My entire childhood I spent summer vacations from school waiting for 14 May at my maternal grandmother’s massive ancestral home (almost 100+ years old). The day would start off with cleaning every bit of antique furniture and rearranging the living room, which displayed the most gorgeous piano, also almost 70+ years old; the pictures of 9 proud grandchildren and 5 children, each framed; and this beautiful mirror, which hung on wooden hands that seemed to arise from the wall — fascinates me to this date! (I dont know how old that is.)
Avozinha, my grandmother, would supervise the entire arrangement; my mother would employ my brother and me for cleaning; my aunts were allotted work accordingly—the kitchen to check on the delicacies being freshly prepared and my youngest uncle running the errands needed—flowers, new linen, you name it!
And then the guests would pour in—from grateful villagers to nuns and seminarians and senior priests—my avozinha’s home was welcome to everyone—it even has 2 staircases leading up to the balcony flanked by gardens to welcome everyone!
Gifts pouring in, food, drinks, and snacks being served by us cousins (imagine 10- to 5-year-old kids dressed in their Sunday best) while the lunch table was laid out inside with the yummiest food—pulao, chicken xacuti, chicken cafreal, pork vindaloo, my favorite salted beef tongue, local delicacies like sannas, and so on, and yes, an array of desserts. We entertained guests with food and drink and even put up performances as children or my mom and aunts sang (they are trained) while my uncle played the violin or piano.
And by evening another set of guests arrived, and dinner was smaller and with family and tight-knit: all cousins and neighbors, and then we all said prayers and crashed in bed. or were packed to our respective homes (a few kilometers away with our parents), ending the vacations.
Yes, all this fanfare for the celebration of the birth of the first male in my mother’s home, my maternal uncle—who was born after a lot of prayer and dedication to the local church patron saint, Saint Alex—and so he was named Aleixo, who eventually joined the priesthood and is the family priest for every event, esp. weddings! Although to us he is Tio Ashu (pet name), his birthday meant knowing all the people whose lives he touched as a priest and my grandmother’s generosity!
As a woman married very young and managing a household with a lot of grit and faith, my avozinha prayed the rosary every day; she read the Bible and even read the “Daily Flash,” a book published every month by the diocesan priests with articles and prayers. She sponsored many priests during their education and subscribed to so many church magazines—one room was dedicated to the shelves filled with them. We grandkids acquired the habit of reading and faith!
Watching my uncle up close and asking him questions on faith and politics was one of my favorite bits of my family life. While he also happened to celebrate mass at my medical college hospital every Sunday for relatives, patients who could ambulate, and doctors/nurses who would never make it in time for Sunday mass. He watched me grow from a medical student praying fervently during exams to the resident who came half asleep from duty to participate in mass and frowned when I was late and inching my way at the back! (I could feel his stare.)
My uncle is a priest, but he never let me feel like he wasn’t my uncle—from birthday gifts to sending me blood reports for queries to even some of his well-wishers copying my name for their child (his suggestion, I’m sure).
It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you
and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain,
so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give you
My mother often tells me how he wasn’t the brightest and strongest kid growing up with severe migraines and health issues, which seemed to resolve, and he seemed to be in his element once he joined the seminary. His homilies are super effective—always something to ponder—and he always made me realize faith and religion don’t need to be exclusive and we are humans with flaws. He made me reach church on time with appropriate attire and participate in the choir (he is a musician). HE WAS CHOSEN!
Not everyone of us is called to be a priest like him, but we are chosen for something, and we need to love one another while we perform that act—maybe surgeries on cancer like me or talking to my lovely patients! Maybe my grandmother, who hosted anyone in need and helped whoever she could as a midwife and trained nurse, or my mom and dad, who sincerely sponsored the education of any underprivileged child with zero fanfare!
Love doesn’t have to be loud—a simple smile or a kind word can change a life! I know I have the power to share that as a doctor and oncosurgeon, and I was always reminded of my mission by my grandmother and parents so much so that it is now second nature! I wish that on May 14 we were chosen and found our path to spread the commandment of loving each other in small ways every day! \
AMEN
