Miracles, Masterpieces, and the Madonna: A Mother's Journey of Faith and Revelation

By Prof. Aban P. Kavasmaneck

About the Book

Traveling around the world has led to an awe-inspiring spiritual collection that will leave people feeling passionate to learn more. This life changing journey has led to more stories and art that should be shared.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Sep 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888125014

Book preview

PART I

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THE MIRACLE

Chapter 1

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The Miracle at Lourdes

When the Lord wants His presence revealed, He first challenges your faith. He tries your heart with hurdles, hopes, and heartaches. He fine tunes you with fire and desire till your very being bleeds and throbs in remembrance of His agony and passion on the cross, yet not anywhere close to His excruciating sacrifice for you. Your very soul cries out in pitiful weariness and weight of this burden of pain hanging around your neck like an albatross. Like Job, you cry out in the stillness of the night, when the world slumbers and you cannot, and ask, Why Lord? Why Me? Why the suffering endured by a little child – my son Zubin, so innocent and unknowing?

Then suddenly, inexplicably, the Lord manifests His presence, His love, His mercy, and His compassion in an epiphanic flash that you do not need to understand. All you need to do is trust in Him implicitly and rest your will in His; and that is the beginning of blind faith.

Thus, began my pilgrimage of faith with my youngest son Zubin, a gift from God, because he was born with an incurable skin disease and who, by his innocent vulnerability and acute suffering, transformed me from a run of the mill devout believer into an ecstatic and passionate lover of Christ and His Mother Mary.

Zubin was born with an incurable skin disease that covered his whole body with red, angry rashes and sores. When he was newborn, this rash spread over his body like a flaming rough blanket that caused a horrible itching and soreness that little Zubin bore with discomfort and tears. We tried numerous ointments and balms, but to no avail! Steadily, as he grew older, this miserable rash spread and swelled into blisters, oozing, peeling, and bleeding that attacked and covered his entire body. It was pitiful for me, as a mother, and for my husband, Percy, and our two older sons, Cyrus and Darien, to see Zubin suffer such agony. It was heartbreaking to lift him from his crib only to see blood-stained sheets glaring at us, reminding us how he had squirmed, itched and hurt all night long. Many a night, I would lay him on my chest longing to alleviate his misery and clutch him to my heart hoping and praying that this fusion of his pain and mine would somehow mitigate his suffering.

Cyrus, our oldest, who was six years older than Zubin, would often creep out of his bed at night and try to soothe Zubin’s whimpering by stroking his little hands, legs, and body.

By the time Zubin was about five and a half years old, we had tried every remedy, innumerable doctors, specialists, allergists, and pediatricians, but to no avail. Zubin, instead of getting better, got progressively worse. His whole body was by now so inflamed, infected, and encrusted that the doctors forbade us from taking him out of the house, because they warned that his exposed skin and sores could lead to severe infection and even endanger his life. We prayed day and night for a cure. I poured out my piteous prayers, supplications and pleadings to Our Lord and Mother Mary in silent, but urgent, supplication while Zubin’s wounds persisted. I bared my heart and soul in a torrent of beseeching, begging and ever renewed hope in the Lord – the Ultimate Healer.

Fortuitously, one day, my friend Eileen told us of a renowned allergist and doctor in a town outside of Charleston, West Virginia, where we were living. We were so desperate for our child’s suffering to cease, that we were ready to go to the ends of the earth for a cure. So, we took Zubin to Dr. White in Huntington. As soon as we entered his office, the doctor took one piercing look at Zubin and exclaimed: I want to tell you right now, frankly, that this is the worst case of this disease that I have ever seen! There is no cure for it, and we don’t know what causes this awful disease, and I can’t cure it!

He further added in a gentler tone, as if to take the edge out of his earlier dire pronouncement: I can try to alleviate some of the symptoms with cortisone or prednisone, but this is only a superficial and temporary treatment. It may help mitigate some of his itching, but he emphatically added, It won’t cure his condition.

His eyes were kind, but he had an air of credibility and matter-of-factness that were vital in the medical profession. My heart sank at his stark, but truthful, verdict. I swallowed a painful gulp in my throat as my stomach churned with shock at this brutal prognosis.

