A little miracle
How a spool of thread made me believe in angels
I haven’t always really believed in angels. Oh, I knew that they existed as a concept. I am a cradle Catholic and grew up with stories of angels appearing to Mary, fishing with Tobias, and generally being around to save people from dying. In Veggie Tales, the angels sing a very catchy song to Jonah that I can still sing to you from memory. I knew that I had an angel, whom, as a child, I called Lucy (before I knew that naming your angels was disrespectful, and that they don’t have genders). I didn’t believe, however, in the way you do when you have a personal experience with something supernatural.
That all changed after I entered the convent.
Getting to know my guardian angel
After high school, I spent three years discerning a vocation to religious life with the Dominican Sisters of Mary Mother of the Eucharist. With hours a day devoted to prayer and study, and a novice mistress who loved angelology, I learned far more about angels than I ever knew before. I learned that each angel is its own species. I learned that buildings can have angels assigned to them. I learned that St. Michael, who defeated Lucifer, was not the most powerful angel but rather of a lower rank.
Angels weren’t just an interesting field of study at the convent; they were a way of life. You would hear comments such as “My alarm clock battery died, thank goodness I asked my guardian angel to wake me up!” or “I forget what I was going to tell you … Angel, remind me please …” or even “I’m going to ask my angel to remind me to ring the bell for the Angelus; there’s no way I’m going to remember.”
I soon realized that the reason I didn’t have a good relationship with my angel was because I simply never tried.
Comments such as these were common, and I soon became a bit wistful — and very jealous. Why didn’t I have such a relationship with my angel? They seemed very useful to have around while taking a test or a nap. Of course, I soon realized that the reason I didn’t have a good relationship with my angel was because I simply never tried.
So I began. I prayed to my angel every night before bed and would ask for little things, such as help staying awake during meditation, with some small successes. I began talking to my angel throughout the day: “Remind me to tell sister that …” or “Can you nudge sister and tell her it’s her turn to read?” There was not much of a change, but I was making an effort to pay more attention to my powerful heavenly guardian — even if the things I asked and prayed about were rather mundane.
My little miracle
At this point in the story, it is important for you to know that the habits that religious sisters wear have deep pockets — a little-known fact to be sure, but true nonetheless. A sister’s pockets can hold many things: a small notebook, matches, a rosary, some tissues, a pen (though more than one has exploded all over a nice white habit), some pliers for rosary repair, and many other useful items. Because the pockets are so deep, they are also quite secure and nothing falls out, although it may get a bit tangled among the bric-a-brac.
On one particular day, my pocket had a spool of thread in it. In my busy day as a novice, I had half an hour to do miscellaneous personal tasks before Vespers (evening prayers). I put the thread in my pocket and absentmindedly asked my guardian angel to remind me to put it in the sewing room on my way to the laundry. Off I swooshed, my fifteen-decade rosary swinging, my scapular and veil trailing behind me, my head already busy with my list of tasks: Pick out a new book for my choir stall. Make a feast day card for Sister Catherine Paul. Check that there is enough toilet paper in the front bathroom. Fetch the laundry from the folding room.
As I walked briskly past the sewing room into the laundry (a novice does not run in the halls), I heard something fall to the ground. Alone in the hall, I turned.
Rolling off toward the sewing room was the spool of thread.
Little conversions are born of little miracles, and that spool making its way down the hall was my little miracle. My guardian angel reminded me — by pulling the spool out of my pocket and dropping it on the ground — that I was forgetting something.
Since that day, I have believed in angels.
Even after I discerned out of the convent, my guardian angel and I have been on good terms. It is quite humbling to know that an immortal, unchangeable spirit cares about the items on my grocery list, but such is the mystery of our good God and his plan. It is even more humbling and comforting to know that my angel cares about the state of my soul.
It is quite humbling to know that an immortal, unchangeable spirit cares about the items on my grocery list, but such is the mystery of our good God and his plan.
I will occasionally forget to ask my angel about things (and so usually forget them entirely). However, I will never forget that spool of thread, unwinding itself toward the sewing room, and the heavenly guardian who cares enough about me to care about my to-do list.
Rosie Hall is a published writer, podcast producer, and lover of well-steeped tea. Her articles have appeared in CatholicVote’s LOOP, Caeli Catholic, Blessed is She, and the online lifestyle magazine Refine. She has also appeared as a guest on the LOOPcast. After spending several years discerning a religious vocation, Rosie went to school for literature at Ave Maria University, where she graduated summa cum laude and received the departmental award for literature. In the fall, she plans to study for her Master’s in English at Oxford University.
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