Dear Pilgrims’ Peace Center Family,
Prayers are the best gift we can give anyone – ever! With all my heart, I thank you for yours!
When Mike and I got the test results for the full body PET-CT scan and the doctor said, “No cancer,” we were greatly relieved. I’m a 31 year breast cancer survivor (thank you Jesus!). But even after such a long time, it’s the first thing that comes to mind when you have persistent, unexplained and undiagnosed symptoms. Add to that the fact that my symptoms were identical to those that took the life of my beautiful mother at the tender age of 60.
When it was all said and done, it seems I had some kind of virus that attacked me on Christmas Day and hung around for two months. I’m still a little tired, but feeling much better.
We finally got to have a very late Christmas celebration with our out-of-state children and grandchildren three weeks ago. Better late than never – literally!
Thank you to all of you who sent contributions in response to our appeal letter. You, dear friends, are the heart of everything we do and your generosity is the fuel that keeps the many projects of this ministry alive. Without you, Pilgrims’ Peace Center would cease to exist and the people who have no one but PPC to help them would, in some cases, be left to die. Your kindness and love mean life in so many ways.
We finally finished the office move. What a job! In a 12’ x 12’ room, we have three desks, three computers, three office chairs, two filing cabinets, one bookcase, two printers, one copy / fax machine, one typewriter on a stand, one shredder, two waste baskets, a closet full of office supplies and a “partridge in a pear tree.” It’s really crowded. We’re constantly having to scoot our chairs in so we can get past each other. But we’re making it work, cutting our administrative costs down to the bare bones.
On a shelf, in one corner of the room, stands our four-foot statue of the Blessed Mother, crowned with flowers from every PPC conference. It was a gift to us in 1988 from Father Thomas McCarthy, OSB, whose story I wrote for in Medjugorje Magazine last year. The condensed version appeared in our April 2010 Peaceletter. You may recall that Father Thomas, wracked with cancer throughout his body, not only saw Our Lady in Medjugorje, but she leaned over and wiped the tears from his cheek.
When I traveled to Rome, a couple of months later, Father Thomas insisted on giving me a blank check from his family’s trust fund with specific instructions to purchase a statue of the Blessed Mother for our family and Pilgrims’ Peace Center. A statuary manufacturer, with a shop located near the Vatican, produced the now famous statue of Our Lady of Grace that is situated in the Church of St. Elijah in Tihalijina. For many years, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims to Medjugorje went by bus to that parish to see and hear Father Jozo Zovko. As a result, that particular statue became identified with Medjugorje and is often (mistakenly) referred to as the “Our Lady of Medjugorje” image. Correct or not, it is a beautiful image. The face of which appears in some books about Medjugorje and on many religious items that come from that holy place. Father Thomas wanted me to purchase a statue identical to that one and have it shipped to us in Florida.
I found the shop quite easily and saw the statue the minute I walked through the door. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Because of Medjugorje, it has been duplicated many times already and shipped all over the world. It was a little taller than life-size – perfect for a church or a chapel – but very large for the small space we had in which to place it. Nonetheless, I was thrilled at the thought of having it.
The shop gave me the price. With shipping included, it was going to cost around $5,000. I had a signed blank check and Father Thomas wanted us to have that particular statue no matter what the cost. But in my heart of hearts, I couldn’t justify the expense. At that point in time, I thought that only our family and close friends would have the opportunity to enjoy and be inspired by that statue. I could never have imagined that, in the coming years, the Mother of God would appear to the Visionary Vicka in our home on numerous occasions, in the same place where our statue was located. Nor could I have envisioned that the same statue would become a focal point during 16 years’ worth of conferences – and counting. The shop had a smaller statue, designed by the same artist. It wasn’t identical but very similar with the same delicate features. It was made of fiberglass so it wasn’t too heavy. I was certain I could bring it home on the plane. The price, without shipping, was $500, a figure with witch I was more comfortable.
The store wrapped the statue in layers of bubble wrap from head to toes, paying particular attention to the delicate fingers of Our Lady’s outstretched hands. I came back later with my wheeled luggage carrier and we strapped her to the carrier with bungee cords. Looking more like a “mummy” than a mommy, she rolled along behind me through the streets Rome and back to our hotel. When Wednesday came, I pulled her right up to the front row at the Papal Audience to be blessed by Pope John Paul II (will be Blessed John Paul II on Divine Mercy Sunday).
