The Day I Wasn’t Good Enough

Years ago, my wife Chantal and I were asked by our dear nun, Sister Marilyn Mark, to take Holy Communion to a dying man named Fran Martin.

I had no experience with something like this. My first thought was:
“No. I can’t do that.”

But instead of saying no, I said yes.
Not out of holiness—out of pride.
It was too hard to say no. I didn’t want to look bad.

But here’s the mystery:
God can even use our pride to get His work done.
He has a way of turning something flawed into something beautiful. That’s what He does. That’s who He is.

At the Foot of the Cross

Our priest, Father Clarence Sandoval, was supposed to leave the consecrated host—the Body of Christ—on the altar after Mass in a pyx (a small, round container used to carry Holy Communion to the sick and dying).

But he forgot.

So I went to find him.

Since Mass had ended, the remaining hosts were already placed inside the tabernacle, behind the altar—at the foot of the Cross.

Father Clarence led me there himself.
When we approached the tabernacle, he paused and said,
“Go ahead. Open it.”

I had never done this before.

As I stood in front of the tabernacle, I felt like the air left the room.
It was hard to breathe.

All I could think was:
“I’m not good enough. I shouldn’t be here.”

I told him so:

“Father, I can’t do this. I’m not worthy.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, looked me straight in the eye, and said:

“Precisely why you are here, Rich.
Now you and Chantal take this to Fran.”

That Holy Delivery

We didn’t know Fran Martin.
He couldn’t speak when we brought him Communion.
He had a collection of CDs—music from another era, full of swing and soul. He didn’t ask us to play them, but I’d turn one on, soft and low, as we sat with him.

It became our small ritual—bringing Jesus to a man who couldn’t speak but could still receive.

I didn’t feel holy. I didn’t feel worthy.

And I still don’t.

But that Crucifix in our home—the one that stares back at us daily—reminds me that it’s perfectly okay not to feel good enough.
That’s actually a sacred place to be.

The Rest of the Story

After Fran passed away, I read his obituary.

His name was Francis R. Martin, born November 14, 1922, in Watervliet, New York.
He enlisted in the Army Air Corps in 1942 and was stationed in Logan, Utah, where he met his future wife, Rachael Colleen Edwards.

While serving in Europe as a B-17 crew member, Fran’s plane was shot down on November 30, 1944. He spent six months as a prisoner of war.
After returning to Logan, he worked in the auto parts business and later became known in the community as “Fran, the Old-Fashioned Music Man,” hosting a public radio show for 12 years on KUSU.

He was part of the Elks Lodge, the Logan Country Club, and St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church—until his death on March 20, 2000, at Sunshine Terrace in Logan, Utah.

I didn’t know his story when we placed the host on his tongue.

But I know it now.

And I know I’ll never forget what Father Clarence said to me:

“Precisely why you are here.”

(God it is so good to be here!)