As I was always wont to do, I had my rosary in my hands. Instinctively, compulsively and compellingly, I clutched the rosary in a tight clasp. Then, in an inexplicably confident tone, I cried out: We will take Zubin to Lourdes!

I truly cannot explain why I blurted those words out loud, because Mother Mary’s shrine in Lourdes, France was farthest from my mind. The words leapt out of my mouth, as if the thought was embedded in my being as a part of God’s plan. Percy was as surprised as I was at this mysterious outburst, as we had never even thought of, or discussed, going to Lourdes as a possibility, because of Zubin’s extremely vulnerable and dangerous condition. But with our Lord and Mother Mary, there were no coincidences or surprises. This scenario was like a dramatic play where the director knows exactly how the plot unfolds from beginning to end and all the actors had to remember was to participate in the action. The knowledge of the past, present and future was fused in the infinite wisdom of God –The Director - and I was impelled to calmly follow His lead like a child who held his Mother’s hand and blindly obeyed Her bidding.

We solemnly left the doctor’s office – all five of us – Percy and I and our three sons, Cyrus, Darien, and little Zubin. None of us spoke a word. We were all shaken by the doctor’s frank and honest diagnosis. Zubin was whimpering and uneasy while Percy was holding him in his arms trying to soothe him. He was too little to really understand the hopelessness of the doctor’s implication. Somehow, although I had heard the awful news, my heart was calm. We were going to Lourdes, I knew, and Mother Mary was going with us. That was all that mattered.

In a couple of months, when the school year ended and the weather had improved, we set out on our pilgrimage to Lourdes. When the Lord has a plan for you, it is unbelievable how the events unfold – one image at a time in perfect harmony and beauty, like a Rembrandt painting of astounding perfection and symmetry, with every detail, feature, landscape, and figure painted with strokes of ecstatic marvel – a masterpiece to behold. Such a miraculous marvel was our trip to Lourdes in June 1988.

The plane journey from Charleston to Bordeaux was uneventful, although Zubin, as always, was squirming and uncomfortable. His skin was an open wound – bloody, oozing, and encrusted – a horrible sight to behold. However, an angel was accompanying us the whole way. We arrived at Bordeaux and rented a car to drive us to Lourdes, which was about four hours away. Within minutes, we realized we were completely lost. My French was pitiful and broken and we had heard about the wariness of the French towards foreigners, but our experience proved those stories to be absolutely untrue. As we were driving, we approached a juncture with a shopping area around a circle. There was a couple, a man and a woman, who were walking alongside the circle. Percy stopped the car, I rolled down my window, and in my broken French asked them how we could get to Lourdes, and the man at once exclaimed:

You are heading in exactly the opposite direction from Lourdes. You are totally lost and any directions I give you would be difficult to follow. But let me get into your car and I will take you to the right road which will lead you to the freeway and you will be on your way.

Oh my! I remonstrated, What about your wife?

He promptly answered, Don’t worry, I will get back to her. If you bring me back, you will be hopelessly lost again. I will walk back to her.

We could not believe that this kind gentleman would go completely out of his way to help us, but he was the angel in disguise that Mother Mary had provided us to accompany us on our way. And so, off we drove straight to Lourdes without a wrong turn or even the slightest hitch. The drive was unbelievable peaceful. The landscape was tranquil and still in its beauty and lush greenery. The road was flanked by undulating emerald, green pastures lined by graceful trees with their foliage glowing with phosphorescence that seemed to fill the air. Old farmhouses with red tiled roofs nestled among the meadows made the whole picture like a beautiful painting alive with vibrant colors, textures, and ambience. When we entered the quaint town of Lourdes itself, we realized the tiny meandering streets were a maze of dead ends and inaccessible alleys, but miraculously, we did not make a single wrong turn or go down a single blind alley. Instead, as if accompanied by an angel, we arrived at our destination – Hotel de la Grotte – where we were to spend three nights. The hotel was originally an old palace, now converted into a beautiful oasis of rest and regeneration for pilgrims visiting Our Lady of Lourdes shrine. We had a wonderful dinner of authentic French cuisine with dishes like Confit du Canard, and fish with fresh vegetables, while the chef graciously prepared Zubin’s plain stewed chicken and rice. That night as I lay in bed, I could not sleep. In the still darkness of the night, I felt Mother Mary’s presence in the room at the foot of my bed. I kept seeing her unmistakable outline, and paradoxically, my heart ached with excitement, and yet, with a peaceful yearning, I was counting the minutes for the sun to rise on our appointment with Our Lady of Lourdes.

