There are saints among us. The first time I ran into one was the day I was born. He was my father. The childhood I remember, the young adulthood I experienced were formed by a man whose life was defined by family and faith.
A man of deep religious integrity, the church charted the course of my father’s life. It gave him a road map by which to live, the courage to face adversity, and the comfort of belonging. The church was the anchor that kept his family on course.
My father not only practiced his faith; he lived it. Begging him to read my favorite story over and over the way children do, he did so without hesitation. I learned patience. When a neighbor used a derogatory term to describe a person of different ethnic origin, my father was appalled. That day I learned tolerance. And every Sunday when my father placed his donation into the collection basket, I learned generosity.
The small things I remember loom large in my storehouse of memories dedicated to my father. I pull them out at will; then put them back again. They give me comfort and make me smile. They are enduring monuments to his character, and they tell a story of a life that made a lasting difference in mine.
There are people in our lives that touch us in significant ways. They inspire, teach, and help us forge our own paths. They give us hope; they share our joys. They let us know when we go astray, and pull us back from the edge. They are teachers, doctors, factory workers, and family. They live on the street, or right next door. They are everywhere. They are the saints among us.
Alice Barbera