All was going well until it was time to fly home. No amount of begging, pleading, and in desperation, demanding, got me anywhere when it came to carrying her onto the plane with me. She could have easily fit into one of the opened first class closets I saw. There was plenty of room. But a Communist owned and operated airline had no interest in accommodating either me or a fragile image of the Mother of God. I was finally told that if I wanted to go home, I had to make a choice – leave the statue behind or hand it over. Once in New York, they said I would be able to claim it at the special handling area at Kennedy Airport – the same place where the baggage handlers hand delivered dogs, cats, and golf clubs.
She wasn’t at the special handling area when we got to baggage claim in New York. I returned to Belt Number 9 just in time to see her tossed out of the hopper and come bouncing down the chute, banging from side to side, until she landed on the conveyor belt at the bottom right along with the luggage. I was horrified!
I wanted to unwrap her right there on the spot but there was no time. We had to go through Customs, turn our luggage back in for our final flight, take another bus to a different terminal, and catch our plane to Tampa – in 30 minutes. Our overseas flight had been late. I was so frustrated that I didn’t care who saw or heard me. After we cleared Customs, I looked heavenward, told Our Lady how sorry I was, gave the statue a gentle hug and handed her back to a baggage handler. As I was leaving, I blew a kiss and said, “Have a good flight. See you in Tampa.”
When I finally got home, Mike and I carefully unwrapped her. Her delicate fingers had been crushed – and so was I.
Coincidentally, the hands on an outdoor statue of Jesus in our home parish had recently been vandalized. The parish secretary gave me the name of a boat repair company in St. Petersburg where the statue had been restored. That seemed a bit strange to me. When Mike and I got there, I was sure we were in the wrong place.
The place was a messy, dirty, oversized garage located near an inlet. The woman who came out looked at us through squinty eyes and swirls of smoke rising above the cigarette that hung out of one side of her mouth. That long ash that fell onto her t-shirt was about the same color as the hair on her head that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a couple of months. In a short conversation, peppered with four letter words, she verified that we were in the right place.
She looked at the pulverized pieces of the fingers we kept in a Ziplock bag and told us that job was going to cost $300. $50 for material and $250 for labor, more than half of the original purchase price of the statue.
Neither Mike nor I had a good feeling about either the woman or the business. But when we walked to the car, we talked ourselves into leaving the statue there. It wasn’t any good the way it was, we reasoned, and the woman had done a good job on the statue in our parish. When I asked her where to put it, she pointed to a pile of junk and said, “Oh, just put it over there somewhere.”
As we were leaving, the woman said that she would “give a holler” when the statue was ready to be picked up.
Several weeks passed before we got a call that the statue was ready. The woman on the phone didn’t sound at all like the woman we met so I was surprised when she told me we should park in a different place from where we had pared the first time. When we arrived at the garage, we couldn’t believe our eyes. The shop was clean, organized, and ordorless! We were greeted with a warm smile by a woman who looked years younger than she did before. Her face had softened, her hair was clean and combed and her once harsh voice had been replaced by a kinder, gentler one without so much as a single bad word.
She carried the statue to us like a baby in her arms. The fingers were perfect.
After we admired her work, Mike got out the checkbook and started to write.
“Wait,” she said. “Just make it out for fifty.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Just pay me for the materials. I can’t take any payment for my labor,” she insisted.
“Why not?” I questioned.
“This is going to sound crazy,” she answered. “But there is something very special about that statue. I can’t explain it but something happened to me when I was working on it. It changed my life. I don’t know what it all means, but I know that I’ll never be the same.”
Years later, I thought about that woman and wondered what her response would be if I told her that the Mother of God had appeared to a visionary in the same place as that statue. Would she think I was crazy? She probably wouldn’t remember me or the statue, I thought. I dug out the receipt and called the business anyway. When I asked to speak to her, I was told that she no longer worked there. “She moved away a few years back,” the man said.
“Oh, did she get married or something?” I probed.
“Nah,” he said. “She started going to some Catholic Church and she got all crazy with religion. The last I heard, she was at some college studyin’ the stuff.”
Once again, Our Lady showed us that miracles happen every day and, sometimes, in the most unusual manner.
When it came time to sell our house in Clearwater, I worried about leaving the home in which Our Lady had appeared. Vicka reassured me when she said, “You shouldn’t worry about that. Our Lady is always with you. She and Jesus are always around us. If it still bothers you, just know that wherever that statue is, is where Our Lady appeared.”
Today, she stands on a high corner shelf in our compact little office and “oversees” our work. Her most important job, however, is to remind us of the real Blessed Mother who has promised to guide and direct us in everything we do if we will only strive to live her messages and keep our focus on her Son, Jesus.
God love you!
