Where did all of the wheelchairs come from? The crutches? The braces? The casts and dark glasses? The tiny beds? The baby shoes?
Hundreds of them stacked and nailed to the illuminated cathedral wall. Some framed. Some sealed. Dust collecting on the higher memorabilia. Out of reach. Even for nuns.
Is it real? Is it magical? Did parents carry crippled children hundreds of miles to watch them walk again? And how did it work? Did they touch the red doors to stand on wobbly legs for the first time? Did their joints scream and moan as they stumbled forward like a deer? As they took their first awkward steps into a life of miracles.
Did you feel it? When we stood at the wall; when we wondered about our own miracles? Did you feel the nudge to open the doors?