Being Non-Compliant

As a parishoner in the Lincoln, Nebraska Diocese, I've been meaning to blog about the whole non-compliance thing. Been a little busy, obviously. So anyway, here goes.

Our Diocese published Lincoln's results the Saturday before the report itself became public. This is because our Bishop wanted everybody locally to know the skinny before the nationwide media broadcast it. Our Bishop has been very forthright throughout the whole scandal -- he's not playing hide and seek as some speculate.

Regarding Diocesean behavior during the scandal and initial recovery stage, information has been continually made available in every parish throughout the Diocese. There is no sense of covering things up, paying people off, etc. here.

After the report came out on January 6, there was obviously a rise in scuttle regarding the Lincoln Diocese. All three Nebraska Dioceses were considered "non-compliant" but Omaha and Grand Island have said that though they weren't compliant at the time of their audits, they are now. Lincoln stands out as saying, "Okay, we're not totally compliant and we're not going to comply." Which of course on the surface sounds pretty bad.

In this week's Diocesean newspaper, there is more clarification from the Bishop on this issue. I'll share it here -- it's long, but I'll try to do the Cliff's Notes version for you.

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A. The Diocese has been, is, and always will be in complete compliance with Church and State laws.

B. The Diocese's policy has always been to report child abuse immediately to civil law enforcement authorities, regardless if the offender is a priest or other religious or not.

C. The Charter passed by the USCCB does not have the force of Church Law, so it is incorrect to assume that the Charter is obligatory. In other words, the Lincoln Diocese is "non-compliant" to a completely voluntary set of recommendations. Since the Charter isn't equal to Church Law (nor has the USCCB sought to have the Holy See make it so), no Diocese is required to meet all its recommendations.

D. The John Jay College of Criminal Justice study was commissioned by The National Lay Review Board, not the Holy See or the USCCB, and participation is not required by either the Holy See or the USCCB.

E. While the Lincoln Diocese has nothing to hide regarding sexual abuse by clergy, after careful consideration, the Diocese has elected not to participate in the John Jay study. Lincoln is not the only Diocese to refuse to participate, since most if not all Latin Rite Dioceses and some Eparchies are not participating either.

F. There are 10 reason why the Bishop has decided that Lincoln will not contribute to the study:

1. The study is not directed at developing programs for the protection of young people, which is the intent of the Charter.

2. The study could result in serious sins against the eighth commandment, such as slander.

3. The study includes information from inconclusive and anonymous allegations, which may be suspect.

4. Many of the accused (nationwide) are dead and therefore unable to answer allegations or defend themselves.

5. Equivalent studies have not/are not being conducted for pedophile scandals in other sectors of U.S. society (i.e., Protestant denominations, public school teachers, scout/club leaders, etc.), even though there is evidence that pedophiles use those authority positions to prey on the innocent as well.

6. The US Federal Government Office of Health and Human Services refused to grant a certificate of confidentiality for the study.

7. The study does not place its results within the context of the overwhelming majority of priests who did not and will not ever commit any sexual abuse of minors.

8. The study employs self-reporting without regard to the potential inflation and deflation of information.

9. About one-third of all Catholic Clergy in the U.S. are not included in the study, which also skews results.

10. The results of the study are to be owned by John Jay College, not the USCCB.

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The Diocese's final word: "The study, like the Charter, while having some positive aspects, can be fairly judged as defective and flawed, and not useful for the Diocese of Lincoln."

Personally, I agree with most of these concerns. The study seems to be something of a examination of deviant behavior with little regard for accuracy. It seems like it's meant only to feed the sick fascination with the obscene/corrupt/lewd that appears prevalent here in the U.S. Not unlike when Elizabeth Smart was returned to her family and all over the news broadcasts, people cared most to speculate whether or not she'd been sexually molested, instead of focussing on her amazing ability to survive and reunite with her parents.

Likewise what tantilizing fodder in this scandal! Priests who are supposed to stand for goodness and morality, abusing minors. Yeah, that's movie-of-the-week material right there. The study is going to happen regardless of what Bishop Bruskewitz does, but I can see why he doesn't feel it would be of any purpose to participate in it.

That's my take on it. Opinions?

