By Nick Reiher

A few weeks ago, I was driving my Mazda3, just minding my own business … and the road … when I glanced around the dashboard and out toward that part of the windshield.

Something was very wrong. Not a crack in the windshield. That’s fixable.

Around the rearview mirror hung a few inches of a silver chain … and nothing else.

For nearly 41 years, that chain was wrapped around the rearview mirror of whatever car I owned, from the Renault Alliance (That is a whole nuther column), to the Chevy Nova I nearly died in, to the Buick Skylark with a Quad 4 that took me into hyperspace in a few blocks, to, well, ultimately, a succession of Mazda3s.

On the end of that meticulously wrapped silver chain was a gift my parents bought for me shortly after I brought home that Alliance: a solid, silver dollar-sized St. Christopher medal.

St. Christopher, as you may know, is the patron saint of travelers. At one time, when dashboards were metal, you might find a magnetized teeny statue of the saint on dashboards.

But this one was a silver medal hanging from a silver chain. Or was.

I panicked, looking around the inside of the front of the car, the sides of the seats … everywhere, even in the back seat wells, just in case it rolled.

Did I leave the car unlocked and someone took it? I need to replace it, I thought. Then I thought, how can I replace something my parents gave me more than 40 years ago? At a time when likely they struggled a bit to buy it.

I remembered proudly wrapping the chain around my Alliance’s mirror, and unwrapping and wrapping with each new vehicle.

I thought about all the close calls in various vehicles, rubbing it softly each time as a thank you. All those rainy, icy, slippery drives I made it through, silently saying a thank you to St. Christopher.

Sure, I could buy another one, maybe even one close to the one I lost. But it wouldn’t be the same. So, I did what I – and many others with Catholic backgrounds — do in such cases: I asked St. Anthony for help.

According to Wikipedia, “he is especially invoked and venerated all over the world as the patron saint for the recovery of lost items and is credited with many miracles involving lost people, lost things and even lost spiritual goods.”

But, mostly, lost cell phones, wallets and car keys.

Although one time, I was cleaning up around our sink, and a little glass ring holder flipped and tossed Tammy’s mother’s ring. Not a ring belonging to Tammy’s mother. A ring I bought her after Jillian and Andy were born, with all three of their birthstones.

Looked in the dish drainer, the drains, behind the stove, emptied the counters, swept the floor. Nuthin’. I repeated this several times a day for a week or so. Even after I notified St. Anthony, no luck.

Then, I ran into my friends Natalie Manley and her hub, Alan, when Tammy and I were on our weekly date at Target. I told them about the missing ring, and, of course, Natalie, being Italian (well, Sicilian) asked about St. Anthony. I said yeah. And then she told me something I never had heard before:

For the really tough ones, pray to St. Anthony AND St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. Makes sense. And two saints are better than one.

I gave it a try.

A few days later, I had an idea. Unlikely as it was, I wondered if the ring might be stuck behind the water faucet. I had looked there, but …

Behind the faucet, at the base, there is a little ridge, maybe a couple dimes thick. Just wide enough to hide a mother’s ring standing straight up, as though hiding from me, the little sh…

My heart was full, as was Tammy’s smile when I showed her the ring.

Oh, St. Christopher? He was safely ensconced on the bottom of one of the drink holders in the Mazda3. That’s where my son put it for safe keeping after it fell off the chain. Forgot to tell me.

Cue the patron saint of not strangling your kid.

Nick Reiher is editor of Farmers Weekly Review.