by Rose Madeline Mula

I can't prove there is a God; but I am certain that some sort of all-knowing, all-seeing being exists who knows exactly what I'm up to at all times and doesn't miss an opportunity to zap me with his/her/its guilt taser when I least expect it.

Case in point: A while back, my friend Cindy and I were driving to the rocky shores of Maine for a long weekend when we passed a warehouse emblazoned with signs proclaiming “Giant Shoe Sale!”  Since we're always in the market for shoes, especially giant ones (I wear a size 9, Cindy a 10), we made an illegal U-turn, sped back to the warehouse, and rushed inside.

Again, I have no concrete evidence that God exists, but I now know for sure that there's a heaven.  Cindy and I entered it that day.  No Saint Peter and no pearly gates, but gazillions of deeply-discounted designer shoes.  I lost count of how many trips it took us to haul our stash back to the car.  The proverbial kid in a candy store couldn't possibly be happier than we were ... until the next morning when we went to church.

The celebrant of the Mass that morning was a visiting missionary from a tropical third-world country I had never heard of.  His message was powerful.  “In my country,” he said, “my people are so poor, they don't even have any shoes.”

SHOES!!!  Couldn't he have said his people had no shelter ... no food ... no water ... no clothing ... no indoor plumbing ... no schools ... or even no Walmarts or no TV (except maybe only basic cable) ...????  No!  He had to say they had no shoes!  I shrunk into the pew, put a twenty into the collection box, and made a silent vow to rush back to the hotel after Mass, gather every single pair of my newly-acquired footwear, rush back to church, and lay all of them at the feet of that missionary.  (Though I have no idea what the natives in his tropic slum are going to do with some of them — especially those fur-lined thigh-high boots.)

That experience actually soured me on all shopping for a few months; but a couple of weeks ago, badly in need of some retail therapy after my long dry spell, I succumbed to the hype surrounding the opening of a humongous new outlet mall with acres and acres of stores  where I made up for lost time and went on a buying binge.  I then made the mistake — again— of going to church (will I never learn?) for a Saturday afternoon Mass.  And in that church adjacent to the mammoth new shopping mall, the priest chose as the topic of his homily the story of Christ exhorting his disciples who were preparing to follow him to take only a walking stick and the clothes on their backs.  What? Not even a fanny pack, or an extra pair of Nikes?  No, said Christ, condemning excess.  What must He have been thinking of the dozens of overstuffed shopping bags in the trunk of my car?

Okay, okay.  I can take a hint.  Enough with the shopping already.  The next time I was tempted to acquire still more stuff, I bypassed the stores and ducked into the nearest restaurant to sedate my buying urge with food.  It worked.  After a tangy shrimp cocktail, followed by a salad with blue cheese dressing, I had a melt-in-your-mouth filet mignon, a baked potato with sour cream, and green beans almondine.   And though I usually deny myself dessert, I felt I should indulge this time to insure that I had safely stifled my shopping urge — at least until all the stores had closed for the evening.   I couldn't decide between a hot fudge sundae or strawberry shortcake, so I had both. 

When I waddled into my house, I turned on the TV before collapsing on the couch.  I couldn't believe what I saw.  The channel was tuned to a documentary featuring starving children in a remote African village.  Their mother had made mud pies which she was drying in the sun.  “She will feed these to her babies,” the commentator explained, “hoping they might contain some calcium.”

Three transgressions.  Three immediate rebukes.   Coincidences?

I think not.

©2012  Rose Madeline Mula.  Rose's newest book, The Beautiful People and Other Aggravations, can be ordered through through Amazon.com and other online bookstores, and at Pelican Publishing (800-843-1724), as is her previous book,  If These Are Laugh Lines, I'm Having Way Too Much Fun. 

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