I think most readers would understand that my faith plays a huge part in my life, but I try to avoid incorporating a lot of religion or faith-based content into these posts. However, I can’t get away with it this time.

Right before the season of Lent began, we were fortunate to make the minor pilgrimage to Nativity Catholic Church in Burke, Virginia. The church was one of four churches in the Diocese of Arlington hosting public veneration and presentation of the arm of St. Jude–a relic of the long-deceased apostle’s arm bone, protected in a simple wooden reliquary carved in the shape of an upright arm. The relic of this saint was making a tour across America and, from what I understood from the priest leading the tour, this was the first time the relics of St. Jude have left Rome since the times of Constantinople.

In addition to our desire to learn more about our faith and the characters that have built upon it over the centuries, our son bares the same name of this “Apostle of the Impossible”, and for good reason.

As I’ve explained before, our son Jude was born at 24 weeks gestation after his mother endured weeks of bedrest due to a rupture in the amniotic sack, allowing amniotic fluid to leak (also known as PPROM). Through prayer, love, great care from his doctors and nurses at the NICU and special devotions to St. Jude (as well as St. Gerard, whose relic we had with us for the entirety of our hospital stay), our Jude has grown to be an adventurous, creative five year-old doing everything he can to overcome challenges while enjoying life.

During the Mass service at the church–whether sitting in the pew with my wife, son and his grandmother or walking with the restless Jude along the back wall or in the cry room–I could not help but notice that the church was absolutely packed. I have never seen such a crowd for a normal Mass that wasn’t Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday.

Additionally, I noticed the significant number of individuals who were wheelchair-bound, both young and old, as well as those on crutches or canes, walkers, and oxygen tanks. You hear of pilgrimages to other countries for things like this: the healing grotto of Massabielle in Lourdes, France, the holy site of Mary’s visitations in Fatima, Portugal, the mysterious spiritual encounters at Medjugorje, Bosnia. But I have to admit, even though we were there for Jude, I was in my own head wondering where my career was taking me–the constant topic of this blog–especially having received another rejection without consideration not long before. And seeing these poor souls seeking healing or comfort of different levels made me feel even worse.

And then, while in line following Mass for veneration of the relic itself, that need for rekindled hope and spiritual healing was even more apparent: an old man in a wheel chair and oxygen, clenching his fists not in anger but desperation of not being able to get through the barricade easily; an older woman my wife hugged who wasn’t able to bring her husband with her since he was too weak from cancer to leave the home; mothers holding their kids of various ailments close.

As we got closer, my mind kept swirling like like bingo balls in the mixer, spelling prayers to ask St. Jude to take up rather than trying to cover a scorecard:

Please help my son learn to walk; please help my son learn to eat by mouth; help him thrive; help his mother to continue to build strength; for his grandparents’ health; for the couple I met at work preparing for a pilgrimage to Lourdes, France, in hopes of the wife to be cleansed of her ovarian cancer in the blessed waters found by St. Bernadette; for myself so desperate for a greater mission, still recovering and missing his friend gone to soon.

Before I knew it, though, we were face to face with the arm of St. Jude. Before I could form a coherent prayer in my head as I pressed my rosary to the protective glass, my tearful wife, my son and my mother were holding up the ASL sign for “thank you”.

No matter what you are going through–whether it be caring for someone with special needs, losing a loved one, struggling in the job market or dealing with a significant health crisis–always ask for help everywhere we go. Never hold back.

But also remember that there is always something in your life to be thankful for.

St. Jude, Apostle of the Impossible, pray for us.