God hears my prayers

The day that our class had a trip to Santa Maria Maggiore, we had to walk all over the world and take buses and walk some more and all kinds of craziness. Well, on the first bus that we caught was a little boy and his grandpa. The little boy was crying at the top of his lungs and it was really hard to sit there and listen because he was so adorable that all you wanted to do was pick him up and make him stop crying. The old man noticed that his cooing wasn’t helping the situation so he picked up the boy and exited the bus. Our bus was at dock so we waited there for about 15 more minutes. About 10 minutes into our wait, the old man and the boy returned, this time quietly. Not much time had passed before the boy started crying again. With the little Italian that I know, I caught that the little boy wanted his dad and there was nothing that the old man could do to calm the boy. The bust finally got started. The old man picked him up and boy and his cry turned into more of a whimper. At that moment I looked at the little boy and I thought to myself “I wish that my grandpa was here to hold me. How lucky that boy is and he doesn’t even know it.” Seconds after having that thought I remembered that my grandpa was dead. You see, the thought was me thinking that my grandpa was back home and how much nicer it would be if he were here. I had forgotten that he was dead. And when that reality check hit me I almost burst into tears like that little boy.

This is the little boy

Two days after that incident something wonderful happened. I was rushing home to meet with Renato and someone who was inspecting our house. I was running late, of course, but I am a firm believer that God has you where He wants you to be, and I have never found that to be more true than this day. I missed my bus by a few seconds, which normally makes me made but it was so worth it. I got on the next bus and tried to find a spot to stand. There was a man sitting a few rows ahead of where I was standing and he was wearing a fedora similar to the one that my grandpa had given me my junior year in high school. I wanted to tell him that I liked his hat but I didn’t know how to say hat in Italian. Usually when I don’t know how to say something I don’t bother trying but something was urging me to try. I squeezed my way up the isle and tapped him on the shoulder. In my attempt to tell him that I liked his hat I said “Mi piace il tuo” and then pointed to his hat. The guy sitting next to him explained what I was trying to say filling in the word cappello, which means hat. After that we had a 20-minute conversation spanning the remainder of the bus ride. We asked each other all types of questions and found out so much information about one another. His name was Franco and his friend sitting next to him was Nando. He told me about how his family has lived here forever and that he is 80 something or other and he is having a birthday on March 31. He asked me where I was from and if I had family in Italy. We even talked politics. He asked me if I was a supporter or Hillary or Obama and I said Obama. And he gave me this smile. I asked who he liked and he said "Obama!" He was soo happy. He said that he wanted to visit America sometime and I told him he could go home with me. People all around us were engaging in our conversation, throwing in their two cents where they saw fit. Everyone kept telling me that I spoke wonderful Italian. I said thank you even though I didn’t fully believe the statement to be true. When we were at his stop he stood up and told me to take his seat. I said I was fine but thank you for offering. He took my hand in both of his and leaned in really close holding my stare. He said something that made me want to cry but instead all I did was smile big and say thank you. He said, "Sei mia nipote." That means, "You are my granddaughter." He exited the bus and that was the last I saw of him.

The day that I saw that man with his grandson all I could think was “I want my grandpa.” And it wasn’t that I wanted the dead man to be alive again. No, I wanted they physical being of my grandpa to be present. I think it didn’t occur to me that he was dead because I don’t think of him as being dead, I just think of him being gone. So when I said I wanted him, it was my way of asking God to give him to me. And that is just what happened. I had my grandpa, even if it were just for a brief moment. God gave me just what I wanted more than anything, and I am ever so grateful.