I have a really nice pair of noise-canceling headphones that I like to wear when I write in public. They’re a godsend when I’m trying to get work done in a noisy cafe or on the first floor of the library where kids like to scream for no reason.
But somehow I misplaced them recently. I say “somehow” because my headphones come in a big, honkin’ hard-shell case that barely fits in my backpack. How did I even lose something like that?
I’m pretty confident I didn’t leave my headphones at one of my favorite spots downtown. And they’re certainly not in my car, which I can’t even drive right now. So they’re likely hiding somewhere in our apartment.
Ryan (my partner) and I tore up the place looking for them last weekend. But we had no luck finding my headphones. Then a few days later, I wanted to go write at a coffee shop for a while, so I took another look.
I opened all my office drawers again. I dug through the box of random shit in our closet. I rifled through the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. No luck.
After searching for a while, I started to feel desperate. And then I muttered the good ol’ phrase I always mutter whenever something gets lost:
“C’mon, St. Anthony. Where is it??”
If you didn’t grow up Catholic, you’re probably wondering, “Who the hell is St. Anthony?” He’s the patron saint of lost things; the guy you’re supposed to call on when you can’t find your stuff. And if you’re thinking, “There’s a saint for that?!,” let me reassure you that Catholics have a saint for almost everything.
Also, why wouldn’t there be a patron saint of lost things? As long as people have owned things, they’ve been losing them. It’s a common enough problem that anyone, anywhere, could use the help of A Guy Who Finds Things when they’re really struggling to locate their lost items. (Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want this. I simply won’t believe you.)
I’m not a particularly religious person anymore, but pleading with St. Anthony to help find my stuff is one habit I just can’t quit. Me and the guy go way back to when I was a kid, for a few reasons.
First of all, a lot of the saints I learned about at a young age were the patron saints of people who did big and serious things. We talked about figures like St. Anastasia, the patron of martyrs, or Joan of Arc, the patron of soldiers. Not exactly the most relatable vocations for a young kid growing up in the suburbs.
St. Anthony was the first saint I remember having a real connection with. I frequently misplaced my books, toys, clothes, and homework when I was young. It was frustrating and often led me to fly into explosive fits of rage whenever I couldn’t find my things. But once I learned there was a saint I could count on to help me in my time of need, I started to feel like everything would be okay.
I remember one time in particular when my friends trusted me to pet-sit their guinea pigs for a week while they were out of town. A few days into the task, I lost the key to their house.
It felt like the end of the world to my young self. If I couldn’t get into the house, the guinea pigs would die!!! It would be all my fault!!!
As my mom and I searched frantically around our house for the key, I remember pleading out loud to St. Anthony that it would turn up. I was sure he would understand the severity of the situation and intervene.
And sure enough, either by divine intervention or simply the result of a methodical search, I found the key. It was next to my mom’s car, lying in the grass. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket as I jumped out of the car after the last time we went to check on the pets.
After that incident, my trust in St. Anthony solidified.
A few years later, when I was 13 or 14, I did my Catholic confirmation ceremony. One of the features of confirmation is that you get to choose a saint to honor as your personal patron saint. You take their name as your confirmation name, which is kind of like a second middle name (or just a regular middle name if you don’t have one already).
Of course, I chose St. Anthony to be my confirmation saint — who else? But the funniest thing about that choice wouldn’t be revealed until years later.
Some of you know that Ryan was also raised Catholic. He’s also not super religious, but there are some quintessential Catholic experiences we both had growing up and still talk about to this day.
One of those experiences was confirmation. Early on in our relationship, I remember asking him who his confirmation saint was.
“St. Anthony,” he told me. “Because I always lose my stuff.”
So that’s how we found out we both have the same confirmation name, for the same reason. What are the chances?!
Ok, it’s probably not that rare, since St. Anthony is a pretty well-known guy. But I just think it’s an awesome coincidence. (Or maybe fate, if you believe in all that.)
I’m hoping that the power of not one but two St. Anthony devotees will be the thing that brings my headphones out from wherever they’re hiding. I like to think our guy is intervening as we speak, digging out my headphones from a dusty corner and placing them somewhere where we’ll stumble upon them when we least expect it.
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Fellow St. Anthony stan here. I also love all the saints for specific things! The more, the merrier to make me feel like it's not my fault that I lost something. My confirmation name was Genevieve because my name also starts with G and her feast day is the day before my birthday, so we're basically twins already anyway.