Saint Theresa

So there I was yesterday, checking my booth at the antique shop in town... dusting this, re-arranging that, taking out old stuff and adding new items. I'm in there every week doing the same routine to keep my displays from getting same-old/same-old.

I had some extra time yesterday so I decided to walk around the shop and look at the spaces and booths of the other dealers. I hadn't really done that since before Christmas and a little look-see was long past due.

And what did I find..... a very old and very pretty painting of Saint Theresa which was framed in black walnut. The frame alone was outstanding, but the picture just took my breath away because it was so unexpected. Saint Theresa was my dad's favorite saint... he prayed to her all the time, bought countless medals and cards of this saint for everyone in the family, and he swore for years that Saint Theresa got him through World War II without so much as a scratch (not counting some very nice claw marks from a mama cat whose kittens my dad saved from a bucket that had overturned much too close to an open well somewhere in France).

I stared at the painting of Saint Theresa.... very poignant, very pretty and serene... priced at $36... did I want to spent over thirty dollars on such a picture? Not really... I'm more spiritual than religious, and I don't feel the need for crosses and pictures of the saints. But really... Saint Theresa.... I could hear daddy whispering in my ear.... "Thirty-six dollars? You're kidding me, right? You're going to leave that picture there?!"

I walked away from the painting and proceeded to look at all the booths of the other dealers... then came back to Saint Theresa.  Very peaceful expression on her face.... bits of glitter here and there on the picture... an open book near her hands... a little angel up in the sky with a sparkling halo... daddy's favorite saint.

I took the picture off the wall and brought it up front to pay for it.  Saint Theresa now hangs on the wall of my sitting room, over a pink velvet sofa. She looks quite comfortable and right-at-home, as if she's been there forever.  If my dad were still alive and in this house, he would be down on his knees in front of that painting, saying prayer after prayer after prayer, and then kissing the gold Saint Theresa medal he always wore around his neck.

Now.... today. This afternoon when the ladies came for crafts.... JAS brought boxes of iridescent glass ornaments for our latest project:  fill the ornaments with keepsake or fun items and then bring them back next week or the week after and show everyone our finished ornament.  I had decided to go through the old letters that my dad had sent me over the years. My thought was to cut out different parts of each letter and then roll them up and put them into the ornament. Daddy's handwriting was spectacularly ornate (more like calligraphy than the old 'Palmer' method) and the result would be a very special ornament which would preserve important parts of his letters and then I could discard the sentences regarding weather, lottery tickets, card games, Texas shrimp, New York pizza, and his next-door neighbors.

I went through my dad's letters tonight... I cut out the lines that said "Dear Larrie" and "Love always, Dad" and the lines with our Texas addresses written on the envelopes. There were special lines that said "I will always love you" and "To my dear daughter Larrie."  In one particular envelope, my dad had written "Thank you for the article about Saint Theresa."  I remember that clearly.... one of the local churches had sacred relics on display that were said to have belonged to Saint Theresa. 'The Houston Chronicle' had printed a very long article about the items, along with photographs. After reading the story, I cut out the pages and mailed them up to my dad.

Now what are the chances... the day after buying that framed painting of Saint Theresa... I read through my dad's letters and find the note thanking me for that newspaper article and telling me about his belief that he "got through the War because of her."

When I was looking though daddy's letters tonight, I was sitting at the little table in the breakfast room. When I got to that note about Saint Theresa, I went upstairs and stood in front of that framed print and read that particular letter out loud.  No one is home at the moment but me.... so reading aloud a letter written nearly twenty years ago by my father was a bit ludicrous.

But maybe not. Quite possibly, Saint Theresa heard me. Quite probably, and I choose to believe this, daddy heard me as well.