Sarah Harkins... Sarah Harkins... That's interesting, I know a Sarah Harkins. The Clay Rosary Girl. How sad about that other Sarah. I'm glad it isn't the Sarah Harkins I know.
I cried a few tears for the unknown Sarah and her unborn baby, Cecilia, who died unexpectedly this week. I prayed and followed the donation link. And at some point, I discovered that it was my Sarah and her baby. I say my Sarah not because I knew her well or because I had even met her in person... but because I did know her for a while. And I did love her.
We talk about our "internet friends" and laugh over how our husbands think we're strange and how it is hard to describe just how much someone can mean to you even if you've never looked into their eyes or shared a hug. But don't we all know the truth? That somehow, even through this limited electronic connection, we are still able to connect with souls.
Sarah is beautiful. She inspires me. She was generous with me. With others. She was generous with God.
I love her work and I am fascinated by the process of creation. How much thought, prayer and work went into even the tiniest of her beads! I waited two years for a reason to purchase one of her rosaries. The rosary now belongs to my 9-year old Button who received it on her First Communion. I brought it out yesterday to see, to touch it, to pray. And that's when I saw Sarah's fingerprints embedded in the beads. I touched them and I wept.
I am the last person who should be writing about Sarah. We were just "internet friends." But truth be told, I am grieving. I remember when she took a leap of faith into the adventure of homeschooling. I remember our emails and the thoughtful comments she left for me. I remember when she donated her work to help me out. I remember when she trusted God and lovingly birthed her gorgeous and special Mary Faustina. I wasn't there, of course, but she let me in by sharing her life. And I became attached.
If you are blessed enough to own one of her rosaries or pieces of jewelry, I encourage you to look for her fingerprints. A connection. A sign of hope. Like the symbol of the anchor that she loved so well. It is proof of God's unique design for her body, her soul, her life. That she loved and lived for God and that... that He Who made her hands to bless, will not forsake the ones left behind. A consolation.
If you haven't yet donated to Sarah's children, please do so here. She homeschooled her little ones, including her beautiful daughter with downs syndrome. Let's love them well.