The Knitting Theologian

I have a pair of aquamarine stud earrings that I’ve had for almost thirty years. They are not expensive studs. Rather, they are the pair I chose when I first had my ears pierced at the age of 19. Later, I double-pierced my ears (I think it was an 80s thing). I never liked the second pair of studs that well, so when I lost them, I moved the aquamarine studs to my second piercing and have worn them there ever since.

I have lost one or the other of the studs over the years. It’s an earring thing—the backings eventually lose their grip, and the next thing I know, I’m drying off after a shower and I hear an earring drop to the floor. But I have always found the lost earring. I’m serious—always. (Once I thought an earring was permanently lost. Two weeks later I found one of my cats playing with it.)

Until a couple of years ago, I never prayed to St. Anthony when I lost things. I guess I thought it was kind of ridiculous. How could a saint, who most likely had far better things to do, like, say, enjoy the beatific vision, be bothered looking for my lost earring or whatever? But a couple of years ago I met someone who actually did pray to St. Anthony when he or his friends lost things, and he had all kinds of stories of found things to share. And I liked him just well enough to grant that maybe, just maybe, he knew something I didn’t.

Fast forward to this morning, in a restroom at Seattle University. As I pulled my backpack on, I brushed against my right ear and felt the earring give way. I heard the faint “tink” of something falling on the tile floor. I felt my ear and, sure enough, no earring. Bother.

I searched every inch of the tile floor in that restroom stall, aware of the possibility that the earring could have fallen in – eeww! – the toilet. And if it had, it probably sank and I’d never see it again. But I continued searching the floor in hopes that whatever happened to the earring, it wasn’t taking a swim.

I found the earring backing after a few minutes. My cell phone pinged to tell me that my class was starting in fifteen minutes. I exited the stall, washed my hands (aren’t you glad?) and started praying to St. Anthony. And I kept looking. Maybe it had taken some weird bounce on the tile floor and ended up in the last stall. Maybe it was under the row of sinks. Nothing.

I didn’t find the earring. I searched almost every inch of that bathroom floor. I looked at wisps of grass that were somehow the same approximate shape and size. I studied shadows. But I didn’t find my earring and I had to go to class. Reluctantly I left the restroom, thinking that maybe this was God’s sign that after 29 years it would be OK to buy another pair of earrings.

After class was over, I stopped in the same restroom before driving to Mass, on the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone had found the earring and left it on the counter by the sinks. Nothing. I searched the tile floor again, inch by inch. Nothing. A thought crossed my mind: what if the earring had dropped into my clothes somewhere? But I dismissed the thought. Nothing had felt unusually uncomfortable or poky during the day. How could an earring, without a backing, *not* feel uncomfortable or poky if it was in my clothes somewhere?

When I got home, I changed clothes to take my dog out for a walk. I can’t tell you who told me to look inside my bra as I was yanking up the ever falling straps. Probably St. Anthony, because guess what I found? The missing earring.

See? Prayers to St. Anthony actually do work.

It’s Holy Thursday morning. I’m not working today, so for once I don’t have to rush home, change, and skid into the music room at church just in time for warm up. Instead I have time to reflect on tonight’s liturgy, and to drink a great deal of water in hopes of washing away this head cold that wants to take over.

I had a fruitful session of mental prayer this morning where I thought about the great gift of Eucharist, which we will celebrate tonight. I remembered that last year I was abstaining from Communion and how I wondered whether I would be able to receive in a year. I am so grateful to God that this year I will be able to receive Communion, and I am looking forward to greeting Jesus at the altar of repose later tonight, where I know He will see me, and recognize me.

Theological conundrum: if I promised God I would accept whatever cross He sends me, and He sends me a head cold during Holy Week when I am singing at every Triduum liturgy not to mention Easter Sunday, am I cheating if I throw everything in my home pharacopia at the head cold?

Discuss.

No, I don’t think I’m cheating either. I trust that if He wants me to sing well, He will give me the ability to do so. And I’ll just force fluids and take Zicam and have pho for lunch and rest (or try to).

In other news, I am suddenly seized with knitting fever again, and am wandering around the house with my needles and yarn, knitting a row or so every time I sit down. Providentially, knitting and rest are not mutually exclusive activities.