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My name is Paola, and I've been part of the Milan-Centro community at San Giuseppe della Pace for years now. It's a wonderful group of friends—something I became especially aware of during Mass at our New Year celebration last October, at the San Giuseppe della Pace parish in Milan. What struck me was watching the "ordinary" parishioners, people without particular struggles, look at us with astonishment. They seemed amazed by our joy. During the homily, we were compared to a lighthouse—our example, the priest said, draws the whole community forward. Often, when people hear the name of our group, they ask what we do: volunteer work? Fundraising? We answer simply: "We're together. We support each other with love, in God's name and in the spirit of Christ." Nearly all of us face health challenges, but each of us does what we can for the others. We don't need much—a meal together is enough to bring us peace, to help us bear what's difficult. Come and see for yourself.
Paola Spinazzola
Faith and Light
A former classmate from my hotel school days in Potenza, Chiara Albano, sent me this poem after hearing me talk about my life here in Rome, especially my time with Faith and Light. I'm sharing it with joy because it captures my own desire to bring new friends into this community.
Faith and Light
is the dream that leads
your life to something new.
Faith like hope,
light like hope.
Hope is that essence
that never abandons you.
Faith and Light needs
one more hand,
follow it too!
Antonietta Pantone
Beautiful, All of Them
I'm standing outside the agricultural school. Maurizio is with his classmates, waiting to go in. He's always smiling, but today there's a tightness to it now and then. He's deeply moved—which fills me with both tenderness and pride, because it shows he understands how much this moment matters. We didn't take that for granted. I'm emotional too, as if I'm reliving something from years ago. Now Maurizio is walking into the school with his classmates, all of them smiling, all of them fully savoring this big transition. Tense but beautiful. Moved but alive. Worried but standing together, giving each other courage, joking around with Fabio, Maurizio's support teacher. They are all beautiful. Venditti wrote "The Night Before Exams" for a reason. I'm living through a wonderful morning of exams, and my heart is flooded: memories I won't forget, the radiant faces of Maurizio's classmates, his own emotions, one chapter closing and the unknown ahead. And now—the waiting.
Oral exams. Maurizio has studied hard these past days, right up until this morning. The oral is at noon. He's tense, but less nervous than before—maybe because it's finally here. He asks me to confirm our plans after the exam: a sports event at 6 p.m., then dinner with Faith and Light, which he cares about deeply. We arrive at school at the same moment as Sabine, who's come to see him. Waiting for us are Sara (also here for him) and Fabio, his support teacher these long and beautiful years. He seems confident enough, but when we climb the stairs, there's a surprise that nearly overwhelms him: two or three teachers and six classmates are there to cheer him on—Giorgia, Christian, Francesco, Alessandro, Valerio, and Iacopo, I think. I'm moved. I didn't expect it, though I should have—his class is full of wonderful kids. Maurizio is happy and embarrassed, doing that thing people do: smiling but looking away, eyes down. I want to hug him. After a few jokes, they let him in. He smiles his usual smile, shakes hands with everyone on the panel—immediate rapport, he's already won them over. We're waiting for one more member, and while we wait, the lovely panel asks him about his vacation plans and his favorite soccer team. When he says Roma, the president says, "You're in." Then they start talking about movies, and Maurizio—of course—breaks out his signature move and opens up completely. The final panel member arrives, and they begin. Maurizio does fantastic, all smiles, running the PowerPoint presentation, almost teasing his support teacher, engaging confidently with the panel. Then it's over, and the place erupts. Hugs, handshakes, a classmate says, "How will we manage without Mauri?" We head downstairs, and I take this photo of Maurizio with his classmates. I'm happy and heartbroken, proud and sad, satisfied and afraid of what comes next. But I know I have a remarkable son and a wonderful family. As Roberto Benigni says: "Life is beautiful!"
Paolo Catapano