My son, 20, who would be traveling to Rome in a short month, lost his passport. Apparently he delayed telling me for days, surely hoping he would find it. It probably did not help his stress that when he called to report this my response was emphatic and frantic, “Oh my gosh, NO! Do you realize you’re supposed to be leaving in a month? I don’t know if you can replace it in time! Did you look everywhere?!!”
Can you see how this stressed him out further? I do regret being so frazzled.
Then my son asked me if I could find out for him how to replace the passport. So I dropped what I was doing, found the number to call, and after about a half hour of talking with a passport person and discussing how to accomplish this quickly, I had an answer. I called my son back with the information, which included the sorry fact that he was going to have to come up with $200 to replace it on account of rush services.
After an exasperated discussion between us (I was irritated with him; he was irritated with me for my irritation) I hung up the phone and felt inspired to go pray for him and this.
Just the day before, my good friend had given me a small Infant of Prague statue with a nine hour novena on it for us to say for the sale of our home, which has been on the market a year.
So I went in my bedroom and started the novena. I prayed for the sale of our home, the emotional, physical and spiritual safety and well-being of my children and husband and me, (this is my constant prayer) and some other intentions. Then I tacked on, “And PLEASE help us find this passport. Please show David where this passport is! You know right where it is — show us!!!”
As I was finishing the last part of the prayer I felt inspired to tell my son to look next to his bed or on the left hand side of his bed on the bookshelf there. Now mind you, I have been in his college apartment about three times. I have no idea where he keeps things on a daily basis… where he might toss his work and where specifically he studies in there. And it is a big apartment. However, I called him back anyway, and told him I started a nine hour novena with finding the passport as one intention. And I told him to go to his room and look where I just said.
“Mom, do you think I haven’t already looked there? I’ve looked there. I’ve looked EVERYWHERE! I retraced my steps to the class where I was supposed to bring it. I have the professors looking for it in the room where we were. It’s not there! It’s lost!!!”
I said, “David, I’m telling you, I was praying and the idea to look there came to me. I think you need to look next to your bed, on that shelf. Go look, please.”
So… we hung up. Less than five minutes later, the phone rang. It was him.
“I found it.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. I knew prayer worked but could the hand of God Himself swoop down and touch us literally in our own world so quickly? And solve our problem although my son and I were miles away?
“I found it.” He repeated. He sounded quiet, almost confused.
I whooped in amazement. God certainly could!!
“You’re kidding! You’re kidding! Oh my gosh!! Where was it?!”
He didn’t seem to hear me.
“I don’t how it could be there,” he continued, “I already looked there. It wasn’t there. Now it’s there.”
“It was by your bed?!! It was on the shelf?!”
“It was in a bunch of papers on the shelf. I already had looked there.”
Can you believe it? God showed him exactly where it was!
I told him he needed to stop right there, as soon as we got off the phone, and say a “Hail Mary” in thanksgiving.
“Ok Mom, I love you.”
And we hung up.
This little consolation and demonstration of God’s care and provision reinforced my faith that He will care for us in ALL our needs, big and small. God had tapped me on the shoulder to reassure, “Yes, I’m here and yes, I care.” It was a small thing but so significant to me. I know we are going to sell this house soon. And I know the kids are going to turn out fine. If we stay steadfast and “pray unceasingly” they will surely make it to heaven. With God everything will be all right. I’ve always known it, and this day I felt it too.
