A statue of the Blessed Mother sits in the corner of my yard in the Donelson section of Nashville, under the shade of a Rose of Sharon bush. The garden used to be called Hobo’s Garden, after our dog who used to spend time out there. It became Hobo’s Meditation Garden after he passed away in 2020.

We have a sun porch that overlooks Hobo’s Mediation Garden. It’s called (surprise!) Hobo’s Porch. It’s my favorite room in the house and where I often sit early in the morning, praying the Rosary or with my copy of Give Us This Day. I mostly try to listen. One Saturday morning, about two years ago, I heard a voice in my head say, “Go buy a statue of the Blessed Mother and place it in the corner of the yard under the Rose of Sharon.” At least that’s what I think it said.

I immediately grabbed my two daughters and said, “C’mon, we’re going to take a ride and find a statue of the Blessed Mother.” We headed east toward the Wilson County line, where we knew there was an antique shop and statuary in Mount Juliet. The store had plenty of statues, but none of Mary. It also had birdcage outside inhabited by birds that had moved in of their own accord The proprietor told us she got her statues from a guy in Kentucky. “You can’t call him, though, and order one,” she told us. “You have to go up there and hope he has one.”

For the moment, our mission was suspended.

At the time I heard the voice in my head, while sitting on Hobo’s Porch overlooking Hobo’s Meditation Garden, I was about a year into the research and writing of a book on Father Aloysius Orengo, which came out as The Apostle of Tennessee in August 2026 through Vanderbilt University Press. Fr. Orengo, an Italian Dominican missionary priest who served in Tennessee in the mid-to-late 19th century, had a great devotion to the Blessed Mother, whom he referred to as “the B.V. Mary” in letters. I believe it was him telling me to get the statue. I wasn’t sure if he meant that exact day, or at some point in the future. I was certain, however, knowing how full of energy he was, that he wanted me to physically go somewhere to get it. I have a hard time believing he or God or the saints would take the time to speak to me and suggest I buy something online. Can you imagine how anticlimactic that would be?

“Joe.”

“God, is that you?”

“Yes, I want you to go on Amazon for me.”

“Ok … Wait. What?”

After our fruitless trip to Mount Juliet, I waited for the spirit to offer further direction.

A few weeks later I had plans to meet Dr. Kristen Bradley, a professor of English and a notable scholar when it comes to St. Patrick Catholic Church in McEwen, Tennessee, for lunch in Dickson, Tennessee. The easiest way to get to Dickson from Nashville is interstate 40 West to TN-46 North, but for some reason the maps app rerouted me through Burns, Tennessee, past a curious roadside antiques shop that caught my eye.

After a great lunch with Kristen, during which it rained while we were having a conversation about it never raining on the Irish Picnic at St. Patrick’s – there’s more about that in the preface of the book – I decided to head back through Burns.

The reason for being rerouted earlier and past the antiques shop was now apparent. There it was. My statue of the Blessed Mother. Made, I was told, by a guy up in Kentucky.

Our Lady of the Garden now sits in Hobo’s Meditation Garden under the Rose of Sharon, where she’s visited by deer and squirrels and me on some mornings with my copy of Give Us This Day. When I’m out there, I’m always listening. Recently, I heard a voice suggest that I write a short piece to post online about the time I heard a voice and bought a statue of the Blessed Mother in Burns, Tennessee.