“Beg the Harvest Master to send out laborers to gather his harvest…” (Matthew 9:38).

How I longed to answer that appeal with one of my children!

During my third pregnancy, I was very sick; and during a period of hospitalization in my seventh month, I knew there was a chance I would lose the baby.  I remember praying, desperately, that God would allow me to have that child.  The following months were difficult ones, when I begged Jesus to let our baby be born healthy.  If so, I bargained, I would name the infant after Him and would lead that child toward the life of a religious.  I continued that prayer, fervently, until the baby’s birth.  It was an extremely hard delivery and our son was placed in an incubator for twenty-four hours, until his life was out of danger.  He looked healthy and certainly was a good baby….too good.  He never cried or fussed as our other children had.  I resumed my prayer for Christopher (Christ-bearer) that Jesus would make sure he was normal and healthy so that he could grow up to be a priest.

My prayer was soon to change, as I was asked to accept the fact that Chris was brain damaged, partially deaf, mentally retarded. It was hard to accept, and as I stumbled and groped through his early years, I begged for God’s guidance.  When he was seven years old, we decided it best to send him away to a private school where the Sisters gave him the warmth and love he had had at home, as well as discipline and special education.  Since the school was three hundred miles from home, we only managed monthly visits. Chris spent many lonely weekends without visitors but he learned to accept it.  We noticed he was growing into a sensitive boy, not only toward his own feelings, but to those of others.  When he had progressed as much as possible at that school, he was transferred to another one, where he spent his early teens.  There he was taught by the nuns to accept himself, to laugh at his mistakes, to be kind to others, and to try to be socially acceptable.  When he was fifteen years old, Chris graduated.

We brought him home the following day and we were all overjoyed to have our family complete again.  He enthusiastically went about doing the chores we assigned him and joked and teased with his brothers and sisters.  After a few weeks of happiness, we noticed questions arising that were hard to answer….Chris wanted a driver’s license, Chris wanted to go on dates as his brothers did, Chris wanted to get a job where he could get “lots of money.”  As parents, we entered into an awesome period.

As we try to help him face the tremendous challenges life presents to him, I have been thinking back to my original prayer for him; when I longed for a son who would bring God’s love to others.  I am beginning to see that my prayers were answered with more emphasis than I could have ever hoped for.  In His mysterious way, He gave our son just such a mission.

Loneliness?  Chris walks his lonely road, simply accepting God’s will.  Forgiveness?  He good-naturedly forgives the unkindness and impatience of others towards him.  Charity?  He rushes, however clumsily, to the aid of anyone in need.  Love?  He is always the first to extend his hand in friendship, and is anxious to share with others whatever he can.  Prayerful?  He is surely the loudest singer of God’s praises at Mass, even though he’s out of tune, and his prayerful responses are very sincerely shouted, though hard to understand.  He writes, in his childish way, to all the friends and relatives he knows, always reminding them, “I pray for you”, and he does.  Compassionate?  He has an extraordinary sense of sympathy for sick people and the elderly and loves to spend time with them.  Poverty?  We know he will never experience material wealth….we’ve been told he will always need sheltered employment.  Celibacy?  There are many times when he must accept his lonely room, and he will go to bed alone for all the nights of his life.  His arms will never embrace the girl of his choice.

Priesthood?  As I think of what could have been I find myself extremely grateful for what is, and I watch this son of mine, robed in his handicaps, working quietly in his Father’s fields.

   Pat Montesano