The last time I told this story was here in fall of 2011. My story of St. Francis for those of you who already know him needs a few updates now in 2014. Read on, there’s more to the story.
Many summers ago my aunt in Houston was moving from the family home where she and my uncle had raised their children in favor of a smaller home in an effort to downsize and make other transitions in her life. Her husband had passed away several years earlier. In my adolescent life, I remember my uncle’s death as one of the first I had experienced in my family. He and my aunt shared a full life together. They shared their experiences with us via letters and postcards. They traveled quite a bit and my brothers and sister loved visiting them. One trip they took was to Italy for the Rome Olympics back in 1960, so in that Olympic year we looked forward to hearing about the trip. While there, they purchased a statue of St. Francis and had it shipped back to their home. St. Francis occupied a place in the backyard garden for several years.
In making the move to a smaller home, my aunt had sold off, given away and moved larger pieces of furniture with the help of a moving company. One Saturday, my father, brother, sister, a friend of mine and I, went to help her move her treasures, the things that she wanted to move personally. She had a pick-up truck at her disposal, a station wagon and our family to help her. We came with two cars to complete the job of moving the treasures she did not entrust to movers.
It was a hot day in July. We carefully moved items, wrapped them in sheets, or packed them in boxes placing them in the bed of the truck or on various car seats. I remember walking through the house and remembering the happy times we had spent on visits there. I recalled the happy reunion of all my uncles and aunts in the family room, sitting, laughing and cutting up. I remembered my cousin baking brownies in the kitchen and dancing to music as she baked. She seemed so grown up to me as she swayed to the rock-n-roll tunes she played. I remember reading the Sunday comic section of the newspaper on the floor of my uncle’s study. So many memories.
Then, I remember standing on the balcony of the second floor of her home to survey the lovely garden one last time. Another memory. We had gone on Easter egg hunts in that backyard. I still remember it was late morning as we worked moving things to the cars under the hot summer sun. There was no breeze.
I heard my dad call to my aunt asking, “What about St. Francis, does he go too?”
My aunt called back, “No, he stays.” At that instant a wind blew up in the back yard rustling the leaves of the trees that shaded the yard. The stone figure of St. Francis fell face forward into the mulch of the garden. We were dumbfounded and speechless.
“That does it. He goes,” my aunt gasped. And so it happened that we scooped up St. Francis, wrapped a blanket around him, and placed him in the bed of the truck. One of the first things when we arrived to her new home was to decide on a suitable spot to place him so he could be viewed from the living room and dining room, and he could view family life within. Within our family circle, we call it our “miracle of St. Francis.” Over the years, several of us siblings have searched and found the perfect statue to place in our gardens as a reminder of that occurrence.
Recently, in Northern Virginia at my sister’s house, as I sat in her back room, I would gaze out the window and focus on her St. Francis. She and I reflected again together on that one unrepeatable moment.
What is a miracle? I like Storm Jameson’s definition, “The only way to live is to accept each minute as an unrepeatable miracle, which is exactly what it is: a miracle and unrepeatable.” All of us together that day, experienced something rare, unique and unrepeatable. In an instant, it was as if a husband, father, brother-in-law, uncle didn’t want to be left behind. The little statue of St. Francis could have been reduced to just decorative statuary in a garden, an interesting souvenir from a memorable trip. But the wind rushing up as it did, pushing St. Francis face down stirred us to rescue him from that undignified position. Now, when we reflect on this, because we experienced it, it’s easier to believe in another miracle. Still there’s a conundrum. If we wait in anticipation, the element of surprise we experienced that day is taken away. Perhaps there are different levels of awareness of miracles. We can appreciate every day and realize the miracles that surround us, and then there are the breath taking ones that stir change, make us take a different course filling us with insights not thought before…they humble us deeply. So I take Storm Jameson’s observation every day noticing what’s delightfully unrepeatable, yet I will remember the moment when a whole family on a hot lazy day, woke up to a miracle that has moved our family in recent generations.
