Out of the Ordinary

Throughout my lifetime, I have encountered many coincidences which affected circumstances in a positive manner. Perhaps these coincidences should be called God-incidences. I think God wanted me to live to marry, raise five children, and write my books and poetry in order to help others.

A significant event happened two days before my dear mother passed away unexpectedly many years ago. My husband was driving the family car when someone made a left turn right in front of us, resulting in an accident that must have been meant to happen. Although no one was seriously injured, the car was damaged to the extent we were unable to drive it, so it was towed to a repair garage.

My husband and I, and our five children, had planned to leave for Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, the next day, August 15, to visit his parents, but the trip had to be canceled. We weren't sure how many miles we would travel each day, so did not make reservations ahead of time. Thus no one would have been able to get in touch with us on the way down, a trip which ordinarily would take about three days.

It was such a shock when Mom had a coronary occlusion at 3:30 A.M. on August 16. If not for the car accident, we would have been on our way to Florida and no one could have informed us of her untimely passing until at least three days later. I would have been more than devastated. My mother was the most wonderful person and many people thought of her as an angel on earth or a saint.

When my first granddaughter was about two months old, her family was living with us. When she cried in the middle of the night, one of us always got up to rock her back to sleep. One night when she was crying, we all heard the rocking chair rocking loudly on the hardwood floor, and naturally assumed someone in the house was rocking her. Actually, no one had gotten out of bed that night to rock her. Who rocked the baby? Perhaps my mother or an angel.

When I was trying to determine how to raise the money to print my first book instead of using household funds, I won my first poetry prize, and then three athletic board contests with my mother's favorite number, sixty-four. Within a month, I had the $400 needed for the first printing of one hundred books. I was not in the habit of winning so often.

Recently, my Aunt Betty, Mom's youngest sister who lived in Pittsburgh, expired from lymphatic cancer. I had always felt close to Aunt Betty, for she was only eight years older than I, and one of the sweetest and kindest persons one could ever meet.

Our son, David, and I planned to attend the funeral and drove the two hours from Akron, Ohio, to Pittsburgh, Pa., on the turnpike. As we were about to exit, we were delayed twenty minutes due to traffic congestion, thus it was too late to meet at Aunt Betty's and Uncle Pat's home so that we could follow him and their daughter to the memorial mass, which was to be held at St. Theresa of Avila Catholic church.

David and I had no idea where St. Theresa's was located, but drove down the highway which we assumed was in the vicinity of the church. Not seeing any signs, we decided to stop at a gas station, where the attendant said he never heard of St. Theresa's. We then drove farther south to stop at another gas station to find a map, or make a call to the church. St. Theresa's was not listed in the phone book—how unfortunate! The attendant said he never heard of the church, either. David looked at a map, and determined we should drive north to reach Lindley St., which intersected Avila. However, we weren't sure whether Lindley was directly off the highway or not.

The mass was to start at ten A.M., and it was already nine-fifty A.M. I was about to panic, so I prayed instead. It was very important to me to arrive at the church on time out of respect for Aunt Betty and her family.

I insisted that we stop at another gas station. Upon entering, I asked for directions to St. Theresa's, but the clerk and two customers said they never heard of it. Just as I turned around to leave, I noticed a handsome, well dressed young man, in a suit, with a tie, and a dark topcoat, approach the door. I mentioned to David, "I think this young man will know where St. Theresa's church is located."

I asked him immediately upon entering if he knew, and he eagerly gave us the directions, "turn left at the light, proceed up the highway, and turn left at the intersection." I thanked him and we proceeded on our way farther north. As we approached an intersection, we happened to be in the center lane, when suddenly the young man appeared in his car on the right hand side of us, and pointed to the left up the hill.

I waved to thank him and sure enough, about a mile up the hill, we found Lindley Street which connected to Avila; and down the hill was beautiful St. Theresa of Avila. David remarked, "Perhaps Aunt Betty sent that young man to guide us," and I agreed.

It was now ten minutes past ten A.M., as David pulled up at the church entrance so that I wouldn't be too late, while he parked the car. As I entered, I felt a sense of relief, for the priest hadn't as yet walked up the aisle to start the mass. I said, "Good morning, Father." He replied, "Good morning, we were waiting." I should have asked him why.

As I walked up the aisle toward the altar, I found my cousin Janice and her husband Jerry from Wisconsin, and sat with them. David joined us, and we felt that God was with us as the priest walked up to the altar to start the mass.

I really felt Aunt Betty's presence, also, for I believe that she was instrumental to us finding the church on time.