I discovered Ombre e Luci only recently, though I have known the Fede e Luce association for many years and share the spirit and founding principles that define its essence. I have always been moved by the plight of the most vulnerable and defenseless. Over time, I have come to a firm conviction: they have the right to complete respect as whole persons, and the right to love, always.
The thought that anyone might regard the most fragile members of society as a burden—to their families, to the community—troubles me deeply. When I was invited to write for this magazine, I accepted with gratitude. I felt the need to share an experience I lived through in Mexico last August: there, I touched with my own hands the true meaning of welcoming the vulnerable and of love.
I belong to Setem-Italia (Servizio Terzo Mondo—Third World Service), an Italian nonprofit. Our primary aim is to promote and form the human and Christian person, working especially with children in underdeveloped countries. Our hope: that when they grow into adults, they will have the tools to live their own lives not as passive objects swept along by poverty, marginalization, and exploitation, but as subjects capable of building their own futures with dignity and autonomy.
Every year during my summer holiday, I travel to countries where the association supports projects. I go to understand the local reality, to verify how aid is being used, and to identify urgent needs. This past August, I went to Mexico City with Mario C., another Setem volunteer, to learn about the Hogares Calasanz—"hogares" means "homes" in Spanish. These are group homes for street children. Children who have known only violence, abandonment, fear, desperation, abuse. Children who have never experienced what it means to be loved. The mission of the Hogares is to help these boys and girls rebuild their personalities, to fill the emotional void they carry by placing them in an environment that, in size and structure, is a true family. There, they can experience and learn the meaning of love, sharing, brotherhood, self-respect, respect for others, and responsibility.
In House 2 of Mexico City lives Luis Angel. Before we met him, Father Reyes, who directs the homes, prepared us by telling us the boy's story and his current condition. Months earlier, a terrible bicycle accident had shattered Luis Angel's life and shaken the entire house. As Father Reyes spoke about the child, I understood that he was about to introduce us to the person he loved most in the world. Even now, writing this, I feel that weight again.
Luis Angel's room smelled of disinfectant. Though it was organized like a modern hospital ward, it was warm and child-sized. In the bed lay two large dark eyes that lit up the moment Father Reyes entered. He spoke to the boy as if he were still the same child as before, but he touched him with a particular tenderness, knowing that not all words carried meaning for Luis Angel anymore. The boy answered with his eyes, trying to make a sound, trying to squeeze his hand. The head trauma had been devastating. The neurosurgeons had done what they could, but there was little more they could do.
I left the room with my heart grown small, and I asked Father Reyes if he had ever considered placing Luis Angel in a public facility. The logistical challenges were immense, and resources were scarce. (The children are officially placed in the home by the juvenile court, but the state provides no subsidy—not for the children, not for the house. Even basic operations are a struggle.)
He did not answer right away. He looked me straight in the eye, as if my question needed no response. Then he said: "How can you abandon your weakest, most defenseless child? He needs to be in a family. He needs to feel our love. Only then is there hope for any recovery. And besides, the other children here need him too: he is still Luis Angel. Impossible financial difficulties? Yes, many. The costs are enormous—we pay two people for round-the-clock care, a nurse, a physical therapist, doctors, medicines. But I cannot and will not surrender. I trust in Divine Providence and in those who are His hands on earth." My eyes filled with tears. Father Reyes smiled and embraced me. All I could say was "thank you."
Anna Maria A., 2011