Don’t call me, St. Dymphna; I’ll call you

So I got to church and found this medal on top of my pay stub (which was on the organ bench):


OK, sorry, it’s not a good picture, but this puppy has really, really tiny type. I tried. Photography isn’t my strong suit.

Neat! A religious medal. Always a good thing. Clearly, someone’s been thinking of me. Here’s a nice little gift. Say, who is St. Dymphna, anyway? I bet she’s a patron of organists or something. To Google on the smartphone!

Oh, drat.

OK, who put this on my pay stub? She’s the patron of those with mental illness!? What, exactly, is the mysterious person who put this on my stub saying about me? Do they not like me or something? What did I do? Why do they presume that I suffer from mental illness (as far as I know, I don’t)?

Perhaps I overreact sometimes.

After all, almost everyone, myself included, has friends and/or family who suffer from some sort of mental illness. Mental illness and drug addiction took the life of my next door neighbor’s son. And, doubtless, there are people I know who suffer in silence, and I will never know their suffering.

So I stopped myself from grousing too much. And I said a prayer to God that through the intercession of St. Dymphna, those with mental illness would find healing in mind, body and soul*. I still think this medal is better off with someone else, but as long as I have it, it’s a useful reminder that I’m better off thinking of others before myself.

*I phrased this carefully to try to accurately state the Catholic position on praying to saints. Just in case I didn’t do it right, an explanation of the Church’s teaching is here.


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