Satan Has a Lousy Job but Someone Has to Do It

For years, I’ve told people, “Be grateful for Satan—it’s a lousy job but someone has to do it.” In Latter-day Saint theology, opposition to righteousness is absolutely required: “For it must needs, that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11). According to the prophet who said this, without opposition there can be no wickedness and hence no righteousness, no bad and hence no good, no misery and hence no holiness and so forth: “all things must needs be a compound in one,” and if they weren’t, nothing would live.

This is a fairly common philosophy and theology, and I’ve noted to various believing family members and friends that whether or not there is an actual Satan or Lucifer, someone or something would apparently have to fill the role. Health scientists tend to agree on the importance of opposition: study after study suggests that resistance training leads to slower muscular degeneration and longer life. Likewise, mental exercises involving puzzles and complex thinking may help delay the onset of dementia. Resistance and opposition are apparently necessary for growth and for extending our lives.

But let’s be honest, no one likes it, and no one really means it when they say, “I’m grateful for my trials.” This gets said in church periodically, and I couldn’t oppose more (see what I did there?). Our Thanksgiving was basically perfect—good food, fun times, good friends, great family. Only one small cloud seemed to pass over the proceedings—Lindsay had a stuffy nose, and she complained of being tired.

When we arose the next day, she told us she had had fever sweats the night before—we took her temperature and she was normal, but I insisted she also take a Covid test. Naturally, she was positive. Because of course. Because as Ralphie observed in A Christmas Story, “Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at its zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us.”

Sigh. Okay, it wasn’t an “unthinkable disaster.” In fact, health professionals have been warning about gatherings and all the respiratory ailments that are going through our population now. So we can put it on par with Ralphie shooting himself in the face with his first shot.

We had to contact all our guests from the day before (all were cool about it). Worse, Lindsay felt lousy and didn’t feel up to helping us decorate. Further, Graham had to work at eleven, so that left it to Lauren and me to haul all the Christmas boxes from the basement. I noted previously that I tweaked my back during a workout with Lindsay, so my capabilities had taken a hit. As we hauled box after box upstairs, Lauren and I groused about how long it was taking and how tiring it was. We started putting up the outdoor lights, and midway through, we had to take a break.

A secondary plot ran through all this, as well. Before decorating, I took Dobby out to play soccer in the yard. He took a rest from chasing the ball and began rolling around in the grass—I thought it was just some leaves, but no, it was poop of some sort, probably a turkey’s. That earned Dobby a bath. Then, we got moving on the Christmas boxes, and Dobby snuck into the furnace room where our stuff is stored. While I grabbed a box, he rooted around some garland, then suddenly dashed out of the room with something in his mouth. Bad sign. I set down the box and followed. He dropped his prize and then rolled on it. Worse sign.

I moved him and grabbed the object—a six-inch snake that had gotten in, hidden in the garland, and died. I have renamed the furnace room the Chamber of Secrets. Mercifully, the smell didn’t stick, and so Dobby was spared a second bath of the day.

After decorating outside and doing some inside, we got Graham from work. Lindsay insisted on helping to pick out the Christmas tree. We normally go to an all-outdoor Christmas tree farm in East Bridgewater, so we felt fine about taking her. At this place, you can pick a fresh tree to cut or a tree that has been shipped in from up north. Graham found us an enormous fresh tree, and Lindsay’s main requirement was a huge tree. The farm cut it for us, and bad back and all, I managed to get it inside with an assist from Graham. I remind you, it’s not going in the yard—it’s going in the living room.

Take a good look at the picture. Yeah, the angel is jammed against the ceiling. Yes, it’s an angel. We switched from a star when Leon (Lauren’s father) got sick. Why? Deeply spiritual reasons obviously—he always thought it was hilarious to look up at the tree and see an angel with a stick up her butt.

All in all, it was a good day in spite of the opposition. I’d grade this trial as about as rough as Ralphie’s fake icicle to the face. In related news, Bible scholar Dan McClellan recently noted that the Hebrew Bible does not mention Satan at all but more generically refers to opposition or an adversary. Whatever you believe about a literal Satan, I’m glad this wasn’t worse, but I don’t intend to express my gratitude for the trial.

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