One day I was at the grocery store. I was doing that listless shuffle through the aisles that is characteristic of the heartsick mama. And my eyes fell on such a beautiful sight. Two black girls, laughing and joking with their white mom, putting things in their cart with a familiarity that is only grown in close families.
Tears immediately began to spill down my face. Horrified I turned down the nearest aisle and parked my cart halfway down. I was so embarrassed. I stood there with my head down and my hair falling down on either side so no one would see me crying in public.
I found myself staring at the lower shelves in the Mexican food aisle. I was standing directly in front of a shelf of candles. Obviously religious because Jesus was on some, Mary on others. I was suddenly no longer crying. Just staring. Then, for no reason I can come up with, to make what I did next any less weird, I look to my left, down the aisle. No one was there. I look right. No one. I reach out and grab the green candle because green is my favorite color. I furtively stuff it down into the mound of groceries, like I was doing something wrong, and I hightailed it to the checkout stand. The rest of my list forgotten, I had to get OUT of there. I was buying a Catholic candle. And I wasn’t even Catholic!
That night I sat on my bed, looking at my new candle. A man was on the front, and I just looked at him for a long moment. I turned the candle over, read the prayer I found there and lit the candle. Every time I woke up bathed in anxiety, I would see the comforting glow of the candle and melt back into sleep. I knew nothing about Saints. I did not know who Saint Jude was, or that he was the Patron Saint of difficult and impossible situations. I did not know that our little Timothy Kiyimba had been born Catholic. What I do know is that Saint Jude prayed for me before I was Catholic. Just another major miracle on our path that was by now littered with them.
I have had a Saint Jude candle beside my bed ever since.
I bought a beautiful Saint Jude locket and vowed to wear it until I was back home in America with my son safely tucked into our life. My candle at night and my locket during the day were touchstones of peace for me. I didn’t even realize that when I would grasp that locket tightly in my hands and make a statement of hope that I was praying. Saint Jude was taking up that request and bringing it to Jesus for me.
Today he is my Patron Saint. And how grateful I am that he prayed for me long before I became a Catholic. Even clasping my locket, I did not know who Saint Jude was. Staring at my lit candle I did not know the power the Prayers of the Saints held, or that they were even a thing. But none of that mattered. Saint Jude prayed because in my ignorance I asked him to, without even knowing I was asking. Beautiful Miracle!
Comentarios