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Father John ~ SWC

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In my twenties I was single. I planned to stay that way as a result of circumstances not relating to this story.

I was out on a Saturday night with friends. Glancing around the bar I saw someone that looked familiar. This person was looking back at me and I asked if I knew him. He laughed and told me his name. He was an old school friend.

We spent the night talking about old times and dancing. We had gone to the same school for over ten years. Had been in many of the same classes too. The night ended up very fun reminiscing about all the people we had both known back then.

It turned out this boy, our whole school life, had a huge crush on me. To say I was shocked was an understatement. I never dated anyone when I was in school. I had friends and some were boys, but I was the girl that talked to everyone and honestly no one ever asked me out.

Little did I know and I still find it hard to believe, most guys thought I was too cool to ask out on a date. There is a lesson here somewhere.

From there, a kiss was had, and we went our separate ways. A few days later the phone rang, him asking for a date. I took a deep breath and said okay.

The date went well. We had a lot of fun and I started to feel something but then his Wife called.....................to ask when he would be home.

I left and should not have looked back but the connection was very real. I heard his side and it sounded just like a movie. Not being stupid and knowing how movies end I stopped answering the phone.

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Now left hurt, alone and also in need of some guidance from other circumstances that had happened in my short life. I called my church and proceeded to meet with Father John and get an outsiders perspective.

Father John was a new priest. He had been ordained only 2 years ago so was very close to my age. We hit it off and became very good friends. Here, I have to admit, I never said why I had called in the first place.

We talked about the Catholic church. Where we both thought it was going. I asked a lot of questions over the course of the next few months, meeting as we did, once a week. If felt good to be able to say just what was on my mind about religion to someone with very deep faith, so deep he had devoted his life to God.

It was the grounding I needed. I learned, from talking with him, how my faith in God was very strong. Stronger than most. It felt good.

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I grew up in a very Catholic family with our church just a short walk through woods and an open field. If you followed the creek there was a sweet spot to sit on a log, see the cross, on the top of the church, shining brightly for all. I spent many a night there as a child just talking to God.

I loved going to 6:30 am mass when I was a tiny kid. The Priest that said that mass was older than old. He said his mass, gave a very short and to the point talk and out the door you went. I would walk back home in my little homemade dress. Once there curl back in bed. Finally getting to sleep in.

My Mom would come to wake me up to go to church about an hour later. I would open one eye, peak out from the covers mumbling I had already been. I think the first time she heard me say that she just closed the door and walked away not knowing what to say!

Now, why would a tiny little girl in a homemade dress get up so early on a Sunday morning and trek alone to church to be there by 6:30 am?

The tiny frail elderly priest, who was on his last days on this earth. When he said Mass he meant it. You felt it to your very soul. He was not messing around up there on the altar. You could see, even as a child of six, when he turned the water into wine the holy spirit would shine upon the altar.

He soon retired then passed away. To this day I still think about his masses and miss him.

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Now back to Father John. He too, when saying the mass made that altar glow. Not everytime but it was something I had not seen since I was 6 years old. It made me take notice. He was a man that was the right hand of God in his soul. It made me happy to know that all was not lost in this world.

His four years were finally up at my church. It was his time to move on. This was the beginning of the downward spiral of men becoming priests.

He then decided to go on a mission to the Dominican Republic for the next year? it might have been two, to help him decide which path of the church he wanted to take.

We said our goodbye's and off he then went.

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My life of full-time work plus taking care of my son carried on. My plate got full as everyone's does but my head was in a much better place.

Then one day I woke up and knew I needed to write a letter and send it to Father John. I called the church to get his address of where to send a letter. I was given a very vague address. Told it might or might not get there. Letters from the States, at that time, were taken when they could be. The thought being, they were filled with gold that lined our streets.

I wrote a simple friendly letter. Along the lines of:

"Hi! I hope you are doing fine. I hope life finds you healthy and you are finding your answers. We went to the Zoo today....."

I sent his letter off and the need went away. Life went on for me getting busy once again.

About 2 months later, in the mail, a letter came back with the sender's name of Father John. The envelope was small and didn't hold much weight so even before I opened it I knew it was not a long letter.

I'll paraphrase what he wrote back.

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My letter had been handed to him when he was at his lowest mental point so far on his mission. The things he had seen, the suffering, the starving, the elders just crying for relief. To be blessed by a priest so they knew heaven was waiting for them. It was all taking its toll on him.

His mode of transportation was a donkey. From where we come from this is not a normal thing.

How he was surrounded by very poor, starving people day after day, and he didn't know how much longer he would be able to make it. He was doing all he could to help in any way he could, going without most things and giving what he could to the ones really needing it.

The last sentence I will never forget.

He went on to say that the people he met living in huts, drinking water he would die from, these people who had no monetary anything had the largest faith in God that he had ever seen.

I closed that letter and said a prayer to God that day. I told him that He best take care of Father John or else! That he was a good man and loved him so and this test was going to break him.

