Advent 13

The Second Saturday of Advent December 13, 2008

Isaiah 8:1-15 

These were the words of the LORD to me, for his hand was strong upon me; and he warned me not to follow the ways of this people… 

My spiritual life deepened exponentially after I attended a cursillo weekend because afterward I joined a weekly Group Reunion where we shared our Piety, Study and Apostolic Action (evangelism).  I had never been deliberate in these areas, but meeting each week with other dedicated women gave me both encouragement and a role model. 

So it was, when I first noticed the hand of the Lord upon me.   

I was in the office when the shop teacher brought in a seventh grade girl and sat her in a chair.  The teacher told her that the principal would get to her in a minute, and that she was to spend lunch in the office for the rest of the school year.  I knew the teacher, knew he was generally a calm and generous man, so I had absolutely no sympathy for the sullen girl.  I glanced at her. 

“She needs a friend,” I heard as plain as day. I shrugged the hand off my shoulder and went to eat. 

A few days later I asked the secretary the name of the girl, still spending lunch in the office.  “That’s Antoinette,” she said, rolling her eyes.  I felt a tug on my elbow but jerked my arm away and left the office. 

I told my group reunion what had happened.  “What will you do?” one asked me.  “Nothing,” I replied.  “She’s not in the office any more.” 

A few weeks later, as I waited for my borrowed classroom to empty of students, I stared at the lockers lining the hall.  On the one nearest the door was, etched and rusted, “Antoinette.”  When I entered the classroom, I went to the pencil sharpener, mounted on the far wall, to sharpen my pencils.  As I turned the handle, I saw, scratched into the wood above the sharpener, the word “Antoinette.”  Two days later, as my ESL students looked for library books, I noticed, on the table where I sat, the name “Antoinette” carved into the wood. 

“ALL RIGHT!” I told Yahweh.  His hands were now on both shoulders, and I stopped trying to pull away and began to make a small apostolic plan to be a secret friend, something like the Secret Santas we teachers had been for each other at Christmas.  The attendance clerk agreed to be the delivery person for some very small gifts, and a few weeks before school was out for the summer, a birthday cake.  I wasn’t even sure this angry girl would want my small gifts until she passed me in the hall one day, wearing the “A” from the keychain I had given her, on a chain around her neck.  Was it my imagination, or did I feel a small pat on my back? 

I love my Lord, and He loves me very much.  Nowadays I don’t shrug his hand off my shoulder—and His hand is often on me.  I bet His hand has been on you, too, hasn’t it?