It is a warm misty morning, May 9, 1947. I have shimmied up the cherry tree in our backyard and am stretched out on one of the limbs. I can see the prettiest blossoms just above me and I know they will look beautiful in my mother’s crystal vase on the white linen tablecloth. I’m sure I can reach them … if … I can just … stretch … a little farther … “Caa-rra-ack!”
Now I am lying on the ground crying and I remember my father’s warning that cherry tree branches are weak and break easily. My arms are scratched and my knees are bleeding and I stumble into the house.
“Dr. Dad will fix you up” my father says, coaxing a smile with his warm reassuring voice. “Ouch, Ouch,” we both say together as he pours hydrogen peroxide over the cuts and we watch white foamy bubbles flushing out the dirt.
“Can I still go today?” I ask through my tears. “You’ll be fine,” my father says gently. “You’re lucky your bones don’t break as easily as the cherry tree branches,”
This was to be the most important day in all of my 7 years of life — the day I’d been preparing for all year. It was the reason my mother had set a table with her beautiful white linen tablecloth; the reason all my aunts and uncles would be joining us for breakfast; and the reason I wanted the beautiful cherry blossoms.
Two hours later, with scratches on my arms and band-aids on my knees below my white organdy dress, I walk up the aisle in St. John’s Church to receive my First Holy Communion!
With simple faith I believed in God. I knew that God made me and that he made this beautiful world. I knew that even though I was but a tiny spec in the universe, God knew me personally and that He loved me and would always protect me. And today I knew that I would be receiving the real body and blood of Jesus Christ.
Throughout all of my life God has protected me and lead me. I admit that I wasn’t perfect and sometimes I didn’t do everything I should have. Sometimes I got lost and questioned what I was taught and tried to find my own answers. But when I turned to God, He was always there with comfort and wisdom and strength – especially when I needed it most.
Now I am 80 years old, and I sit in the back of the church and watch as my granddaughters receiver their First Holy Communion. I thank God for the blessings of their love. And I pray for each of them, and for all those boys and girls going up to receive the Body of Christ for the first time. I pray that God will guide them and help them find the answers to their questions and lead them along the right path for their life. And one day, like me, they will be able to watch their own children and grandchildren receive all the blessings of our loving God.
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