Miracle Tailor by Mary Pitstick

     In 1935, when my brother and two sisters and I were young children, we  went to a parsish run by Dominican priests in Somerset, Ohio.  Our pastor, Father Robert Kircher, loved to gather the children together for solemn church processions to celebrate special feast days.  

     
      One of the most special was the procession  for the May crowning of our Blessed Mother.  My brother Danny, who was seven at the time, was really looking forward to being in the procession.  It was customary for all the boys  to wear white shirts.  Times were hard for our family so Danny had only one white shirt.  It was the one he wore when he made his First Holy Communion.

     After Mass one Sunday, Danny and my youngest sister, Agnes, who was three, were outside the house.  Somehow Danny tore a big hole in his white shirt.  He was devastated, fearing that he would not be able to march in the procession.  He decided to ask God to mend it. He held the pieces together while Agnes prayed with him.  According to both children, the shirt became whole again. They ran screaming and laughing into the house and related their miracle to me and Middy, who were nine and eleven respectively. Their enthusiasm was sincere. With my sister there as an eye witness and the two of them wild with excitement, we never doubted their story.

     Several weeks later, I was climbing over a barbed wire fence and tore my good dress. Looking down at the rip, I gasped.  I knew better than to be climbing a fence in my nice dress. Recalling Danny’s miracle, Middy suggested that we pray like Danny and Agnes did. I held my dress together and  prayed, “Dear God, please mend my dress for me.”  I prayed and prayed, but nothing happened.  Finally, I realized there was nothing to do but admit my misdeed to my mother.  With tears streaming down my cheeks, I went into the house expecting the worst.  I showed my mother the dress and told her I prayed and prayed to God for it to be mended, but nothing happened. 

      

     Instead of anger, my mother seemed to understand.  She gave me a mild scolding and then proceeded to patch the hole. As a child, I thought God had not answered my prayer.  Years later as an adult, I knew that he did.  I am to understand that my brother Danny had a pure motive for his prayer.  He wanted to please God in the procession. God in his goodness and mercy, answered a little boy’s cry for help.   God answered my prayer in a far different way.  Instead of being punished, I was actually consoled by my mother but convicted of my wrong doing.

              

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Mary Pitstick grew up in a devoutly Catholic family, the sixth of ten children. She and her husband, Paul, reside on a farm near Fairborn, Ohio. They have seven children, nineteen grandchildren, and six great grandchildren.