He's Never Let Me Down

Never.

Sometimes, when it's been a difficult day, I think: If I go to hell, this writing desk is going with me.

Sunday night, everyone was sound asleep except, of course, for me, and I was getting ready for the next day. I turned the calendar from April to May and realized I needed to mail something the next day. I knew I had the address somewhere--I recalled seeing it on a small scrap of paper that I had put with a pile of correspondence that needed attending to. I wish I could explain why the address was on a scrap of paper. I don't want the address. I wish I didn't have it. Nevertheless, I needed the darn thing. I knew it was small, 1 x 2 inches (at the most!). The papers had been moved, so I started with where the pile now rests inside of my desk. Correspondence galore. No scrap.

Fine.

I looked on the side table where the pile had been before and where a fresh stack of papers needed attention: a special school request, a note about pink-eye going around kindergarten, a few art projects. You get the idea. I sifted through and didn't find it. I checked the floor. No scraps of paper, just a few wisps of dust and a renegade marble. The marble--not mine. At least, I hope it wasn't.

Perhaps the scrap was in the area where I keep the incoming and outgoing mail. Just in case, I checked. But no luck.

Back to the writing desk. I can't explain all of the things that I did find. It ranged from notes about a Russian landowner in the 1500s to birthday party invitations from last month. After sorting through all of that, I was so tired. But I couldn't give up. If mom would have let us be just A LITTLE not nice every once and awhile when we were growing up, I could have said "too bad" and gone to bed. Mom always mailed (and still does) birthday cards to every relative's child No Matter What. I am brainwashed. Must. Mail. Cards.

I cursed mentally even though there was no one awake to hear me swear out loud. I was ready to do anything to find that paper and be done with the whole ordeal.

I got out my negotiating skills.

Through a lifetime (mine) of tangled beliefs, and occasional Doubts, there has been one consistent helper that has never failed me. For some reason, when I'm at my wit's end and I remember my Pal from Padua, amazing things happen.

I don't even recite any particular prayer. I'm desperate, I ask for help finding whatever foolish bit I'm trying to find, make a bargain, and within MINUTES, it's found.

Summary: I wasted an hour and a half looking, had resolved myself to giving up, did my last ditch plea for help, walked over to straighten the shoe pile near the door...

And there it was. On the floor. What? On the floor by the shoes?

A Saint with a sense of humor. Thank you, St. Anthony.