We set out walking down the road lined with gift shops and vendors selling rosaries, holy water bottles and innumerable statues of Our Lady of Lourdes. The entrance to the shrine was awe-inspiring. Huge wrought iron gates flung open an avenue of overhanging trees forming a graceful arcade that led to a view that was breathtaking. There was a huge circle enveloped with flowers, and right in the middle, stood a towering statue of Our Lady of Lourdes – Crowned. Pilgrims surrounded Our Lady with tokens of flowers, prayers, and worship. But as soon as we approached this striking landmark, three nuns in their unmistakable habits walked towards us, pointed at us, and with an urgent authority, commanded us:

You, go there!

The insistent beckoning was unmistakable, and all of us, my husband, my three boys, and I, blindly and obediently followed. The path they pointed out was the entrance to the underground basilica where the International Mass of the Sick was held. We hurried inside this cavernous basilica that was as large as a football stadium. The sight that beheld our eyes was inexplicable in its majesty and awe. Right in the middle was a huge altar with at least one hundred priests, bishops, cardinals and religious in attendance. Innumerable rows upon rows of benches lined the entire basilica and every pew was filled with worshippers, while all the aisles and every nook and cranny were crowded with devout and patient devotees. What was truly amazing was that with all these thousands upon thousands of pilgrims gathered, there was pin drop silence. Lips moved in silent supplication, hands stretched out in yearnings and pleadings, but not a sound marred the solemn holiness and power of this celebration. What was even more amazing was that the whole gigantic basilica was drenched in the silently beseeching supplications and yet, paradoxically, from the very depths of this silence, you could feel the pulsating outpourings of all these pilgrims.

When the mass was over, we made our way out of the huge area and headed towards the baths. A gentle breeze was rustling the leaves on the trees and the sun was splashing brightly on the large square in front of the main basilica church that was built right on top of the mountain where Mother Mary had appeared to a simple peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous. The outside façade of the stone church was magnificent. A beautiful mosaic of Mother Mary adorned one side of the carved archway to the entrance of the church, and the church itself had several levels that covered the side of the mountain. We had to walk past the side of this beautiful entrance to the church and there was the grotto, naturally carved into the hollow of the mountain. Mother Mary – Our Lady of Lourdes - was nestled in the grotto. She was carved in marble – simple and unadorned. The folds of her robe were gently gathered by a girdle. A rosary hung from her hands which were joined in prayer, but what was most poignant was Her tranquil, and almost sad, face. The expression in Her eyes was so exquisitely beautiful that my heart ached with pain and joy to behold Her wistful gaze. She seemed to say: My heart holds the agony and the ecstasy of the suffering of my Son. I can feel your pain in my heart and that is why I am here. I am the Immaculate Conception!

Indeed, those were the very words Mother Mary had imparted to Bernadette when she had asked the Lady her name. The pastor of her church who was disbelieving in her story had asked Bernadette to ask the Lady her name the next time she appeared to her.

Sure enough, when Our Lady appeared to Bernadette again, the young peasant girl bravely asked the Lady,  What is your name? Our priest wants to know.

Our Lady had simply replied: I am the Immaculate Conception.

The simple peasant girl had never heard this designation nor understood what it meant. Nevertheless, she repeated to the pastor what the Lady had told her to say. The pastor, when he heard this proclamation, was so stunned because the dogma of the Immaculate Conception had been buried in the archives of the church for decades and this ignorant peasant girl could never have learned of this designation unless it was supernaturally imparted to her. After this astonishing revelation, the pastor was convinced of Bernadette’s singular blessing in being chosen as a vessel for spreading Mother Mary’s message to the world.

Our Lady’s message was simple: Come to me in prayer; pray the rosary; bathe in the healing waters; your faith will heal you.

A long line of pilgrims wound around the mountainside waiting to walk right under the grotto with Our Lady of Lourdes poised high above their heads in the stone grotto. Everyone waited patiently as the queue inched slowly around the rocky grotto. Each face gazed upwards at Mother Mary standing serene, with her glowing white robes, blue sash hanging in two folds from her waist, roses on Her feet, and under her feet, the inscription: I am the Immaculate Conception. Her momentous proclamation of Her unmistakable divinity boldly declared the undoubted veracity of Bernadette.

