After the pumpkin prayer, I will give you my commentary on it.
Then, just to make myself clear, I’ll tell a little whittling story.
As I carve my pumpkin help me say this prayer:
Open my mind so I can learn about you;
(Cut the top of the pumpkin)
Take away all my sin and forgive me for the wrong things I do.
(Clean out the inside)
Open my eyes so Your love I will see;
(Cut the eyes out in heart shapes)
I’m sorry for turning up my nose to all you’ve given me.
(Cut a nose in the shape of a cross)
Open my ears so your word I will hear.
(Cut the ears shaped like the Bible)
Open my mouth so I can tell others You’re near.
(Cut the mouth)
Let Your light shine in all I say and do! Amen.
(Place a candle inside and light it)
Now, isn’t that pumpkin prayer nice. Sweet even.
Let’s Get Real About This Pumpkin Prayer
I am with the pumpkin prayer for the first two steps — I can cut the top off and clean out of the insides. And then the technical difficulty begins.
Eyes in the shape of hearts. I can try to manage that one.
Nose in the shape of a cross. I will muddle through. And call the gaping hole a cross.
And now I’m on the ears. And me putting the knife down.
If I am not already a bloody mess from doing the pumpkin prayer, that Bible is going to seal the deal.*
Instead of the pumpkin prayer, I will be doing the — please let me get the bleeding stopped and why do you kids use all of my damn Band-aids prayers.
I am not good with knives.
I have never been good (read as: safe) with knives.
And here is my whittling story to drive my damn point home.
Once upon a time there was a little girl, around eight years old. Let’s name this little girl, oh, I don’t know, Charlotte.
Little Charlotte would sometimes hang out with her Grandpap (Pap).
Charlotte and Pap would sit on his porch together.
Pap had a pocket knife and he liked to whittle.
Little Charlotte loved her Pap because he was the shit.
Wanting to be just like her Pap, Charlotte asked him for a piece of wood and a knife so that she could whittle, too.
Picture it —
Cute Little Blonde Charlotte: “Pap, can I whittle too?”
Pap didn’t stand a chance. The word “whittle” alone. Come on.
Pap would hesitate and remind his precious granddaughter that each and every time he gave her a knife to whittle, she would, in fact, cut herself.
But Pap always gave in.
And it would always end the same way —
With Grandma putting Band-aids on little fingers, scolding Pap for having yet again given Charlotte a knife.
Morals of the story —
(1) Spend time with your grandkids because they will remember. But don’t let them use knives no matter how cute it is when they say “whittle.”
(2) Buy safety pumpkin cutting knives. And while you’re on Amazon and need to spend $35 to get free shipping, put Jen Mann’s book in your cart because it is — expletive that rhymes with ducking — funny and more people need to laugh in this world.
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