He looked up at me, his eyes tired, and said, “I don’t ask for much. Just a little hope.”
The memory of the widowed mother was fresh in my mind, so
I decided to do for him what I’d done for her.
I recited Father Domenico’s prayer.
Weeks later, during a morning mass, a man walked into the
church.
I almost didn’t recognize him.
His clothes were clean, his face shaven, and his posture
straight.
He approached me with a smile and said, “Father, you won’t
believe what happened. An old friend I hadn’t seen in years
recognized me on the street. He offered me work, a place to
stay, and a way to start over.”
Tears welled in his eyes as he said, “I thought my life was
over. But now, it feels like it’s just beginning.”
But even then, the miracles didn’t stop.
There was the man with the broken back. He came to me one
evening after the service, dragging his leg behind him as he
walked.
He told me his story—how an accident had left him in
constant pain, unable to walk without a limp.
“Father,” he said, “the doctors tell me this is permanent.
But all I want is to live without pain, to run like I used to.”
His determination struck a chord in me.
So, I placed my hands on his shoulders and recited Father Domenico’s prayer.