My unwavering gaze at Her unimaginable beauty also encompassed the sheer tranquility and ethereal gift that God had allowed us to partake. An inner locution burst in my heart as the words poured out of my lips:  How glorious is Thy Majesty, Lord; how beauteous are Thy blessings, Lord; how brilliant are your Heavens, Lord; how multiple are your stars, Lord; how high are your winds, Lord; how thunderous are your oceans, Lord; how omnipotent is your power, Lord; how bright is your sun, Oh Lord; how omniscient is your voice, Oh Lord; and how vivid are your commands, Lord; yet, how gentle is your Mercy, Lord; and how sweet is your Love!

This canticle of praise was mingled with my beseeching pleas of healing for my wounded son. The longing in my heart was unbearably poignant. At last, we were right under the feet of Mother Mary. We all touched the rugged rock underneath and even had a chance to kneel at Her feet after we had placed our petitions at the grotto itself.

It was time to proceed to the baths where a huge crowd had already gathered. Rows of benches were placed outside the baths with a separate area for women and children and a separate area for men. Hymns and rosary prayers wafted in the air as we all waited. The sick, some terminally ill, some paralyzed and on stretchers, and some in wheelchairs were all gathered in the very front because they were given the first chance to bathe in the waters. It was a heart-wrenching sight to see these excruciatingly ill pilgrims waiting, with humble hope and unfathomable faith, for a miracle.

Zubin was still too young to realize what was happening. He was restless in my arms and yet, as young as he was, he realized something urgent and important was about to happen. Our turn was next, we entered the cubicle where a couple of nuns or helpers assisted us to discreetly disrobe and an icy cold sheet was wrapped around me as I held Zubin tightly on my chest. When my feet touched the bath water, I felt a tingle of shock as the icy cold water touched my feet. I closed my eyes in deep prayer while I beheld a small statue of Our Lady of Lourdes at the foot of the bath. Then, the nuns gently slid my body under the water with Zubin laying on my chest. Zubin screamed in remonstrance as the icy waters swirled around his tiny, wounded body but for me the water was as warm as bath water.

Much later, when I read the whole miraculous story of Bernadette and Lourdes, I was struck and incredulous when I realized that when Bernadette was warned by her sister and friend not to cross the icy cold stream because of her severe asthma, Bernadette had stayed behind while her companions had gone over across the icy river to the other side to gather firewood. In the meantime, Bernadette, while waiting for them to return, saw a lady in white with a blue sash and roses on her feet in the grotto in the rocky mountain. It was Our Lady of Lourdes, of course, unbeknownst to the simple girl. But as soon as she spied her companions returning, she excitedly started to wade across the stream with impatient eagerness to tell them what she saw.

Her sister and friend shouted with alarm, Don’t put your feet in the ice-cold water – you will catch pneumonia.

But Bernadette, who had already clambered into the water, answered in amazement,

What are you talking about! This water is as warm as bath water!

Like Bernadette, my first immersion in the bathwaters of Lourdes was a searing baptism of the Holy Spirit! I emerged from the water with Zubin still clinging to my chest, tingling with the heat and fervor of this anointing that ordinary words cannot describe. It was an uncanny union with Mother Mary, like an inseparable bond of connection that charged through my very being like an everlasting current that was to electrify and illuminate my whole existence and life.

Percy and our two older sons were now walking towards us after their immersion in the baths. They were all shivering with cold. They instantly exclaimed how freezing the waters were, and the cool air blowing outside made them clutch their jackets around them.

Mom, are you not cold? The waters were frigid! They cried out.

I calmly replied, What are you talking about? For me, the water was like bath water!

Such was my intimate encounter with Mother Mary at Lourdes.

We had a schedule to keep. The Procession of the Sick was about to proceed, so we hurriedly joined the enormous crowd that had gathered to participate in this vitally important ceremony. Cardinals, bishops, priests from all over the world, and pilgrimage groups from every country carrying banners of their churches and organizations, all gathered behind the train of clergy. This solemn procession made its way in a huge loop which wound itself around the entire shrine. The cardinal was carrying the monstrance with the Eucharist, while solemnly blessing all the pilgrims who had gathered along the sides of the path as well. Percy was carrying Zubin in his arms because Zubin’s skin was so open with sores, cuts, and wounds that he could not even walk a few steps. He was wilting with exhaustion and discomfort and looked like he was going to faint.

