Day 20: A Letter to Someone Who Has Changed Your Life

Dear Sir,

When I was a missionary in Verona, you happened into my life. It was pure chance, really. My beautiful companion, who really couldn't speak much Italian but smiled at everyone, met you on a bus. This was not uncommon. She seemed to have conversations with men of questionable intentions several times a day. I was continually explaining to men that we were essentially nuns, that she and I were always together and that if they tried to call her, I would inevitably answer the phone. But you were different. She told me you wanted to talk with us, and you really did. So we got off the bus at Porto Vescovo, we sat on a bench, and we talked.

We told you about God and how much he loves each of us. You told us about coming to Italy from Romania seeking a better life. You had come to Verona with a woman, but she recently took everything you owned, kicked you out and called you some not very nice things. So there you were, stuck in Verona without a friend in the city or a dime in your pocket. Our usual work was to see to the spiritual welfare of the people we met. We dealt very little in temporal needs. But without food or shelter, it's hard to worry about spiritual things. It's hard to do much of anything besides worry about surviving tomorrow. What you needed at that time was not God, though you found it interesting enough. You needed a job. None were available; this we had heard from everyone. I think you also needed someone to listen and someone to be sympathetic. You needed someone to understand that your circumstances were not entirely of your creation. And so we listened.

As we spoke, you told us of your brother in Torino, several hours away. He had a job for you, but you would have to get to Torino that week. You had a whole new life waiting, if only you could get there. And so, in the end, you asked us for train fare. It wasn't a whole lot, but it was enough that we didn't have the money on us. We explained that we're not allowed to give people money, though we would like to help. We offered to teach you more about God in the meantime, and you said you'd be happy to hear. But it was clear that what you really needed was the 23 Euros to get you to Torino. We exchanged phone numbers and parted ways. And I kept thinking.

I thought about your life and your story. I thought about Jesus and his life and his counsel. And I hoped and prayed that 23 Euros would never be the difference between hopelessness and a new life for me. I also prayed that you would somehow get the money. Unfortunately, everyone you knew was as poor as you and could barely buy food, let along loan someone 23 Euros.

Near our apartment there was a monastery where Franciscan Monks served breakfast to those in need every morning. At night the monks would lay out mattresses in front of their gates and we always passed men sleeping there, often smelling strongly of boxed wine and the need for a shower. But they had nowhere to go and no way to keep warm. As the crowd was gathering for breakfast the next morning, I looked out my window and thought I saw you in the line. I picked up our phone, watched you answer and asked you to meet us at the train station at three that afternoon. I could not bring myself to be the reason your hope slipped away. I felt it would not have been consistent with the name on my tag.

When we met at the station, I used my personal money for a ticket to Torino. All you had in the world was slung over your shoulder in a duffel bag. I doubt it took you fifteen minutes to gather your possessions and you were ready to go right then. We shook hands and you insisted that you would find a way to pay me back. I pointed to my tag and said you could always find a church with that name, and pay back whoever you found there. More than restitution, however, I hoped that someday, when your temporal needs were less, you would find that church and, knowing that those inside it were good people, be able to see to your spiritual poverty as well. I still think about you and hope that your life has changed for good.

While I can't remember your name anymore, I often think of you, particularly when I see men whose lives have not been what they hoped. I remember how much you needed someone to listen, someone to understand a little, and someone to give a little help to make such a great difference for you. More than a benefactor, you needed a friend. I hope I was and will continue to be that friend.

With regard,
Melanie