Hi my name is Marta. I live in Sicily, Italy and would like to share my story about angelic inspirations with you.
This morning as I lay on my coach, exhausted because of the new day’s scorching heat, the heat typical of a Sicilian summer, an old story crept into the recesses of my mind. And I felt an urge to write down what had happened some years ago.
As the mother of a female drug addict I felt hopeless. The odds she would recover were nil. According to specialists, young, pretty, female addicts were the least likely people to stop taking drugs. Heroin was the tyrannical lover who never let you go or made you forget. I do not remember exactly what had happened before, for all is a blur when I try to recall particular events during that painful time. I do remember that it was a very low point in my life; my daughter had left home and was living God knows where, with God knows who, doing. Oh boy did I look for angelic inspirations at this time.
I was at catechism, in the Mother Church of Mascalucia, a town on the slopes of Mount Etna. I still teach Catechism on Mondays so I presume it was a Monday at about five o’clock in the afternoon. My children were getting ready to leave their seats at the foot of a huge crucifix at the left hand side of the alter.
I felt angelic inspirations all over my body.
A statue of St Michael the Archangel in mighty combat with the Dragon was above a young man, just waiting. I felt angelic inspirations all over my body. After I dismissed my young group of children, this fellow approached me. It was obvious he had been waiting to speak to me because there were other grown-ups around but his attention was fixed on my person.
He introduced himself, but of course I immediately forgot his name. Then he said that he was going to enter a famous detox center the following day and needed something to eat. I told him that I could not give him any money but that I would have bought him a ‘pizzetta’ at the bar opposite the Church. He agreed.
At this point I broke down, crying. I am a very emotional person normally so you can imagine me at the time. I had to tell him about my daughter. He consoled me and kissed me, saying that my daughter would be fine. That she would indeed recover – that I had to send her away to a specialized center.
Why had he waited to talk to me? These are questions left unanswered …..but I know the answer.
This was my private miracle. How do I know? I do not know, but I feel it. Let me describe my Angel to you. He was tall and thin with fine features. He had light brown wavy hair and remarkable eyes. Eyes, piercing and bright of an intense blue, which seemed to read into my soul. Blue eyes are not considered Sicilian features. He was dressed very neatly in a short sleeved shirt, tucked into a newly pressed pair of jeans. He hardly looked anything like an addict. Mascalucia is a small town, yet I had never seen him before nor since. Why had he asked me–of all people–to feed him. Very few people, at that time knew about my daughter’s condition. Why had he waited to talk to me? These are questions left unanswered …..but I know the answer.
Ever since that moment I felt better. The hope was back again. The desperation had all but gone. And every time I remember this encounter I am moved to tears and thank the Lord. For even though it may not have been a real Angel, the Lord sent someone to console and encourage me. The slavery of addiction was not going to have another victim.
Today my daughter is the happy mother of a sixteen –month old baby girl whose name is Marta.
She no longer takes drugs.