The groups of cardinals and bishops with the Eucharist were approaching us. Now, they were passing right by us. Suddenly, as I beheld the monstrance with the Host, a blinding, brilliantly white light flashed, like the glare of a thousand suns, right into my eyes and heart. The flash was like the whole sun had replaced the Host with its intense and blinding white light. I could not fathom from where this unbelievably brilliant light was coming, but the Lord had an illuminating and miraculous plan. Zubin, by now, was literally fainting with fatigue and thirst. During the floating melodies of the ethereal music and the beatific brilliance of the illuminated Host, we had to whisk Zubin away to get him a drink and something to eat to revive his little body.

Amazingly, an unbelievable, mind boggling, and literally miraculous occurrence happened. As we were walking towards the entrance of the shrine to make our exit, my eyes fell on Zubin. Lo and behold! His whole face, hands, and legs were as smooth as satin and as soft as a baby’s skin! I was literally dumbstruck in my astonishment and amazement! Zubin’s whole body was unblemished, new, and renewed as if he never had a scratch or even a rash on it!

Percy, the boys, and I beheld this little child who was always marred and mauled like a wounded soldier and who was now whole and healed, renewed, and resuscitated! We were speechless and bemused, yet totally placid and confident in our miracle. We did not need words to express our total surrender, gratitude, and awe. The amazing spirit of healing of the Lord had entered our very souls. Zubin had been healed and our total reliance, faith, and eternal thanksgiving had been embedded forever in our very lives!

No one spoke a word because we could not! The mysterious presence of grace and mercy was filled with the magnitude and certainty of the favor of Our Lord, and Mother Mary’s immense intervention – Our Mediatrix – in this quintessential moment when divinity and humanity were fused into one.

How could you explain the very presence of Our Lord, Mother Mary, and the Holy Spirit in the very faces of pain and suffering? Yet, from the depth of agony, through sheer faith and trust in the Lord, God made His presence known. Indeed, faith could move mountains into the seas, and Our Lord had proved this by the inexplicable, instantaneous, and total healing of an innocent little child who had been in the throes of pain all his life. Now Zubin’s suffering was over, but our whole family’s journey in faith had just begun.

Percy was still holding Zubin in his arms. The boys and I walked in silence and crowds of pilgrims swarmed around us as we headed towards our hotel. The grass seemed greener, the skies shone brighter, and the air was sweeter. I was almost afraid to even breathe because I did not want to spoil or taint the tender moment when I dared to be happy. I would steal a glance at Zubin and quickly look away, hold my breath, and pray silently in my heart – pray with thanksgiving and gratitude, with the agony of an indescribable ecstasy that only Mother Mary and I could share. My excruciating love for Mother Mary was so poignant, intense, and intimate that it was as if She was fused into my very being and soul with Her heart beating in mine, Her breath coursing through my body, Her face shining in my mind, and Her sweetness embalming me with a fragrant perfume that I clung to with my very life.

That night, Zubin slept through the entire night as soundly as a child should, yet in all his five and a half years, he never could. Not a shiver or shudder moved his body and I slept soundly along with him.

Early the next morning, Cyrus, our oldest son, came up to my bed and simply announced,  Mom, this is the first time I never heard Zubin moan at night!

His face held the amazement of the faith and innocence of a young sibling who had also suffered the trauma of a baby brother’s agony.

It was morning and we had to head on for Paris, stay there overnight, and then proceed to Charleston, our home. Zubin looked soft and glowing all over. There was not a single blemish marring his entire body. It was as if the bath and, indeed, the whole experience at the Lourdes shrine, had baptized him anew. It was a rebirth – like an infant being born, perfect in every way, fresh from his mother’s womb. All of us were still spell-bound. No one dared to speak. We only savored the miraculous moment with bated breath and a solemn gratitude. I moved in a trance. At one level of consciousness, I marveled at the miracle, but at another deeper instinctive awareness, I had accepted Zubin’s miraculous healing as an unfolding scenario that the Lord had already crafted and completed. It was a paradoxical reinforcement of the knowledge that nothing was impossible with God.

