Two weeks, oops; or, it's a beautiful life

One of the reasons that I have been so lazy with posting is that the preferred computer is also Dave's work computer and, well, ummm, Dave works a lot.  So, I am left with the iPad.  If any of you have ever tried to post from an iPad, I need go no further in explaining the difficulties.  Also, in between the last two sentences I had to physically remove Sarah from Isaac's forehead due to a fight over fingerpaints.  Such activities throw a wrench into the blog-posting schedule.  The iPad also doesn't allow for the uploading of pictures so I am left with text.  Thus, a brief story.

Last year at about this time I picked up a bookmark from the back of our church.  (I would link to it here, but the iPad.) On this bookmark was a picture of Archbishop Fulton Sheen and a copy of his prayer for the spiritual adoption of the unborn.  The short and the quick is that one prays the prayer daily for nine months.  Through the prayer one spiritually adopts an unborn baby who is in danger of abortion and prays for that baby from the point of conception until its birth (and hopefully beyond).  I decided to do this last February starting on the day of Joseph's conception six years before and ending on his birthday, November 28th.

Prior to starting this nine-month novena I had heard stories from other people who, after having prayed the prayer, actually met a baby who seemed to be the one for whom they had prayed.  The baby was born on the day that the novena ended; the baby was born into a situation that could have easily ended in abortion; and the baby even had the name that they had called the baby while praying the prayer.  I wondered if I would have a similar experience.  Dave laughed, I scowled.

So, for nine months I prayed this prayer.  I grew attached to this little baby and began to pray for his parents, especially his mother, and for his grandparents whom I felt were to play a vital role in the baby's life.  I kept my ear out for any difficult pregnancies ending in November but heard of none.  I
grew so bold as to name the baby Joseph.

Last October Dave came home from school with his usual play-by-play of the day.  Toward the end of the daily rundown he said, "So-and-so's daughter is pregnant."  My ears perked up as I knew that this daughter was young, unmarrried and continuing a cycle of such pregnancies.  I didn't think of my novena, I just thought, "Thank God she is keeping the baby."  Then I asked Dave when she was due.  "That's the funny thing," he said, "She's due on Joe's birthday, November 28th."  And now my thoughts leapt to the novena.  "Does she know what she's having?" I asked.  "A boy as far as I know," Dave replied.

I could no longer contain my excitement and I burst out with the novena story to Dave.  I concluded with, "I bet she will name him Joseph.  I just know it.  This is the baby for whom I've been praying."  Dave assured me that, yes, this did seem to be the baby whom I had spiritually adopted, but in his characteristic practical manner told me that he was sure that the baby would have some sort of new-fangled, possibly made-up, name.  I had to agree.

November 28th came and went and the young mom was overdue.  I kept praying.  About a week later Dave came home from school with the news that the baby had been born but the birth had been quite traumatic and the grandparents were keeping vigil in the city while the baby remained in the NICU.  I kept praying.  A week after that news we heard that both mom and baby had been released and that the young lad had suffered no ill-effects from his difficult arrival.  Indeed, the new mom was nursing, the dad was by her side and they were making a go of being a family in the city.  I kept praying.  I asked Dave if he knew the baby's name.  He said that he couldn't remember but that it definitely wasn't Joseph.  Oh well, I thought, it doesn't really matter.

Then, around five weeks after the baby's birth, I noticed this young couple, baby in toe, at mass.  They were surrounded by the larger extended family and the sleeping and unaware newborn was about to be baptized.  My heart swelled and I went over after mass to meet them and offer my congratulations.  Wow, I thought, what a beautiful ending.

Except that wasn't the end.  On the way out of the church I grabbed our church bulletin and stuffed it in my purse.  We drove home, I made lunch and eventually sat down to eat and read something, anything.  The closest reading material was the church bulletin.  So, while I sat down to a hurried lunch, I perused the coming week's mass times, announcements of an upcoming church tea and pleas for monetary pledges toward the renovation fund.  Then I arrived at the bottom of the second page where deaths, baptisms and weddings are announced.  In 12-point font I read, "Let us pray for the following who were welcomed into the Church through the Sacrament of Baptism..."  And there it was, the new little baby for whom I had prayed for nine months and beyond was baptized in the very church where I had first picked up the prayer card on a little table near the back door.  And tucked next to the new-fangled first name was his more traditional middle name, Joseph.  My eyes still fill with tears.

I guess I had better start praying that novena again.