Chapter 15
The Infant's Peace
Angela visits Saint Joseph's again, seeing the Infant Jesus statue in its place. It seems warmer now, its outstretched arms radiating a gentle peace. Angela carries the lesson in her heart.
Angela’s boots crunched on the icy pavement, each step a small explosion of sound in the hushed quiet of the morning. The wind, though no longer a furious beast, still nipped at her cheeks and tugged at her shawl. It was a different kind of cold now, a clean, crisp chill that promised sunshine. She clutched her worn rosary beads, their smooth plastic cool against her fingers, and walked towards Saint Joseph’s. It wasn’t a pilgrimage, not exactly. It was more of a visit. A check-up.
The heavy oak door creaked open with a familiar groan, and Angela slipped inside, the scent of old incense and damp stone enveloping her like a comforting hug. The church was dim, shafts of pale sunlight struggling to pierce the stained-glass windows, painting muted patterns on the flagstone floor. She tiptoed towards the side altar, her heart thudding a nervous rhythm against her ribs. There, nestled amongst the flickering votive candles, was the empty space where the Infant Jesus had once sat. Her breath hitched. But then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Him.
He was back on the altar, in His rightful place. The little statue, no bigger than her two hands clasped together, was exactly as she remembered him. His tiny arms were outstretched, as if reaching for a hug, and the white swaddling cloth, still draped over His little backside, looked impossibly soft. He was partially naked, of course, a fact that had troubled Angela before, but now, seeing Him there, bathed in the gentle glow of the candles, He seemed… content. More than content. Peaceful.
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