Recently, we celebrated St. Patrick’s Day (also known as “Saint Paddy’s Day”). I’m reminded of my Irish roots. With a maiden name of Ferrell and Ferguson on my mother’s side of the family, there is a lot of Irish blood running through my veins. Plus, I remember my dad’s gorgeous auburn hair when he was younger. Even today I’m still looking for my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow (if I’m lucky enough). Well, here’s my question … is there such a thing as luck?
The guy we celebrate each year, St. Patrick, was born around 389 A.D. in England. His father was a deacon and his grandfather a priest. While the Roman Empire was still in control of Britain, their demoralized armies were unable to protect the island from Irish invaders. Farms were pillaged and teenagers enslaved, and young Patrick was taken into slavery at the age of sixteen. An Irish farmer bought him and put him to work tending sheep.
Patrick came to personal faith in Christ during his period of slavery. He received a vision from God when he was twenty-two to run from Ireland for his home. Despite danger during his travels, he evaded his captors and returned to his family. Even though safe with his family, his heart was deeply burdened for the Irish.
