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Growing up in the 1960s, my favorite television show was "I Love Lucy." She made me laugh and I could relate to her.

A while ago, my parents left their home of 51 years on Long Island to live in an independent-living senior apartment building. Outside each apartment is a small corner shelf for residents to decorate. With the holidays approaching, the small corner shelves and the building lobby areas were beautifully decorated with Christmas trees, wreaths, Santa and all his helpers, Jewish Stars of David and menorahs.

Walking throughout the hallways, my mom frequently whispered, "In all these decorations, there aren't any signs of the birth of Jesus." To avoid offending her new neighbors, she kept her comments quiet and put a candy dish on her corner shelf.

Just before Christmas, my husband Mike and I dropped my parents off at their apartment after going to Mass and out for breakfast. By this time, Mike was familiar with Mom's "no signs of Jesus" whispers.

My Lucy tendencies surfaced. We decided to go shopping for nativity sets - one for the main lobby and another for my parents' floor lobby. We found two beautiful ceramic sets and headed back to the senior apartments. Mike pulled the car up to the front entrance and I unpacked the figures as little white Styrofoam pieces scattered everywhere.

I took off my coat, laid it flat on my lap, and placed two Marys, two Josephs and the rest gently inside. I wrapped up my coat and ran into the building.

In the main lobby, I respectfully moved a few reindeer and placed one nativity set adjacent to a menorah. I took the elevator up to my parents' floor, repositioned a few elves and set up the second nativity across from a blue Star of David.

After leaving the building, I jumped in the car to go home, pleased as punch that our secret caper had gone off without a hitch - or so I thought.

That night, my mom called, utterly joyful. She said, "You are not going to believe this! There is a lovely nativity set on the table by my elevator and another in the main lobby!"

"Oh! That's great, Mom," I said, feigning surprise.

The following night, I invited them over for dinner. Looking incredulous, Mom said, "You know that nativity set in our lobby? They took it down, packed it up and are questioning the floor residents about who put it there without asking permission!"

I quickly turned away and stirred the sauce on the stove, like wide-eyed Lucy.

Most Catholics are private about sharing their beliefs. Their faith is expressed with actions more frequently than words. And that is exactly what happened on my parents' floor.

Remember those small corner shelves, decorated with everything but signs of the birth of Jesus? Each day following my Lucy escapade, snowmen, elves and candy dishes were replaced with nativity sets in all sizes, colors and varieties. Walking down the hallway, I felt the presence of Our Lord, smiling.

I finally came clean and told my parents the truth. But then I blamed the whole thing on Ricky.

(Mrs. Bonanno lives in Colonie and attends St. Mary's parish in Albany.)[[In-content Ad]]

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