Drew's St. Anthony story
About two weeks ago, I was preparing for a trip that was important to me. Much preparation had been invested in the trip, not only by myself but by many others.
I have never in my life lost a passport. The requirements for replacing a lost one have become so burdensome in recent years that I am compulsive about always keeping my passport in the same cupboard at home. I even have a routine of glancing in the cupboard many times per week in order to reassure myself that it is there in its place.
On the day of the trip, I arose two hours early and prepared to leave for the airport, but at the moment I was to leave, I noticed that the passport was missing. I looked everywhere in the house for an hour, but it was nowhere to be found. It seemed that the trip would not happen and that all the preparations would be pointless, and that many years of friendship with those who had to prepare the trip would be dishonored.
When I was a child, my grandmother, who was born at the beginning of the twentieth century, taught me to say; "St. Anthony, St. Anthony come around, my [name of the lost item] is lost and cannot be found!"
Perhaps because of the simple rhyme characteristic of children's verses, or perhaps because of my affection for my grandmother, I remembered this for more than half a century ago. I repeated it, inserting the word "passport."
At that moment, my wife shook an old jacket she wanted me to take on the trip so that I should not be cold. The passport dropped from one of its pockets. Neither of us had any idea how it had gotten there. I had not worn the jacket for some time. I thanked St. Anthony, said goodbye, and I was early for my plane.
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