow. Plus, I could get Biff to help me out with women.

No, I don't think Hitler was misunderstood

When the Enron boys were being arrested after they ran the company into the ground, I expressed some sympathy for whichever one of the bad guys was being perp-walked on TV at the time. This prompted one of my co-workers to say that if they ever committed a crime, they wanted me on the jury.

When Bernie Madoff was on trial, my sympathetic streak (all right, it is more like a 10-lane highway) popped up again. I told a friend how bad I felt because he just looked like someone's grandfather.

I do not in any way think these people should not have been punished. They ruined countless lives. I just felt bad for them, especially if they seem contrite.

Now I know I am my mother's son, and she feels sympathy for anyone. But my disability has certainly strengthened the sympathetic bones in my body.

Friedreich's ataxia has forced me to consider people's situations -- like why so-and-so didn't hold the door for me or whatever. That was mean, but ... There is almost always a but. Maybe they had a headache or something on their mind.

And while I usually hope and pray I would not make the same choices, maybe I appreciate their tough choices more.

Why bring this up? Because on this Spy Wednesday, I realized that I am growing more and more sympathetic to Judas, Jesus' betrayer.

I do not hold with betraying a friend to authorities who want to kill him or betraying of friends of any kind. But ...

Jesus confounds me now. Imagine being there and living with him. He makes loaves and fish feed thousands, but he doesn't heal everyone. He preaches "turn the other cheek," then goes ballistic on the money-changers in the temple. After some gal spends community money for perfume to anoint him, he defends it by saying the poor will always be around.

And I am always sympathetic to someone who kills himself. That is a choice I really hope I never make but one I think I do understand. I think I know what it is like to despair, to feel helpless and hopeless, to think not having to get up the next day would be a blessing. But ...

There's that "but" again. I know those feelings, but I don't give in to them. Actually, that is the worst and saddest thing about Judas: that he did.

Winnie the Pooh and God

A friend of mine recently celebrated the two-year anniversary of her faith-healing.

She is more a Facebook friend now, but she was my friend when we worked together. And she is not someone to lie.

I hate faith-healing and the cures at Lourdes and other holy sites. I hate the miracle cures Jesus performed. They all stab at me, mocking: Why aren't you good enough?

And if I was cured, then what? I think that would be worse: to be the recipient of a miracle cure when others are still sick.

When I was a child, I had a fever-enhanced dream that combined Winnie the Pooh and Jesus Christ Superstar. In one Pooh story, there is a flood and he watches from the safety of a tree branch as jugs of honey float by below him. In JCS, Jesus is pursued by sick people who want him to heal them. He finally cries out, "There are too many of you."

In my dream, I was Pooh up in the tree safe. Instead of honey floating by, it was people, who reached out to me. I could not help, and I, too, shouted, "There are too many of you." I woke in tears.

I can only assume God feels similarly rotten when seeing all the sick people on the earth. Mom says God can't heal us all. And if God feels the anguish of not being able to cure everyone, then why cure anyone? What does it say if someone gets cured but others don't?

UGH. Another question: Why does thinking of God often leave me sad?

It's a Very DC (Comics) Christmas

I expected to have access to all my figures this Christmas, but the house is not done yet. Fortunately, I have made a few purchases on eBay this year so I am able to fill nativity with new figures of my own. I did not have to raid my niece's or nephew's toys. I consider this a source of pride. I realize some might consider it a sign of dorkiness. They are, of course, wrong.

This year I bought entirely DC figures. I am liking DC more these days and I have few figures, or I did at the start of the year. Now I have a few, including:

• The Angels on the top tier, announcing the good news to all and keeping a watchful eye out for Dr. Sivana or Onimar Synn. The white guy in the front left actually is an angel:  Zauriel, a guardian angel of the Eagle host, has protected the souls of countless women, including Cleopatra, Mona Lisa and Joan of Arc. Now we can add the mother of God. Next is Hawkman, likely familiar to any viewer of the Superfriends. You know he is just waiting for evildoers to show up so he can beat the holy heck out of them. Continuing clockwise are two guys I know little about but look cool and stand up without the need for the purple playdoh that Zauriel has on his feet. Orion and Mr. Miracle are part of the New Gods. Finally, there is Captain Marvel. I always liked him because he was friends with a talking tiger.

• On the middle shelf are the Big 3, played by Charlie Brown, Lucy and Woodstock. Next to them are the shepherds. Wonder Woman is the only gal this year. I had another, but Huntress kept falling over even with playdoh. Green Lantern Kyle Rayner is to Wonder Woman's left. He was a struggling artist before becoming Green Lantern, so perhaps he could draw the scene. If you could zoom in on his face, you would know, though, that he ain't drawing nothing. He is just daring Herod to show up. My brother-in-law and I were considering who'd win in a fight: Green Lantern or Thor. We meant GL Hal Jordan and my money is on him. Kyle is no slouch either.  With his back mostly to the camera is Aquaman, who swam in from Mediterranean Sea via the Dead Sea. He has his trademark orange shirt back now if anyone cares.

• Finally, on the far left shelf: the three Wise Men. The cool thing about these guys: They don't have to leave right when they see a star. They can have dinner, dessert, coffee, and then take off. That's what happens when you are Golden Age Flash, the modern Flash and Superman. I highly recommend the Flash-Superman races.

Here are the ones from 2007,  2008 and 2009. These posts also have some background. And God must be amused by this because I have not been struck down yet.