Tonight, just before dark, I buried St. Joseph. Twice. And I'm not even religious.
* * *
My mom was a caretaker for a well-to-do couple until they recently decided to move eight hours north to be closer to their children. In lieu of waiting for their two (yes, two) houses to sell, they put them on the market, packed up their belongings and schlepped their way north, leaving the burden of selling the houses to their realtor. Eight months and handful of meager offers later, the houses are still unoccupied.
* * *
So tonight, there we were, digging holes in front of these houses to bury little plastic St. Joseph figurines and reading from prayer cards. I couldn't help but laugh because I am really not superstitious, especially when it comes to Catholic superstitions. But who am I judge these people who are counting on some buried plastic man to help sell their homes? After all, I would hope people wouldn't judge me because I am counting on some fabled perfect man to sweep me off my feet.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
O.M.G. It's time to get you out of rural SW Florida. They're stealing your soul. One plastic man at a time.
I've actually heard of this before! (But, um, I'm Catholic, so I guess that's not surprising.)
Were they actually there to bury the statues or did they just have you and your mom do it? Because I think you have to be there praying for it yourself for it to work :)-
Post a Comment