No Pillows in the Cyanide Desert, O Lord

When I was little one of my favorite things was to look through the Sears and Roebuck and the J.C. Penney's Catalogs. I wasn't looking at the toys, however, I was looking at the pages with the room decor. I played this little game I made up called "Match To Match." I would look at each page and point with my wee finger at each thing that matched all the others. And I would chant a little ditty as I did it: "The bedspread match to match the curtains to match the pillows to match the sheets to match the lamp shade to match the tablecloth to match to match To MATCH!" Nothing in my life has given me such pure satisfaction since. Oh, the joy's of a matching, well decorated room!

I remember going to Sunday School at the Lutheran Church. NOT my regular venue, as they were a stuffy lot and solemn and not much for fun. I liked to go where my cousins went, the Methodist Church, because my Aunts were the Sunday School Teachers and would hand out candy bars if we got all the books of the Bible memorized in order.

At the Lutheran Church, we had to sit and punch out pale cut-outs of Jesus holding a lamb and then glue Him onto a page that was a bleak outlined sketch of the Cyanide Desert. I didn't like this at all. I thought it was a horrid place to make Jesus hang out. Why couldn't He be pasted into the J.C. Penney catalog? Wouldn't He much rather be in a room where things MATCHED and were tidy and soothing? Why was He forced to stand around in those smothering hot robes in the bleak and lonely desert?

P.A. prepares to Part the Red Sea.

I'd been to the desert and I wanted no part of it. It was hot, sticky, and everything had a wretched bleached look to it.

I stand upon Mt. Ararat and look for things that Match, to no avail.

In those days, before air conditioning, the prospect of the American Desert Southwest in July was more akin to a nightmare of hell than a pleasant family vacation. And that's how I remember it. I didn't see any reason to paste Jesus into such a landscape. I hated it!

I had already gotten pretty fed up with those Lutherans anyway, because the only other time I remembered going to their Church was at the Christmas Pageant. I had been forced to learn the Away in a Manger Song and it just horrified me that the Baby Jesus was not allowed to have a PILLOW! You know the song:

Away in a Manger, No crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus, No pillow for His head...

Okay, those may not have been the lyrics but that is how I remember them.

In the Jewish faith, at religious ceremonies, the Messiah is given a place at the table so He will feel welcome when he drops by at last. Good China, a wine glass, proper linens and even a bread plate. Now, that's my idea of the proper way to treat Jesus! And when He comes to my house, He can stay in the guest bedroom, where there are PLENTY of pillows and things that MATCH.