By Socrates Aristotle
I had finished dinner when a car stopped at the church. There were three people, one man and two women (sisters) from my parish. Something was bothering them and they wanted help. They told me their pain…
The daughter of a woman three years ago got married and divorced. He rents another house and lives alone. The mother took out all her misery. She told me more than she could tell her husband. He asked me to make prayers to save the couple. My eagerness rested her mentally, something that pressed her soul left. My guests left in a short time and I felt my priesthood very heavy.
It is not a small matter to be entrusted with the healing of wounds, when in fact the injured have never experienced the joy of faith.
To you Lord, I convey the pain of the parents and the misery of the broken spouses. Lord, help those who
they have not loved you.
From a priest's diary.