he bet on a horse, it would lose; if he chose one elevator
rather than another, it was the one he chose that stalled
between floors; the line he picked before the bank teller’s
cage never moved; the lane he chose in traffic crawled; the
day he picked the picnic was the day of a cloudburst; and
so it went, day after day, year after year.
Then, once, it became necessary for Johnson to travel to some
city a thousand miles away and do it quickly. A plane was the
only possible conveyance that would get him there in time,
and it turned out that only one company supplied only one
flight that would do. His heart bounded. There was no choice
to make! And if he made no choice, surely he could come to
He took the plane.
Imagine his horror when, midway in the flight, the plane’s
engines caught fire and it became obvious the plane would
crash in moments.
Johnson broke into fervent prayer to his favorite saint ,
Saint Francis. He pleaded, "I have never in my life made the
right choice. Why this should be, I don’t know, but I have
borne my cross and have not complained. On this occasion,
however, I did not make a choice; this was the only plane I
could take and I had to take it. Why, then, am I being
He had no sooner finished when a giant hand swooped down out
of the clouds and somehow snatched him from the plane. There
he was, miraculously suspended two miles above the earth’s
surface, while the plane spiraled downward far below.
A heavenly voice came down from the clouds. "My son, I can
save you, if you have in truth called upon me."
"Yes, I called on you," cried Johnson. "I called on you,
"Ah," said the heavenly voice, "Saint Francis Xavier or
Saint Francis of Assisi. Which?"