--Sparki

Thanks for all the kind wishes & welcomes for Laurel!

We're all doing fine, just moving slow. Laurel's jaundice is disappearing -- current hurdle is getting her through poops. She just wails her head off like, "What is happening to me?!?!?!" Poor little thing. I'm also doing fine. Well, I wasn't on Wednesday night. I felt great in the morning & started doing laundry & what not, only to practically give birth again to a blood clot nobody wants to hear about. So back to resting and creeping around the toy-strewn house.

Edyn's gotten to be such a big girl since we brought Laurel home. She delights in walking down the stairs (instead of crawling backward, feet first), taking her own plates and cups to the sink, fetching diapers, etc., and taking up her baby dolls to mimick my motions with Laurel. Zooey is back in school 5 mornings a week and seems to need the "down time" there! My husband's last day at the old job was Wednesday. Yesterday, he had a meeting with a recording studio in Omaha about getting some contract work from them...which will hopefully enable us to pay off all the equipment we just bought within the first quarter, well before the interest starts to accrue on it, thanks be to God. Today, he's home with us all afternoon and Zooey is playing at a friend's house, so I have two hands free to type!

About the name...

I really like it, too, and thanks for all the positive comments. Laurel is a bit of a compromise between my husband and I. My husband has pushed for "Victoria" for all three pregnancies, but for reasons too long to go into, I just couldn't agree. My primary choice was Flora, which he doesn't like for a long list of reasons. Well, "Laurel" is the symbol for victory, and it sounds a lot like Flora, so there you go.

Christine is after a friend of mine, who is about the most gracious, loving, generous, intelligent and beautiful person I know IRL.

We also note that there are saints with similar or identical names for Laurel to aspire after.

Thanks again for all the wonderful & prayerful support. I'll be back in touch when I can...

--Sparki

Announcing...

Laurel Christine arrived Friday night at around 10:47 p.m. She's beautiful and healthy and looks exactly like her older siblings did at birth.

We're all home now, sitting around and staring at each other in wonderment. Zooey is really happy with the new baby and intends to babysit (!) or just sit and watch her sleep. I suggested that might get boring, and he said he might go play for a little while and then come back and watch her sleep some more. Edyn just keeps pointing to the baby and saying either "Hi, Baby!" or "Night-night, Baby!" or "Hi, Mom."

This was the most difficult of all three of my deliveries. My body really wasn't ready for it. And Laurel wasn't ready to come out. With the threat of Group B Strep looming, we used pitocin augmentation to "help along" highly irregular contractions. But even when I was 8 cm, Laurel was still high up under my rib cage, unwilling to decend, despite all the walking, swaying, rocking and silent begging I did. I'm glad I had a full compliment of labor management techniques available to me -- I didn't make TOO much noise, difficult as the contractions were. I ended up with much higher levels of pitocin this time than I had with Zooey (same scenario with the early water rupture thing), and they were simply grueling. But with my husband there to support me through each one and his gentle reminders that another one was over so that meant we were one step closer to the end, I just kept plugging along.

Anyway, we're both recovering quite well. Laurel's a teensy bit jaundiced, but my milk is in and she's eating well this afternoon, so I guess that will be short-lived.

Thanks for all the prayers!

--Sparki

Okay, I guess this is it!

Because I'm Group B Strep+, I'll have to get to the hospital to start antibiotics by about 11 a.m. our time. GBS is only a big deal if you don't know you have it and aren't treated accordingly. I've been positive for it with both my other deliveries, so I know that by putting me on IV antibiotics, it protects the baby from possible infection. My doctor is great and doesn't confine me to bed, even with the IV. I can just roll the IV cart around the hospital to my heart's content.

Which I'll probably do, in the hopes of getting things moving along. No real contractions still, which is a bit frustrating. I have until 5 a.m. tomorrow before my doctor will suggest any kind of intervention like pitocin. I'd like to have the baby yet today and avoid any of that. My dr. is pretty laid back -- she likes things to go naturally as much as I do, and wouldn't even be bringing me in if it wasn't for the GBS thing. I did end up going on pitocin with Zooey, but she administered it so slowly, she really used it as augmentation and not the driver of my labor. So I trust her to be careful with it again, if it comes down to that.

