His Own World, Not His Own

Father George gently cradled the crucifix with his thumb and first two fingers, lovingly lifted it to his lips and kissed it and held it invitingly for Thomas.

"Unsanitary," came the flat observation, absent accusation.

Father George smiled. "Salvatory," he replied simply. "Stronger than unsanitary." His hand remained, steady, his countenance calm, his smile confident.

Thomas' mother watched from the French door frame, a tear lingering on her cheek. Father George was the first priest to come to their home since Thomas was born, fifteen years ago. Priests were busy and autism scary.

Her eyes scanned in typical vigilance, trying to see the room as Thomas did. Were the blackout curtains closed, including the corners, against the low afternoon sun shining, glaring in flashes through the wind-blown leaves? Had Simon picked up after the littles and the dog? Had ... she almost missed Thomas' next words.

"This is the sword she said was coming."

"Who said?" wondered Father George.

"The Lady in Blue. The gateway to Jesus."

Father George's smile deepened. "Thomas, that is Our Lady. The Blessed Virgin Mary. You know her?"

"Yes. She speaks to me."

"This is yours, then," said Father George, lifting the rosary to Thomas.

"Yes." Thomas awkwardly, almost agressively, snatched the rosary from Father George.

"Do you know how to swing this sword?"

"Teach me."

Tears streamed down Thomas' mother's cheeks, splashing off her dress onto the wood floor.

Father George pulled out his rosary, and guided Thomas to cradle and kiss the crucifix. "In the name of the Father, and of the..."

"Latin. She wants the Latin."

"Do you know Latin?"

"Latin," Thomas repeated, his monotone unaltered, though he was rocking anxiously as he knelt on the floor.

"Latin. In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti ..."

Father George slowly and clearly prayed the Glorious Mysteries of the rosary, gently moving Thomas' fingers at each prayer, then only tapping his thumb, then only pausing until Thomas advanced the beads.

"All the mysteries," declared Thomas.

"It's the same for all the mysteries. You pray it the same way."

Thomas began rocking again. "All the mysteries." Monotone. Detached. Disconnected.

Except this was the most connection his mother had seen him have, ever, including nursing at her breast gazing at her, she realized as the memory flooded back. Her smile deepened. She glanced at her watch. The hour Father George had was already past. Yet he didn't even look at his watch. He announced the first Sorrowful Mystery, and they continued, through the whole rosary.

---

"He's in his own world," the stock clerk said, as though it was helpfully insightful.

Thomas' mother nodded in gratitude, not for the help it didn't afford, but for it not accusing her of being a bad mother or attacking Thomas for making loud noises, seemingly out of nowhere. For the first time she added in her head, "His own world not his own." The clerk took her beaming smile as some deep connection and began explaining how she had a niece who sometimes said inappropriate things and ...

Thomas worked the beads. Sometimes he was slow to advance to the next one, sometimes several advanced nearly at once. Whatever he was doing, time moved at a different speed.

Thomas gazed in wonder at the Lady in pearlescent blue. He bowed his head in reverence. She lifted his chin with a delicate touch and cast her gaze to the side. His attention followed hers. What he saw mesmerized him.

A girl in rags ran in slow motion. She was a slave, he knew without question. She fell and tore her knee through her skirt. He gasped aloud. "Blood!" he shouted, attracting looks from others in the produce section.

The girl's mother reached back, all in captivating slow motion. She wrapped her arms around her daughter protectively, and tried to lift her, but both were too weak.

Thomas didn't know how, but he felt as if he'd known them all their lives. They had lived a hard life and were fleeing, but nearly beyond hope. He saw a large, angry man rush in, a long curved sword raised over his billowing robes, fierce rage twisting his face into a demon's.

"Bad man!" Thomas blurted unintelligibly in the store.

The Lady in Blue squeezed Thomas' shoulder and turned him to look into her eyes. "Pray for them," she extolled.

Thomas remembered his rosary. "I don't know what they need, but the Lady knows. I'll pray this and she can use the prayers for what they need," he thought.

Time slowed even more. Thomas realized he was witnessing a death blow descending on the two. He prayed the rosary as Father George had taught him. As he traveled through the mysteries, he witnessed the faces of the girl and the mother light in wonder and hope and trust and love and recognition and a peace washed over them. They were escaping, beyond capture, for eternity.

Thomas, for the first time in his life, cried, even as he advanced to the first Glorious Mystery, the Resurrection. "Alleluia!" he shouted.

A mist shrouded the mother and daughter from Thomas. Out of the mist, the Lady in Blue appeared before him. He fell to his knees and bowed his head. He heard a clear voice declare, "My Lady and Mother!" and wondered who voiced his thoughts.

The Lady in Blue shined forth even more light as she smiled. "Thomas, I have an army of people who pray with me for those who ask me to pray for them at the hour of their death." She paused, her smile radiating through his soul.

Thomas heard his thoughts again voiced clearly: "My Lady, is that what I just witnessed?"

Holy Mother Mary nodded and said, "and you prayed with me for them at the hour of their death, like many around the world through the centuries have for many others."

Thomas' mother watched him intently as he stood frozen in the dairy section. He had been rapidly advancing the beads of his rosary following her through the store as usual when he stopped and mumbled and then cried out and then softened from rigid to reverent.

Back in his own world, though not his own, Thomas said in a soft, clear voice, "I am not worthy," wondering if this clear voice might actually be his.

"No, you are not, save by the grace of my Lord, Son, and God. Do you wish to join my army?"

"Yes! Deo gratias!"

In the grocery store, Thomas again advanced the beads of his rosary, with a deepened reverence, intentionality, and calm, confident bearing that left his mother smiling in wonder, thought at what, she knew not. She nodded resolutely and added this to the other mysteries she held in her heart.