Father's Day Homily 2019

The following homily was delivered on Father's Day 2019 (June 17, 2019) by Alfred J, Garrotto, owner of this blogsite, and his daughter, Cristina Garrotto, at Christ the King Church, Pleasant Hill, CA.  

Click the link below to view the video:

YouCut_20190616_140154167.mp4

The Following is the text of the homily in print.

Father’s Day Homily

Part I

Dad

Good (morn/aft/eve) . . .
(Introduce Cristina, who is sharing this Father’s Day homily.)

We’d like to share with you a very personal family story. How our family came together . . . and something about our lives together over the past 30 years. 

Every family needs an origin story—ours is best told in a bedtime story I used to tell the girls when they were little:

God commissioned two angels . . . each was to deliver a little girl to the Garrotto Family in Martinez . . . . On the way they made a wrong turn!

. . . . . One ended up in El Salvador . . . the other in Honduras

. . . . .Esther and I had to travel thousands of miles to find those lost children.

Cristina

Dad talked about “lost” angels. I want to share my story of finding my angels.

I was almost 4 when I first saw my parents. My first impressions were:
•  my “knight in shining armor” . . . most beautiful woman I’d ever seen—still today.

Some years later, I wrote a poem about my experience:

“Never shall I forget . . .”     

It began….. Never shall I forget
the day that changed my life forever,
the day that made me so excited
and so scared
at the same time.

Part II

Dad

6 years ago, our family hit a very rough spot in our history. . . Cristina made a choice that resulted in her leaving home . . . . and living on the streets . . . practically right in our own neighborhood.

This led to a lot of self-questioning on my part . . . sense of failure as a father/parent . . . I needed to let her go . . . I had to find that fine line between helping her . . . . and enabling her to remain in her addiction (which would have made her situation even worse).

We never stopped loving her . . . never stopped wishing her well . . . never stopped praying for her . . .

We committed ourselves to providing a safe port—if she ever decided to change her life . . . and come home to us.

During that whole time, our parish community joined with us in praying for Cristina . . . .

Every week, people asked about her and supported us with their love and promises of prayer . . . .

Some of you may be here today . . . . for which we will be eternally grateful.

Cristina

When I chose to leave my family. I felt broken and didn’t know how to fix myself. I made many poor choices. I lost my identity. At the same time I lost my family, my career as a Social Worker . . . all that used to be important to me.

Shame and guilt had built up so much that I couldn’t come back home. I didn’t care about the damage I caused my family.

I did to my parents what I feared most myself—I abandoned them.

I reached a point—my rock bottom—where the pain was unbearable.

I remember one specific day, just 15 months ago….

 • when 3 random strangers said, “You look like you need a hug.” Each one hugged me and I felt some sort of connection to their spirit.

•  The very next day . . . I called my mom who told me about her prayer the day before . . . “Jesus, find someone to put your arms around her today and guide her back home.”

At the point when I surrendered, I received the gift of desperation. This is when I reached out to my Higher Power.

I found peace . . . which led me back to my family . . . that peace gave me courage to be a daughter, reconcile with my sister (who is now my best friend), and—best of all—being a mother to my son again.

Part III

Dad

Over the past year our family has experienced the miracle of reunion . . . . This has been a time of healing for our family . . .
laughter has returned to our home . . . . . We rejoice over finding again the one we had almost lost.

We didn’t get the old Cristina back . . . . she was a whole new person
. . . . the Cristina we had not seen for many, many years.

Cristina

This journey has inspired me to be a beacon of hope to others in recovery and in my social work career, assisting the underserved homeless population.

I feel truly grateful for the love of my family . . . and never having to walk alone again. I’ve made my recovery my life, and I will never go back.

Conclusion

Dad

Dads (and moms, brothers, sisters), is someone in your family “off the rails” -- TODAY?

Today we heard St. Paul writing to Christians in Rome:

“trials produce patience, /  from patience comes merit; /
 merit is the source of hope, /  and hope does not disappoint us, /
the Holy Spirit has been given to us, /
pouring into our hearts the love of God.

So, never give up hoping . . . Don’t stop praying . . .

Be the Christ for your son, daughter, or loved one . . .
Be a safe harbor in the storm . . . when they find their way back.

Make your own the prayer that Esther prayed . . . .

“Jesus, find someone to put YOUR arms around my loved one today . . . . and guide them back home.” Amen!

In a Child's Eyes

What's heaven like? The closest I've come to it was in the eyes of a 3 year old with a passion for choo-choo trains. Little trains, like miniature Thomas; big ones, like the old retiree (shown here) resting trackside at the Martinez (CA) Amtrak Station.

At my grandson's command, I hoisted him onto my lap and displayed his favorite snapshot on my wide-screen monitor.

"Can that choo-choo go on the tracks?" I asked.

"No!" He delivered his line with the enthusiasm of a child actor in a Cheerios commercial.

"And why not?"

"Too old, too tired." Together we exhaled a compassionate sigh for this once-proud locomotive that now can only watch and reminisce, as younger models race by. 

Recently, we lucky grandparents had our little guy to ourselves for two whole days. What better way to spend this time than by treating him to his first ride on a real train and a visit to the Railroad Museum in Old Sacramento? On the day before our adventure, he and I went to the station to buy our tickets. 

"Why do we need a ticket?" I asked.

No script for this dialogue, but several prompts later he got it. "No ticket, no choo-choo ride." 

In our short time at the station, an eastbound Capitol Corridor train roared in, whistles blasting, guard gates clanging as they fell. When it stopped, the engineer leaned out of the cab and waved. At first, my grandson couldn't believe the gesture was directed at him. How could such an important man--one with power to tame this mammoth beast--be waving at me? Slowly, his little arm rose and waved back.

The next morning, a silver giant's doors slid open to receive a wide-eyed little boy and two excited grandparents. For the next hour, our little traveler pressed his nose to the window, in awe of every sight that we considered ordinary--the Martinez-Benicia Bridge and the brown Carquinez Straits current lapping at its pylons, empty Solano County fields, and a ho-hum stretch of the Sacramento Valley. 

I envied my grandson's vision of the wonders to which I had become blind. I felt moved by the depth of his contemplation of the miracles of nature and human invention.  I resolved then and there to view  the world that day--and after--through his eyes.

(c) 2010 by Alfred J. Garrotto
All rights reserved

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