I have a window above my kitchen sink, and this window sill is the only safe place in my entire house to put breakable things. A few Willow Tree angels the kids have given me, a small statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and a tiny clay sculpture of the Blessed Mother (made by Erica in 2nd grade) sit safely on this little shelf.
The other day I was washing dishes, and I realized poor Jesus’ hand was broken off. Oops. Wonder which kid did that?
The Holy Spirit used my little Jesus-with-a-chopped-off-hand to remind me that we are Jesus’ hands on earth now. I have been a stay-at-home mom for so long that it’s easy to forget that what I do is important.
Every time I do my millionth load of laundry, I am using Jesus’ hands. I use Jesus’ arms to rock a sick child to sleep, not caring if I get puked, coughed, or snotted on. Responding nicely to a sassy teenager instead of arguing back is having Jesus’ heart and lips. Bedtime can be all about being Jesus: Do I throw the kids in bed, mutter a quick “Thank you God for this day, amen,” and turn out the light? Or do I, no matter how tired I am, give each child individual attention, a little snuggle, and a chance to talk about the good and bad stuff that happened that day before praying with them?
My vocation may not involve curing cancer or opening an orphanage, but it’s still choosing to let Jesus work through me. I’m going to keep my little broken Jesus statue to remind me of that.
How on earth will the Holy Spirit explain the beheaded St. Joseph from our Nativity scene?