Saturday Postcard: Fragments and Reassembly

This morning, as I passed a church in my neighborhood, I came across a broken figurine resting by the small portico. The body, dressed in the attire of a well-groomed, old-fashioned gentleman in white—outfit reminiscent of the 1920s—stood on a modest pedestal engraved with the words 'Siervo de Dios.' The head, severed from the figure, was carefully placed beside it, as though the person who had left it there was caught between the dilemma of not wanting to discard a sacred image but unable to repair it. It was set down ambiguously, almost as if it were an unspoken invitation for someone else to claim it.

I couldn't stop thinking about the figurine all day. Later, as I returned home through the snowstorm that was blanketing the streets, I felt compelled to stop by the church and see if it was still there, wondering if perhaps I could repair it. It was.

I took it in my hands, walked a block with it, and placed it temporarily on a surface to see if I could find a bag to carry it; I clumsily dropped the statuette and it broke again, this time on the lower section. Then I felt it really was my obligation now to do all in my power to restore the statue.