I live very close to my parents and sisters. One of my older brothers lives only an hour away. Another of my older brothers lives in town. I see my siblings, mom, and dad frequently. Every Sunday evening, we have dinner at my parents' house. It's a loud affair, usually with the TV blaring in the background. Sometimes there's arguing or glaring, like a bad SNL skit. Other times, there's jokes and laughter and good-natured teasing.
I love my family. Even when they drive me crazy, I know, when the chips are down, that I can always depend upon them. That's a huge blessing. When my wife suffered a pulmonary embolism the month after my son was born, I didn't worry about my kids. I knew my sisters would watch them while I worked, taught, and arranged hospital things.
We may not agree all the time, but we love each other. All the time.
And I am grateful for that.
I have a Classic Saint Marty for you guys this afternoon. This particular episode originally aired exactly two years ago. It's about my go-to saint.
March 30, 2012: Go-to Guy, Saint Anthony, Lost and Found
I went shopping at Wal-Mart this afternoon. Then I drove home, unpacked the groceries, and put my son down for his nap. After he was asleep, I cleaned the house. Finally, I sat down to rest a little bit, until I realized my hip pack, containing my wallet and checkbook, was missing. It wasn't in my car. It wasn't in the house.
I distinctly remembered putting my groceries in the back of my car at Wal-Mart. I also distinctly remembered walking my shopping cart to a cart keeper a few parking spaces away, looking down, seeing my hip pack in the cart, and thinking, I better not forget to grab that. After that, things got a little fuzzy. Therefore, I made the assumption that I left my hip pack in the cart.
Well, when I lose something, I tend to drive myself a little crazy. I tore the house apart. I tore my car apart. No hip pack. So, after I picked up my daughter from school, I drove back to Wal-Mart.
I think I've written about Saint Anthony before. He is the patron saint of lost things. Basically, if you lose something, you pray to Saint Anthony, and he's supposed to help you find your lost property. It's a Catholic thing. Tony is my go-to guy. He has never let me down. All the way to Wal-Mart, I was saying prayers to him. The prayers went sort of like this: Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme, pleeeeeeease, Saint Anthony.
Well, I went to the customer service desk when I got to Wal-Mart. That's where the lost and found department is. I know this fact because that's where I picked up my hip pack the last time I lost it. (Yes, I have done this on a couple of occasions.) My hip pack was sitting on the back counter, in plain view. I breathed a huge sigh.
Tony is da man, I'm telling you. He has always answered my prayers. He's the kind of saint I want to be when I grow up. Dependable. All the time.
Saint Marty, on the other hand, would lose his halo if it weren't attached.
|Have you seen my halo anywhere?|