A close friend of mine, Reenie Price, has just published a book that I helped to edit. It's called What are the Chances?, and it describes various anomalous events in Reenie's very eventful life. These events could be dismissed as chance "coincidence," but I think this explanation, in many cases, is severely strained by the details of what Reenie reports.
These events are all real, and, to the best of my knowledge, are accurately described. Some are more compelling than others. In my opinion, the book should appeal to anyone who's interested in anomalous phenomena – though I admit I'm biased because of my friendship with the author and my involvement with the publication. I do think that Reenie has an authentic mediumistic ability, which perhaps was augmented by a near-death experience she underwent when she was quite young. (She was in a catastrophic car accident and barely survived, though this story is not included in her collection.)
I personally don't doubt her sincerity in any respect, although I can't expect others to feel the same way. But her stories ought to be of interest to anybody who wants to explore the outermost limits of "ordinary" consciousness.
One of her stories, not excerpted here, involves a ghost who's been witnessed by several different people in her house. Though I've been in the house, I personally have not seen this ghost, but I know people who have seen it, and they are not inclined to believe in the supernatural or the paranormal. Moreover, Reenie investigated the history of the house and learned that the ghost corresponded in every detail to a description of the man who built the original house on that property many years earlier – something she couldn't have known by any normal means.
Anyway, the book is available in a Kindle edition here. A paperback edition should be available shortly.
What follows is an excerpt from What are the Chances? It's a chapter entitled "St. Patrick's Cathedral." I thought it was one of the more compelling and inspiring episodes in Reenie's remarkable life.
St. Patrick’s Cathedral
In December 2009, a girlfriend and I decided to go into New York City to visit one of our jeweler friends up on 57th and 5th Avenues. It was a beautiful sunny day, a bit chilly yet invigorating for a nice walk.
After meeting up with our friend and spending quite a few hours with him we decided to walk over to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It was the holiday week, and we knew the church would be beautifully decorated.
We entered St. Patrick’s during an afternoon mass. It was very crowded, and the nativity scene was on display. As we stood in the back of the church, I asked my friend if she would like to walk the perimeter of the church and look at the different statues and perhaps light a candle.
We started on the left side of the church and the first saint I came to was St. Jude. I immediately shuffled through my purse to find a dollar to put in the box for a donation. St. Jude was my mother’s favorite saint, and when I was growing up she would always tell me to pray to St. Jude. After lighting a candle, kneeling, and saying a prayer, we continued looking at all of the statues of saints.
After an hour or so, as we were leaving the church, I noticed the statue of St. Patrick. I am of second generation Irish and Welsh descent, and he is a special saint to me. My girlfriend was lagging behind, so I took the time to read the printed plaque of the history of St. Patrick, but I couldn’t find my reading glasses. As I strained harder and harder to read about St. Patrick, an elderly gentleman approached me from the side and, in a very strong Irish brogue, asked if he could help me read it. He was quite elderly, well groomed, and very kind.
He said, “Would ya like me ta read that for ya, dearie?”
I gratefully accepted his offer explaining that I couldn’t find my glasses. To be honest, I really didn’t hear a word he said. I was kind of shocked that this Irish man came from out of nowhere and was reading to me about St. Patrick! After he was finished I thanked him for his kindness.
He looked at me and said, “Have ya ever been ta Ireland, lassie?”
“No, but I would like to go someday.”
We said our goodbyes, and I told him to have a safe trip back to Ireland and wished him a Merry Christmas.
The next year at Christmastime, my girlfriend and I returned to St. Patrick’s. The church was just as crowded as last year at this time, and we decided to take the same path as we had the year before, starting with St. Jude and ending with St Patrick. As we were finishing up our tour, I wanted to say a special thanks to St. Patrick. You see, I did go to Ireland that year. I had no idea I would be going so soon after I met that kind Irish gentleman last year. Ireland was all that I knew it would be, and more, and it was lovely to be in the homeland of my grandparents. When I got to the spot where St. Patrick’s statue was standing last year, it wasn’t there!
I turned to my friend and said, “Where’s St. Patrick?”
We walked up and down the aisle where the statue had been the previous year. I started questioning myself. Was I crazy? Did it really happen? Did that man really talk to me, or was it all a dream? Had my friend not been with me the previous year, I would have thought I was losing my mind.
I asked my friend to wait there and I went to get a staff member.
I saw an usher in a black suit at the back of the church.
“Can you help me? Can you tell me where they put the statue of St. Patrick?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, m’am.”
“Sir, I was in the church last Christmas, and St. Patrick’s statue was on the side of the church. My friend and I were standing right there.” I pointed to where my friend was now standing.
“St. Patrick has always been behind the altar. For 50 years. It has never been moved.”
I literally froze, almost suspended in time. I couldn’t even breathe, and I got chills all over me. I stood there staring at this man, the man I hoped had all the answers for me, but really, I think he thought I was a lunatic. I didn’t even thank him. I just walked away.
I told my friend, “Let’s get out of here.”
Once we were outside of the church, I told my friend what had happened and she was shocked, too. At least I had a witness. If I was crazy, then so was she!
In summer of 2012, another friend of mine came from Texas for a visit, and her request was to go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. So off we went to New York City. I invited the friend who had been with me those two Christmases, and we realized we were still reeling as we told the story of the “missing” St. Patrick statue.
When we got to the church, the girls took off in their own direction, and I, of course, ran to where I had originally seen the St. Patrick’s statue. It was still not there. I decided to talk to someone else at the church, as I was determined to find out what happened that day.
At the rear of the church, there was a woman sitting at a card table handing out brochures. I asked her if she knew anyone whom I could speak to in reference to an incident I had in the church.
She pointed to a petite, middle-aged woman with short dark hair standing behind me.
She said, “You can talk to her.”
The woman was very sweet and asked what she could do for me.
I asked her how long she had been with the church and she said fifty years.
I told her my story, and she took my hand and said, “Walk with me and show me where you saw this statue.”
As we walked over to the place where I had first seen the statue, she also told me that St. Patrick was never there, as it had always been behind the altar. I started to cry.
She said, “Don’t cry. Don’t you understand that you are a very lucky woman to have had this experience? There have been others who have had experiences throughout the years similar to yours. You experienced divine intervention.”