The Painter's Brush

... I ask if she has ever read the Gospel: "No. Never opened it."

"Well, if you really want to known the Lord, why don't you start there?"  The conversation continued. Then she said to me, "You know, a few years ago, I was on the train when a priest boarded. I had on a pair of pants very tight...but nothing special.  He sat across from me, just like you are now, and we began to talk. We talked for quite some time, then, when we were arriving at the station he said, "You know, God loves you for who you are, not for what you show of yourself."

"Wow! He had some courage that priest! What did you do?"

"I thanked him. I have never forgotten those words. No one ever spoke to me like that. Then, he gave me something, which I've never removed from my wallet. Look!" She dug through her purse a it and took out a medal: It was an image of Our Lady.

After years, I "happened" to be placed here, not because of my name, but because I am hers - a Missionary, Missionary of the Immaculata. In that moment I had the clear sensation of being a simple and mysterious instrument in the hands of the Immaculata.

I smiled, how great is the love of our Mother, and how faithful to the mission our Lord has entrusted her!

There's an announcement. Paula has arrived. I help her get down her luggage, we exchange addresses, and exchange a hug. It seems like we've known each other for years, not just a few hours.

I sit back down. The train departs. My heart is, how should I say it? Melted! I hear a familiar voice, "Whoever is consecrated to the Immaculata is like a paintbrush in the hands of a painter. It is not the brush that paints, but the painter.... the brush is completely his."

I'm home! I look at my book, barely touched, and I smile again: "I knew it, Lord, that also this time you had a game of yours to play."