By Alyssa Bormes

Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph

Sometimes, I think about the title of my autobiography. Here are a few options:

Slips, Trips, and Falls: Lessons from my Knees

Gambling for God – Wagering with Jesus

My Life as a Whisper – and More Unbelievable Stories from a Life Lived Out Loud

Moi

Rugged Hospitality: Sometimes Beef and Beans hit the Ceiling

Singing the Blues: The Gifts I Got vs. the Gifts I Wanted

I was a Lector

Give Me Jesus: My Last Words

Or today, maybe it should be Surprises from the Holy Family.

When I was young, I always admired the small all-white statue of Mary that my sister had. She received it for her confirmation. I wanted it for my own, and when I was ready to be confirmed, I looked forward to receiving an identical statue.

On April 1, 1979, Andrew was my confirmation saint, although I used the feminine Andrea. I met Bishop Paul Dudley, who would have a profound effect on my later life as he aided my return after I wandered from the Church.

At supper the night of my confirmation, I received a present from my parents. Finally, I thought I would have my own statue of Mary. Except that Mary was accompanied by Jesus and Joseph. My heart sank a bit. Of course, I loved the Holy Family, but I really wanted Mary. My guardian angel kept me from saying anything that day, but some days later, in a quiet moment with my mom, I asked her why I didn’t get the same Mary as my sister had?

Mom said she wanted me to have my own statue, something different; when she saw the Holy Family, she chose it especially for me.

I tried my best to sound understanding, but my heart had a little wound.

Time passed, and it just didn’t matter. I was off to college; the statues were on a shelf in the bedroom I shared with my sister. Sometimes, when I was home, I saw the statues, gave them a quick thought, and promptly forgot about them again. By then, I was far from the Church, and the statues were just a childish memory.

It was October 2002. I was in a store in Assisi with my mother. We were on a pilgrimage to Italy, and I was finally home in the Church after such a long, dark time away and alone.

We were in a little store full of wooden statues; one made my heart sing. I bought the Holy Family. There was something about Joseph’s cloak protecting Mary and Jesus. It felt like his cloak had been protecting me and was still protecting me.

At some point, I had rediscovered the statues in my childhood bedroom. I still found my sister’s statue beautiful, but I had come to understand my own Holy Family. The statue is now in my home, which stands in a wash of light. Oddly, I have a million little Holy Families around my house – statues, icons, drawings – one is even sparkly. Most have been gifts, and each time the giver said something that sounded like what my mother said when I was thirteen, they chose it, especially for me – it reminded them of me.

In addition, my parish is Holy Family, which I sort of stumbled upon. The first time I was there, Bishop Dudley, who had confirmed me when I was young, had invited me. Over the years, it has become home.

Of course, I am nowhere near ready to write my autobiography. Still, perhaps its title might be a mixture of a few titles from above: The Holy Family: Surprising Recoveries after My Slips, Trips, Falls, or The Holy Family: Don’t be Surprised when Beef and Beans Hit the Ceiling.

Prayer

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph surround me and surprise me with your protection.

Call to Action

Go find your Holy Family statues, let them be washed in light, invite others to your home to be fed with beef and beans (or anything else), and speak of the marvelous surprises from Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

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