Saint

Funny how these things happen at the grocery store.

She was behind me in line as I was checking out. The cashier, telling her story, said “boys” and the woman behind me was off. She was ready to tell hers as well.

She had three boys, all different fathers, she had them 80% of the time and had escaped the abuse of three men in order to raise those boys “right”.

“Ah, so you’re a saint,” I said.

“I guess so"“ she replied. Flippant almost. No time for it.

But she wasn’t done. She had decided to go into a field of work where she could support other women who had been abused, who were on the run from a violent spouse, who were single moms living on the street.

“I hear from these women all the time: They don’t know they can get a restraining order. They don’t know they can find shelter and support for their children. They don’t know they have worth - that they are enough.”

I looked at her and realized that she was also talking about herself.

“I do that for them,” she said.

I looked her in the eye, holding my card just before the chip reader, pausing and breathing.

“Ah”, I said, “so you’re a saint.”

She looked me in the eye, slight smile, and said: “Yes.”

I often, recently, feel so broken, so anxious, so helpless, that I forget there are saints. People in the world who are transforming it one person, one law, one system, one moment of faith at a time. I’m not one of them, for sure. Most of us aren’t.

But damn if I didn’t happen to meet one in the grocery store today.

Light a candle today for the saints in world. For those known and unknown. For those in your family and for those shopping for apples for her three boys. For those who are really trying to merge onto the highway but can’t get it quite right, for those singing quietly while they do the dishes. Light a candle for all those young ones who are saints in the making and for all the elders who were saints throughout their lives.

Light a candle for the saints of our time. Those who have had experiences that broke them for a while. Those who took those experiences and made a life of service.

Maybe, upon further reflection, I see that we are all saints in the making.

Maybe, as I listen to the song of the old man, of the young pastor, of the one who sings, of the womxn who cuts apples, of the child who dreams of peace, I see that saints surround us.

I may be one of them, for sure. Most of us are.

I’m going to light three candles today. Three boys, three apples, three children with lives of hope before them because their saint of a mother had courage and conviction.

Long may they burn.