Though I had already convinced my parents to let me take Elmo as my confirmation name, I ultimately chose Anthony. My last minute decision was in part because I wasn’t actually ballsy enough to pull off the irony of entering Catholic adulthood with a name that conjures up nothing but images of childhood. But mostly it was because St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost items, was the only saint I had ever actually prayed to. I’m sure St. Elmo, the patron saint of sailors, would not have appreciated my summers spent at camp purposely capsizing boats, either.
My first prayer to St. Anthony came at the urging of my maternal grandmother, who, since my birth, has been my only grandparent. As such, I’ve always tended to heed her advice as my only source of elderly wisdom. Before hanging up the phone, she always implores me to brush my teeth and say my prayers. Only because she’s my grandmother, I brush my teeth at least three times a day, despite ignoring most other rules of hygiene. Certainly, had my parents emphasized oral health as much, I would have found the nearest pair of pliers to pull my teeth out. I’m hard pressed, however, to find an instance of me defying my grandmother’s wishes.
And so I began to petition St. Anthony anytime I frantically searched for a lost item, just as my grandmother recommended and did herself. And though I missed Ash Wednesday this year, I have only been to Dahlgren a handful of times, and I still think Christmas is about the presents, I continue to adhere to this small show of faith. It still means a lot to me, and I gather it always will.
I’ve considered the idea that this might be a result of nostalgia, not wanting to let go of something I did as a child though it might have lost its meaning, like trying to play Pokémon as a 20-year-old. But every time I lose something, I’m reassured of this particular prayer’s power. There are few times when you feel more helpless than when you’ve lost something important. You’re panic stricken for the entire time it takes to find it, knowing that you might never find it at all. Amid the panic, however, I’ve always managed to take a few seconds to close my eyes and ask for divine intervention. Without even having found whatever I was looking for, the panic subsides, and I can resume my search more calmly, believing that it is at least partially out of my hands whether or not I find it.
On a practical level, the prayer to St. Anthony allows me to continue searching with a more reasonable mindset, making me more likely to search efficiently and find what I had lost. Although I understand that part of the success of the prayer is the fact that I think it will work, I still consider it the most effective way of finding something. If not the item I’m looking for, at least I can find solace, which still counts for something in the face of desperation.
And the prayer always works, or rather always seems to work. If I never end up finding what I had lost, I’m far too worried about having permanently lost something to even realize that St. Anthony didn’t pull through for me. And of course, when it does, I wouldn’t be bold enough to think it was my own doing, and I say another prayer, both out of gratitude and to ensure that St. Anthony will have my back next time too.
Last Saturday night, I misplaced my phone for a few hours. I said a prayer to St. Anthony within minutes. I continued to look, with certainty that I would find it. Perhaps I was too confident, because after not finding it that night, I went to bed, disappointed more that my prayer didn’t work than that I was still missing my phone. I considered whether I should continue praying to St. Anthony, or give up my childish habits. I woke up the next morning and within minutes found my phone in a place I was sure I had already looked. And though I’m liable to misplace my phone many more times, I don’t think I’ll ever be losing my faith in St. Anthony.
