Varily I sayeth unto thee, "Iseth it me, or doest the language of ancient scripture givest thee a migrane too?"
Last week, someone told me that the only proper way of addressing God in personal prayer was with archaic form, as in "Spareth me thy unspeakable wrath, Oh Lord, for I am butteth a worm, yea even unto a small one."
Not even. How I talk to God is my business. Which, by the way, I have been doing a lot lately. Anyone who commutes to and frometh work along the Wasatch Front has probably been praying in their own way. Or at least calling on the name of God a lot.
Speaking of whicheth, someone sent me a copy of the "Commuter's Lament." It's written in spiritual grammar, so it must work.
Harken unto my voice, all of you, and learn from my misfortune. For I have dallied too long over "Good Morning America" and now I pay the price. Yea, verily, it is rush hour.
And though I falleth upon my steering wheel and weep most piteously, I goeth not forward upon the highway. And lo! There is a wailing and gnashing of teeth, for clients do await me at the office, and my boss doth curse my name most horribly.
And woe unto us all who do travel in the valley of the shadow of road construction. For, verily, I am stopped near the Machine-That-Makes-Pounding-Noises-For-No-Reason, and soon the pain in my head is as a spike through my temple.
I look around myself, and I seeth also the doom of others. For there are many children who frolic in back seats, and who do cry out with much noise as and angry multitude: "I am hungry." "He's sitting on my side!" "She's touching me!" and "Are we there yet? For pee we must, and mightily!"
And after having suffered these trials and tribulations, I arrive at my company's parking lot; but there are those who parketh crookedly, and do taketh up two spaces with one car, for fear others will smite their doors. And there are those vehicles of an unnaturally large aspect that are puffed up and bear a multitude of bumper stickers.
These cars are an abomination and pestilence in my eyes, for they causeth me to park far from all mankind, out in the blasted wilderness. I must walk many leagues, with my briefcase heavy upon me, and the lessons of this day burned into my soul.
When at last I reach my office, I fall upon my brother's neck and weep with joy. For I know that at the end of the day, I shall not wander about as a sheep who has not a shepherd. My car will not be lost in the wilderness and hidden unto me, because by the time I am freed from my great travails, evening rush hour will be long over, and mine will be the only car left in the parking lot.