Things that Go Missing

I didn’t grow up Catholic – thankfully! Too many things to remember. Too many rules and weird ceremonies. But my dad did. And my husband did. And I visited a Catholic church a few times with my grandparents. So, I know something about them. More than enough to be grateful the Lord has saved me and my family from all that rigmarole.

I learned that going to a Catholic service is like an aerobics class. Up on your feet one minute, seated the next and then down on your knees. And they like to kiss each other (are we French?). But worse of all, they all drink out of the same communion cup. I don’t care if they do wipe the edge. Aren’t they afraid of germs and getting sick? But, then, Anglicans do the same thing. Makes me all the more glad I’m Baptist/Presbyterian.

The funniest thing, though, has got to be their saints. We all know the common ones: St. Francis, St. Patrick, St. Nicholas. And they’re the saints of not-so-abnormal things: animals, Ireland, ships/sailors (or is it candy in shoes?). But how about St. Sebastian of hardware stores? Or St. Magnus of Fussen against caterpillars. Or St. Drogo of coffee houses, midwives, unattractive people, mute people and cattle (if you figure out the connections between these things, let me know). I guess the Catholics don’t like to leave anything out.

Growing up, the one I thought the most bizarre was St. Anthony: the saint of lost things. Why? Because, every time my grandmother lost something she prayed to St. Anthony to find it. That just confused me. How could a dead guy help you find anything? Was he a ghost that visited your house and kind of shuffled your missing keys around so you would find them? My mom’s advice was much more practical: look for it – it won’t jump out and bite you!

Yesterday I thought of this because when I got home from church and went to take off my earrings, I was missing one. They’re a favorite pair, too: small, gold hoops with a dangling heart charm. Probably not worth a ton, but they were the most expensive pair I owned as a teenager and I had been delighted to get them from my parents for Christmas one year. I was sad it was missing and hoping I had lost it around the house and not at church. But I wasn’t about to pray to some ghostly saint to point them out for me. Instead, I just asked God to help me find it. After all, He knew where it was.

Happily, I found the hoop that afternoon just outside our garage door. But no heart. It’s so small I wasn’t sure if I would ever find it, but I looked around outside to no avail. This morning, I got in my car and glanced around real quick, sure that if it was in there it had fallen into some crevice I would never be able to search. But, nope, it had tumbled into the cup holder between the seats and was waiting for me. God had shown me where it was and it made a good start to a Monday morning.