“Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust can’t
destroy them." ~ Matthew 6:20
Madeline searched frantically for
the purse she seemed to have lost on the crowded bus. Though well into her 80’s, she was still in
excellent health to travel alone. But
she did misplace things occasionally.
Sweat broke across her wrinkled forehead. Her eyes darted across the floor of the moving
vehicle, through the gaps between legs of passengers seated in front of
her. After several anxious moments, she’d
not reclaimed her lost “treasure.”
That soft leather bag was like a fifth appendage; it went
wherever she did. Always! It contained the usual stuff – credit cards,
coupons, and identification. It was
large enough to hold just about anything she needed for short excursions:
cosmetics for touch ups; books to read while waiting in line, and of course,
emergency chocolates.
But it also carried memories of what was left of her life;
pictures of family and friends, the first dollar she’d ever earned, the
spelling bee award her young daughter had won years before a car accident ended
her life. Her most valued possession was
her mother’s hair ribbon; a faded blue one.
It used to smell like her. Now it
just smelled old.
With a sigh of resignation, she leaned back in her seat,
closed her eyes and recited a short prayer to St. Anthony, patron saint of
things lost. “If I can’t find it,” she
prayed, “please restore to me peace of mind, for the loss which has hurt me
even more than any material loss.”
The bus continued on its assigned route; it never seems to
care about the individual predicaments of its passengers. Madeline continued to rest eyes closed, her
awareness now temporarily is connected from the day’s worries.
After returning home, she rested with some cookies and tea,
trying desperately to mentally retrace her steps. Never once did the thought of her purse being
stolen cross her mind. She believed in
the goodness of every one of God’s creatures.
A heavy knock on her front door brought a teenager’s smile to
its peep hole. There outside, stood an
unfamiliar young man . . . holding her weathered, old purse. A quick survey revealed the bag was perfectly
intact, including $367 in cash when she left it resting by the fountain at the
mall.
“Dear boy!” she said.
You made an old woman very happy today.
She thanked him by giving him $100 - a reward he reluctantly accepted.
Later this evening the doorbell rang. It was a flower delivery service with a dozen
roses. The card read, “Mrs. Bippy, I noticed
on your ID that it was your birthday yesterday.
Happy belated birthday! ~ Chad”
O gentle and loving St. Anthony, whose heart
was ever full of human sympathy, whisper my petition into the ears of the sweet
infant Jesus, who loved to be cradled in your arms, and the gratitude of my
heart will forever be yours. Amen ~ Prayer to
St. Anthony
