Just after Easter 2006 we visited the Mass at the Catholic Church of Our Lady of Lourdes and St Peter Chanel on Cottingham Road in Hull. This church, I type with relief, with such a long name is fortunately known locally as the Marists. We have just started visiting there after many years we had been here since Holy Thursday in Easter 1990. How can be so precise, well, I remember the humbling ceremony of the washing of feet very clearly. Here is the story I would love to relate.

The priest was very welcoming and took the time to come and say hello to us and chat to my eight your old son in his football kit and even said a prayer for him during Mass, totally unprompted. What a lovely welcome to the church for my boy to wish him well in his game! I saw the priest email’s on the newsletter and was going to send him a letter of thanks for the prayer and for the lovely welcome to his Mass but just didn’t get around to it….I still feel guilty about that. I thought it would be a nice thing to do as I am sure priests do not always get the thanks and praise they deserve. We were, I confess, attending his Mass through convenience. The eight o’clock start helps us get to Mass so that we can then be heading off to my son’s away football games on time. I did eventually write him an email inspired by what happened the next week. Well read on and perhaps you will see that the lateness of this email was meant to be for a reason…

It’s a tough life for us parents. The to-ing and fro-ing of taking your kids to school, parties, football training, cubs, brownies, dancing, swimming lessons, homework, reading. In reality, we all know that we would do anything for our kids but then have a little grumble about it once they are tucked up asleep in their beds and pondering over the day with that well earned glass of your favourite tipple! You reach for a top up but then you remember its bloomin’ football for the lad in the morning, best not! Ahh well.

My lad has been playing footie for his team for a year now. He has never scored. He has been close. He has been in the right place but never made it count. My wife even tried bribery and said to him, “I will give you a thousands pounds if you score”. A great idea but this has just added to the pressure in the complicated life of an 8 ¼ year old. To further add to the pressure this week my lad’s Grandparents have come up from the midlands to see this game and still that goal eludes him. I am stood on the touchline, next to my Dad, and time is nearly up.

So with a sigh as the end of game draws close we accept with sad hearts that we are resigned to standing in the rain, the freezing fog, the driving hail to support our kids as they train and play in all weathers. We console ourselves as parents that at least they are getting exercise and learning about how important working as a team is. So today to add to the pain we lost the first game 1-0 and are staring down the barrel of 2-1 defeat in the second. So with heavy heart we realise another week is passing by without that elusive goal. Just then a fellow parent whose son is also still scoreless reaches fever pitch as his lad, the tallest in the team, is goal bound at pace but shoots, ooohh, just wide. His Dad kneels down turns away from the pitch and whispers “come on son score soon please”. I know the anguish, we all do, we all feel it. A minute to go and my mind is already wandering to the next task of the day, the lad’s Holy Communion homework. My mind wanders further to Mass last week where that nice priest at the Marist Church saw Connor in his football kit and spent a while chatting with him and even said a prayer for him during the Mass. If only that prayer would work now. The priest had given us a cheery wave at Mass that morning too.

Just then my wandering thoughts are dragged back to the game as our star player dazzles us with another break featuring his Brazilian style dribbling skills and bares down on the goal. He must shoot. He is certain to score, he usually does! This time, for a change, he opts to pass. He opts to pass, to my son, who is stood just outside the six yard box and he is unmarked. This is his chance, his big chance. Do I keep my eyes open or close them. I bravely keep them open, my wife chooses to close hers. My boy whacks the ball, its going high. Over or in? Next thing the bright yellow match ball bulges the top corner of the net and he, that’s my boy, is wheeling away with a smile nearly as big as mine. I spend the next few seconds in emotional turmoil, shock, pride, elation and trying to explain to my wife that her son, yes her son, did just score and she can open her eyes now. Her emotional toiling now commences. The fact that he manages to score when my Mum and Dad are there to see it makes this moment all the more special. There were many eyes staring out at his celebration run through tears of joy. So those memories will always will be blurred with a watery glistening.

His Man of the Match award was beaming at me as I wrote the passage above and l remember we allowed him to stay up late that night and watch Match of The Day, well he did score a goal! That night at our Kids late bedtime it was a prayer of thanks for a great day and a special prayer for the Marist parish because that prayer you said together made all the difference.

So you see all the to-ings and fro-ing with your kids are worth it for these extra special magical moments. Don’t let anyone tell you that football is not a beautiful game. Ohh and being a parent is not bad either! But more importantly is shows the power of prayer, so thank you for the nice welcome to the Marist parish church and the prayers for our boy.

I am reflecting on the above story as it is part of the email that I did send to the priest to say thanks. I did make the time for it and I got a lovely reply apart from the bit about some team called Tottenham. My reflection concludes, as it is over a year ago now, is that when ever we go to Mass at the Marists before a game my lad scores. It doesn’t matter if this divine intervention, luck, coincidence, motivational or whatever else you want to conclude. I think the key simple message to me is despite the busy lifestyle we can and should make time for Mass! The other thing is don’t take your priests for granted. I would like to offer a prayer of thanks to Father White who inspires us every week, Father O Gara and his colleagues at the Marists, Father Storey RIP and the truly lovely priest who married us, my wife’s uncle, Father Jerome Dennehy RIP of whom I have many special memories.