Quiet examples of charity
Recently I gave a modest donation to an organization. The president mailed out a questionnaire asking donors why and how we began responding to requests for help.
My first thoughts were of my parents and their quiet examples of charity. For instance, when one of our young friends got pregnant, my mother did not hesitate to organize a baby shower to help her out.
On his way home from work one day, my father met two young sailors on the street. Guessing what their next stop might be and to prevent them from going there, he invited them home to have supper with us. They became friends.
We were rather poor. One Christmas, we received a large box of food, including a turkey, from our parish. The next day our uncle, who had no children, brought us another turkey. Immediately Father said, “We have too much.”
He phoned the Salvation Army and asked them to send someone to our home to share our Christmas supper with us. They did — an alcoholic woman who looked like she was quite hungry.
During the war, my father met a Canadian spy who travelled the trains from the west coast of Canada to the east. Since he was so far from his home in B.C., this man, whom we got to know as Uncle Pearson, spent several evenings with our family.
My mother never began a project without first crossing herself silently to ask God’s blessing on the food she put into the oven or the item she was sewing for us children. In the evening, as we passed our parents’ bedroom, we invariably saw them kneeling, one on each side of the bed, reciting their night prayers together.
We also prayed the rosary as a family after supper, while listening to the Archbishop of Montreal praying it on the radio. Mind you, that was also when we children got the giggles, but we just continued praying, without being chastised.
Our parents brought us to Mass each Sunday. On the occasional Sunday afternoon, we took the streetcar downtown to a poor parish for Sunday benediction. (We never owned a car.)
This was a pleasant outing. At the tram terminus mid-way, where we changed streetcars, there was a Jewish bakery where we were treated to a delicious fresh egg-loaf bread. We led a normal family life, and church was an integral part of it.
Later, when I began working, I met a gal in the office who was treated like Cinderella in her home. During the weekend, she had to do all the household tasks, clean house, do the laundry, etc. She would be exhausted when she arrived at work on Monday mornings. I decided to invite her home with me for a weekend to give her a break. She had fun with us, and she gained five pounds.
Her father was Anglican. Later, I was invited to be the Catholic witness for her marriage to a Catholic man.
In reply to the questionnaire from the organization mentioned above, I stated that even though I lived with poverty and illness, the example of my parents’ giving inspired me. Now, as an adult, I cannot not give if I am able to do so. It is a natural part of life.
[image: The Angelus by Jean-Francois Millet (1859). Wikiart.]