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I then sat down and wrote another letter right back to Father John. Again I filled it with everyday things for him to read. Why just plain everyday things you might be wondering?

Well, when you're far away from home, in a land where all is upside down from all you ever knew, a written letter of a normal everyday life is a reminder that he has a home where people are lucky not to suffer every day of their lives.

It helped ground him, to make it through the rest of his mission, to know that the world he knew, was still going on as normal.

Life for me then went on getting busy again.

Then one day my Mother called and asked if I was going to church the next day. I said, "No? Yes? Why?"

She told me Father John was back in town. Saying Mass the next day. Did I want to hear about his travels? I said I would try to make it and thank you for letting me know he had finally made it home safely.

You see as much as I do believe in God and talk to him quite often, to go to church and sit for an hour, I don't, much to my parent's dismay.

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As it turned out the next morning I was awake before dawn and went to the early Mass. I got to meet, again, my friend Father John.

He was a quieter man, very skinny now. He had a bit of a haunted look in his eyes. To live for years in one reality where peoples every waking hour was spent on just surviving. Coming back home, to a place where a person of sixteen years of age, that wasn't given a car for their birthday, saw it as the end their world, was a lot to adjust to.

The Mass he said that day was a sight to behold. The altar glowed so brightly it was a wonder I didn't go blind.

After mass that day he thanked me again for the letters and told me again how much they meant. We hugged and both went back to our busy lives.

He finally was offered his own church, not in the best part of town but his own to run as he saw fit. He fit in well there. Most of the community was of Spanish descent. Now he understood their traditions and their language so it was a very nice fit.

Once and a while, when I was feeling in need, I would drive all the way down to his church in the city. Go to his mass and leave knowing once again all was not lost with a man in charge of a church that believed as deeply as he did.

Now for the last part of this story.

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I woke up one Saturday morning having a lot to do. Errands to run, child to take care of and the list went on and on. I was a Mom that held a full-time job and Saturday was 'The Day' where all your important stuff HAD to get done before it started all over again on Monday.

As I was off on my first errand I remember looking at a normal streetlight pole when the thought that I had to write a letter and get it to Father John THIS day was so overwhelming I almost stopped the car.

I rolled my eyes, yes, yes I did, and said out loud in the car,
"Really? Today of ALL days? You need me to write a letter? and hope I can find him home, alone, on a Saturday?!"

The answer was an unquestionable YES! sigh............

I looked at the clock and turned my car around. Once home I wrote the letter. I found a blank card and envelope to put it in.

Then started to make the calls to be able to find out where Father John was living, to tell him I needed to see him today, as in as soon as possible! Yeah, what were the chances of that!

I did a bunch of mumbling while looking up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes some more thinking you're asking an awful lot!

The second call I made, the one right after my Dad asking what was the name of the church Father John was the head of now?

With this new information, I got out the phone book, rolling my eyes again. I looked up the number to the church knowing that no one was going to be in the Church Office today but I called anyway.

Father John answered the phone.

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I said "Hello!" I need to speak with you today. It will not take long but it is very important would you have some time?"

His answer made me laugh and laugh and laugh.

He said, "Yes I can see you in thirty minutes for about forty-five. I had someone cancel on me so would that time work for you?"

I said I was on my way and made darn sure I had that letter in my purse.

When I got to his church and knocked on the door the couple getting counseling to be married were just leaving.

Now here it could have gotten very awkward but it never did.

We sat down in the comfy chairs and started chatting like the years and years had never happened. You could tell he was in turmoil which was why I was here. We discussed a lot of things in those forty-five minutes that will remain private but I gave him the best advice I could. He was relieved to finally be able to talk to someone about how he was feeling.

You see priests are human too even the really good ones. They too have doubts about themselves when things around them start to fall apart. When people they looked up to as good people fall to the ground.

I left that day setting that letter in its blue envelope on the coffee table with the instructions to read it when all was quiet and he had time.

Then me being me, got in my car and said out loud, "There, are you happy now? I REALLY need to get my errands done!"

The pressure of the day that had been there from the minute I had woken up just melted clean away.

I took a deep breath for the first time that day and went back to my busy life.

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The conclusion of this story does, so far, have a happy ending.

Father John went on to be a big Mucky Muck in the Catholic church.

I heard tell that he has used my poorly written but heartfelt letter in more than one sermon.

He is where he should be now in this world doing what he was born to do.

Always remember even someone on their right path needs someone to talk to once and a while.

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Yes, God does work in mysterious ways and get's a few eye rolls too!

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Thank you @jerrybanfield for running this contest. It turns out I did have a story that needed telling. If it wasn't for your post, I highly doubt I would have ever written the full story!! Thank You for that!!

Thank you for reading!!
Much love,
Snook

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*This story was written for @jerrybanfield's Supernatural Writing Contest!. To see the rules click on the title of his post.

**Father John's name was changed to protect my dear friend.

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