By Father Jacob Dankasa
Special to The Texas Catholic
I once watched a simple movie scene that has stayed with me far longer than I expected. A mother gave her young daughter a scapular to wear around her neck. Like any child, the girl was curious. She asked her mother what it meant and why she should wear it. The mother answered gently, “It is a powerful prayer instrument. When you are in need, you touch it, speak to God, and tell him what you want. God will do it for you in his own way.”
The child pressed further, “Why would God do that?”
The mother replied with quiet conviction, “Because God is always listening to his own. He is faithful, and he never abandons those who belong to him.”
The child took her mother’s words literally, as children often do. She believed without complication or condition. She wore the scapular always — not as a symbol to analyze but as a promise to trust.
Then, life intervened, as it often does, with its harsh and uninvited realities. The mother became seriously ill and was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Doctors gave little hope. Faced with the looming loss of the one person who embodied safety and love, the little girl did the only thing she knew how to do. She clutched the scapular, cried, and prayed with all her heart. She begged God to heal her mother. She pleaded that her mother would not die, yet the news came that she had died. In that moment, something broke — not just a child’s heart but her understanding of God. In anger and disappointment, the girl tore off the scapular and threw it away, declaring that it was meaningless, because God had not answered her prayer.
How painfully human that reaction is. How familiar. We pray sincerely; we believe deeply; and when events unfold contrary to our expectations, we feel betrayed by God, by faith, and by hope itself. Many adults carry the same anger in more subtle ways. We do not throw scapulars onto the ground, but we quietly discard prayer, withdraw from God, or reduce faith to a distant ritual because God did not do what we asked.
The story, however, did not end there.
Later, it was discovered that the mother had not died. She had slipped into a deep coma, mistaken for death. Against all odds, she returned. When the girl saw her mother alive again, joy flooded her heart. Almost immediately, she remembered the scapular. She ran back to the place where she had thrown it away, retrieved it, and placed it around her neck once more.
This story is not really about a scapular. It is about how we understand God. Faith is not a vending machine where we insert prayers and receive immediate, predictable outcomes. God is not unfaithful because he does not answer prayers the way we imagine. The mother was careful with her words, “God will do it for you — in his own way.” Those last words are often the hardest to accept. The girl’s prayer was sincere. It was heard, but God’s response did not follow the timeline or logic of a child’s expectations. God was at work even in the silence, even in the apparent failure, even in the moment that felt like abandonment.
Many of us live in that middle space between prayer and outcome, between trust and disappointment. We wear faith easily when things go well, but when suffering comes, when prayers seem unanswered, we are tempted to throw faith aside and declare it useless. And yet, faith that survives disappointment becomes deeper. Hope that passes through loss becomes stronger. Trust that endures silence becomes real.
The scapular, like any sacramental, is not magic. It does not control God. It reminds us of who we belong to. It draws us back to trust, to prayer, to surrender. The girl’s journey mirrors our own spiritual maturity: from literal belief, through painful doubt, toward a more profound trust in God’s mysterious faithfulness. God does not abandon his own, but he often leads us through paths we would never choose for ourselves. What feels like God’s absence may be his hidden presence. What feels like unanswered prayer may be prayer answered in a deeper, unseen way.
If you are holding a “thrown-away scapular” moment in your life — a place where faith feels fragile, prayer feels pointless, and disappointment feels final, do not be afraid to go back and pick it up again. God was listening then. He is listening now, and he remains faithful, even when we struggle to be faithful.
Because God’s greatest answers are not always immediate, but they are never absent.
Father Jacob Dankasa is the pastor of Holy Family of Nazareth Catholic Church.
Cutline for featured image: Men are seen in a file photo wearing scapulars during a Mass marking the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel at the Pontifical Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in East Harlem, N.Y. (GREGORY A. SHEMITZ/OSV News)