Chapter 2

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The Miracle Icon

We arrived in Paris to spend the night to rest and refresh ourselves before we flew back home to Charleston. Little did we know that instead of being merely refreshed, we had all been rejuvenated, renewed, and replenished in the healing presence of our Lord. It was a miraculous rebirth, not only for Zubin, but for all of us. Our lives had been changed forever. When the Lord and Mother Mary infuse their presence and Spirit within you, in their entirety, it is as if you live, breathe, and exist entirely for them. My whole being took its very essence, meaning, and reason for living because of my intense love for Jesus and Mother Mary. I could not exist without the grace and mercy of Our Lord. I could never separate myself from the tangible sweetness, ethereal beauty, and unbearably endearing sadness of Mother Mary’s Immaculate Being.

Our hotel was right across from the Louvre and there was an upscale mall of antique art galleries outside the museum and across the street. I could not wait to visit the shops in this elegant arcade because I had only one thought in my mind, one purpose in my heart, and a firm determination in my step as we approached the gallery. I had seen pictures of icons of Mother Mary – unbelievably beautiful wooden icons with exquisite portraits of Mother Mary that drew my whole being into Her with an ecstasy that was almost painful in its intensity and yearning. My heart ached for one of those icons. I craved for an icon of Mother Mary and I could not rest till I possessed one.

We walked along the rows of shops lining the arcade, but to my utter dismay, all of them were closed! We realized it was the month of August when almost all of Paris took off for a vacation and, therefore, all the vendors closed shops for that duration. As we approached one shop, I gasped in amazement to see the entire store lined with icons of every size, color and shape – all of them incredibly beautiful, but we could only gaze and pine at all those ethereal faces of Mother Mary through the grill doors because the store was closed. I was, albeit, enthralled as I peered through the grating and looked into the eyes of a hundred faces of Virgin Mary, all gazing back at me with a soulful, heavenly grace that left me breathless. Icons in a host of colors, some brilliant and some muted, lined the walls and shelves in the most tantalizing array.

My voice trembled with the agony of not only disappointment but a tremendous sense of loss as I exclaimed, I can’t believe we have actually found exactly what we have been looking for, but now we cannot attain it!

I felt like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, who was in the middle of a vast ocean of water and yet was dying of thirst. Icons, icons everywhere, but not one icon to own and possess! I was almost in tears with this loss.

I stared wistfully at a touchingly sorrowful pose of a Madonna and Child and sighed longingly when lo and behold! Suddenly out of nowhere, or so it seemed, there appeared an old man, probably in his eighties, accompanied by a younger man who deftly unlocked the heavy grilled door and invited us in! Despite my incredulous disbelief whether my eyes were belying me, I marveled at Mother Mary’s astonishing sense of humor and determination.

Jesus had said, Ask and it shall be given to you, seek and you shall find, knock and it shall be opened to you!

Indeed, closed doors had miraculously opened at the behest of Our Lady! Through these ornately grilled doors which had been flung wide open, I walked in with Zubin cradled in Percy’s arms and Cyrus and Darien quietly in step, marveling at Mother Mary’s immense goodness and compassion. She had physically opened the doors of Her heart and let us in!

The young man, who seemed to be the owner of the store, was dressed simply and had a pleasant air about him. He bustled about re-arranging the ancient artifacts in his store while the old gentleman, who was slightly bent over and looked frail, carried on a conversation in rapid French to which the younger man listened intently. The older man, with his delicate demeanor, exuded a certain determination that sparkled in his eyes with a vigor that belied his age. The two men, it seemed, were arguing over an antique carving of a Roman, wooden head that was riddled with holes and age. Truthfully, there was nothing attractive about it and, in fact, it looked decidedly quite ugly, but the intensity of the avid discussion it was generating made me conclude it was of considerable importance.

I approached to take a closer look at the wrinkled head, when the young man suddenly turned his attention to me and inquired if he could help us. I barely understood his fluent French, yet awkwardly pointed to an icon and tried, in my broken French, to convey our desire to purchase one.

Oh, this icon is priced at fifty thousand U.S. dollars. It is excellent quality Russian art from the seventeenth century. This is a good price for this well-preserved work of art. As you can see, the faces are painted skillfully and there is a lot of gold and gilt work decorating the whole picture.

