Oh wow, where to begin?
First of all, how are you?
I really hope you’re doing OK and have had a good week-and-a-bit! Yesterday (Sunday) was Mother’s Day here in the UK, but Father’s Day in Italy—I know, funny, right?—and, honestly, I’ve been spinning.
My dad had a fall last week, which resulted in his admission to hospital and lots of to-ing, fro-ing, fretting and praying ever since.
Before visiting my mother for Mother’s Day, we made it to the Oratory for its morning service—but only just—where, in his sermon, the Brother confessed that, at this half-time mark in Lent (how are we halfway through already?), it hadn’t gone as he’d anticipated. That it had proved challenging in unexpected ways. When he got to the part about both of his in-laws having dementia, calling for specialist residential care, and needing to clear out their home and all that memory-sifting … I blinked back tears and wondered at what St Augustine would have called another “coincidence of time and place” that connects us.
At how powerful and important it is to keep sharing our stories.
The sacred solidarity it brings.
My dad is doing OK—I just visited him today, which also happens to be St Joseph’s feast day.
Visiting Brittany last summer, I was struck by a statue in Quimper Cathedral of Joseph holding an infant Jesus in his arms. There was just something about the totally natural way he is cradling Jesus that moved me.
You can almost feel the weight of the child’s body in his father’s arms, as he instinctively and protectively draws him close to his chest.
As an adopted daughter, I find it fascinating to read or hear St Joseph described as the foster or adoptive father of Jesus; of his loyalty and love.
I wrote here about the foster father I got chatting to at a fundraiser last autumn. It would never have occurred to me that he wasn’t simply another dad watching the two young boys roar around the garden who, it transpired, he and his wife were providing respite care for.
There are as many beautiful, sacred ways to be a father as there are to be a mother.
As I shared on Instagram, a little while ago:
The “nature versus nurture” debate wages on, but I believe that what makes us family and who we are cannot be categorised in this way. What brings and bonds us together, and what it means to belong, is complex, mysterious, sacred ground.
(You can watch the full video here).
In the past week or so, I’ve thought a lot about my dad and how, over the years, he has has loved me with a loyal, fierce father’s love.
And, given it was Mother’s Day yesterday, I couldn’t resist sharing this photo of him in hospital, on the day my daughter, our eldest, was born.
(The Breton stripes indoctrination started early.)
One last thing. I just looked at the photo of the statue of St Joseph more closely and noticed the handwritten envelope, perched close by in the chapel.
Looking more closely, it appears to be addressed to “Saint Joseph”. Left, perhaps, with a prayer of petition or thanks. How beautiful is that?
I hadn’t noticed it before today.
I have a soft spot for St. Joseph, especially after I lost my own father. That statue really conveys his deep love for Jesus. XO to you.
Loved this one dear Jenni! Hope your father is doing well and you, as well. Loved the perspective on Joseph, a caring father. ❤️🙏🏼