A story for every day...
A touching example of the protection of Saint Joseph.
In December 1862, I was introduced on business into the parlour of the House of the Little Sisters of the Poor established in our city. While waiting for the Sister Superior, I was contemplating a statue of Saint Joseph whose fingers were broken. During the conversation, I remarked to the good Mother, who told me that she expected everything from Saint Joseph, that she was exposing herself not to receive much money, since the hands of her statue were all broken. “It’s true,” she said, “but Saint Joseph knows it well, and if he wants his fingers mended, he will know how to choose his own doctor and surgeon. It took me to heart to be the person appointed, and I said to the good Mother, Let the statue be taken to the man I appointed, and we will see how Saint Joseph will perform.” A few weeks later, they came to tell me that the statue had been refurbished. The price they asked was a little higher than I had expected, but for Saint Joseph’s sake I gladly paid for the entire repair of his statue.
Then the good Mother said to me: “We would like to put our Saint Joseph in the middle of the courtyard of our elderly, but we find him so beautiful that we fear the insults of time.” Immediately I proposed to her to have a very simple shelter built.
Little aware of what these kinds of small constructions could cost to be properly established, I proposed it to the good Mother, believing that, simply by providing her with some objects that I had at my disposal, the good old men could have adjusted them without dragging me into expenses that I could not bear. She simply replied, “But if you wanted to take care of it, our contractor would do it for us more solidly than our good old men could.”
Once again, my good Father, I am caught and I don’t want to back down. This time I did not make any diligence. The month of March was passing and I hardly thought of the shelter promised to our dear Saint Joseph. The fervor of a Holy Week stimulated me, and on Good Friday, at seven o’clock, I went to the Little Sisters with the person to whom I wanted to entrust my plan. He told me that the expense could reach 100 francs. I had said to myself: “I would gladly give 20 francs, but 100 francs!” My poor little purse could not count them soon… Once again my good will was felt in my heart and, without measuring too much the embarrassment to which I was going to subject myself by this small expense, I said to the worker: “It is for Saint Joseph, who is also the patron saint of your workshop. Do everything for the best.”
On my way to the church, I said to Saint Joseph, “You see, good Father, that it is you who are urging me to this expense; it is up to you to provide me with the means to meet it.” I felt then all joyful as after a good deed and not at all worried. Towards noon, I entered a friend’s house to whom I told, without the slightest intention of asking for her help in my little enterprise, the adventure of my morning. She answered me: “I have been planning for some days to make a small offering to Saint Joseph. If you allow it, I will contribute half of the expenses.” Tears came to my eyes at experiencing so promptly the protection and help of our beloved and powerful father Saint Joseph, and I told my friend, who knew me, incidentally, of what anxiety she relieved me of both heart and purse. She shared my joy and told me that she would have been jealous if Saint Joseph had forgotten her in this small circumstance. The small works of masonry, carpentry, roofing and painting amounted to 126 francs. Another friend also wanted to contribute, so that I had barely a third of the expenses to pay. I would not have wanted to give less; I was happy to devote my year’s savings to Saint Joseph.
Gratitude is a delicate flower of love. In Nazareth, the heart of Saint Joseph, so loving and so loved, was filled with boundless gratitude. His heart never suffered the outrages of time and Saint Joseph never fails to reward the smallest testimony of devotion.