Not sure when I'll be able to blog again.

--Sparki

This is SOOOO not funny...

I'm pretty sure my water broke a little before 5 a.m. today.

I'm technically full term -- 38 weeks tomorrow. In fact, this is exactly the same day and the same way my labor started with Zooey (at 5:15 a.m. that time). I turned over in bed (massive feat these days), felt a little gush, hopped out of bed & there we are. It's not constant, just little gushes.

The not funny part is that I am really not ready. I put off preparing for a baby until after the holidays...which for us lasted until last Saturday as far as activities. Then I was sick as a dog Monday (24 hour flu, I think), so I didn't do much, and just dragged the last couple of days. There is laundry to do, a new infant car seat to buy, things to organize...

I should have known. Zooey's been talking about the baby coming out for the last day or two -- just like he did when I was about to deliver Edyn. And my mom called out of the blue yesterday afternoon, instead of waiting until it was free minutes on her cell phone. And my mother-in-law e-mailed yesterday to say she & Dad were headed out of town for the weekend & may or may not be reachable on their cell where they are going.

Siiiigh. Well, you can't stop babies from coming when they are ready. I'm in the basement trying to dig out some infant clothes and receiving blankets to toss into the washer. I'll go up and pack my hospital bag in a little while, but I'm trying to let DH sleep till his normal waking time. No contractions yet. It really is exactly like my labor with Zooey so far.

There IS a funny part though...

Years ago, I was nanny to two wonderful girls who are 18 months apart in age. Edyn was born on the younger sister's 17th birthday, July 1, 2002. When I got pregnant with a January due date, I apologized to the elder sister, saying her birthdate was a little too soon for this baby to arrive on it.

Well, she turns 20 today. So things may work out after all.

I'm going to go waddle upstairs and get something to eat while I still can.

Prayers welcome.

--Sparki

We have heat again!

The furnace guy came out and fortunately, he only had to clean off the flame sensor and unplug some tube thingy, and our furnace was humming again. Hopefully the repair cost will be minimal.

Eight below out there this morning, so it was nice to wake up to a warm house!

--Sparki

Ashli

I'm sure Ashli doesn't read my blog or even know I exist, but I have been praying for her and her baby and the difficulties with this current pregnancy. Morning sickness has been what I would call "relentless nausea" for me these past few weeks, but I'm always conscious of the fact that no matter how icky I feel, Ashli has it worse. I wonder if God would enable me to suffer a bit in return for at least taking the edge off Ashli? Of course, that's not an entirely selfish request. I'm to the point where actually throwing up would feel like a relief after this constant sense that I might at any minute.

Prayers also being offered to Davey's Mommy over at Chirp, who is starting to feel the waves of morning sickness during this sixth (or seventh?) week of pregnancy for her. And always prayers for those of you struggling with primary or secondary infertility, who want so much to conceive.

--Sparki

No, the baby didn't come early...

Thank goodness-- I'm still not ready. Just have had a lot going on with holidays & all.

Our furnace quit last night & it's 2 below today. So I've got Zooey at school & Edyn staying with friends until we can get it fixed. If you have a mind to, we'd appreciate prayer for the money to pay for a repair job. We had the furnace fixed last winter to the tune of $325, and while we technically have a bit more than that in the bank, our savings have been ear-marked to pay for doctor/hospital bills when the baby arrives in a couple of weeks. Plus my husband is about to take a pay-cut when he switches jobs in 2 weeks, so we're going to be less able to scrape up the cash to make up the difference.

Did I forget to blog that he decided to take the store management job after all, even though it's a bit less money? Lots of advantages to it that outweighed the paycut, so we decided to "trust God and go for it" as some would say.

Of course, that's before the furnace quit. Ah, well, it's still probably the best choice.

--Sparki

Yaaaawwwwn!

Too tired & foggy to say anything other than good-bye to 2003 & wish you all great blessings throughout 2004...

--Sparki

Blessing of Households for Epiphany

We were running a bit late for Sunday Mass at our own parish yesterday, so we went to the neighboring one, where Mass started a half hour later. There was a bit in the bulletin about a traditional blessing for one's home on the occasion of the Epiphany, something about holy water and chalk.

