Story of Don Bosco.....
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it is said, sends the world saints when they are most needed-not men and women of "general holiness," but specialized experts who fit into the pattern of the times and are capable of giving God's tone to their century.
And so it was that on August 16, I8I5 when one era was closing in Europe with the exile of Napoleon, and the Industrial Revolution was clanging another open, "a man was sent by God whose name was John." He came to the scrubby stone cottage of Francis and Margaret Bosco on the hills of Becchi, at the foot of the Italian Alps. "A fine healthy baby," the neighbors all agreed, "fit for the soil, to take his father's place on the old homestead." But no one went further than that in predicting the child's future.
Francis died only two years after John's birth, leaving Margaret to raise three boys by herself. She taught them that they each needed to carry his weight and help with the keep of their home and farm. There were house chores to do, firewood to cut and gather, fields to plow, and crops to tend. Little John and his older brother Joseph, supervised by their stepbrother Anthony, tackled the endless work with energy. Margaret taught them that work was a privilege and that joy would make the work lighter. She was a woman of character and tenderness. All who knew her called her Mama Margaret. Fathomless was the love she showed her sons, not in coddling words but in deeds; innumerable were the lessons in upright living, Christian fortitude, and fear of God, which she taught by her example. A pillar of goodness, she stood before them as sturdy as the very Alps. At her knee John first heard the voice of the Master calling him to a special assignment. It was a low insistent voice, an urge that once in a while manifested itself in a sudden outburst, like the time Margaret and John were walking along the countryside and met one of the local priests.
"Hello, Father," cried the lad, to be acknowledged only by a curt bow of the head. Deeply hurt, he complained that the priest had hurt his feelings.
"When I grow up," he told his astonished mother, "I'm going to be a priest, and I'll talk to children all the time, and I'll do everything for them!"
Again the voice urged John to go among the farm lads, not just as a playmate but as a leader. More than once he came home with a battered cheek or torn shirt and in explanation would say, "But, Mother, those boys aren't really bad. They haven't got a good mother like I have, and they don't know their catechism, and their parents don't take them to church. When I'm with them, they behave better. Please, Mother, may I go with them?"
Soon the lad took over completely, as God's plan called for. He learned the tricks of magic from traveling showmen. He juggled. He walked the tightrope. Then he opened his own carnival show. Admission: one rosary to be recited by all spectators; added attraction: the Sunday sermon, repeated by the little ringmaster. The show grounds were the field in front of the house, where Margaret Bosco often watched her son at work and wondered what might come of it all.
And so it was that on August 16, I8I5 when one era was closing in Europe with the exile of Napoleon, and the Industrial Revolution was clanging another open, "a man was sent by God whose name was John." He came to the scrubby stone cottage of Francis and Margaret Bosco on the hills of Becchi, at the foot of the Italian Alps. "A fine healthy baby," the neighbors all agreed, "fit for the soil, to take his father's place on the old homestead." But no one went further than that in predicting the child's future.
Francis died only two years after John's birth, leaving Margaret to raise three boys by herself. She taught them that they each needed to carry his weight and help with the keep of their home and farm. There were house chores to do, firewood to cut and gather, fields to plow, and crops to tend. Little John and his older brother Joseph, supervised by their stepbrother Anthony, tackled the endless work with energy. Margaret taught them that work was a privilege and that joy would make the work lighter. She was a woman of character and tenderness. All who knew her called her Mama Margaret. Fathomless was the love she showed her sons, not in coddling words but in deeds; innumerable were the lessons in upright living, Christian fortitude, and fear of God, which she taught by her example. A pillar of goodness, she stood before them as sturdy as the very Alps. At her knee John first heard the voice of the Master calling him to a special assignment. It was a low insistent voice, an urge that once in a while manifested itself in a sudden outburst, like the time Margaret and John were walking along the countryside and met one of the local priests.
"Hello, Father," cried the lad, to be acknowledged only by a curt bow of the head. Deeply hurt, he complained that the priest had hurt his feelings.
"When I grow up," he told his astonished mother, "I'm going to be a priest, and I'll talk to children all the time, and I'll do everything for them!"
Again the voice urged John to go among the farm lads, not just as a playmate but as a leader. More than once he came home with a battered cheek or torn shirt and in explanation would say, "But, Mother, those boys aren't really bad. They haven't got a good mother like I have, and they don't know their catechism, and their parents don't take them to church. When I'm with them, they behave better. Please, Mother, may I go with them?"
Soon the lad took over completely, as God's plan called for. He learned the tricks of magic from traveling showmen. He juggled. He walked the tightrope. Then he opened his own carnival show. Admission: one rosary to be recited by all spectators; added attraction: the Sunday sermon, repeated by the little ringmaster. The show grounds were the field in front of the house, where Margaret Bosco often watched her son at work and wondered what might come of it all.
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