I gasped in dismay at the astonishingly high price and stammered with embarrassment,

Our price range is nowhere near that amount…

I started to explain why we were so keen on owning an icon, but the young man threw up his hands dramatically, as the French were wont to do, rolled up his eyes and stated, Ah, my English is bad, I can’t understand.

Before I could say another word, the diminutive old man interjected, Allow me to help. I can translate for you!

With visible relief, I blurted out, We really can’t afford a $50,000 icon! Our price range is much, much lower. Is there any piece in the store that is in our meager price range?

The old man gesticulated and explained our position, while the young man emphatically threw up his hands again and exclaimed in his rapid French what appeared to be grave objections. My heart was racing furiously before it seemed to sink with the dejected realization that my goal of purchasing and owning an icon was extremely slim and utterly unrealistic. Through my disappointment, I heard the old gentleman patiently and kindly explaining the young man’s objections.

The owner says that this $50,000 icon is one of the least expensive pieces in his collection. Everything else that you can see is at least double that price. Some of the magnificent icons you see around you are over $200,000 or more. They are all rare, one-of-a-kind pieces of art that you will not see anywhere else. Your price range isn’t realistic. Are you sure you want an authentic icon? You might find copies that are more in your price range.

The older man, I realized, was being excruciatingly truthful, but he had a kind and piercingly intent look in his eyes as he stared deeply in mine.

My eyes were almost brimming with tears, but through the mist of my dejection I almost compulsively blurted out, You don’t understand! My heart is set on an icon of Mother Mary, because we have just had a miracle of healing at Lourdes! I pointed out to Zubin, who was patiently perched up in Percy’s arms, and continued, You see, our son was just instantly healed at Lourdes of an incurable skin disease and we can’t leave Paris without an icon of Our Mother Mary!

My voice cracked with desperation, expressing the earnestness and intensity of my plea. I was already reliving the incredible drama of events that had transpired at Lourdes and unbeknownst to me at that moment, little did I realize that the fateful day at Lourdes when my wounded son was instantly cured by the healing intercession of Mother Mary would be my enduring and guiding light throughout my life. Percy and the boys solemnly stood at rapt attention as they listened to the recounting of our story. It was as if they were hypnotized by the sheer emotion of ecstasy on my face. I could feel my eyes glisten with an inner radiance that shone in my every word.

The young man’s eyes were locked into mine and it was as if the inner knowledge of the divine in my fervent gaze sparked an awakening epiphany in his.

As the older man was conveying the strange sequence of events, an unearthly brilliance shone in his glittering eyes and we were all spell-bound as he spoke. This was no ordinary interpreter retelling our story. This was an angel, indeed a messenger from Mother Mary, sent to do Her bidding. There was pin drop silence in the room for several seconds after the old man had finished speaking.

Kavasmanek_001.jpg

Fig. 1 Our Miracle icon – Christ the King, School of Procopius Chirin,

Moscow, Russia, 18th Century, 28 x 32

Suddenly, the young man broke the uncanny silence with a quick, almost compulsive, split-second decision, and declared, I have an icon in the back of the store that I just obtained today. I haven’t even unpacked it yet. I am not promising you it will work for you, nevertheless, let me look at it. I have been told it is a marvelous and important piece.

As rapidly as he spoke, he rushed through the back door and disappeared while we waited with bated breath for another miracle. After a good ten minutes, the owner reappeared with a bundle under his arm. He was true to his word. Indeed, this icon was carefully covered with tissue paper and then neatly wrapped in a soft brown padded paper used specially for delicate antiques and icons. Truly, the icon had not even been unwrapped. He carefully laid it on the counter and proceeded to gently remove the layers of padding. What emerged from the folds of the tissue paper was the most exquisite icon we had ever seen! It glimmered with a glow of gold that shone almost unnaturally with an inner brilliance that was stunning and magnetic. I gasped in admiration and awe at the magnificent artistry, detail, and vivid colors that leapt out to us. The central figure was Jesus regally enthroned in the most ornately decorated golden throne. The rich carving and inlay filigree work of the throne only accentuated the glorious brocaded flowing robes of Christ the King. Upon His regal head was