My paternal grandmother, Altagracia (in English: High Grace) is my real-life saint! According to my childhood memories, she was the perfect example of how to be Catholic. I can never think of her without invoking memories of her kneeling more hours in a day than standing with rosary in hand infront of the makeshift altar in a corner of her bedroom, softly whispering Hail Mary's and Our Father's in a spiritual chant every single day several times throughout the day along with a constant litany of prayers well into the night. I would fall asleep to her whispered prayers. She has a ceramic Sacred Heart of Jesus hanging in the hallway and I have never in my life seen her walk past it without kissing the tips of her fingers and then touching them to His exposed heart with tender reverence, her head slightly bowed. When I left the Catholic Church and went through a self-proclaimed "atheist" spell I know it was her prayers that kept me safe and alive through all the trouble I would into and eventually her fervent and constant prayers had a hand in bringing me back to my Church after 20+ years (think St. Monica!). She always turned the other cheek, she always called for peace among squabbling family members, and she shared food and clothing with neighbors in need. To this day, at the age of 85, my grandmother still prays the rosary several times a day (only now she sits on the sofa as kneeling causes her too much pain). Even now I call her on the phone and ask for her prayers when I want special attention devoted to a particular intention. I am convinced she has a direct prayer line to God. In all my life I have never met anyone besides my grandmother who actually does pray without ceasing. I am comforted by the assurance that even when my beloved saintly grandmother goes home to our Heavenly Father she will still be praying without ceasing in Heaven and hearing all my prayers intentions!

My parents were the saints in my life. My mother worked part-time
outside the home, raised the three of us, cared for my father who
was an invalid, baked for the church (her breads, rolls, and ponchkas
were sold before they reached the sale table), and never complained.
She was very creative--could make a costume for us out of nothing,
made some of our clothes, could bake anything, made porch
furniture out of scraps when she couldn't afford to buy any, and
never complained. She also found time to be sociable--belonged to
church groups, two card groups, etc. etc. My father had been quite
athletic, but was confined to a wheelchair with Mutliple sclerosis; he
had part-time accounting jobs at home (he had been an accountant
at a large Food Company), but was frustrated by not being able to
support us as he wished. He helped all of us with homework, and
by prayer. We had the best saints to follow. All of us are now
active in the church, and are looking forward to meeting our parents again some day.

My parents were the saints in my life. My mother worked part-time
outside the home, raised the three of us, cared for my father who
was an invalid, baked for the church (her breads, rolls, and ponchkas
were sold before they reached the sale table), and never complained.
She was very creative--could make a costume for us out of nothing,
made some of our clothes, could bake anything, made porch
furniture out of scraps when she couldn't afford to buy any, and
never complained. She also found time to be sociable--belonged to
church groups, two card groups, etc. etc. My father had been quite
athletic, but was confined to a wheelchair with Mutliple sclerosis; he
had part-time accounting jobs at home (he had been an accountant
at a large Food Company), but was frustrated by not being able to
support us as he wished. He helped all of us with homework, and
by prayer. We had the best saints to follow. All of us are now
active in the church, and are looking forward to meeting our parents again some day.

My parents were the saints in my life. My mother worked part-time
outside the home, raised the three of us, cared for my father who
was an invalid, baked for the church (her breads, rolls, and ponchkas
were sold before they reached the sale table), and never complained.
She was very creative--could make a costume for us out of nothing,
made some of our clothes, could bake anything, made porch
furniture out of scraps when she couldn't afford to buy any, and
never complained. She also found time to be sociable--belonged to
church groups, two card groups, etc. etc. My father had been quite
athletic, but was confined to a wheelchair with Mutliple sclerosis; he
had part-time accounting jobs at home (he had been an accountant
at a large Food Company), but was frustrated by not being able to
support us as he wished. He helped all of us with homework, and
by prayer. We had the best saints to follow. All of us are now
active in the church, and are looking forward to meeting our parents again some day.

The Saints in my life are those who went before me, the church's saints and people who have lived a good Christian life and who had made an impact on my life for the better.

I don't know if he was a saint but at times my father acted according to the gospel, even though he never read it. A common laborer, he was working with an Afro-American man in the 1940s. They were breaking concrete with sledge hammers. Every once in a while the two of them would break for water. My father said he could not keep up the pace of the Afro-American man who was strong and a hard workler. The boss would occasionally drive by the job site in his limo and on several occasions he viewed the Afro-American man drinking water. The boss ordered the foreman to fire him because he took too many breaks. My father who had no status or authority went to the boss, and told him he was making a mistake. The Afro-American was the best man he had. My father would not know what social justice or advocacy was. While he might not have been a saint, he had flashes of holiness. Now these flashes were common in my family.

It is sad seeing, knowing Catholic have not learn reading the signs of the time.

The great majority of Catholic have never read the Bible. They do not have a Bible in their home.

And sad as it may be, those born after the 50's, second vetican Counsil never heard of Fatima, of the Rosary.

The meaning of the mass?

Where are the are the apostles of Jesus Christ? Why we do not see them?

The answer is in the Rosary.

Why is the world the way it is now?

The answer is in the Rosary.

GEORGE