You know how it is. You see that you only have one or two checks left in the old book, and you know you're at least going to need that many, so you tuck the next book inside of the checkbook cover . . . just in case.
That's what I did. Only one problem - I lost the extra set. It slipped out of my purse somewhere.
I did the usual mental gymnastics to solve the mystery of the missing checks. Then, I remembered that my purse had fallen off the bleachers and landed upside down while we were watching our daughter's volleyball game.
We headed back to the parish gymnasium, but a thorough search yeilded nothing.
Great. We'll have to cancel the account. All automatic deposits will have to be changed. My mind reeled with the ramifications.
A woman who had helped me search the parish gym wished me well. I thanked her. "It's okay. I was just hoping I'd lost it here. I trust people here to call if they find it. I just hope I didn't lose it while shopping or at the restaurant."
She smiled and nodded knowingly. "Well, there's Saint Anthony. Say a prayer."
I had been so stressed out that I had forgotten Saint Anthony. I said a quick prayer. It wasn't even a sentence long. "St. Anthony, help me."
My husband picked me up at the gymnasium doors. I shook my head in frustration. "Nothing," I said as I opened the passenger door and climbed in.
A few minutes later, my husband stopped for gas. As he was pumping, I moved my seat back to gain more space. I decided to check under the seat, just one more time, and see if I had missed anything the previous two times I'd checked. I felt nothing.
I moved my hand back even further. I felt something, but it didn't feel thick enough or heavy enough to be the lost checks. I closed my fingers around it anyway and slid it from under the seat to take a look.
I couldn't believe it. Somehow, the silly thing had fallen out of my purse and not only slid under my seat. It had slid over a bump in the car floor and way to the back recesses of the floor under the front passenger seat.
I looked at the lost-but-now-found treasure. Saint Anthony, you have proved yourself the patron saint of lost things more often than I can remember. Why do I forget to ask for help?
I settled back in my seat and thought of the woman who had reminded me of St. Anthony. We Catholics need each other. We need to help one another remember where we can go for help.
I not only love being Catholic, I love the Catholics who help me remember how to be Catholic when it matters most.
And I love finding lost things!