Whenever my mother lost something (which was almost daily), she would put her hands together in prayer, look up into the heavens and say, “Saint Anthony, I know you are a busy guy but I’ve searched the whole house for my lost (glasses, purse, keys, earrings, perfume bottle, checkbook) and I can’t seem to find it. Please give me a hint.”
And all of a sudden, my dear mom, Irene, would check the top shelf in the kitchen and lo and behold, her lost item would be found under a dirty table cloth.
Too late did I appreciate my mom’s special connection with the saints of heaven.
I learned that Saint Bernardino of Siena was just waiting to help me with advertising when my magazine publications were going down the tubes.
But wait! There in the far corner of heaven were Saint Gabriel the Archangel and Saint Francis de Sales, chatting about journalistic creativity and telecommunications while I was scratching my head trying to figure out how to send a fax.
Last night, I said a prayer to Irene, requesting her to use her holy connections on my behalf.
This morning, I opened my prayer book to page 173. There was a color painting of Saint Jude: Patron Saint of Desperate Situations.
Thanks, Mom.