I'll be the first to admit that frequently "my alligator overloads my hummingbird." It happens not just once a day but more like two or three times, often more, as my mind races to find something funny in just about every situation. Sometimes it is tougher to do than at others, but, blaming this one on Monday's luscious weather, I "got myself good" on Monday.

As I try to be aware of everything around me, I noticed at church on Sunday that a 24-hour prayer vigil was being held this weekend and, because I am a thinker, I figured I could easily afford the 2 a.m. until 3 a.m. shift this coming Saturday night ... er, Sunday morning. After all, I'm trying hard since just being allowed to join the church.

As a matter of fact, I was so proud of myself I figured I would send a note to the church's high priests first thing Monday morning. So, in sort of the same way I once used to taunt high school principals, I sent an email entitled, "My Spiritual Dilemma," to those who wear the black robes, and please allow me to show how the mischief in me can sometimes not be contained with even most fervent prayer.

My missive read as follows: "I pray, dear sirs, that you will help me with a spiritual dilemma, be it only of sorts. I am aware that our church will hold a 24-hour prayer vigil this weekend, starting Saturday morning and continuing until Sunday's dawning.

"But the scientific community informs me that during this same time of our congregational plea, 'daylight saving time' will go into effect. That's right, we'll 'spring forward' between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m this Saturday night. Would one of you explain the obvious question ... do I pray real fast, or what!"

Of course, I signed my email, "Love, The Struggler," but, not long after I hit the "send" button, there was one of those stern spiritual taps on my shoulder and the Lord reminded me, as I have noticed for nigh on these 60 years, that some people don't quite find my daily blessing of humor quite as delightful as I do.

Not long afterward I got a reply email from the No. 1 pastor who wrote a simple "I love you" so suffice it to say I have since been moved to pledge one hour of serious and reverent prayer in the staid sanctuary of the church. Between now and Saturday's early opening salvo I will attempt to atone for myself and mankind's scientific shortcomings. I promise I'll include the pygmies in Africa and pray that the chickens in every hen house will adjust their appetites accordingly.

Oh, please, my email wasn't nearly as bad as the one the president of the Tennessee Hotel Association flashed about last week. His flick on the "send" key triggered what will no doubt go down as "The Most Stupid of the Year." Much like me, he was only trying to be funny, but, instead of "the con" in mine being exposed, his poor judgment centered on a highly-racial comparison between a chimpanzee and President Obama's wife that was decidedly not only in poor taste, but not funny to me.

Our hotel executive's sudden onset of stupid has now been aptly recorded in every newspaper you can name. Over the weekend the racial blunder was in The Los Angeles Times, for heaven's sake, and was one of the most-emailed in the country. The thing that most seem to miss is that somebody had to send it to him - he is hardly that smart as evidenced by his sudden national notoriety - but he was the one who got caught with life's proverbial whiskey bottle in his hand when somebody suddenly turned on the lights.

During last Sunday's sermon, which was about the time I hatched my little "2-to-3" scheme, that day's pastor taught out of the book of First John and made a wonderful illustration using a light dimmer. It was a great method to show how we strugglers "dim" the glowing message in that disciple's letter to the Romans. I guess, after my missive, the only doubt now remaining at our church about me is whether my light is even turned on.

So, yes, starting this morning I will began what some religious tribes call "penance" for making light of a slippery hour, so to speak, and I hope to get my pew time in before those elders, the ones who sometimes look like they just swallowed a bird, have a chance to pass the box with the black marbles. Just the other day another recently-forgiven heathen whispered it probably took "around five passes" before I was approved to join the flock this past January.

And that brings me to my final point before I take my back-row seat in the darkened church. The God I serve is not a church at all, but, rather, a Savior who has assured me of Everlasting Life. If it bothers somebody that my Master and I laugh a lot, most often when I stumble or especially when a baby is christened, the way I have it figured is that's somebody else's problem and sure ain't going to be one of mine.

The power of prayer, as has been proven time and again, is mankind's greatest tool. This Saturday they'll still have the day-long vigil at the church. Yes, many good and righteous people will pray not only for the church and its members, but they'll include our community, our city and our world.

But don't you fret. I've now got the 2-to-3 a.m. dilemma handled and the fact the hour won't be "all there" can perhaps be said of my brain, too. Let's face it, I'm the logical choice to make "the hollow hour" a holy one. Further, I've got it from "high up" that as long as I am sincere, reverent and not looking for the punch-line then, brother, my time will hardly be spent in vain.

Oh, maybe because I now see the daffodils sprouting and the crocuses now bursting alive, is because I'm so jolly-sure of myself and still wearing my mischievous grin. After all, it was God above who taught me how to laugh, to rejoice in my constant blessings.

If you want to know more about that, check with me right after we sing "Up From the Grave He Arose" on Easter morning. You'll see why. Me and my alligator and my giggle are gonna' last for an eternity. I've got that from "high up" too.

royexum@aol.com