After the funeral mass last week, I was in the back of the church with the girls, talking quietly with some friends. Angela was also pal-ing with a couple of her friends and I was keeping her in my peripheral to make sure she didn't cause any trouble in the meantime. I had not looked directly at her in a few minutes, and when I did, I observed her saunter over to the gorgeous large Michaelangelo "Pieta" replica statue, which depicts Our Lord in the arms of His Mother following His crucifixion. There was a kneeler in front of the statue. She knelt down slowly and just stared at the statue briefly. She carefully made the sign of the cross and folded her hands. I could see her lips moving. She kept studying the figures. She was kneeling there in front of Jesus; her head was almost up to where his hand was lying there before her. Ever so slowly she stood up and reached over the kneeler and placed her tiny hand in Jesus' hand and she gently caressed his wounds, carefully and sweetly. She must have done this for 30 seconds. I was tearing up; it was something you can't force, you can't teach. And I didn't have my camera to capture it to remember it forever.
Angela knelt back down briefly and made another sign of the cross. She sauntered off as quietly and thoughtfully as she had approached, then walked over to me. "Jesus has a boo boo," she said, pointing to the palm of her hand. "That is where the nails on the cross were," I replied. "I'm sure you made him feel better." If only we could all love like that, with the simplicity of little children.
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