I know you were there this morning, Dad.Sometimes Betty says she asks you to send her a sign. I've never asked for signs, but I've had them. This morning it was Sister Lucie...
I was leaving Maryfield after my hour of adoration. Sometimes, while I'm praying, I think of you...I remember that you came with me to the chapel once while you were here. I hadn't wanted to give up my solitude, but I'm glad now that I had that time with you. I wish I'd had more special times like that. Yet, I still do...
This morning you were with me as I was reading a little book that you gave me years ago -- "Confidence in God." Although it's been in a basket beside my bed, it's been ages since I've looked at. It was exactly what I needed this morning. (Missy and I often talk about how some of our most valued treasures are your "meditation" books -- especially the ones that you used and wrote notes in. I have many such treasures that you've given me over the years. I love knowing they're mine simply because you wanted me to have them; I'll never part with them.)
I drifted off today -- as I often do -- in that quiet little chapel. Therefore, I was a bit groggy as I was leaving. Upon entering, I had read a note about some sprinkler work that is going to be done in the chapel next week, necessitating a change of venue for our Perpetual Adoration. This caused me no little concern...You know how I am about finding my away around unfamiliar places. However, I had apparently put all troublesome thoughts out of my mind as I read, reflected and dozed...
Walking to my car, I was trying to prepare myself for the "busyness" I was sure to confront as I reclaimed my worldly life. Looking up, the sky was barely light enough for me to recognize Sister Lucie hustling across the parking lot. Remember Sister Lucie, Dad? We had gone to Barnes & Noble on one of your visits and she was there, promoting a book about Maryfield Nursing Home and the Irish sisters who had founded it. (Did you ever visit and not do Barnes & Noble? Of course not -- There was always time and money to spend on books!)
Anyway, I remember sitting there in the coffee shop with you, listening to the soft-spoken nun with the delightful brogue. You commented on how "nice" she talked. It was lovely, and afterwards I introduced you to her. I'm sure she didn't (and still doesn't) know my name, but she recognized me from seeing me there in the chapel. Meeting you, she acted as if she'd known me for years and couldn't be more delighted to meet my dear father -- at last. What a lovely, warm person -- exactly what one imagines a nun should be!
Of course I've seen Sister Lucie coming and going regularly since then, although we rarely speak. Most Friday mornings she pops into the chapel for a moment, apparently just to tell Jesus good morning. She always smiles warmly at me, too. There she was this morning, just arriving as I was leaving...
"Good morning," she said. I said "Good morning, Sister," intending to continue walking into my day. She stopped me, though, and asked if I had seen the note about next week. I told her I had, and she said, "Come with me now, and I will show you where it will be." (Of course her voice still has that lovely lilt, so it came out, "where 'twill be.") She said, "I was thinking of you this morning, and I wanted to show you."
She was thinking of me?! And somehow she knew that I would be anxious! I know that was you, Dad! Had you been there in person, you would have shared my anxiety. Instead, you sent Sister Lucie to show me ahead of time where I would go, leaving me no cause to worry! Thank you, Dad. How wonderful to still have you close, just being a Dad! I love you. (And I still think you're kind of a nut -- the best kind.)
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