An Image of God

By Catholic Home Magazine   |   5 November 2025

This story by Frances Grey first appeared in Catholic Home magazine (Winter 2025) with illustrations by David Lloyd. Catholic Home Magazine is a joint initiative of the Catholic laity and clergy to form the imagination and intellect in Christian culture at all ages, with endless resources for children to grow and thrive as Catholics adults. Catholic Home is available to buy in the USA and Canada, in the UK and in Ireland & the EU.

13 April is the feast day of Saint Margaret of Castello—I know this because my mother tries to read us the saint of the day, every day. This day’s saint story was very interesting for several reasons but most of all because my mother started crying in the middle of it and could not finish.

Margaret of Castello was an Italian saint born in 1287. Her father was a rich, powerful, and handsome king. He was eagerly awaiting the birth of his first child and was convinced that it would be a boy and heir to his small but mighty kingdom. All the kingdom was preparing for the baby’s birth—fantastic feasts, parties, and rejoicing were planned.

However, when little Margaret was born there was utter silence — no trumpets blared, no big party broke out, no one rejoiced. Margaret was a big disappointment — not only was she not a boy, but she was blind, hunchbacked, and a dwarf with mismatched legs. Margaret’s proud parents were disgusted that they should have such a child. They handed the baby over to a maid saying they didn’t care what happened to her but that the maid was to keep the “freak” out of their sight. The priest of the castle insisted the baby be baptised and she was named Margaret. She grew up in the castle hidden out of sight—hobbling on her mismatched legs in the back corridors. Margaret was, however, very intelligent and lively. The priest and maid were able to teach her catechism, prayers, and that God loved her very much.

One day, when Margaret was about six, some of her parents’ fancy friends came across Margaret in one of the back corridors. They were very curious about this intelligent, engaging, and chatty little girl. Margaret, however, was quickly whisked away from the curious guests. Upon hearing of this meeting, Margaret’s father was furious and had her imprisoned in an isolated room in a chapel in a forest away from the castle.

Again — silence — no one dared to stand up for Margaret, locked away and so little. No one, except the priest. He was very angry at the injustice and harshly rebuked the king until the king told him to be quiet or he would lose his tongue. What a terrible father!

The brave priest then went to Margaret and comforted her as best he could. “Margaret,” he said, “You do have a mother and father that love you very much. You have a loving family—the Holy Family. They are always with you and see all that is happening to you. Your name, Margaret, means pearl and you are a pearl of great price.” And then the priest told Margaret all that Jesus had suffered so that she should be assured that God really did love her and that one day she might join Him in heaven.

The priest also reminded Margaret that every child born into the world is created to know, love, and serve God. And that to love God with all our heart, we don’t need a perfect body — or even a perfect family. What a great priest!

Later, the priest, the Mass, and even the sacraments were denied to Margaret as she was moved and locked up in a castle dungeon for about 9 years. Then, when she was about 19 years old, she was abandoned in the streets of a large city by her parents. A blind, hunchbacked, limping dwarf — alone and abandoned after almost 14 years spent in a solitary cell — now had to find her own way in the world. And Margaret did find her way and became a saint.

When her incorrupt body was examined by the church, three little pearls were found in her heart. On these three little pearls were found images of each of the persons of the Holy Family — Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I thought this story was so beautiful, especially the three pearls in Margaret’s heart and the brave nameless priest. But this was not why my mother was crying. As it happens, she was going to have a baby and had just found out that the baby would be born deformed, very sick, and would not live for very long. I felt so sorry for my little brother—he would never be able to play or talk or laugh with us. I thought that it was so unfair that his body would be so broken. His life would be this intense suffering. My mother said God is worth any price and that these sufferings would be my brother’s price to pay. My parents encouraged us to pray for a miracle but that God’s Will be done.

It was 2020, the start of what became known as “the pandemic,” and our Aunt Sophie came to stay with us as the airline where she worked had all but shut down. Sophie had not been with us for very long when my brother was born. I am a lot bigger now — I was eight at the time — so I was napping with my mother and my yellow blankie. My mother woke me and said sharply, “Go get Sophie!” I called Aunt Sophie and sat at the side of the bed with my mother. Sophie helped my mother and suddenly there was a little baby. Sophie told me to open my blankie and she put my brother in my arms.

I am so sorry and ashamed to say this, but I was rather surprised—he was so ugly! But I remembered Margaret of Castello and silently prayed to her that I would be able to show him that I loved him anyway. Aunt Sophie was helping my mother lie down. My brother was very frail—I could see he was struggling—and I knew the task fell to me: I took some water and while pouring a little on my brother’s forehead said, “I baptise thee, John, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” I knew now that he was a child of God with a beautiful soul and could go to heaven.

It was funny—everything happened so quickly and quietly—it seemed like a dream. My mother took John in her arms. He was such a good baby, my mother said later—he would hardly kick her, and, at his birth, there was hardly any pain. And he was a very obedient little boy: “Hello John,” my mother said, “Open your eyes, little boy.” And he did! He looked at mommy and she looked at him and it was so quiet and still—except for John’s funny breathing. Then daddy came into the room and knelt beside mommy and John. Then John closed his eyes and never opened them again. John had died.

The ambulance came and took my mother and John to the hospital. With the pandemic going on, we had a very small funeral for John — just our family, Auntie Sophie, and our priest. Father was very nice and said that John would be closer to us now than if he were alive and that my parents had successfully sent a soul to heaven but that it was not without pain — the price to pay.

Saint Margaret of Castello — please pray for us — help us to be blind to the things of the world, raise our hearts and minds to God, and pay the price, no matter what, to be happy with God forever in heaven.

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