I fail to express my most ardent love to my Father in Heaven. I fail to show my infinite gratitude. I am at the bottom of the sea. What sea, Santo querido? The sea of eternal sorrows. And yet, my Lord has bestowed the grace which I have yearned for for so long. I know now what you were trying to teach me for so long about sharing the suffering of Our Lord on the Cross. I beseech you to kindly let Him know. I pray for nothing more than to accomplish that mystery. Yet, I know how I am unworthy, Padre Pío, more than ever. I steal and I lie. People think I am un loco. If only that were the truth. It started after el cura, my mentor, left without saying a word. I know that it is no excuse for my behavior but the only way I could fit his desertion into my head, Santo, was by telling myself that Padre Juan Bosco was not the Church. Like my tía Regina tried to tell me ever since I had run away to stay at his house, priests were men, capable of making mistakes. “Maybe even more than most,”
