The Holy Mother stands silently, frozen in time, gazing softly at the Infant on her right hip. Her left hand gently gathers the soft folds of her flowing robe. She wears a crown. It is not gaudy or bejeweled. It is regal, yet understated. The Baby holds a small cluster of tiny, perfectly carved grapes in His tiny, perfectly carved fingers. His soft, tight locks hug His tiny head. His facial features are gentle and kind. He smiles sweetly, His nose and eyes no bigger than a pinhead. It is hard to imagine how the oak that I cannot drive a nail through can be fashioned with such minute precision. The statue is exquisite, delicate, and perfect. Carved from a 500-year-old oak beam salvaged from a Catholic church destroyed by war, it is the most beautiful carving I have ever seen. Each time I gaze at the holy pair I am reminded of the grizzled old man whose love found expression in that old oak beam.

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