A Story of One's Hour of Distress and Redemption

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“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
A Testimony of the Saints
By: Kanaria 2448 (Canada)


I truly did not understand what this Beatitude meant until one summer’s day in June when my family and I went to the town of Assisi, the birthplace of St. Francis and St. Clare. I learned about saints from school and church but I did not believe that they could really help. Miracles, especially their miracles, I thought, are only reserved for people who had faith.

My Mom’s entire family – 7 siblings, their spouses, and their children -spent the whole of June 1994 in Italy to celebrate the 50th golden wedding anniversary of my grandparents. What was supposed to be a wonderful occasion was very sad for my own immediate family. Just as my grandparents celebrated 50 years together, my Mom and Dad ended their marriage of 22 years.

Even though my relatives were celebrating, my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces that no one, not even the Lord, I thought, could fix.
For that whole month I dreaded to think of being part of a statistic of broken families; I dared not think going home to a house without a father. I envied my friends. Their parents were still together. And others, they had a great relationship with their fathers, but I did not.

With my parents’ separation, I feared my relationship with my father would create an even greater divide between us. I was afraid my parents were going to ask me to choose where I was going to live or admit to who I loved more. How could I?

Chaos churned inside of me but I kept silent. Choosing to live and love Mom more than Dad or vice versa, they can’t possibly ask me? Could they? I was hungry for love, for understanding. I ached to know, “Why?”

Empty and lost, I was the ship swallowed whole by swollen waves, left to drown in a black hole, a void. I could not see the way out. I wanted to die.

What better place to die than in a town called Assisi?

I told my Mom I loved her and that I was going to explore the town, alone. For the last time, my eyes traced the curve of her lips, every line and wrinkle on her face, so all of it will be etched in my memory forever. At 16, I was going to walk out on life to end my pain, my suffering.

Through the alleys of Assisi, I half ran and walked in search for the place to end it all. But every time I found the place, thoughts ran through my head, “Not yet. Don’t,” a male voice whispered.

I barked back, “Why? WHY? Can’t you see I’m in pain?” I moved on past tourists, monks, place of businesses, and nuns.

The next place didn’t seem to be good enough either because the male voice repeated, “Not yet. Don’t.” This internal battle continued for a good 45 minutes until I found myself on the last place on earth I should be – on the steps of the church of St. Francis.

I froze. How could I be in a place of holiness and worship when all I wanted to do was end my life, my pain, my suffering?

I wanted to turn back and continue my search but I found myself going into the church and sitting on a pew, instead. There, I could not help but look up at several hundred year old paintings that showed different scenes in the Bible. I was in awe of its beauty.

Then I had a childhood flashback to when Mom used to read Bible stories to my brother and me at bedtime. Gradually, my pain began to recede. Slowly, the pinprick of light widened to a wingspan. Little by little my sorrow was transformed to joy, then to love. “No. Not yet. Don’t. Love. Life,” the male voice said. A good half hour must have passed as I sat alone on the pew, lost in my memories.

As I left the church, I knew I had made a decision. The months and years ahead were going to be tough but I felt I was going to be all right.

“Love. Life.” The gentle breeze whispered, bathing me in peace.

“Love. Life,” that fateful June day in 1994, the Lord - with the help of St. Francis of Assisi, who I believe was the male voice who continuously whispered to me - was there to comfort and help in my darkest hour.

Was it a miracle? Perhaps.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

“Love. Life.” If I ended my life then, all I know is what a world I would have missed.

“Love. Life.” I come before you today to testify that when you and I are faced with a situation when we feel most vulnerable and alone, know and realize that you are being embraced in the arms of Jesus’ love. For in His arms of love, there lies comfort, refuge, and peace.

Amen.

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