I went to Catholic Online but didn't find any specifics. Can anybody clue me in on this?

--Sparki

Heartbreak & Holidays

Folks have been asking, as is customary, how our Christmas was. Well, it was a bittersweet mixture. On one hand, the joy of Christ's birth is -- or at least ought to be -- the blessing that outshines everything else the world has to offer. But this year, our private world was fraught with painful emotions.

My husband's great-uncle Jimmy died on the evening of the 23rd. His death was not entirely unexpected -- in fact, we were told that Christmas might be "on hold" if Uncle Jimmy took a turn for the worse, which would mean my husband's grandparents would certainly want to hurry to his bedside in Missouri. However, he left this life so quickly, there wasn't time to give his only surviving sister notice enough to drive down from Nebraska.

So, we gathered on Christmas Eve as planned, but Grandma was obviously distracted by her older brother's death. It's a strange thing, I have observed, when people suddenly become "the oldest" in their families. I imagine it must make one take stock in one's own life and, if they believe in Him, in their relationship with God.

As for the rest of the family, Uncle Jimmy's death was less of an issue, since he was a rather distant relative, both in geography and in regular contact. My husband's uncle John, I think, felt it more keenly than anybody other than Grandma, but John was close enough to Jimmy to have named his own son after him.

But that was not the darkest shadow over the family gathering. My husband's brother hosted the event, in the house he and his wife bought a month before she left him, which he's been renovating ever since. The renovation work is going well and the house is going to look fantastic when he's done. But everywhere was the mark of Heidi, making her absence and their situation more tangible. There were the three knitted stockings she'd hunted all over the city to find, slung carelessly over the knob to the front door instead of hanging properly off the fireplace mantle. The Christmas tree, laden with ornaments she'd chosen or made, or ornaments made by others for her or her and her husband. Many are tiny bicycles, commemorating the numerous bike rides they shared when they were dating and falling in love.

In the half-finished kitchen was the cooktop and other appliances Heidi chose, the hotpads she'd made, the dishes from their wedding registry. There were photos here and there -- many that she took herself (she's a great photographer) but none of her.

My brother-in-law maintained an even keel. Part of him, I know, was in deep pain. And the other part of him was glad to have his family around him, proud to open his home and serve as host despite the loss. Nobody sought to bring up the issue of their seperation and pending divorce, but when the matter was inadvertently broached, he didn't back away from it. He speaks of the issue realisticly and sticks a bit of wry humor in there when he sees folks grow uncomfortable.

But Madeline, their 3.5-year-old daughter -- that's where you feel the pain of Heidi's absense most. Like any other high-energy preschooler, Maddie directs her emotions into physical activity. More than once, she tried to physically tackle or otherwise control her older cousins (all boys -- Zooey and Chase are 4, Andrew is 6 and Branden is 8). And when that failed, she turned on Edyn, alternately snatching toys away from her, poking her with a broom, chasing her, knocking her over once and even spanning Edyn's neck with her hands in a choking action. Of course, every adult in the house had one eye on Maddie and all these altercations were quickly put to an end, then Maddie was gently redirected to an acceptable activity. But minutes later, she'd jump up and do the same sort of thing again.

It's not difficult to explain in a 3-yr-old. Where her life has become the chaotic transfer between dad and mom and grandparents multiple times a week, she wants to exhibit control over others, so she tried to do so with her cousins. And when that failed, the underlying feeling that she's being picked on or that all the "big people" in her life are messing things up and hurting her emotionally caused her to turn on her younger cousin.

She has to learn how to cope and develop the skills and emotional maturity to overcome the adversity she's subjected to now. But that will take years. She's only three after all.

The worst part, though, was when Madeline burned her finger (slightly) on the fireplace grill. I was talking to one of my husband's cousins when Maddie ran up to us, holding her finger with tears brimming out of her eyes. Jena asked what was wrong, and Maddie said she burned her finger and didn't know what to do. And you know, she didn't know what to do because when a 3-year-old gets an owie, she (or he) goes to Mommy. But Mommy wasn't there. Maddie wanted to cry, but not without the comfort of Mommy holding her and helping her cope. Maddie knew that she needed first aid, but didn't know where to get it without Mommy there. So she turned to the two females closest to her, and we helped her into the kitchen, where her dad took over.

