I wore this medal since the moment I found it on our visit until the chain that held it broke. I thought I lost the medal as I could not find it. The other day I was going thru a small chest that I had that I use to store my computer cd's and other small items. I was shocked to see the Miracle Medal I thought had been lost during our move from the trailer.
Does the medal work? That I can't say but I can say I feel better knowing that it was not lost especially since this particular medal has an emotional connection to my second favorite city, New Orleans.
So see? Miracles do happen...
7 comments:
The rationalistic iconoclast in me says that religious paraphrenalia is little more than superstition.
My spiritual nature (also currently Catholic) is convinced that there are other levels of existence beyond this one.
Sorry Lisa, but I'm calling you out on this.
A misplaced medal from a church that you find a month or two is not a miracle. Good luck, a happy event, but not a miracle.
I reserve miracles for everytime a child is born, a doctor uses his knowledge to save a life, a poerson saving a life by going into a blazing fire and come out harmless (but that act can be put under bravery and stupidity).
For those who are looking for an old guy to clear a river (or Sea) by waving at it, ain't goin' happen no more. I believe that God is all of us and that miracles happen everyday and also when good things happen with no explination.
But finding a medal? Sorry Lisa, can't call it that. But I am happy for you that you did find it.
Little miracles can mean a lot, Lisa. I know my own most recent miracle meant a lot to me.
We took my sons, Alex and Will, out trick or treating. For us, it's more of a social thing, then a candy thing. For candy, it simply wouldn't be worth it, as it took three adults to make it anything like a success.
Well, about 5 - 6 blocks from home, my son Alex lost his shoe. He's non-verbal, so we didn't realize it happened. He just started fussing, we figured he was tired, and put him in the wagon. It wasn't until the following Monday, that we realized the shoe was just gone. After not finding it in time to put Alex on the bus (luckily we'd kept Will's old shoes and they sort of fit Alex) he searched the entire house and couldn't find it.
Now, a lost shoe might not seem to be a big deal, but for a family of five/six that gets in less than $25,000 grand a year...it's a big deal. If it wasn't found Alex would have to continue wearing his brother's old, worn out shoes for at least two weeks before we could afford to replace his shoes.
Well, luckily for us, that didn't happen, which is where the miracle comes in. That Tuesday, Alex's therapists took him for a walk. They had been talking about the missing shoe and wondering what happened to it. Then, suddenly, our newest therapist tripped and almost fell. It turned out that she'd tripped over a little shoe that obviously shouldn't have been in the middle of the side walk. Thinking herself very clever, she held it up and said, "Is this it?" For her it was just a joke...after all, what we're the odds...but, it was in fact my son's missing shoe, found and still in good condition.
Lisa,
Was the medal in question a St. Christopher's medal or was it St. Anthony?
I was taught that miracles can come in all sizes ;-)
HT, it is an actual "miracle medal" that's what it is called. It looks just like the one pictured but of course much smaller.
I know C that finding something like that is technically not a miracle in the traditional sense. However, given the sentimental value I was happy to find it.
Thanks Stephanie for sharing that story. Sometimes the small miracles are the best ones.
:-)
Lisa, this reminded me of something that happened after my husband died. When he and I first met (playing pool at a bar in Maumee), he had a cue shaper on his keychain. One day while he was at work (he was a machinest), he engraved on the sides, "I Love Val."
For whatever reason after we were married, he stopped carrying this particular keychain. I think it was because it took up too much room in his pocket. After he became ill, we moved into a house closer to family and I distinctly recalled the keychain being in a particular box in the basement.
When he passed away, it became important to me to find it, to put it on my keychain as a remembrance. I knew exactly which box it was in and I searched it entirely. But it wasn't there.
Several weeks later, during a particularly bad time, I went into the basement for another reason, and happened to pick up that very same box to move it. And that's when I noticed the keychain, sitting right on top.
I've always said I would never want him to appear in the middle of the night, even if it was to tell me he was ok (people at Hospice relayed some uplifting yet terrifying stories of this type of thing), because I knew it would scare me. But I have no trouble believing he put that keychain where I'd see it, right when I needed a sign most, to let me know he's still with me.
I carry it on my keychain to this day.
Sorry this is long, but thanks for letting me share.
Val, that was a beautiful story to share. Thank you.
((HUGS)) for that one.
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