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.
              
                                                                         ###


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.


    

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