There are kids all over the world who have lost their moms to accidents or illness and have to learn how to cope, how to adjust their needs to allow for Daddy to do what Mommy used to do.

But it's an awful thing when Mom just up and left. When Mom knows she's needed and wanted but has "other priorities now."

I find myself unable to reconcile the Heidi I knew for 7 years with the Heidi of today. I ache for my brother-in-law, I ache especially for Maddie. And I'm worried sick about Heidi herself. For as much pain and loss as she's caused her husband and child and the rest of the family, she stands to suffer so much more, with the way she is choosing to live. She needs to be rescued...but only the Garce of God could accomplish such a feat.

--Sparki

Frankly, I don't give a...


You are Rhett Butler. You refuse to change your
personality to appeal to the masses and cannot
stand the hypocrisy in society. You will do
anything in your power to make sure that you
get what you want.


Which Character from 'Gone With The Wind' are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Thanks to Two Sleepy Mommies for the link. I think my results are pretty funny. I was all over the map on this quiz & couldn't guess where I'd end up.

--Sparki

The Best of Intentions

Well, during Advent, we had this little cardboard manger that Zooey and I made, and a bag full of strips of straw-colored tissue paper. And pretty much every night, we'd think about personal sacrifices that each of us had made and wrote them on paper strips to put in the manger for a "nice soft bed for Baby Jesus." Zooey really got into this...well, most days. He still had his typical 4-year-old boy days.

So Christmas morning, I was up before the others, and I fetched one of Edyn's baby dolls, swaddled it and laid it in the manger, then perched it on the fireplace hearth for the children to find when they got up.

Zooey slept in, what with the late family gathering on Christmas Eve. But Edyn (18 months next week) was up pretty close to her regular time. BOY, was she upset when she saw her dolly all tied up like that! She ran to the fireplace and rescued her "baby," ripping off the swaddling cloth much faster than it took me to put it on. And no amount of reasoning would lead her to let me swaddle up the baby again, just so Zooey could see it. In fact, it took a good half hour before she'd let me lay the baby in the manger again, sans swaddles. And then she only let it sit there for 30 seconds before she rescued it again. Just couldn't stand to see her baby lying in a cardboard bed, when she could carry it on her shoulder and pat it on the back.

So, I guess the attachment parenting stuff is working...it just gets in the way of symbolic Christmas rituals.

When Zooey got up, I slipped the baby doll in the manger again, as Edyn was distracted with something else. But when I pointed it out to him, he said, "THAT's not Baby Jesus, Mom! That's just Edyn's doll..." At which point, she shrieked and ran over to rescue the baby again.

Oh, well, I tried.

--Sparki

A Glorious Christmas to You All!

My prayer is that everybody reading this today will have a meaningful and joyous celebration of the birth of our Savior today, tomorrow and onward to Ephiphany.

--Sparki

Congratulations!

To Davey's Mommy (over at Chirp) and Davey's Daddy (at Honk!) and to Davey himself on the pending arrival of Davey's younger sibling sometime in the next 8-9 months. And prayers offered from here for all of you as well.

Chirp's template is down & comments are not functioning, but feel free to use my comments box, such as it is, to suggest alternative web handles for Davey's Mommy. Frankly, "Chirp" is so cute, I don't know why Mommy Chirp isn't on her list already...

--Sparki

My Uncle John's Christmas Story

I blogged about my paternal grandparents a long time ago, mentioning my uncle Johnny as a fist-fighting, cigarette smoking 6-year-old. Today, I want to share his Christmas story with you.

The bit about the fist fights and cigarettes is no exaggeration. Uncle Johnny was one of the toughest guys I ever knew. Johnny was a "bulldog-fireplug of a man," I used to hear folks say on the street. A good description. He was only five-foot-two-inches tall, but his shoulders and torso were broad and strong, and he had that bulldog look about him that told you not to mess with him or you’d be sorry. .

