Column: Tales from Exit 22, by Al Batt

About 45 percent of all Lucky Charms cereal is eaten by adults.

That’s why giving grace before breakfast should be more prevalent than at other meals, but for some unexplainable reason, it’s less common.

Perhaps not everyone has the ability to form words until after consuming breakfast, or at least, a favored liquid offering copious amounts of caffeine.

The tot was asked to say the blessing before dinner.

The little boy was hesitant, but was encouraged by a number of adults.

“I don’t know what to say,” protested the child.

“Say what you hear your Mommy say,” urged an aunt.

The boy clasped his hands, bowed his head, and prayed aloud, “Dear Lord! Why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?”

I had a college roommate named Keith Wakefield who was fond of saying this before we tore into our beans or ramen noodles.

“Rub-a-dub-dub. Thanks for the grub. Yay God. Let’s eat.”

We encouraged him with our giggles.

It might not have been the classiest of blessings, but it was better than nothing. It served as proof that the difference between bonds and men is that bonds eventually mature.

We were always hungry in those days. I think it was because we ate pasta and antipasto at the same time. They canceled one another.

Grace refers to any of a number of short prayers said prior to eating, a gentle message thanking God. Some traditions hold that grace imparts a blessing that sanctifies the meal.

Grace is often short, because you don’t want to let the food cool or have it overwhelmed by growling stomachs.

With one eye closed and the other open surveying foodstuffs, we say, “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and let these gifts to us be blessed. Amen.” Sometimes we add “Give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever. Amen.”

At other times, grace is “God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food. Amen.” Or “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

The fervor in which grace is said varies according to the food, company and occasion.

If you see drivers with bowed heads, they aren’t saying grace. They are texting.

In my basketball playing days, it wasn’t uncommon to see another player cross himself before shooting a free throw. I decided that I’d try it during practice. I needed all the help I could get shooting free throws. I crossed myself before shooting some free throws, but my shooting percentage didn’t increase. A teammate told me that it didn’t work for Lutherans. Perhaps he was right.

That’s why I never see anybody cross himself or herself before bowling a frame in the Lutheran League at Bowling Elaine’s.

I say a silent prayer while watching loved ones play sports. I ask that they play their best and that no one is injured.

I spend a lot of time on the rubber chicken circuit and listen to a lot of folks offering blessings before meals. They are all good, but I’ve noticed that most are read from written material. Not a bad idea. If the mind goes blank, it doesn’t always turn off the sound.

Saying grace was more prevalent during my kidhood. According to the American Bible Society Study, the Most Bible-Minded City for 2013 was

Chattanooga, Tenn. I’ll bet you’ll hear grace said at the Waffle House in Chattanooga. Des Moines was 53rd and Minneapolis/St. Paul (St. Paul would prefer “St. Paul/Minneapolis”) was 75th out of 100. The Least Bible-Minded City was a tie between Providence, R.I., and New Bedford, Mass.

I continue to not only believe in miracles in food and other things, but to rely on them. I’m not the only one.

A local minister stopped by the church to grab a bottle of wine that he’d need to give communion at a nursing home. He was running late, so he put the bottle on the passenger seat of his car. Before he cleared town, a police officer pulled him over for having a nonfunctioning headlight.

Seeing the bottle, the officer asked, “Sir, have you been drinking?”

“Just water,” said the clergyman.

The trooper pointed at the bottle, “That looks like wine to me.”

The pastor said, “Good Lord! He’s done it again!”

Meister Eckhart said, “If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.