Danilo


Young Danilo, at thirteen years of age, drew near as I spoke with Tatay Junior by the Chowking gates. Twice the guards drove him hence, yet he kept returning! With a smile, I motioned for him to wait, and behold, he stretched himself upon the hard pavement as if upon a cushion of down. After a lengthy retelling of the Gospel, to which the old man listened intently, I sought leave to minister to this patient, young soul. Tatay Junior thanked me sincerely, laying an affectionate hand upon my arm.

Poor Danilo hails from Pandi, earning a meager pittance by carrying groceries for commuters—only four dollars a day! His father, he says, is in Heaven for being a good man, having died at the age of forty-six. His mother, alas, is idle at home and grievously beats his sister, a maid of fifteen years who is already married. The family is scattered, finding support wherever a relative will offer shelter.

Though he confessed to being sorely hungry, having missed his morning meal, he ordered just enough food, showing a restraint that shamed the greed of many. After the meal, I spoke to him again of the Law and the Gospel, and he listened with heart-whole attention. He thanked me, taking two sacred tracts to carry home.

Did I accomplish anything in that hour? I do not care to know. I only imagine seeing young Danilo again before the dread Judgment Seat, pointing toward me for some purpose known only to God. That, beloved, is how it must be.


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