I believe God speaks in signs. I believe God communes in ways we may discern, even when we do not understand—when we open ourselves to receive and trust, live Faith, in what is shown. Even when unknowing to purpose and meaning to the sign; awareness to affection, and belief in its divine provision, is enough to make us pray, keep us attuned, and—God willing—receive further clarity.
Monday, I found a rosary—nothing spectacular (I lose them often when used). This one, I had lost for several months. I knew exactly when and where I used and held it last, driving a grain truck hauling summer harvest wheat. I knew where I believed it to be, searching again and again, but it was never there.
Monday, it was returned, waiting and overt right where I believed it to be, and searched again and again—resting in protective case, and on the very top of a bag of tools moved and carried with me all year long between equipment, fields, tractors, and trucks. For months of searching, it was not there, but Monday it was, returned: a sign.
What did it mean? I don’t know, but I believe it meant something; and I believe I know where to begin.
Night before, a friend to our family passed: someone I worked with for years, who worked with my uncle for decades, who gave himself to our greater family and farm with selflessness and service, as he did for so many that he sought to help that—if you did not know him—you would never guess or presume the reach and goodness of his heart.
He left behind two children whom he raised because he was there and others weren’t; whom he worked until his last to adopt so that he could care for, provide, and protect; and when he was sick, learning by his example, they returned the same to him.
Monday, we went to visit. They were outside in the yard of the home where they lived. Through one of the windows, Our Lady of Guadalupe gazed upon us, hanging as blanket from behind glass pane.
They are not Catholic, but there she was—in sign—watching over us all in yard on somber winter day. I held company with his son, absent comforting words, only compassion, like spirit of the woman watching over us from window.
The rest of day, I prayed for our friend, for his children and family behind; and I have each day since. I prayed the rosary returned, for intercession of the woman who watched over us from window.
Tomorrow, our friend will be remembered. Tonight, I think of him, his kids, and—again—on the rosary returned.
I do not know what it means, but I pray for further guidance, for those he leaves behind, and that my friend’s soul is returned, blessed, and in a peace.