The Observer
I was stuck in a situation I could never imagine escaping. Everything I touched was turning to dust. Even my closest friends turned against me. Individuals whom I admired rejected me, as if I had biblical leprosy. The more I struggled to hold it together, the more my health suffered. I was eaten up by anxiety.
Its precipitating cause was the tragic accident of someone I loved. It bedridden him for years. All treatments seemed to be in vain. Despite repeated operations, complications set in. He finally reached a state of despair, wanting to be released—but death would not come. People stopped visiting, repelled by the sight of his suffering. Some even went so far as to believe that he was being punished for his past misdeeds.
I was concurring with their speculations at one point. The weight was crushing. When strength failed and hope died, a glimmer of light broke in by the faithful presence of the parish priests. They never left him. They offered pastoral ministry with kindness and embodied the love he so rightfully deserved. In them, we saw the love of Christ become tangible in human flesh. Even in our darkest hours, when all others depart, some remain steadfast.
When he was at the point of yielding to despair, we remembered a precious gift of the Church: the Holy Rosary. We had prayed it lukewarmly before, but this time we dove into its mystery—praying with fervor, hope, and complete trust. With steadfast determination, we reached a turning point. Doctors and fellow patients began speaking of miracles. Some were so moved they started attending Mass. The transformation was so profound that even skeptics were touched. We knew we had a mother praying for us.
To this day, he thrives, fit as a fiddle. What began as a season of suffering became a testimony of grace. The Rosary, once a routine prayer, became our lifeline. And through it, we discovered that healing is not always immediate, but it is always possible.
Deep