Several Christmases ago, daughter #2 and my husband searched statuary gardens and then gave this St. Francis to me. Father and daughter together found the one unrepeatable gift that transcended perfume, chocolate or flavored coffee. He stood outside our living room window, a reminder of a family “miracle”. Many have sat in the chair by that window and noticed him, felt his presence. Unrepeatable moments.
Last weekend, as Rick and I moved our treasures that we will not entrust to movers, we took St. Francis to his new home out in the country under a beautiful oak, where we can view him from the back porch, the back room window and our bedroom, and he can greet all who come up the driveway.
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One more note: Perhaps my aunt reacted as she did not only in memory of her husband, but in memory of her father. You see, he came to Mexico City for business interests and was appointed the Consul General from Holland to Mexico in the early 1900’s. When I took students to Mexico, DF, I told her our hotel was an old one, the Hotel St. Francis on Reforma (the main boulevard of Mexico City).
“That’s where Papi (my grandfather) stayed when he first came to Mexico and before he married Moesje (my grandmother),” she informed me.
Such a touching story, Georgette! It’s a great reminder to be aware of little miracles, as well as the monumental ones.
Our white azaleas are budding out and it’s partially bloomed this weekend. It’s a large bush coming back every year. We lost the pink ones in the drought spring of ’12, which makes us not take the white ones for granted.
A lovely story, and an especially lovely way to keep memories alive, cherishing them to bind a family. I used to have an acquaintance who would make great fun of the statues of the Virgin Mary gracing the gardens of (presumably) Catholic families. I used to say, “Don’t be so quick to criticize. You don’t know what those statues represent to those people.” Your story gets to the heart of what I was trying to communicate.
hmmm…I too, used to be skeptical and even condescending of statuary gardens that you can find out in the country. But since this happened, I have viewed them quite differently. And certainly, any mention of St. Francis catches my attention now.
Thank you for sharing that little piece of your story with us.There is definitely a spiritual component to our family’s life as well. As the kids were growing up and the timing of things would happen that were too “coincidental” to be accidents, they came to be known as “eye spies”. ( We spied the hand of God in our life ) Your St Francis story would definitely be an “eye spy” in my book. 😉
I love your “eye spy” tradition in your family. When you can share those moments, name them, the family will always have shared faith inspiring experiences. Thanks for sharing. I look forward to you writing about one perhaps.
What a wonderful story! I think statues represent a great deal more to some people that we often realize and I am always somewhat drawn in to statuary gardens. There is a place in Lakeside, OH where we spend a week every summer that recently added an angel garden in memory of someone’s loved one who died and they wanted to create a special garden to honor their memory. Those angels draw me in every year and I have many photos of them. Thanks for a sweet story.
I never was one to pay attention to statuary unless I saw it chiseled on Notre Dame or Westminster Abbey. Was I ever humbled about the significance of our St. Francis when we could share this experience and memory altogether. Thank you for reading this story.
There are too many moments that cannot be explained and therefore can’t be denied. I remember you telling the tipping forward story before … and I got a chill when I read about it again.
It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You believe. That’s enough 🙂
MJ
Thank you for commenting again, especially since you were the first on the blogosphere I shared it with. ooo–that was a risk back then, but because of your “Diana” post, that was a nudge to write and publish. For you, one of my first readers, I’m glad I can provide new details.
You know there was a time I wouldn’t have told this story thinking folks may think — whatever. The fact that he stands in our yard and “I love to tell the story” (hmmmm…reminds me of a song), he binds family members in just remembering that moment. That’s all that counts.
“Remember when…?”
“Yes, I remember.”
🙂 MJ
there is no doubt that if we would have a garden here in India as we did in the UK, a lovely statue of St. Francis would have its rightful place somewhere under a flowering tree watching over us… We have a wonderful old statue of San Antonio in our house instead. In Padua/Italy in the Cloister of the Basilica you can find a really lovely statue of St. Francis – and it is a nice peaceful place for us to sit every time we go there and talk with our friends of the Basilica.
