Dear Mariangela,
You asked me to write something for the 100th issue of Ombre e Luci. You wanted me to address the fundamentals of educating a disabled person so that she can develop all her gifts. It's an enormous topic, one that deserves far more space than I can give it here. So instead I'm writing you this letter, simply and from the heart, to share what I've discovered over many decades standing alongside people with disabilities and their families—thanks to the OCH (Christian Office for the Handicapped) and Fede e Luce International.
You know how much you've meant to me among all the families I've met. Your trust and your openness became an anchor for me. You bore in your own flesh the burden of a daughter profoundly disabled. In my writings and talks, your name has come back to me again and again as a point of reference. We walked together, though our callings were different.
A pilgrimage to Lourdes in 1968 gave me the chance to hear your daughter's silent cry: "Do you love me?"
For you, for Chicca, for Paolo your husband, for Nanni and Emanuele your two sons—from that moment on, a small light entered your life. Then we met again in Rome in 1974, when you agreed to give yourself to building up Fede e Luce, first in Italy, then across southern and eastern Europe.
In our different missions, our convictions have been close and have remained so. Three certainties have guided me, and they have grown deeper with time.
Every person is a sacred story
The tiny being just conceived, whatever his limits, God has willed into existence personally. He is loved by God from eternity—his parents did not create this new life. They transmitted it through a power beyond measure that God has given them.
Today, in Western countries, remarkable progress has been made so that disabled people can enjoy the same rights as other citizens: above all, the right to equal opportunity and autonomy. All rights? No. They are denied the most fundamental right of all—the right to live, without which they cannot exercise any other right. In France, 95 percent of children with Down syndrome, diagnosed in the womb, will never see the light.
At Fede e Luce, all Christians and all people of goodwill are called to the front lines to witness to the value of disabled people and their unique place in the world.
The family is the cradle of life
For parents, it is an immense trial—waiting for a child diagnosed with a disability, or welcoming a baby whose disability appears at birth.
Your vocation with Ombre e Luci—like ours—is to reach families, to restore their confidence in the treasure entrusted to them and in their child's capacity to grow, to assure them they are not alone in their mission. We must stir up a great wave of solidarity around them from the wider family and friends. Your task is also to convince doctors that this child's future rests largely in their hands, especially at two crucial moments: when they pronounce the word "prenatal diagnosis," and when, at birth, disability is discovered.
Community is an essential place of growth
If a disabled person needs a family, the family itself must feel held up by the human community in all its forms—parishes, care centers, schools, movements, workplaces. Each person, according to their calling and gifts, is asked to welcome the fragile person with love and wisdom, and to discover both the limits and the riches.
In raising and accompanying a disabled child, I would point to two fundamental things: trust and good soil.
Trust
To grow, a child needs a father and mother who show him, through gesture and word: "For us, you are not a handicapped person. You are Henry, you are Juliet, you are unique." Even when the child cannot speak, this trust is communicated through a look, a smile, a gesture, a tone of voice.
Good soil
First, the soil made by family or community. The child, the young person, needs to feel safe, at peace. This is the secret of his happiness. Unity around him is a vital necessity. Discord and conflict plunge him into anxiety and lock him inside himself.
Let me close where I should have begun—to tell you how I share in your joy and your thanksgiving for this 100th issue of Ombre e Luci. What faith and love it took from you and around you to launch this journal: a very fragile boat on the ocean. You needed so much hope to move forward against wind and tide. You were carried by the urgency of the mission, by the longing and trust of your readers, by the breath of the Holy Spirit filling your sails. Alleluia, Magnificat! Now, "Put out into the deep!"
So many disabled people, so many families and friends need you—often without even knowing it.
I embrace you with all my heart.
Marie Hélène Mathieu, 2007