He was almost 100% Irish by decent, except for a bit of Cherokee blood that came to him from my grandmother. Like many other Irishmen, he had a terrible temper, a high tolerance for alcohol and a penchant for story telling. At family gatherings, I used to sit on the floor by his chair (on the beer can side, not the cigarette side – he always had both going) and listen to him tell stories until I was told to go play with the other children. Which now I think meant he’d had enough to drink, he was about to launch into fodder only suitable for adult ears. Tough as he was, Johnny always took care that we children didn’t hear what we shouldn’t.

Anyway, this is the story he told every Christmas when I was a little girl. I can’t attest to how truthful it is – Johnny being Johnny – but it’s a good story nonetheless.

Johnny’s trade was sheet-metal work. He started out as an apprentice when he was something like 14 – he was at his full height by then and had completed his eighth grade education. He enlisted in the Navy shortly after Pearl Harbor – he was only 17 but lied about his birth date in order to serve. He spent his time in the South Pacific, patching up boats as they floated and sending them back to the action, but he never saw any combat himself.

After the war, he returned to Chicago and continued his job as a sheet-metal worker. He joined the union (big union people, my dad’s family) and was guaranteed a steady income and a very nice pension, if he made it to full retirement age. Most sheet metal workers had to retire early because the work is so hard on the body. But my uncle was too tough to let history stop him – he was going to retire on a full pension, come what may.

Christmas Eve sometime in 1966 or 1967, Johnny pulled a second shift on the job site, counting on double pay (holiday rates) for a total of 16 hours. Four times the wage in just one day – Johnny couldn’t resist that. Just as his second shift was starting, it began to snow. Some of the other fellows who had agreed to work the double changed their minds. "It looks bad," they said, choosing to go home lest they get snowed in and miss Christmas with their families. Johnny stubbornly stayed on, with a handful of others. But they kept checking the weather and one by one, they all clocked out early.

Except Johnny. He stayed until the bell rang, hoping his foreman would reward him with an extra bonus.

When he finally left, there were 14 inches of new snow on the ground – thick, wet drifts, courtesy of Lake Michigan and a hefty wind. It took him almost half an hour to locate his little yellow Volkswagen Beetle under the drifts. Actually, it wasn’t his car, it was his college-age daughter’s. His car was sitting at home in the driveway, waiting for some sort of repair he hadn’t had time to take care of yet.

Using a shovel borrowed from the work site, Johnny dug the driver’s side and rear out of the drift and then started up the engine to let the car warm up while he shoveled out a path to the street. The Chicago street plows had been by several times already, so he figured once he got to the street and then on the Eisenhower Expressway, he wouldn’t have any trouble getting home.

It took a long time to dig a path to the street, but Johnny just whistled Christmas carols as he worked and thought about the best way to spend that extra money he had coming to him. A couple of times, he went back to the car to warm up a little, but all the Beetle could afford was shelter from the wind – the heater either was on the blink or just couldn’t compete with the outside temperatures.

Johnny finally started on his way shortly after midnight, Christmas morning. The little Volkswagen was surprisingly easy to handle in the snow, Johnny thought. He drove about three miles on city streets, then got up on the expressway and turned southwest, toward his home in the suburbs. The plows had been out on the Ike, too, but it was snowing harder than ever and the wind was blowing so bad, drifts were practically forming right before his eyes.

Then all of the sudden, the Volkswagen began to sputter. Johnny looked down at the gages and slapped himself on the forehead – he was out of gas. He’d let the car run the whole time he was shoveling and spent most of the little gas that was in the tank while it had been idling.

Johnny guided the car to the side of the road and weighed his options. He was about seven miles from home. The wind would be mostly at his back, but it was bitterly cold, and the snow was blinding. Johnny calculated that he might make it home walking, but it would take a good three hours. And he couldn’t risk frostbite on his toes or fingers – that would mean early retirement and losing his pension.

He thought about getting to a gas station, but he was at least three-quarters of a mile from the nearest exit, and then he wasn’t even sure how close any gas station would be to the off ramp, let alone one open at 1 a.m. on Christmas morning. Anyway, he only had a handful of change on him.

He was already feeling the cold. Johnny took off his gloves and blew on his fingers to warm them, stamping his feet on the floorboards to keep the blood flowing. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, but his lighter was empty, so he couldn't smoke it.

