I wrote a piece on this a while back, on another blog, which has since been eaten by the internet. One of the main reasons I no longer use blogspot is it ate some of my favorite posts.
Saint Anthony is the patron saint of finding that which has been lost. In my case, I call on him most often for the sake of keys. Let me tell you a few stories as to why I love Saint Anthony.
Years ago, newly out of college and living alone me, couldn’t find my keys. I knew where they were. They were exactly where I left them, in the pocket of my pants. I just couldn’t find my pants. I tore apart my crappy apartment, and could not find them. I tossed the bed multiple times, went through piles and boxes in the hope of something. Deeply frustrated I called my (Jewish) mother. Because you see, I grew up losing things on the regular (yay ADHD) and my mother could always find them. If nothing else, she’d be sympathetic. Instead, she told me about Saint Anthony.
The trick is, according to my mother, is to only call on him when you really need to. It is not for frivolous times. Then I prayed, reciting the poem she taught me.
I promptly found my pants, in my bed. Yes, I had lost them in my bed. Yes, I had already tossed my bed at least three times. My keys were right there.
My mother has even gotten my grandmother to honor and respect Saint Anthony. Which is really amusing because again, Jewish grandmother, and it was not at all expected. But here’s the thing with much of my family: we do what works. My mother taught me because it works. She is an open minded person, welcoming of pretty much anything that actually gets shit done.
Unsurprisingly, this post comes from yet another success of my favorite Saint. This morning I locked myself out of my apartment. Luckily a roommate was on her way home and let me back in. But after tearing through my room, I still couldn’t find my keys. Home, work, and most expensively, my car… I really couldn’t afford to lose these keys. I prayed to Saint Anthony and walked along the route I had gone when I was out of my apartment. I walked all the way to the coffee shop, no keys. I go inside, check near where I was sitting…
I wish I had taken a picture. Because there were my keys. The carabiner had somehow detached itself from my belt loop and re-attached itself to the chair I had been sitting in.
Thank you Saint Anthony, once again.
Twisted Pathways 