"Plop" goes Providence (like Pop goes the Weasel, only holy)

I first fell in love with St. Francis of Assisi when I was 16. I say "in love" because yes, in a girlish way, I think I actually had a crush on him. He struck me as such a romantic soul, and I could see myself like St. Clare whisking away at night and having my hair cut off and following him.

Yes, I was a little weird as a teenager. No surprise there.

I continued to be attracted to the idea of voluntary poverty well after it was clear God was calling me to marriage and not religious life. Yet I was plagued with "but how?"

(Funnily, I even wrote an email to the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal asking how should married couples embrace holy poverty, while balancing the responsibility of actually providing a suitable home for one's family. The response I received was funny: "Ask any married person! The answer is in having kids!")

Patrick, too, was drawn to voluntary poverty. We talked about it a lot during our first year of marriage, "How will we live that out?" When I look back, I smirk; he was in school full time, I was only working half-time, we had no car, lots of debt, and a baby on the way. We were, in fact, dirt poor. God gave us the opportunity but we didn't have eyes to see it.

Then an interesting thing happened. Right after Noah was born, Patrick was offered a full-time job at Lifesite. Plop, into our laps. The Holy Spirit handed over a huge blessing, and took away what would have been a huge source of anxiety if he had continued being unemployed for much longer.

It's interesting, because the Holy Spirit continues to challenge us to trust in His Providence. Patrick has a set salary, one that provides a reasonably comfortable life (but few frills, if you will). But it's made up of donations. Several times a year, he and his coworkers have to write out begging letters, which in turn put food on our table. So we still live on Providence. And God always, always provides.

Can I share with you a miracle in that regard? It didn't seem like one at the time, but it definitely is.

A few weeks ago we were driving to Mass. It was a plain ol' Tuesday morning and snowing a bit here. On our way down a very twisty Eastern shore road, our car slid off the road. Down we went into a ditch. Bump! We hit a small tree. Yet it all felt so controlled, so safe and cocooned by four heard-working guardian angels. Isaiah who had fallen asleep didn't even wake up. (That is, until I started to cry, of course.)

Everyone was safe. Everything was fine. Our airbags didn't even deploy. But when we took the car in to have it serviced, the insurance company declared it a write-off.

Here's the miracle -- we had bought our car new, so we a had 5-year protection plan. In the event of  a serious accident, the insurance company would simply buy us a new car.

We never would have thought we would be cashing in on that. Never, in our wildest dreams, did we think that we would be in accident serious enough for our car to be written off yet mild enough that we would be completely unscathed.

And this morning when I went to the bathroom, I saw the most beautiful sight from the window -- not just our lovely view of the Catholic Church across the street, not even our lovely view of the ocean and the other Catholic Church looking out over the water. No, it was a charming tan-coloured Toyota Sienna glistening in the foggy morning mist.

Thanks, God. I appreciate it.