Mother’s prayer for son receives unexpected answer

She prayed for a miracle. What she received was understanding.

Kathy and Dave Yoder named their first child Matthew, meaning “gift from God.”  The irony was the very bright boy leaned on science over faith. He chose Thomas as his confirmation name, as an ode to “Doubting Thomas,” the disciple who refused to believe Jesus had been resurrected. Matt stopped attending Mass in his college years.

“He was basically kind of over it,” Kathy said. “Somewhere along the way, something definitely slid, and I think a lot of it was because he was so smart. He was trying to figure out things on his own. And he was very much into computers and logic and science.”

A National Merit Scholar, Matthew Yoder went to Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, where he studied video game design. He loved video games. Diagnosed with Asperger’s, he was known to choose to play with the school computer rather than a toy or classmate during free time in elementary school.  

Despite his intelligence and love for his major, Matt struggled in college. He complained of headaches often and even collapsed while taking summer classes at UB.

“It seemed like it took a long time to get him out of the house,” Kathy recalled.

One day, while both driving to work, Dave noticed his son in his car frozen at a green light.

“Dad, I can’t wake up,” he said.

In late December of 2019, the “worst Christmas ever,” Dave took Matt to Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester where they found two masses in his brain. Matt was diagnosed with grade 3 anaplastic astrocytoma – brain cancer. Chemotherapy, radiation and Avastin didn’t help.

“It’s like someone flipped a switch and you are living a life you never wanted to live,” Kathy said.

Kathy didn’t believe the end was near. She and Rose Elliott, her longtime friend and prayer partner, prayed one novena after the other for three years.

As a sign, Kathy asked for an orange rose, thinking its rareness would be a sure sign that God was listening to her prayers. Elliott mentioned the story to a friend who just planted a new rose bush. The first bloom was orange.

“I had goosebumps,” Elliott recalled. “I ran and told Kathy that. We took that as a sign that Matt would be cured.”

“It was just the weirdest feeling that God heard me, and that somehow it was all going to be taken care of. OK, God’s going to heal him,” Kathy said. “I still worried, but I still had the orange rose, and we shared that with people in the churches that we have this orange rose and we’re waiting for what’s going to happen. As a mom, I am thinking physical. I’m not thinking spiritual. I’m thinking physical.”

Matt did not share Kathy’s faith. As a science guy, he would attribute any healing to the doctors.

“Here we are going through this really major thing and I haven’t passed on my faith to you. I haven’t taught you the most important thing I could teach you,” Kathy feared.

The Yoders and Elliott wrote to their neighboring parishes Padre Pio in Oakfield and Elba, St. Maximilian Kolbe in East Pembroke and Corfu, as well as St. Joseph Regional School and Notre Dame High School in Batavia. They also wrote letters to convents in different states and different countries asking for prayers for Matt. They prayed to St. Therese of Lisieux, patron of florists and illnesses, and Elliott’s confirmation saint.

That’s when Carlo Acutis came into their radar. Another young computer geek, the Italian teen had already been beatified and declared blessed. He needed another miracle for sainthood. Matt needed a miracle to survive.

“We were hoping that Matt would be physically healed, and this could be Blessed Carlo’s second miracle,” Kathy said.

Elliott put together a traveling exhibit of Blessed Carlo’s work documenting miracles and took it to several parishes. 

“This is like a twofer. Everybody can be happy. But it didn’t work out the way I wanted, which is a good thing because we shouldn’t be telling God what to do. I think if it’s a mom trying to save her child, it can be excused.”

Matt passed away on Oct. 1, 2022, the feast day of St. Therese of Lisieux. Due to St. Padre Pio Parish being booked, his funeral fell on Oct. 12, the Feast Day of Blessed Carlo.

“So, those two saints really came through for us,” Kathy said. “So, I figure he’s in good hands. But, when I heard that blessed Carlo had become a saint. … I was crying. Why didn’t I get that miracle? It’s trying to realize God’s plans are best. I still struggle with that because there’s a really big hole.”

Matt’s death caused Elliott to suffer a crisis of faith as she felt the prayers weren’t answered. She received the news while in Spain. She tried to talk with a local priest, but the difference in languages made it difficult. She gave herself her own penance. 

“That was the first time I had what I would call a spiritual crisis,” she said. She later wrote Matt’s name on rocks and spread them along 450 miles of Caminito del Rey. 

Now, two years later, the family is trying to figure out a new normal.

“It still feels like there’s a big hole, kind of like you’re missing an arm or something. It’s trying to figure how you go on. What does the rest of it look like?”

Elliott, a seamstress, took T-shirts and turned them into pillows and quilts for the Yoders. Padre Pio Parish has a glass orange rose as a reminder of the message Kathy received.