Contrariwise

Yesterday was the feast of St. Anthony of Padua, renowned finder of lost keys. I’ve been feeling really shut in lately, since I work 40 hours a week and can’t really afford to go do anything right now. I noticed an ad in the Catholic Standard last week for a solemn Mass for St. Anthony at the Franciscan Monastery in D.C. and decided to plan a trip. I don’t have money for the gas to go all over the place, but if there’s anything I’ll spend money on, it’s church.

“Planning a trip” turned into going by myself. I almost didn’t make it. There were thunderstorms on and off yesterday. I need new windshield wiper blades, and I’m a nervous driver anyway, so the idea of driving to an unfamiliar location was unsettling. I’d also never driven into D.C. by myself before. The rain broke before I left work, and I managed to get a real person instead of a recording to confirm the Mass time, so I filled up my gas tank, hurried home to eat, and set out.

On my way to the parking garage, I double- and triple-checked that the directions were as straightforward as they seemed. I also said a calm, confident prayer to St. Christopher to guide me to the monastery safely. I left early enough to take my time getting there. My radio won’t work since my dad’s replacing the battery switched on the anti-theft lockout, so it was a quiet ride. I drove straight there under clear skies and found a space in the parking lot. I swear to you, it was the last space in that lot. As faithful as I am, I was a little surprised to have made it without a hitch. I walked up to the driveway of the monastery, following the other people toward the church. To my right, in the middle of the circular driveway, I saw a large bronze statue of a man with a walking stick and a child on his shoulders. I thought, “No way!” Sure enough, that image of St. Christopher was waiting for me. I thanked him again as I went inside.
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