This post links to RAnn at This That and Other Things' Sunday Snippets and Chris at Campfires and Cleats' Memoir Mondays. Thanks for hosting, RAnn and Chris! |
| St Expeditus' feast day is celebrated on April 19. Image from www.molossia.org |
St Expeditius and I first met by the petition table at our parish a few months ago. There he was, with his generous head of tight dark curls, wearing a wide red cloak and Roman soldier uniform, holding high a Crucifix with his right hand, and a palm frond in his left, stepping on a black crow, on pocket-sized prayer cards arranged neatly in a fan. I love freebies. Whether it’s sachets of Nescafe at the train station, or shampoo samples in a magazine, or prayer cards of a new saint I want to recruit into my holy posse. Trying to read the prayer on the back, it took me a second and a half to remember that I don’t any know Portuguese. I slip a card into my purse, where it slowly drifts down the dark, murky depths, promptly forgotten.
On
a Friday afternoon several weeks later, I empty my purse on the dining table,
determined to figure out, once and for all, why it is so heavy. I find the old
batteries meant for the recycling bin, 14 receipts of varying lengths and
degrees of crumpledness, 6 rocks and 2 1/2 twigs from Olive, 2 Polly Pocket
dolls (one brunette, one redhead), 18.75 Swiss Francs in coins in my wallet, Ross’
missing glove, a shriveled French fry, and St Expeditius.
On the internet that evening, I find out that, like St Judas Thaddeus, St Expeditus
is called on for urgent cases, and is the patron saint of students, examinees,
and success in lawsuits. I wish that I had known about him earlier. Two weeks
earlier, Luke had taken a terribly important, life-or-death exam, the results
of which would dictate whether he entered the university- or vocational-track
high school. (I still think it’s cruel that the Swiss school system imposes
this exam on the kids at 6th grade. They’re only 12 years old!) The
results had come in the mail that very morning. Luke was devastated that he
hadn’t passed, as were Ross and I, though we made sure not to show it. One of
the St Expeditus websites had a petition page. I wrote a petition asking for
St Expeditius’ help in making sure that Luke turned out alright, despite not
getting into the university-track high school, as well as for help for my mum,
who was has been embroiled in a long-running legal battle with a former
employee who had robbed her company blind.
The
following Monday, we were allowed to view the exam papers. Ross, Olive, and I
spent four hours that afternoon at the high school, attempting to make a case
for the two additional points that Luke needed to make the cut. (Luke himself
was at home, too despondent to come.) We managed to wrangle an additional point
in the math exam, conceded very grudgingly by the instructor. There was not
much we could do with the German parts, as neither Ross nor I (nor Olive) could
claim any degree of proficiency. We queued up three different times to ask for
Luke’s German essay to be re-evaluated. Three different instructors said that
he received a fair grade, and they could not justify any additional marks. And
while she was a good sport at the beginning, around two hours in, Olive is
writhing around on the floor, in the death throes of boredom, sobbing, “Why are
you doing this to a little child? What kind of parents are you? I’m only 4!
This is not a place for little children!” (And indeed, she is right. We are bad
parents. There are no other 4-year-olds there.) We went home quite deflated.
Ross
and I arranged to meet with the headmistress at Luke’s primary school. She
reminded us that Luke would have a second and third chance to test into the
university-track school, in two- and three- years. While she reassured us of
the quality of the vocational high school, she did recommend that we look into
a private Catholic school that had a curriculum tailored to helping students
test into the university-track school in 8th and 9th
grade. I immediately liked the idea. Ross, who tends to view anything remotely
religious with great suspicion, was also surprisingly onboard with it. The
“only” question was cost. The monthly fees for private school
in Switzerland are as much as the rent on our apartment. In my
mind, I decide that I’d go back to work if that’s
what it took.
On
Easter Sunday, I receive an email from Uncle V. He’s wishing all of us a Happy
Easter. He says he had an inner discernment that we should look into private
Catholic school for Luke. It would offer a more structured and controlled
environment, which would suit someone of Luke’s temperament. That’s really
amazing, I think to myself. Those were the words of the headmistress, verbatim,
and Ross and I hadn’t told anyone anything about that. Don’t worry about the
cost, Uncle V says. The Lord will sort that out.
I
spent most of the following Wednesday morning (Easter Monday was a holiday,
preparing for catechism class takes most of Tuesday) painstakingly writing a letter in German
to the rector of the private Catholic school, requesting an interview.
Maeve
had a play date with a classmate of hers that afternoon. On coming home
afterwards, I peered into our mailbox as we went into our apartment building.
Strange. I could see there was a letter. I had already picked up the mail in
the morning. Did the post come a second time? I could see that it was from the high
school. I didn’t have my key, so I rang the bell for Luke to buzz us in. The
girls and I went up, I fetched the mail key, and went back downstairs.
We
were expecting the school to send us an updated grade for Luke, to reflect the
additional point we had wrangled that afternoon at the high school (which we
already knew was still not enough to get him in). Just before I turned my key,
I prayed, “Lord, I trust in the goodness of Your plan for Luke. Your Will be
done.” Of course, in the natural, prayer
at this stage of the game is not going to do anything. The letter sitting in
front of me was printed 3 or 4 days ago. My praying at that moment wasn’t going
to change what was written in it. But God’s ways are not our ways. As Joel
Osteen says, we serve a supernatural God!
