California Journal

http://blogger.com/blog-formatting.g?blogID=7105864728904284820
Blogger: Today With PokieToo and Parkinson's Disease - Formatting Settings

The Mission San Jose

Karen and I were coming back from her speech therapy session...when out o the blue she suggested going to the mission where she had taken her first communion. Understanding as you must that Karen is a novice driver on her own. she promptly exited the freeway and there we were right were we needed to be...Fremont, California. The whole town seemed to be taking a nap and everything was at peace in God's world. we pulled into the parking lot and the school children all dressed in the blue and black uniforms scurried in a circle while playing at recess and the air was filled with laughter and happiness. Huge palm trees and century plants were everywhere and in the middle of all this was a mission, on of the oldest in California. I was in awe of the simplicity yet greatness of the style. It was totally white and clean with huge hand carved oak doors. As soon as you entered those huge doors, you were embraced by cool, clean air. Memories of Indians, and deity were everywhere. Hand made tapestry and stoneware; wool monk's robes and blankets; hand crafted ceremonial robes in the very tiniest of stitches made with yarn dyed in every color the rainbow could offer. Karen and I wandered around just in a trance. We were in the presence of artifacts and remains of a civilization over 200 years old and all the events which helped to create the California of today. After being founded in 1797, the grounds have survived earthquake and fire to flourish to the church it is today. It was truly sacred ground....

We moved on to the chapel and Karen noted no pictures could be taken there. I was sad about this because I wanted so to remember every detail. There was no need to be worried because every small and large detail continues to dance through my brain with such extreme accuracy. As we entered I was immediately drawn to the statue of the Patron Saint on the right hand wall. He was a small framed little guy with a cane and a red coat on. I reached up and touched his foot and rubbed it. A feeling of sadness came over me as I stood there and cried. Instead of feeling he was telling me some very urgent message, I felt compelled to look a him and assure him it would be alright. 'Everything will be alright.' I have never been through anything like this in my life and have absolutely no answer for it except it goes on. I called Karen over and ask her to look at his face. Did she feel or hear anything. she said, "No, but Pokie the message is for you not me." I must have stood there five or ten minutes just slowly rubbing his foot and looking into his eyes.

I turned to hug Karen and leave but once more drawn to an open Bible on a stand by the alter. I walked near it and started to read out loud the selection. The more I read the more upset I became but continued to read and sob..It was the story of the GOOD SAMARITAN and I was reading it in front of God with absolutely no control whatsoever. I turned to Karen and ask who the Patron Saint was and she answered, "Maybe Abraham, " and my answer was, "No, don't tell me Abraham." we touched the holy water and walked to the back of the church to an alter that had small bones from the saints embedded in the framework. I ran my fingers over each bone and remarked to Karen, "I think I could go quietly crazy in here." and we left.

That evening life went on as normal and Karen got on the net and researched the Patron Saints. This Patron Saint was St. Joseph, Patron Saint of the family. How fitting that he and I should become so close while I was adding such special members to my new family....pokie