Are you there, Lord? It's me, erm, Father Dominic.

Quite a juvenile opening to a prayer, I agree, quite plagiarized as well, more or less; however, I've always preferred it to the far less genial 'Dear Lord' which just assumes that You're readily available to listen to their every whim and hassle, like the prayers of underage Cambodian sweat shop workers can just be put on hold. At least my way allows time to prepare Yourself, not, necessarily, that You would need to prepare since You are omniscient, but I've always felt convinced that when dealing with your Holiness, it should be like dealing with a good friend. Treat each with the highest level of respect and benevolence all the while—and now I'm digressing . . . where was I? There was a point around here somewhere . . . Ah, yes! Susannah.

Lord, as You know, I have come to You countless times regarding this young woman; however, this time I fear the situation is far more dire. Susannah has always exhibited rather . . . odd strains of rationality, b-but they have existed, and up until this point, I have always given her the benefit of the doubt. Well, most of the time anyway. This time, though, I feel as if Susannah's judgment has been clouded by her . . . feelings for the ghost, Jesse.

It's not as if I doubt the man's intentions; Jesse, after all, grew up during a period when chivalry and respect reigned. Also, he seems to be rather interested in philosophy—political philosophy, in fact, for a man so intent on entering the medical field. Why, just the other day, we discussed the pros and cons of John Locke's Second Treatise of Government and whether or not we agreed with the fusing together of religion and politics—both he and I disagreed with the idea—which then transferred us to a discussion about Islamism and the effects of 'Westoxification'. Anyway, the point is . . . what was the point again? Ah, yes, the point is that the problem lies with Susannah. Although she is the single strongest young woman I have ever met, she is still a teenage girl, and as such, the subject of boys tends to, erm, convolute any ability of hers to think logically. She cannot be blamed, of course, since it seems to be the way you have wired the teenage girl's brain. For instance, look at Cee Cee Webb. One of the brightest pupils at the Mission, and every time she socializes with that boy, Adam McTavish, she blushes furiously and giggles more often than usual.

On a side note, forgive me, Lord, for I continue digressing despite knowing that You have so many other things to attend to. Forgive an old, forgetful man, won't you?

Ultimately, I worry that, like me, Susannah will be unable to release herself from the relationship when it becomes a choice of necessity. As You know, from my experience with . . . Elaine, it is increasingly difficult to let go once things become . . . erm, intimate. I would not wish the pain associated with that loss on anyone, especially Susannah.

Ghosts and humans are not supposed to coexist, and yet by Your will they do. I don't claim to understand Your motives behind this purgatory on Earth plan, but I do know that You selected both Susannah and myself to be Mediators because we are strong, capable people. I trust in Your judgment that we can handle whatever You toss in our direction. I only ask that You watch over Susannah during this trying period. Ghosts or no ghosts, adolescence is a bi—a beast. It's a real beast.

I apologize again. Please forgive me for my near vulgar speech. Sometimes the older students say things, and they catch on . . .

Anyway, I ask that You hear her cries of anguish and comfort her when I cannot. Despite her avid rejections of Your presence, she truly is a remarkable and decent girl. And she cares about others, which I feel is her strongest suit even though her acts of affection are far different than any I've ever witnessed. But isn't that the point of diversity? To be different?

And, yes, she suffers from a terrible case of pride, but was I not the same way at her age? Back in Boston, I was an arrogant fool with an inflated head and an inflated ego throughout the vast majority of my adolescence. When I saw my first ghost, I stubbornly chose to ignore my gift, and later, when I finally did acknowledge my duty, my methods of, erm, taking care of ghosts were questionable at best. I don't have to remind You of the debacle in Newton after the prom in junior year.

I love Susannah, Lord. She is like no other student I have ever met, and as much a gift to You as she is to me. When I look into her eyes, I see You working wonders from within her. Understandably, she will be out of my hands in two years and will be forced into her own, independent path, but in the mean time, I ask You for the wisdom to impart upon her, so she can avoid the mistakes I so easily fell victim to. Give me the skills necessary to guide and protect her while I still can. Give me patience when I get frustrated with her choices, and help me remember that she means well. When that doesn't work, remind me of the inner workings of the teenager's mind. Finally, give me the ability to love unconditionally and dole out mercy as You have done for Your own and the church. Through me, mold Susannah into one of Your own and watch over her vigilantly.

I thank You for listening to my words and Your eternal presence in my life. I pray these things in the blessed name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

Ah! Before I forget, I have one final request. I . . . well, there is no other way to put this properly, so I'll just come out and say, er, pray it. Mrs. Ackerman, Susannah's mother, although amiable, has a habitual tendency of wearing form fitting clothing and, though tasteful, low cut blouses occasionally. Ordinarily, I wouldn't bother You with such a trivial thing, but I find myself . . . erm . . . well, I find myself exceedingly attracted to the woman. My thoughts border on—well, suffice to say it, my thoughts are entirely inappropriate for someone of my age, profession, and general title of Catholic. She is a married woman, for goodness' sake! Anyway, I bring this up because I have a teacher's conference with Mrs. Ackerman on Thursday, and I need Your help. First, forgive me for my immoral thoughts, and second, help me guard my mind from any further ones. With Your help, I trust I can conquer this minor road bump.

And, since we have been through this song and dance once before, I will leave you with on final 'Amen.'

Amen.

Initially, this story was supposed to be for the "Smells Like Father Dom" contest, but I finished it too late. I kind of liked the piece, still, so I posted it anyway. I wanted to give a quick, special thanks to Sharky and Lolly for their dedication to the writing contests. They really have gotten my writing juices going, and it has been far too long since I wrote a Father Dominic piece. So, thank you ladies. To everyone else, I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of an introspective Father Dominic.

-The General