During a witness for the kids of middle school, a woman whose name is Sara told us her story. When she was young, she was abandoned by her father and was left alone with her mother and two sisters. The choice of her father, obviously, provoked great pain in her and had marked her life. After getting married, she had encountered the faith: and so, after having learned that her father, now a resident of South America, was very sick, she decided to apply for a passport to reach him and welcome him into her home. In the meanwhile, the pandemic had broken out; after weeks of intensive care, her father, sick with Covid, had died but the time spent with him had allowed her to arrive at the grace of forgiveness and reconciliation.
At the end of the testimony, I realized that many of the young people of Fuenlabrada, the small city outside of Madrid where our mission is located, were shaken up. A few were crying. A third of them live the same condition of abandonment described by our friend who did not have a father. During dinner, for the first time, I saw them enlivened, even if they were full of pain: they asked Sara many questions, blew off steam, told the story of their lives and of their anger towards God. This little group surprised me: when I see them in the parish, they seem rather listless. For the first time, I saw them being protagonists and interested in life. They listened to Sara who told them that forgiveness is possible, that one can forgive even the man who, abandoning them, provoked in them an even greater pain. Up to that moment, “forgiveness” was an unknown word.
That evening, it was difficult to go to sleep. I was unable to stop thinking of the pain of those kids, a pain that I can only imagine. I do not know what it means to have divorced parents. I was not abandoned but educated by a father and a mother who love each other. Another thing also was making me restless. The title of that day together had been: Someone awaits you, the theme drawn from the parable of the merciful Father. That night I thought: “How can I say to them, ‘Someone awaits you’?. How can I speak of the beauty of returning home when their home is a hell?”. I felt clearly within me the invitation of Jesus: “Take care of them. You do it for me.” I returned with a restless thought that bounced around my head: I was probably doing too little for those kids. I could do more. I felt that the Lord was asking me to offer them my life.
The kids do not want a perfect father; they want a father who is certain.
One of the most important things that I see, staying with those who are younger, is the necessity to reawaken in them the question, that cry that so often remains drowsy or that they are too afraid to look at closely. But this is not sufficient; the cry is not enough. It is necessary that they encounter someone who takes them by the hand and accompanies them; it is as if they did not have the strength to do it alone.
Young people seek, even if at times not explicitly, someone with whom they can walk. A father who reminds them that life is worth living, that life and pain have a meaning, that one can remain unscandalized for the evil that they have within. A father who looks at them, convinced that they are made well and that they do not need to censure anything of themselves.
The kids do not want a perfect father: they are capable of forgiving but want a father who is certain. The Father of the parable, who along with forgiveness offers the son a home where he can live a relationship with Him. Young people seek the house wherein dwells that Father whom they do not yet know. And it is this -a house where one can be welcomed, forgiven, and loved- that, together with siblings and fathers, we want to offer them here in Fuenlabrada.
God asks me to be, for these young people, His face, His arms, His same heart. For this reason, I am convinced that the first and sole responsibility is to live with sanctity my love for Christ.
