The Story of the Story of Ruth

7-27-12
   
    I am sitting in the Barnes and Noble in Grand Junction.  We are on our final family vacation before James heads off to college and school begins.  We drove through Colorado National Monument this morning.  Gorgeous. 
    The girls are shopping at the Mesa Mall while James and I are productively procrastinating.  I’ve already exchanged the pair of black shorts from Target that did not fit right for ones that do.  I wanted them to be right for volleyball practices and working out this fall, and since that’s done he and I are waiting around.
    The last time I went to church, I went alone.  I sat towards the back, third row from the entrance and near the middle aisle.  I am a bit ashamed to say that...

I became a bit distracted and teary-eyed (tears of boredom) during Father’s homily.
    We are back at the hotel now, so I am continuing my story from here.
    Children’s books take up some of the limited spaces in the pews where the Glory and Praise books also sit, and I saw one that garnered my interest.  It was about the corporal works of mercy, so I gently grabbed a corner and pulled, but it slipped when it was almost free and fell to the floor.  My face grew icy hot for a second, and I glanced to see if anyone was looking, but no one was.  It was behind that book where I spied another children’s book, and it made me pause.
    At the end of this past school year, my folks and James and Danielle and I went to St. Joseph’s on the Sunday of James’s graduation weekend.  We walked up the left aisle and found a spot at the halfway point.  We knelt to pray as is customary, and it was then that I noticed Mom crying.  Now, my mom cries often, but this seemed a bit out of place.  She apologized for doing so, but I was perplexed.  Why had she started to cry here?  And why at this moment?  My answer came when she either  pointed, or I just happened to notice one of those children’s books in the book holder in front of us.  The reason for her tears was the children’s book titled The Story of Ruth, and seeing that reminded her of her mother, my Grandma Ruth, who had died this past December.
    What are the chances that the book I uncovered when I was alone was the same book?  I see it as a work of God, a way of Grandma talking to me, and a small miracle.  First, isn’t it odd that the book was on that side of the church where Mom could see it so readily?  Isn’t it strange that it was somehow moved back to the place where I was sitting weeks later?  Isn’t it a bit crazy that I happened to get a little bored and uncover the same book?  It reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where they discuss small coincidences and large coincidences.  To me, this is a very large coincidence.
    I believe Grandma was telling me to keep going.  It reminded me of her funeral.  When it was time for Communion, only a small number of our family went to receive.  Mom went, of course.  Bev and her children went.  James and Danielle and I went, but not many others.  The message I received, as I sat there alone in church was to continue to have faith.  Thanks, Grandma.  I will.