Two months ago, with my mother’s help, my older son gifted me my grandmother’s rosary.
It felt so good to put this piece of family history around my neck. As a child, I remember admiring the light breaking through the little beads where it hung in her apartment.
I’m not used to wearing any jewelry and I made a huge mistake the first week I had it. I wore it during a soccer game, while I was playing in goal, and took plenty of shots to my chest, from players and the ball.
It wasn’t until later that night that I discovered the crucifix had been knocked off the rosary. I was distraught, but couldn’t get back to the field to search for a couple days.
It was long gone by the time I dragged the end of the field I had occupied.
A few days later, I was back at the field to play again and we received our new jerseys. There had been a mix-up and someone else’s name was printed with my number (in addition to the jersey being color-specific to my goaltending position). It was funny at first, but then I realized what I had been given. Cris is short for Cristian, the player who ended up on my jersey. At the same field where I lost a little Christ, I was gifted another.
Although an incomplete replacement, I believe God sent me this to ease my sense of guilt.
My grandmother had been kind to me, but I only knew her in her deteriorating dementia. She had been cruel to my father and left scars on our family. Perhaps this artifact of hers needed to be cleansed into its new incarnation.
I started hunting for a new crucifix. I’ve been eyeing online markets and local dealers. I’ve been keeping my heart open.
This weekend I spotted a case full of costume jewelry with an end devoted to rosaries and crucifixes. One caught my eye immediately, it was of similar size and composition to the one I had lost, but that wasn’t what had me. This cross had been separated from its rosary and still had a couple inches of chain with nearly identical beading.
My necklace and this tiny Christ were meant for each other. They now hang around my neck, separated and repaired.
The Biblical themes of separation and reunification were recently introduced to me in Jonathan Pageau’s podcast, The Symbolic World. I can’t fully articulate the symbolism of the Red Sea splitting and coming back together, but I can feel how this is the process of healing. We must be separated from the source of our pain before we can return to that source to heal.
Christ has been the source of immense healing since I became a widower. This repaired piece of jewelry will be a reminder of the promised reunification with God.