Putting his gloves back on, he got out of the car to see if his daughter had any emergency supplies stashed in the trunk. He found the spare tire, a flashlight, and a flare, but no matches to light it...or a cigarette. No blanket, no food.

He pocketed the flashlight and slammed the trunk lid down. The snow was already starting to drift around the tires of the car. He took a handful of it and ate it to quell his thirst, then did 50 jumping jacks to warm himself up and climbed back into the car. He cracked the passenger-side window open a bit to allow for oxygen, and sat there, thinking.

His chances of another car passing him on the road weren’t good, and he knew it. He figured the snow couldn’t last more than a couple hours, so he’d better just wait it out.

He spent the time singing Christmas carols and mentally spending the extra earnings he was counting on. Every 20 minutes or so, he’d hop out of the car to do jumping jacks, clear the snow from the back tail lights – just in case somebody happened to drive by – eat a handful of snow, and climb back inside.

But he was mightily tired. A double shift, then all that shoveling. Johnny was finding it harder and harder to stay awake. He knew that if he fell asleep in the car, he’d die there. He slapped his forearms against his chest, stomped his feet, laid his cheek against the cold window, sang louder and louder…and still, he fell asleep.

* * * * *

In a tiny walk-up apartment nearby, a young couple was anxiously watching the snow and praying that it would stop. The woman’s belly was swollen with their firstborn, and the contractions had already started coming five minutes apart.

"We have to get you to the hospital," the husband said.

"We’ll never make it," she gasped between contractions.

"It’s five minutes on the Ike."

"Not in this blizzard!"

The husband jumped up, "Well, we have to do something," he said. He picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

"My wife is in labor, and we don’t think we can make it to the hospital," he said. "Can you get us an ambulance?"

The operator apologized. All the rescue vehicles were already out on calls. Soonest anybody could be there was an hour or two. "Fine," he said, "I’ll take her myself." The operator offered to call the hospital to say they were on the way, and he agreed, telling her the route he planned to take.

Grimly, the husband slammed the receiver back into its cradle and fetched coats and blankets. "We’re on our own," he told his wife, "and I am taking you to the hospital, now."

The poor woman huddled in the back seat, alternately terrified and stricken with labor pains. "Drive slowly," she begged. "Don’t get us killed." And then another pain would overtake her.

He drove carefully, easing onto the Eisenhower with his emergency lights flashing. The plows had given up, so the roads were worse than he thought. Five miles to the hospital, and he was sure it would take them at least a half-hour to get there.

Four miles to go. Every time his wife shrieked in the back seat, he jumped. But he set his jaw and kept right on going.

Three miles to go, and she cried out again, "Baby’s coming! Baby’s coming!"

He panicked, "Don’t let it!"

"I can’t help it! Stop the car, please, stop! Stop and help me!"

He pulled in behind a snowdrift, hoping that would block the wind. He had no idea what he was going to do – he didn’t know how to deliver a baby!

But as he climbed out of the car, he saw the flashing lights of a police car coming up behind him. The operator must have notified the police for them! He stepped out into lane, waving his arms. The squad car stopped alongside the couple’s vehicle and two cops jumped out.

"My wife is in the back seat, she’s having a baby!"

The husband opened the back door and climbed in behind his wife, while one cop went around to go to the other side. The officer slipped as he turned in front of the car, putting his hand out to the snowdrift to stop his fall. But it wasn’t a snowdrift, it was something solid, completely covered with snow.

It was uncle Johnny’s Volkswagen.

The cop called to his partner to check out the other car while he helped deliver the baby. Johnny was sound asleep and headed toward hypothermia. When they got him to the hospital, his body temperature was only 52 degrees, but there was no frost-bite, and he recovered completely, going on to be the first man ever to reach full pension retirement age from the Chicago Sheet Metal Workers Union.

"And that," Uncle Johnny would say to finish the story, "is how one Christmas morning, God used another newborn baby to save my life, after sending the Christ Child to save my soul."

This is our third Christmas without uncle Johnny here to tell the story. But I guess he’ll be spending the Holy Day singing "Gloria, gloria, in excelsis Deo" with the choirs of angels. He never could get enough of that song.

And now you know why.

--Sparki