Today we ventured from San Bernardino, California to Pasadena, California. I found out a couple weeks ago that St. Padre Pio's relics, or a few of them would be on display for veneration at various places around the United States and St. Andrew's Roman Catholic Church was the closets and doable as far as driving distance goes. When you're oldest in graduating, your budget is tight.
We got there and there was what seemed like an okay sized line, and no shade. Well, little did I know that the line was longer than it appeared, and my anxiety started to get the best of me. Between the heat and my worry, the crowd, and fear that something awful was going to happen I almost talked my way out of making into the church. This is what anxiety does to a person. I had been counting down the days to go, to be in the presence of his relics. I have a connection to him since as long as I can remember. His stigmata spoke to me. Since I was a small child, during times of extreme emotional distress I would get pains in the middle of palms of my hands, and on the tops occasionally. I never know why. When I was about eight or nine I saw an episode of Unsolved Mysteries with him in it, and I thought to myself he must know what Ia m going through. Jesus knows my worries. No, I do not think my pains are stigmata and I never started bleeding. I will say at that young age I was worried about bleeding.
When I started my catechism classes my teacher Sr. Irene gave me a book on Padre Pio. I thought it was coincidental. She also gave me a book called Dinosaur Divorce. My parents had been divorced for roughly five years, but it still bothered me. I was 10 when I made my First Holy Communion. She told me one day Padre Pio would be a Saint, and I agreed. I never told her about my hand pains. She prayed a lot with me though, and I wanted to grow up and be a nun like her only not as grouchy. She was old, but she loved teaching all of us wild kids, mostly from homes of divorce.
When we got into the parish, my eyes welled up knowing I could possibly see his glove. There was a glove there that he worse to cover his stigmata, it was fingerless. Overwhelmed with anxiety from the crowd, and overwhelmed with the presence of the Holy Spirit I felt like I was going to pass out. My body got hot and tears welled up in my eyes. This was probably not the day to wear eyeliner, my mind tried talking me out of making my way to the relics but lots of Hail Mary's and fanning got me through. It probably helps that St. Padre Pio is the Patron Saint of Stress Relief. He must of intercessed for me. Tanni was in front of me, and although she is only four she seemed to know how special this occasion was. I got to see, and through glass touch his glove. We saw another relic and I left full of emotion.
Tanni left with a glow in the dark rosary a lady gave her after she prayed the whole rosary with her, and I think we all left a little better. No kids arguing or crying on the way home. It was a peaceful ride, and we ate Del Taco.
While battling anxiety as bad as I have had it these past few years, I let it keep me from my faith amongst other things. Life can not be lived giving into fear.
More on Padre Pio: http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=311
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