The following excerpt is from an article written by Nicole Santa Cruz from the Los Angeles Times:
Reporting from Tucson - For decades, the faithful say, a 1-foot-tall crucifix has been granting the wishes of people in need.
By the thousands, people have come to pray at El Señor de los Milagros -- Lord of the Miracles -- a shrine on the side of a one-story stucco home in a working-class Mexican American neighborhood in Tucson. People have come from as far away as Germany to worship at the shrine, but most visitors come from Arizona and Mexico.
The carved wood sculpture, encased in glass, has been in the Romo family for five generations, said owner Pauline Romo.
The crucifix, which made its way to Tucson from Spain, is sacred in Tucson's Catholic community. In appreciation, people have built and maintained the shrine for Romo. From the beige tile on the floor, to the decorative ironwork painted black and gold, to the black leather benches for people to sit and pray, each component of the patio-like chapel was built by people who said God answered their prayers.
Southern Arizona is dotted with shrines. Often found in front yards or on the side of the road, many consist of just a cross or statue, sometimes decorated elaborately with flowers and candles. Such shrines are part of standard Mexican Catholic practice and are usually statements of thanks, said Jim Griffith, a retired folklorist who lives in Tucson.
Romo's more elaborate shrine is the site of weekly Masses and draws thousands of yearly visitors, many of whom park in the unpaved lot next to Romo's house. The shrine, Griffith said, is a "focus point for people to come and ask for help."
Romo, 84, is something of a Tucson legend. Her family has lived in the area since 1806. The spunky auburn-haired woman served as a rodeo queen in 1947, and designed jewelry at an elegant downtown shop.
Her shrine began as a result of what she calls a personal miracle.
In the 1970s, Romo was on her lunch break downtown eating a piece of pineapple pie when she started throwing up blood. The pie was laden with ground glass -- later traced to a factory accident -- and Romo's insides were torn up. Five doctors told her she wouldn't survive.
In the hospital, Romo pleaded with her mother to give her the statue. "Give him to me," she recalled saying. "And I will show him to the world."
About 200 stitches and a plastic esophagus later, Romo opened the shrine on the side of her home.
Word of the shrine spread, and people began to visit Romo's side yard to kneel before the crucifix and pray.
Mass is said there each Thursday evening. Quinceañeras and weddings have occurred there, and Romo said she sometimes doesn't even notice.
But what she does notice are the stories of miracles people have shared with her over the years.
There was the 3-year-old girl from Mexico who was shot in the mouth and had a bullet lodged in the back of her head. Now that child is 30, with a baby of her own. Her father bricked the floor of the shine in thanks.
"Listen, who lives that gets shot in the mouth?" Romo said. "Tell me. Come on, that's a miracle."
Gesturing around the shrine in the crisp desert wind, Romo said she welcomes everyone, regardless of religious affiliation.
"I don't care how you worship him," she said.
On the left side of the shrine is a blue notebook with a black spine where people write their wishes and prayers.
In Spanish and English, people write for relief from physical ailments or anxiety, or for happiness for their family. Some wishes span multiple pages; others are simply a sentence long.
On Dec. 23, someone wrote, "Please, please, please, heal my knees."
"I don't have to prove what the Lord does," Romo said. Minutes earlier, she had visited with a woman, congratulating her in Spanish. The woman had come to the shrine in the past to ask for help as she pursued a career in nursing. On this day she told Romo that, although she had struggled with the training, she had achieved her dream.
"I see that all the time," Romo said. "Cancer cured, you name it."
One recent afternoon, the gravel crunched as Rosario Lopez's green truck approached the chapel at the end of Melwood Avenue. In dusty blue jeans, tan work boots and a light brown embroidered work shirt, Lopez, 51, went through a chain-link fence to reach the shrine.
The carpenter knelt on a black-padded bench and lowered his head in prayer. In front of him, red and white candles decorated the tile floor, along with vivid red poinsettias. For about 10 minutes, while Lopez prayed, the only sound was the chirping of birds.
Every day for about eight months, Lopez has visited the shrine after work. He's prayed for his own faith and also for his mother's health.
Coming to the chapel has inspired Lopez to become a better Catholic, he says: He now regularly attends Sunday Mass. He's also receiving religious instruction as he prepares to marry his girlfriend of 33 years.
"It really changed me," Lopez said, tears welling in his eyes after his daily prayer.
