Faith

     I don't remember what she got on the test.  It was of small significance really.  What mattered is the lesson learned that day that has stayed with me for over forty years since and still counting.
We are in 6th grade I think,  maybe 7th, definitely middle school years, and we were students at Blessed Sacrament grammar school in the Bronx.  We were taken to Church during a period of the day and when we got back to class, a graded test was being returned to all of us that had caused a lot of angst.   We were kneeling on the plush carpet at the altar and Nora seemed to be praying particularly hard.  "Come, on, they're calling us, we have to go," I remember saying, but she wouldn't budge.  "I have to say extra prayers before we get the test back, " she whispered.  Knowing, the grade marked in red was already on the batch of tests we had already seen the nun take out of her worn leather briefcase and place almost ominously on her desk, I couldn't for the life of me imagine why she was praying so fervently now.  "It's too late Nora, the grades are already in," I said,  knowing that a grade back then was marked by sheer and utter permanence, no matter what story or plea a student could concoct.  "You should have been praying like this for wisdom before you took the test.  What good is it now?"  She looked at me steady and strong and said, "But that doesn't matter.  I don't know what I got yet.  It's still in God's hands."
     I never forgot that day, my first elementary lesson in the concept of fate and free will, which would be presented once again, on a formal level, by Irish Christian brothers in college a decade later.  And through many life lessons in the years ahead.  As someone who up until that point always felt the need to bring sense and logic and orderly thinking into prayer requests, I was floored by Nora's faith.  I have been for many years since.
     Over ten years ago, Nora was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  Non-cancerous but malignant and her prognosis was scary.  There was a chance surgery could curtail it but there was also the chance it would continue to wreck havoc.  She went to see what was just a handful of doctors in the country at some of the finest medical institutions that were willing to operate.  She chose one and over ten years later, besides some relatively minor side-effects, she works and leads a full, rewarding life.  The testament that is to the surgeon and research facility that worked on her case aside, what is just as miraculous is the positive outcome achieved through the fervent prayers, healing masses and constant devotion she has always and continues to pay to the Catholic Church and her religion.
     So, this Easter, while reflecting upon the origin of my own faith, and the awe-inspiring Holy Thursday
nightly service, and the feet washing, and the somber, quiet time at Good Friday services, followed by obvious jubilation on Easter Sunday that I was fortunate enough to experience and be awed at my entire childhood, I sill give credit to one of my oldest and dearest friends.  She nailed what faith meant a long time ago.  I'm grateful she has given me the chance to go along for that ride.