It has been such a long time since I have written anything on this blog.
It's a long story and I don't want to bore you with the details.
I would, however, like to share with you a story. It it something that has made a huge impact on me. I am sure it will impact you too.
Many years ago I met a lovely Catholic Arabic family in England. They very kindly invited me to their home for dinner one evening.
The food was absolutely delicious and I had a thoroughly enjoyable evening learning some Arabic phrases (which I still remember) and hearing of their experiences as Catholics who had grown up and lived surrounded by a somewhat hostile Muslim culture.
These people were warm hearted, had a deep tried and tested faith and were as tough as boot nails.
Towards the end of the evening they shared a story with me. It was the anniversary of the death of a 7 year old boy who had died in the house I was visiting. His mother told me the story.
Her son had been diagnosed with a brain tumour. They and the rest of the family had prayed desperately for his healing. One day, as they were driving on a motorway, the boy exclaimed
"Mummy, Mummy! I can see Our Lady. She is travelling in the sky!"
The parents decided that it was a sign. They were going to take the boy to Lourdes and seek a cure in the sacred waters there.
They went to Lourdes. They had a beautiful pilgrimage. But...the boy was not cured.
They returned to England feeling very sad and disappointed but they continued to pray for a miracle.
As the cancer progressed the boy lost the ability to speak and to walk. One day he was laying on the sofa staring intently at the corner of the room.
He mother said "Son, what is it? Can you seen something?
He nodded.
"Is it something bad?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Is it good?"
He nodded very slowly, still staring at the corner of the room.
"Is it Our Lady?" she pressed him
He shook his head.
"An angel?"
Again he shook his head.
"Well, is it Jesus?"
This time he smiled gently and nodded. He was seeing Jesus.
Yet, the boy was not cured. He got worse.
One evening just before 6pm the boy was being cradled in his mother's arms as a district Palliative care nurse was checking on his vitals.
As the clock struck 6pm the boy let out his last breath. Just at that moment his mother cried out in grief saying
"Please God, I beg you. Please, please don't take my son!"
Suddenly the boy took in a sharp breath and started breathing again. His mother cradled him, kissing his forehead through tears.
The nurse sat next to her and, gently putting her hand on the mother's shoulder said
"You have to let him go. He won't go unless you let him. Let him go to be at peace."
The mother, sobbing, turned to her son and said
"Son, go to God and be at peace"
Then the boy let out a very long, gentle breath and died.
Even after all these years whenever I recount this story it brings me to tears.
I am ashamed to say that I don't remember his name. But I do remember his story.
There is so much that we can draw from this. One could be that God does answer our prayers, even if the answer is no. Another is the power of faith in the family.
For me there is something else.
Even though I never met that boy and I don't remember his name, his short life has made a big impact on me. He never became a famous footballer or actor. He did not create a multi million pound company. He was never a King or a President.
He was a relatively unknown little lad who died aged 7.
But his faith, his suffering and his death have left an inspiring legacy. Perhaps this why God, who is truly mysterious, did not permit him to be healed. That in dying as he did he would inspire others to live as they should.
Many people rightly honour those who are killed for the Faith. But I believe that there are other forms of 'Martyrdom'. There are those who witness to the power of the Catholic Faith through illness, pain and suffering patiently borne.
His simple faith and his beautiful death teach us to imitate him. Remembering his story has certainly sustained me in my faith and has given me much hope, especially in the dark times.
I believe that he will continue to inspire others.
So...
Little lad, I am sorry that I cannot remember your name. Please forgive me. But I have never forgotten you and your story.
I ask you that you pray for me to Our Lord that, when I come to breathe forth my soul I may breathe it forth in peace like you did.
I hope that, on that day, I will finally meet you and thank you for your witness and the way you have inspired me.
Then together, filled with wonder and joy, we will fall down in adoration, praise and love at the feet of the One who loves us.
God bless
