merci

My story:

While researching the life and time of St. Therese for a book club discussion of The Story of a Soul, I came across a novena. All my life, I had heard of novenas, but it wasn't until recently that I knew what a novena is.* At the bottom of the page, the instructions said to say the novena, and after nine days, St Therese "will present you with a rose!" By now, I not only realize the metaphorical nature of answered prayers, I've come to embrace it, although at times I still miss the subtleties. Knowing that with prayer, there is nothing to lose, and wondering just what the rose could possibly be, I jumped in. Or, rather, planned when to begin.

The last thing I wanted to do was lose count, so I decided to start on a Monday, and to make the prayer my usual morning offering, at my desk, at work. I tucked the prayer into my bag. On the selected Monday, I pulled the paper out, started the prayer (which is below), and stopped short when I got to the part where I was to add my special intention. I had completely forgotten I would need to pray the novena for something! After some quick thinking, I determined that my offering would be for a couple I had been asked to pray for. I was just about finished with St Therese's little book, and didn't feel as though there was anything I needed for myself, or for my family. She spent a lifetime praying for others she had never seen or met. I was so inspired.

Each morning, I would say the prayer, read my minute meditation, and continue with my day. I remembered to take the paper home with me for the weekend, and only almost forgot to say the prayer on Saturday. Tuesday was the last day, but I said the prayer one last time on Wednesday, just in case. And I felt such peace. I hoped that the people for whom I'd been praying could feel blessings, warmth, love. There was also a very distinct feeling that perhaps just having finished, and feeling refreshed by the exercise was itself the rose.

Then it happened.

Thursday was our son's birthday. I woke happy with memories of his life with us, and especially of the day he was born: a beautiful, perfect spring day. We spent the morning with friends, enjoying the weather, their son and daughter playing with our two sons, and then going out to an early lunch so the kids could nap. I napped, too, and woke with a tightness I'd never felt before. The family we'd spent the morning with had long before agreed to keep our boys when the baby was born, so we called, and headed back over. In the hospital, the doctor told us how happy he was that the baby was polite enough to wait until he'd taught his son to ride a bike before making his appearance. (He is still very polite!) Although I think of that family often, we haven't seen them in years--the kids went to different schools, they had different interests, time and life got in the way.

Similarly, my godparents, with whom I have always felt close, have always lived far away from me. My godmother's sister, however, attends the same church that we do, and I have been seeing her fairly often in the past few months. When she went to visit her sister, I sent her with a note and some pictures, as a surprise. My godmother and I used to be prolific pen pals--she guiding me more than she'll ever know through the bumps and switchbacks of growing up. Life, travel, small children (my own and her grandchildren), and all kinds of other little things got in the way of sharing the long, newsy pages we used to share. I miss it. She sends cards, without fail, for each of the boys' birthdays (including the 'big boy!').

Back to the birthday on Thursday. The card in the mailbox also contained a rose-petal pink envelope, with the most lovely note, addressed to me. I wept as I read it; both for the words it contained, and for the memories wrapped in love and joy brought back as I recognized her wit and turn of phrase. I bloomed, and agreed with all those who say that the world has lost something in the quick send/receive of email and text communication. Yet, in typical Stephanie fashion, I did not recognize the rose in my hand. (Hit me over the head, Lord! is my usual prayer!)

After dinner, instead of cake, we went to the fro-yo cafe we like. As I started to explain to Mom how it all worked (a salad bar of sundae toppings, basically), I happened to look up and see.......the woman who had cared for our boys while our birthday boy was born. She may have been surprised at the hug I gave her without even thinking about the years since the last one, but I knew immediately that she was, in fact, my rose. The first thing she said to me was that she thinks of us from time to time, and I was so excited to tell her that I had been thinking about her that very day--most of the day, in fact--and that we were celebrating that very same day, 15 years ago. We chatted--me forgetting that the boys' fro-yo would be melting--and parted ways both feeling lighthearted. As I topped my coconut and dutch chocolate with yumminess, I thanked St Therese, and said another little prayer for my special couple.

How could I be so sure, immediately, of my rose when I hadn't even realized about the note? (as soon as we walked back in the house that night, I put together those pieces) Because the church that family attended way back when was St Theresa of the Infant Jesus--the Little Flower herself. God must have told her to hit me over the head.

O Little Therese of the Child Jesus,
Please pick a rose for me
From the heavenly gardens
And send it to me
As a message of love.
O little flower of Jesus,
Ask God today to grant the favors
I now place with confidence
In your hands.
(Mention your specific requests)
St. Therese,
help me to always believe,
As you did,
In God's great love for me,
So that I might imitate your
"Little Way" each day. Amen


*A novena, according to The free dictionary, is a recitation of prayers and devotions for a special purpose during nine consecutive days.There is also a Flying Novena, which Mother Theresa used in emergencies. Another story, another time.