Heaven's Hierarchy

This morning, DH and I were talking about the saints as we made breakfasts and packed lunches. I told him that the second thing I am going to do if I ever make it to Heaven (after standing around in absolute awe, of course) is seek out St. Anthony and give him a big hug.

Anthony of Padua is easily the saint I talk to most often. Never more than a few days goes by without me needing his intercession to find something... library books, video game cartridges, keys. Last night, it was a lost t-ball team shirt, thirty minutes before we are supposed to be at the field for team pictures. Tony never lets me down. He comes through every. single. time.

So, as soon as I am done soaking in the awesomeness of the Beatific Vision, I'm looking for Tony.

Can you imagine, though, spending all of eternity helping people find their lost stuff? How frustrating would that be? How annoying? I mean, really. Wouldn't you just want to say, "Darn it, Jen, put your keys on the hook when you come home so I don't have to drop everything to help you look for them again and again!"

DH figures that Anthony delegates a lot of his duties to those not yet saints... all those "Blesseds" out there. Imagine John Paul II prayerfully bowing before God, enjoying the fruits of his life of service and love. "Yo, JP... get over here. Someone in Boise is missing their kid's homework again." "John XXIII, three lost library books in Racine." "Terri... stop praying for the dying in Calcutta and get moving... Johnny can't find his puppy."

That day of Canonization would really mean something... finally equal footing with St. Anthony and the ability to tell him to stuff it. Let some other not-yet-saint look for the missing checkbook; I'm having dinner with the Big Guy.