The O'Connors

My supervisor is of Irish decent. The last time she visited Ireland she met a guy in a pub - we'll call him The Irishman. I know what you're thinking, but don't - there was nothing racey between these two. They've had a genuine friendship over the past few years via email and phone calls.

Well, the Irishman sent my supervisor another email yesterday. She read it to me. The Irishman was talking about his weekend. Apparently over there holding down more than one job is regular. The Irishman is a photographer and also the caretaker of a historic but functioning church in Cobh, County Cork, Ireland. While he was in the church, a distraught looking young couple came in, inquiring after a priest. There wasn't one there at the moment, so they just asked the Irishman if they could talk to him. He concented, and they recounted their tale. The man was 20 and the woman was 17, and they'd run away to England from Cork trying to "make a new life for themselves", but had failed terribly. They'd made their way back to Ireland and appealed to every agency they could to try and get a bed for the night, but they all said the same thing: "It'll take two days to process your claim." They were finally offered a place by one agency, but when they went in they found the communal sleeping room full of drunk men. And here was a surprise. "I could sleep there alright myself," said the man, "but I wasn't taking my pregnant girlfriend in there." The Irishman said this was what clenched it for him. He saw how avidly protective this fellow was of his pregnant girlfriend and decided he'd take a gamble for them. He gave them enough money for a bed that night and transport back to their hometown. He then sent them on their way and hasn't seen them since - and doesn't expect to again.

The Irishman sent the story to my supervisor with one request: pray for them. He also asked that my supervisor pick one other person to share the story with so they could pray as well. She chose me.

I don't know if The Irishman knows the true God of the Bible, but his requsest for prayer for this couple fell heavy on my heart.

"You gonna pray for them?" my supervisor asked.

"Absolutely!" I answered. I was quiet for a second, then looked up at her. "Let's name them." I said.

"What?" she answered.

"Let's name the family. Your friend didn't send any names with his story, so let's name them."

So we named them - good ol' Irish names. Liam is the father. Aiofe (pronounced "Ey-fee") is the mother, and Finley is the baby, since we don't know the gender. By the way, Aiofe is about 2 months along - Finley should be born sometime near Christmas.

Later in the day I asked my supervisor how she knew she was Irish. Her answer was that her Grandmother came over during the potato famine.

"What was her surname?" I asked.

"O'Connor," she said.

Liam, Aiofe and Finley O'Connor - if they come to mind, pray for them. And remember Finley around Christmas. God has already shown them great kindness through The Irishman. Pray that he'd send bible-believing Christians into their path to share the gospel with them, and that they'd be saved.