Patricia Manterola Hair

A seed

Old photos rescued from the mess that lies in the drawers where "one day I put everything in place." '80s, '84 To be precise. Recently passed maturity. What memories.

I was with my entire generation, a victim of skepticism. A generation disillusioned, now torn by dreams vanish. Maybe we were a little art institute of 'behind the times. A generation wounded by doubt. Anguish I penetrated to the very source of desire to live. All disguised as a 'silly exuberance. Anxiety that can be molded into a skeptical, cynical, unable to be touched by something beautiful. The total disappointment soul. Always happens, sooner or later, when one has faith in man. Why believe in the power triumph of truth, justice, the weak and the strong won. Love and charity, of everything 'that one believes to be good.

anguish devastating in decades.

She was miraculously healed through the years, from that seed, jealously and unconsciously, kept inside me. A seed that someone had placed gently at the source of the heart. Seed born that I had met one day many years ago. Met with a surprise almost embarrassing, as I saw guys like me, and even smaller, larger, they were happy, or just about everything. And speaking of Jesus What I thought old-fashioned, but I was happy for that meeting and I was also proud in front of the sneers of "friends" at school.

That period I have never forgotten: Do not forget the gates of death. At least those of the soul. I accepted a painful life, not life absurd. Fighting for the poor, the persecuted, for the good. I remember the years of doing "charity" with the elderly, with children, with the poor. All good things that I had made more "generous and strong", but I found myself at a certain point, desperate.

That little seed has been a hope, an open door to my desire for happiness.

A desire never vanished. The nice thing is knowing who to thank.

often with the desire to awaken the consciousness of my misery, but it is so urgent that can transform the tangible impotence in a silent cry.

This desire is not a moral. Christ is not a moral but a practical fact mysteriously, to be reckoned with and be embraced, from begging, and if its going to happen, swearing, when you feel like letting. It 's a rage that becomes a prayer. God is not flesh to give us a manual of instructions for use, has not brought peace but a sword.

annoying fact of Christianity that "values" social and moral, Christ never called by its name. I was never concerned. The Christianity of moralism "consistent" is already defeated, does not serve my happiness, the world swallows it in one gulp. There is another population of Christians is not to save their souls through exemplary conduct and ways of "respectable". I'm not in a people's "right" but miserable, sinister sinner whose heart is happy for having met him.
It is said that we might be saved but the "Road Home" is a bit 'more enlightened.

Preeten Model Japanesa

I think the source of the heart, one day Saints do not

We had been through a lot together. Shelters for months, movements, one devastating. An attempt was botched, an experiment.

that of June 2005 was the best time. The first walk, laughter together, in the light of just six years old. When he was well Simo was always happy, it seemed that the physical tortures were pearls shining with joy to show.

seemed calm after the la tempesta.

Eppure il 30 giugno la morte. Inattesa, fulminante. I disperati tentativi di rianimarlo, le mie labbra serrate alle sue, già fredde, in un impossibile volontà di soffiargli la vita.

Intravedo con gli occhi pieni di lacrime il suo viso, lo sguardo fisso sembra dirmi: -arrenditi papà, lasciami andare, lascia che si compia il mio destino.-

-Gesù non togliermelo, ti prego- ripeto per minuti interminabili.

E invece Simo và. Incontro al Destino.

Le sorelle, la mamma, tutti intorno a lui. Rimango li ad accarezzarlo per non so quanto. Vorrei sapere, vorrei capire. Vorrei riaverlo, non ho mai capito molto del "i figli vanno lasciati, accompagnati, are given, do not possess special ....", Simo is not the same thing, dick. It is not the same thing. I cry in silence and pretend. But it is a silence filled with that. It is pure desperation. E 'li I feel it. Christ is there. I do not recognize the illusion, but it's impossible. I do not give up but is not there for me despite me.

After five years I have not yet understood, but it does not matter. One day everything will be clear .

It 's a grace it had, I'm sure. I repeat periodically, not like a broken record, I know why.

' s all for a good plan but my kind of man does mean to punch, no surrenders. still.

Sometimes, I think not to resist, the heart seems to tear again. Yet I will have him to thank for. Even though I feel out of proportion, before the grace I have always felt disproportionately. The certainty of

Reunite Simo gives me a sense of tender hope. It makes me feel embraced.

My enduring, silly, anxious to know, to pretend to understand, at least it forces me to think of Christ. A deal with him Is not this a Grace? I imagine

Simo to laugh a bit 'of his dad, we will do together.

Word Rybnik Maciej Rabij

murmured

There is a constant in the lives of the great saints. Different people, of all types. With different ideas about many things. Even on opposite sides in theological disputes on fire. O of different political beliefs, methods of action, rounds of friends and fortune (or misfortune) of society. But all these different types have one thing in common. not tolerate complaining. St. Francis and St. Benedict. Like John Bosco St. Frances Cabrini, St. Bernard as Mother Teresa. Not only was people not complaining - the fetid air of the stench of Bombay or sometimes even thrive in the Church. But angry, even if their spiritual brothers and sons they began to murmur, for whatever reason. For murmured, molti santi , come pure la Bibbia, dedicano parole di fuoco. Eppure di motivi per lamentarsi ce ne sono a bizzeffe. Dentro e fuori la Chiesa. L’invito a non mormorare è un tipico consiglio pratico, non solo morale. Molto ebraico, in questo senso. Se si mormora si perde tempo, invece di cambiare le cose che si pensa non vadano bene. Insomma, un dispendio di energie inutile. Roba pratica. L’avversione al lamento, insomma, non viene da una specie di conservatorismo - moltissimi di questi santi hanno fatto parecchio sommovimento e prodotto cambiamenti e innovazioni radicali - ma da una consapevolezza che mormorare contro l’autorità è comodo, vile e inutile. Obbedire e cambiare. Due cose che sembrano inconciliabili, ma solo per chi non sa cosa è la Chiesa.

Davide Rondoni (tracce.it)

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Crisps and Matty

Carissimi, volevo ringraziarvi perchè sono venuta alla festa con un cuore  troppo preso dal fatto che mi sono  sentita un pò disorientata dalla gioia che vedevo attorno a me, mentre avevo lasciato Matty all'ospedale. Ma che differenza fa cuocere le patatine e avere Matty all'ospedale? ( Matty è un nostro piccolo amico affetto da un bel po' di problemi physical ed ) I answer: no. This answer touched me because it all is that Jesus loves me and I want him, just so I do not frustrate my wishes. Rather ask everything and more and determine why the hospital did not accept me this look good. I found a piece of Don Giussani confirms this: "God who made all calls to all those whom he prefers to make his mysterious possession of the world that we humans can also appear as confusion is not ours. For this Madonna to ask his own unarmed in front of the unpredictable availability that enters into our lives. "

Grazie ancora perchè col vostro esempio forse, a Dio piacendo, posso piano piano vivere in modo commosso questo Suo amore per me!

Nonna Lella