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The Message
Evansville, Indiana
September 25, 1992     The Message
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September 25, 1992
 

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10 The Message -- for Catholics of Southwestern Indiana September 25 I III II I By JOHN D. KUNKEL Guest Columnist It's not easy to be a fine, upstanding Catholic hey: there are tests along the way to make for trying moments. I recall two such events during the summer of my eleventh year. One was a lesson in honesty, and the other taught the virtue of patience. I thought, I prayed, I folded my hands, and parted my hair as neatly and as well as anyone else I knew. On the outside I was the same as they were, but on the inside I wondered what other people were thinking. Were they really connecting with God when they closed their eyes and prayed, or did they see little floaters in their eyelids like I did? Throughout my childhood I tried to resist temptation, but I was not always successful. My dear great-grandmother, who I'm sure must be a saint in heaven, was a great user of Holy Water. In her last few years of life, her health was fail- ing, but that didn't stop her usage of the Sacred fluid. She would ask me or one of my brothers to pick up her bottle and fill it up from the font in the church vestibule. It was a long walk for someone who had better things to do. When we return, she promptly gave us a speech on its importance and then she gave us a nickel. I liked the nickel mare than the speech. It got to the point, however, when the bottle needed refilling, that we would swear we made the last delivery and someone else should take their turn. The trip I remember to this day started with Grandma's call for more Holy Water Learning ][,zssons on honesty and patience and me loosing the coin toss. I walked to Grandma's house and got the bottle. It so hap- pened that my house was along the route to church. Being a busy young man who would rather be playing baseball, I thought, "How can I get this bottle filled without walking all the way to church and back?" It takes less than one second to fill a small bottle with a garden hose; it takes a lifetime to forget it. Grandma took out her coin purse, and we exchanged the "water" and the nickel. My face took on an immediate and permanent blush; I offered the nickel back, but Grandma would not hear of it. I panicked. I knew she talked to God all the time. I knew He would tell her what I did. It was as though she saw right through me. She knew! Grandma died later that year. I went to con- fession and told my sin, hoping and praying that it wasn't the "unholy" water that caused her death. No amount of penance could be given to offset the guilt that I felt for a long time. I learned a lesson the hard way. It would have been so much easier just to get the real Holy Water. When I die, I am taking a nickel with me: I have a debt to pay. It's odd the things we remember doing as children. Are there lessons to be learned from re- calling them? Are we being repaid for the things we have done? Does history repeat itself?. I think it is so. Consider this: 30 years ago, three hours of fasting were required prior to receiving Holy Communion. This was a great deal, as it for something quick to eat after church. nuts were sold by the Boy Scouts after each Mass, which was quite a treat for a hungry My job was to help deliver the doughnuts the six o'clock Mass. I made the trip each Sun- day morning with my Dad to the Honey Fluff Bakery. We would leave home at 4:30 in the morning. In my mind, we were on a deliver the goods. We piled bags upon boxes Of; glazed doughnuts into each available cubic foot of space in our old blue station wagon. There must have been a thousand of them. The aroma was so thick, I could taste it! I could hardly until Mass was over to have a doughnut; I couldn't concentrate during Mass because I thinking of them. My thoughts were quickly terrupted and my eyes would refocus when Morn or Dad caught me daydreaming. Back to ri ality, "fold your hands, sit up straight, pay attain; tion," they would say. This was usually accom,/ panied with a frown. Making all necessary adjustments, I would try again to be more attentive. It seems like only yesterday when I look down the pew each Sunday and see my eleven" year-old son. I drift back in time when I see staring at the lights in the ceiling, or slouching i his seat. He doesn't fold his hands very neatly ther. Do I smell doughnuts? Ill  r I I Main Street Pharmacy 217 E. Main St., Downtown WasSngton Phone: 254-5141 Golden Jubilarians Paul and Margaret (Kramer) Yarhrough Sr. will celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary Sept. 26. They were mar- ried Sept. 26, 1942, in St. Simon Church, Washington. They are the parents of five children, Mary Divine, Ruth Rausch, Paul Yarhrough, Rita Ducharme and Joan Grannan. They have six grandchildren. ATTENTION WESTSIDERS We Are Your West Side Agent For MERIDIAN MUTUAL and INDIANA INSURANCE CO. 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