Last week while digging through Christmas boxes in storage in the church, I came across a statue of our Infant Lord in the manger. His poor little right arm was broken off. This particular statue had been replaced by another because of the break. I felt a need to fix it. I told one of the men helping me take the boxes out of storage that I was taking him home to fix him. I couldn’t just let him sit there broken. It was a beautiful statue and I knew somewhere, someone could use him.

I informed the front office that I was taking him home to fix him. The receptionists were so happy that someone had come along to take on the job of restoring his poor little broken arm. One of the fathers came in as we were talking and mentioned that I was going to “Doctor Jesus”. We all laughed and I took baby Jesus home. When I got home, my little daughter Violet was thrilled! I had forgotten she had asked me several times if we could get a baby Jesus statue and keep him in her room. Since it belonged to the Church, I told her we were just going to fix it, and bring him back. She reluctantly understood and I was left with the impression that I was in serious need to find one for our home as soon as I could.

My girls and I grabbed the glue and we sat him on the livingroom floor. Assessing the break and making sure we got everything lined up properly. It was a serious “surgery” for a 6 and 7-year-old to watch and we had it perfectly aligned. The glue was placed and baby Jesus was on the road to recovery. For three days the girls would check to see if he was okay. They would ask me, “Is his arm dry enough now Mommy?” I would say test it. They didn’t want to touch him and voiced it so beautifully. They didn’t want to “hurt” him. Day three came and my Chloe worked up enough courage to try to move the broken arm. “He’s fixed Mama!. She tried to move the broken arm and could not. It was all glued back into place with very little showing it had been broken at all. When I reminded the girls he had to go back, they cried.

I brought baby Jesus back to Church today, reluctantly, as my girls are with family until tomorrow and did not get the chance to say good-by. As I placed him in the Rectory Office, Tony, one of the gentlemen working in the office said to me, “You healed baby Jesus!”. We laughed a bit and I left. On my ride home I was reminded of when my faith was in its infant stage and I didn’t know much about anything. I would often beg our Lord to allow me to help heal His wounds. I would ponder them and cry, begging him to forgive me and all of us for inflicting so much pain on Him. I would day-dream about “Nursing” Him in His anguish. Wondering if it could have been done, but now knowing He did it for ALL of us. He had to be put through such anguish in order that we all could be saved. I was reminded of what Tony had said and yes, in some way, after all these years, our Lord allowed me to heal Him as much as I could have.