You give me so much to follow up on. San Antonio, the Cloister of the Basilica’s St. Francis in Padua. I may be back after I follow up on these leads with more thoughts. Thank you for reading, anyone4curryandotherthings.
The Basilica of San Antonio in Padua is very interesting with it’s Romanesque, Gothic and Byzantine influence…oh my. It is unique. I found it curious to find out that Saint Anthony is the saint of lost people and lost things. I wrote about losing things once, holding on to the faith they will be found. “Things Surface” I called it. I am intrigued by this Basilica of Saint Anthony and the other of Saint Francis.
it brought tears to my eyes.
Oh no. Really? Happy tears, I hope. Thank you for reading the update, as I know you have followed for a while. My individual faith is important to me, but sharing faith within family is binding.
I can see him preaching to his sister birds under the oak. Lovely!
🙂
Beautiful story, Georgette. It’s such a great reminder to take notice of the miracles that happen every day. St.Francis looks very happy in his new home…beautiful property!
Thank you, Jill. We took that picture last weekend. It was very green, wasn’t it? I’m curious if he will stay there under the oak, or perhaps we may find a “better” place. Thank you for reading.
You’re keeping alive the torch of family stories with images too. What a legacy, Georgette.
That’s why I entered blogging, to do memoir writing for our girls, grandsons, nieces, nephews and my cousins. These must not fade away. It’s a bonus that I can share with a readership, but truly, my goal is to write so the family flung out and strung out as they are, can access. Thank you for reading this one, one of my first and since updated.
Although I know that your blogs are a blessing to and greatly appreciated by your family, they also touch the hearts of many others of your readers, including myself. I had not read the original story about St. Francis, so this inspires me to go back and read ALL of your blogs from past years to see what else I’ve missed. I’m glad you moved St. Francis with you to his beautiful new location. You’ll find that many of the things that seemed simple and unnoticed before your move will become treasures that will be a link to the previous chapter in your life and make your transition to this new chapter an easier one. Wishing you and Rick many happy years ahead in your retirement home. We’ll miss you. Thank you for sharing these precious stories, Georgette.
Oh goodness, Pat. I’m at about 300 posts now. I guess the categories of Family Life and Spiritual Things may lead you to stories that may interest you. Perhaps we should do lunch some day before the move. Thank you for your loyal readership. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.
St. Francis looks like he’ll be quite at home in the shadow of the oak. You refreshed my memory of the earlier post, and I’m happy to see the tradition carried on as you move to your country home.
Thank you, Patti. I almost posted the picture of him in the truck making the trip, but then I thought “No.” He’s under the oak and our spring green grass is growing around him. 🙂
Wow, fascinating story. I’m glad you found such a lovely place on your new property for St. Francis. He looks good there. Reminds me of the new Pope who is such a marvelous, refreshingly compassionate leader. I’m so glad he was the one chosen. What a gift he’s turned out to be!
We all kind of smiled that (1) he is from South America and, (2) that his name is Francis. Interestingly, and I didn’t plan this, the first anniversary of his papacy was this past March 13.
What a wonderful story. It’s nice to know our loved ones aren’t far away sometimes. I bet yours loves being under the oak.
Thank you, TBM. I think he does. He hasn’t fallen over or anything like that. (wink)
Sweet story! I think there are miracles around us everyday, we just fail to notice them. Looks like St. Francis has a lovely new country home.
Thank you, Mama. I thought it was time for an update. This was a very easy move since he goes outside. However, downsizing for the move and where to put other interior stuff is not so easy.
I’ll follow in the same line as everyone else and say that’s quite a story you’ve told. It clearly means a lot to you.
You’ve reminded me of something that happened to me in about 1973. I was sitting and holding a piece of 8 x 10 or 8.5 x 11 paper when the paper slipped out of my hand. To my surprise, the paper’s long edge hit the floor and the paper remained balanced in an upright position instead of falling over the way you’d expect it to. Apparently just enough of a slight curve formed in the paper and just the right air currents circulated near the floor to hold the paper up.
