Catholic Gifts

For me, being christened seemed wholly unimportant at first. It is an event I do not remember despite the recollections of those present. But how could I? I was only a child, wriggling in the arms of my parent as the local priest splashed water upon my forehead, fully preparing himself for me to cry, just as he did with every baby that he welcomed into the Kingdom of God. Considering the blessing I, and many others, had just been given, is it not odd that we would cry? But an event were you are being accepted, and welcomed into the biggest family in the world, is usually one that you would like to remember.

As I grew up, I remembered events in my catholic life, usually by the catholic gifts both received and given.  I remember picking up the small, round box, opening it, and finding the most magnificent set of rosary beads I had ever set my eyes on, inside.  The real, heavy weighted silver was cold through my fingers, as my eyes focused upon the shaped, pearl stones between each silver bead. While everyone, including myself, had small silver gifts to commemorate that day, I also had the gift of the heavy, beautiful rosary beads which really reminded me that I was a part of a huge family, for the rest of my life.

As I grew older the gifts became less elaborately beautiful, and more academic and functional. But I will never forget when I was eight, finally able to really, fully understand the catholic religion which was a part of me, and which I functioned within every day of my life. A friend of my grandmother’s had come to a special afternoon tea, just to see me. I sat, feet swinging in mid-air, unable to touch the floor, with a warm tea cup heating my little hands, and the splash of the sweet liquid against my lips. She asked me questions about school, and about church. She asked me what my favourite part of it was. Being a child, I answered that it was boring, but I liked the little lessons and watched as her lips curved to a smile, and my grandmothers to a scowl.

Then, she entered her purse, which had always been a wonderful and magical bag to me - it had always contained gifts - and pulled out a little clothe wrapped package. She set it carefully upon the table, and removed the tea cup from my little fingers as I shuffled forward to get a better look. “Open it” I was gently instructed, and with eager and shaking little fingers I slowly pulled the little blue ribbon from around the clothe. Letting it fall open against my fingers, I remember my building excitement in my stomach. My eyes, wide with innocence, fell upon the small, but thick pray book. Its cover was white, and embossed in silver letters with my own name in an intricate cursive script.

That little pray book still holds prize of place next to those rosary beads. Providing comfort and support in the darkest hours, simply when I look at them, they are small trinkets for my catholic faith, that always gives me a warm, and pleasant feeling. There are only so many prayer books and sets of rosary beads which you can receive, but these gifts were expensive, personal, and beautiful. 

As I grew older, the need more physical signs of my faith became practically obsolete. God knew that I believed, and that in all I did, I at least attempted to follow the teachings of my faith. No longer would I ‘need’ to receive special gifts from my grandmothers friends, nor my family. But there were other, wonderful and beneficial gifts that I would receive, which were less tangible as the time went on.

Above these two trinkets, sits a set of a single certificate, and photographs. At the age of fifteen, rather than asking for material items to commemorate my confirmation, I asked that people put together money and send me to Lourdes. As a gift, to any catholic, the ability to go to a place which is a powerful symbol of your faith, and to experience the wonder of being a part of this place, even for a short time, will always be a memory, a gift that can be cherished.

I would be visit Lourdes twice, once as a gift from others, but once as a gift to someone else. At seventeen, I dated a young catholic boy, whose faith shook me. I had grown away from the church after the death of my grandmother, but he truly believed in God, and his power and will. What really struck me was that he believed against all odds. His father had been sick for many years, and now, stuck in a wheelchair and dependant upon the oxygen they had in their house, suffering every day. I was amazed that he could still believe that  God was there for him, and his family.

I adored his father, and wished only to find a way to bring him peace, in what I saw as an unbearable situation. As he grew weaker, and sicker, as he had done for the past ten years, I desperately tried to think of a way to relieve him. And this came in the form of a second trip to Lourdes. Standing upon the edge of the waters, we would both lower, slowly and carefully to it, and slip are hands within. It was cold, oddly cold, but it warmed both of us, the clear liquid slipping through our fingers. To him, he wondered at being in a place that Our Lady had appeared, had blessed. For me, I wondered at the joy and life ever present in his bright blue eyes, even as his body decayed and he slowly faded away.

In these moments I regained my faith. The elaborate gifts, that I had never liked for their beauty, but for the power they seemed to possess once again became treasured items. The memory of having visited a place of great faith, and power, and having seen someone who truly believed it could heal them, so alive, more alive than I had ever seen before, was another gift I would never forget. But soon, I had one final gift of my catholic faith to add to this small collection.

The first time I appeared upon the stage, I was nervous, petrified. I had my few catholic gifts among my possessions, holding them in my fingers before the performance. They provided me with strength, and calmed me. This was when, once again, my grandmothers friend appeared and from that magic bag, she pulled one final thing. From a small silk pouch which was placed in my hands, I slowly pulled a dangling silver chain. And twisting upon the end of that chain, a silver medallion.

“Saint Cecilia.” She spoke softly as I moved my fingers over the curved face on the silver, and felt the words beneath my finger tips. “Patron Saint of Music” It made me grin. What better gift, a reminder of my catholic faith, a reminder of the strength God, and my family provided me. I slipped it upon my neck, and feeling its weight against my breast, I knew that I would have the strength, supported by my patron saint, to perform.

That necklace goes on stage with me at every gift performance, and my anxiety at performing, did not. I have been lucky in the catholic gifts that I have received. Symbols which are wondrous to look at, and which provide have always provided me with comfort. And now, as an adult, when I find myself in the position of the lady with the magical bag, I always attempt to make sure that I pull out a small, and personal catholic gift, that its receiver can always, truly, treasure.