Standing by Their Side
I'm a mother of two healthy children, and my life hasn't been marked by particular hardship. About twenty years ago, when I was still a girl, a friend named Annette Devreux introduced me to your magazine and opened my eyes to the world of people with disabilities—a world I knew nothing about. It didn't frighten me. I was searching for answers to everything life offered me, and this was another one: a new experience. For eighteen years now I've worked at the Don Orione Institute in Milan, and I can say that God's love reveals itself every day among the residents there, and through them. I won't pretend that this work comes without struggle and suffering—being at their side, caring for them, demands everything. A kind of grace—or what I can only call gratuitous love—has to take hold, otherwise it becomes unbearable to accept and share the reality of their physical and psychological limitations. I'm writing to ask if you know of a Fede e Luce community here in Milan. I'd like to bring my own children into volunteer work at a place like yours. Could you tell me what might be appropriate for their ages?
Beatrice, 2006
There are twelve Fede e Luce communities in Milan, located at various parishes throughout the city and suburbs. For more information, you can contact the national office of Fede e Luce in Rome at 06 3235349 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or visit www.fedeeluce.it
Let's Talk About It
I renew my compliments. It's always a pleasure to read you. Why not gather into a single volume all the substantial letters you've received over the years from parents and friends? Those letters that leave you sitting in thought when you finish them. I'd also love to read something about what happens to our Fede e Luce communities as they age. As the participants grow older (not in numbers, but in years), groups tend to turn inward—becoming cliques rather than true communities. At our community, my friend Alessandra and I—perhaps provocatively—asked to dissolve the group and join smaller clusters with others. We stood alone in that idea. What emerged over the years was people's fear of losing what they had. I could see it in the eyes of friends and parents: the fear of ending a relationship built on years of shared life. But for Alessandra and me, the whole point was the opposite. To die so that new fruit might grow—to use Scripture's language. Instead, we'll die sterile.
But enough ideas. You'll just ask me to work for you anyway.
Stefano Artero, 2006
You Don't Know Who to Help First
A reader responds to our invitation
Our household now consists of me, my husband, my son Francesco—who is thirty-five and severely intellectually disabled—and my mother Ezia, who is ninety-nine years old (born January 8, 1908). We've all lived together. When my mother was younger and more active, she helped care for Francesco in a way that let me pursue my career until retirement. Francesco sees his grandmother as a permanent fixture in this house—someone who was here, is here, and always will be. For my mother, Francesco is the main reason she wants to keep living. Francesco cannot speak, but he searches for his grandmother with his eyes. My mother has lost almost all her voice, but her mind is sharp. Every day she waits eagerly and joyfully to hear him come home. Both of them need so much help now with the small and large tasks of daily life. Sometimes you don't know who to help first. When I get anxious, my mother reminds me to be patient. The situation is difficult, and I ask myself: even with love and the will to stay together, without turning them over to an institution, how much longer can we manage to give them both a life of dignity? My answer is this: yes, in recent years I have little freedom, almost no time of my own. But I have peace in my heart because I haven't caused them the deep pain of separation—of taking them away from the people and things they love most.
Elisa Sturlese, 2006
Merry Christmas!
Dear Friends of Fede e Luce,
November brings us memories of those who have died, but it also ushers in Advent—that time when we must listen, as Mary did, and welcome Jesus into our lives. Jesus always comes to us in a special way: he uses different paths and places for each of us, precisely because he loves each of us for who we are in his eyes.
Like each of you, every day I search for his presence. Sometimes with difficulty, sometimes with suffering—it feels unreachable. Sometimes with such joy in my heart because I feel cradled and held in his arms.
During this season, I think of those who experience Christmas in the horror of war, in the suffering of illness, in the inability to love—in the inability to see him in any brother or sister he places beside us, even for just a few hours. These days, my thoughts turn to building a nativity scene, as I've done since childhood. But this year, I want to be a figure in that wonderful scene too. I want to walk with each of you toward Bethlehem, where hope and faith and charity become a living, saving presence in that humble Child. My heart races with joy because in Fede e Luce it's impossible not to be part of a nativity scene that makes us all protagonists on the roads of the world every day. I don't care whether I'm a shepherd or a shoemaker or a blacksmith. What matters is feeling your hands in mine as we walk—walk for long stretches wherever he leads. Only then will we have traveled a true path of faith, waiting for the Lord Jesus.
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!
Antonio, Community of St. Joseph of Peace, Milan, 2006
Maurizio's Wedding
I woke up early, around 6 a.m., because I was anxious about the event. For me personally, nothing changes—I've been alone my whole life, without a girlfriend, and I try not to think about it. I waited for Tiziana, and together with my mother, we drove to the place. The church of St. Saba is very far away. I was dressed in blue pants, a light blue shirt, and a black jacket. When I arrived, I saw many people I recognized from different Fede e Luce communities in Rome. I looked ahead and saw the bride and groom—Maurizio Aurello, who I know because he's from my community, the Girasole, and his bride, whom I'd only seen in passing. But the important thing is that they got married, like other friends I know. I was happy, and a little sad, thinking about their honeymoon. I followed the ceremony carefully, and I liked it very much. There were songs between the sermon and the vows. Finally they came out, and people threw rice and kissed the couple.
Goodbye.
Giovanni Grossi, 2006
We thank Quintily Press for printing this issue free of charge in memory of their long friendship with Nicole Schulthes.