That had never happened to me before, so I picked the paper up, held it out, and let it go. Amazingly, it again landed in just the right position to stay balanced. In the four decades since then, I’ve never been able to drop a flat sheet of paper and have it stay upright on the floor, but on that day it happened twice in a row.
WOW! As a math professor I can imagine you may have wondered about the statistical probability of that occurring, or with any physics knowledge you have reflected on the variables of that problem. Only you know what it may mean. It has meaning or you wouldn’t have remembered it this long. I have held onto several questions in my lifetime and it’s only recently when I have shared a few, when I have let go of the mystery and shared, that I have gained new insight from others and even kindled new insights of my own. This quote from Maria Rainer Rilke that I may have shared before comes to mind “Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers.“ I have no answer, certainly what you experienced was unrepeatable…or not. However, I have a hunch that occurrence may represent a metaphor for you alone. One more thing I have noticed, as soon as I have let go of a mystery, answers present themselves in various forms. Thank you for sharing. Wow.
You’re right that in my case the statistical unlikelihood of that strange event happening twice in a row is what impressed me, but the event itself didn’t seem to convey a message (or else I failed to interpret the metaphor that you hint might have been there for me). In contrast, your incident seemed to give a forceful answer to the question of whether to leave the St. Francis statue behind or take it along.
Thanks for the Rilke quotation.
I LOVE this story. I have a St. Francis in my garden. When we first visited Spain about 9 years ago, I saw a number of statues of this wonderful saint but knew I couldn’t bring one back with me. On my next birthday, my husband surprised me with a wonderful St. Francis who has been in our little garden ever since. We plan to move to Spain and I know I can’t take him with me so he will travel to my daughter’s island where he will grace her garden. I know she will get as much joy and peace from him as I have. So pleased your St. Francis has a lovely spot at your country home.
Really? What an interesting coincidence. I know your daughter will look at him and think of you. What a perfect setting for him on her island.
St. Francis is quite heavy and difficult to move. I was surprised that my husband who has no problem moving a heavy TV set or even large piece of furniture commented on how heavy he is.
What a wonderful story Georgette! St. Francis has meant a lot to me too as I visited his monastery in Italy once and learned of his austere life having given up all his wealth and his dedication to the needy and his great love for animals..Perhaps he is still causing miracles – even through cyberspace.
“- even through cyberspace.” It’s wonderful that we can meet, share experiences, sharpen our writing skills, learn about a host of things, and go to our blogging friends who enhance our lives every day. Something very interesting about St. Francis is he was never an ordained Catholic priest which I think makes him an ecumenical figure.
Such a lovely story! Your family has such a rich history with the postcards. I’m remembering a few you’ve shared — they are priceless. And speaking of memories, isn’t it interesting the things that earn staying power? Such as your cousin, “She seemed so grown up to me as she swayed to the rock-n-roll tunes she played.” 🙂
Postcards? Do you mean in a vignette kind of way?
I still remember sitting at the kitchen banquette when my cousin walked in humming and singing to the song on the radio, leaning over to open the oven door and checking the brownies. I got a view of her “bum” swaying back and forth, I had to have been pre-teen then, looking forward to growing up to be a cool teenager like her.
btw Spanish has a wonderful term that captures the feminine movement: “la gracia desquebradiza” – I really can’t translate it, but that comes to mind, too. Thank you for reading.
Hmmm… maybe I’m remembering envelopes instead of postcards? I do recall you posting something where you’d scanned in an envelope or a postcard — or do I have mommy-brain? 🙂
I remember now…the letters in a recent post! Got it.
Thank you for reminding us to never give up on hope and the miracles of life and faith. It is Lent season and stories like these help us go back to what is truly important. Moving and inspiring post. Thanks.
This story is for my mother, brothers, sister and other members of the family. It’s a story I want to record because it’s now a part of our family culture and binds us.