Page 2 of Healing Love

“Friends? Bah!” his mother spit out. She was silent for a moment, then her chin quivered as her gaze sought his once more. “You think my heart breaks now for you and these so-called friends? You go to jail, and it’ll kill your father. And me as well.”

That afternoon, Cam walked into the neighborhood church, the cool dim interior a welcome respite from the muggy Virginia summer. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the elderly priest coming from one of the side doors.

“Camillo!” Father Martinez called out. “Your mother said she hoped you would come.”

Cam walked toward the priest, noticing how much older and smaller the man appeared than the last time he saw him. Cam towered over him and while many people were fearful of the large, rough-looking young man, the priest just smiled up at him.

“Come, sit. You’ve grown so tall; my neck will hurt looking so far up.”

Cam sat, impatiently waiting for the older man to join him.The sooner we get started, thesooner I can get out of here.

The priest sat, his gaze on his hands folded in his lap. The quiet of the chapel felt eerie to Cam. Months had passed since he had come to Mass with his parents. The silence was deafening. Unable to stand the quiet any longer, Cam blurted out, “You wanted to see me, Father?”

The priest lifted his head and pierced Cam with his gaze. With a small smile, he shook his head, saying, “No, son. But I think you have need of me.”

A frown crossed Cam’s face as he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand?—”

“Do you know who you were named for?” Father Martinez interrupted.

“Me?” Cam asked incredulously. He searched his mind quickly, trying to remember the Saints he learned about as a child. He had always hated his name. Camillo.Jesus, they had to name me after some dumb-ass Saint’s name.

“Camillo. A great name for a great man.”

Cam shifted in his seat. Listening to a long-winded priest was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He fought the desire to jump up and run out of the church, but his upbringing would not allow him to be rude to Father Martinez. So, he made himself a little more comfortable on the hard, wooden pew, and turned to face the older man.

“Saint Camillus,” Father Martinez. “He lived in the 1500’s. His father was a soldier, and he inherited his father’s temper. His mother was older and unable to control her son.”

At this, Cam’s eyebrows raised. He was sure that hehad never heard this story of his namesake.Ma left this part out. So, I was named after a hellraiser!

“He was exceptionally tall for his age,” Father Martinez chuckled as he gazed at Cam. “He actually became a soldier with his father when he was only sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen?” Cam asked. “That’s two years younger than me right now.”

“Oh, yes. Back then, a man was considered a man by thirteen. None of this spending years wondering who we are and what we’re going to do. He was a man and was expected to do a man’s job.”

Once again, Cam squirmed under the scrutiny of Father Martinez, wondering how much he knew about Cam’s nefarious activities.

“He ended up as a laborer at a friary with a leg injury, and in spite of his aggressiveness and excessive gambling, the friar continually worked to bring out Camillus’ better nature.”

Cam’s attention was now fully on Father Martinez as he continued the story.

“Camillus eventually had a change of heart and wanted to join the monastery but was unable to. So, he traveled to Rome where he entered the Hospital of St. James and began working to assist the ill and injured. Eventually, he founded an Order for health care workers who would assist soldiers on the battlefield. In fact, they wore a large red cross on their cassocks which today is recognized as the symbol of the Red Cross. He worked with the ill, and his Order spread throughout what isnow known as Europe.”

Cam sat quietly, not knowing what to say, not moving as Father Martinez continued to tell more stories of St. Camillus. His heart pounded, feeling so heavy that he lifted his hand to rub his chest.

As Father Martinez fell silent once more the two sat facing each other, peace settling over the pair.

Finally, Cam found his voice. “Why? Why did you tell me all this today?”

The smile from Father Martinez exemplified his wrinkled face. “My son, I don’t know. Sometimes God lays things on my heart to say. This seemed necessary today. I felt that you needed to hear about your namesake and the lessons that can be learned. That a man can turn from a wild life to a life of service. A man can change his destiny.”

The old Father began to rise, and Cam jumped up to assist him. Holding on to him until he was steady on his feet, Cam noted that his own hands were firmly clasped in the gnarled hands of the priest.

“My son?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Today, go home. Not to wherever you were going to go. But to home. Sit with your family, if only for this one night.”

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