I was born and raised in a small village called Wairaka in the Jinja District of Uganda. I remember years back while in seminary, I became close friends to an elderly woman in Wairaka, her name was Alistera. Alistera was not blessed with children of her own, but she raised several of her relatives’ children in her home. When they all grew up and moved on to start families of their own, she remained alone in her little house. With advancement in age, she developed multiple health complications. She lost her sight, she had heart problems, and walked with great difficulty. She became homebound and could no longer go to church as she had done the whole of her life.
Every holiday from seminary I made an effort to visit with Alistera in the evenings. I helped her with small things such as finding her misplaced flashlight, replacing batteries in her little radio or moving a chair to a corner where she wanted it. The rest of the evening was spent in conversation between the two of us, and we always closed with prayer.
When the time for me to join the novitiate for the one-year special training in the charism and spirituality of my religious institute of the Congregation of Holy Cross, I let Alistera know that I wouldn’t see her for a whole year. She asked me to visit her one more time before I left for the novitiate which is located in a different part of Uganda.
When I visited Alistera on the night before my departure, I found she had prepared a meal for me. She had cooked sweet potatoes, and prepared a light soup that I could barely recognize until I saw the skin of tomatoes floating on top of the bowl. The poor soup appeared like plain, dirty warm water. The gesture almost moved me to tears. She served the food, sat next to me, and waited on me as I ate her meal.
When an elderly, poor, blind and sickly woman goes to such lengths of preparing a meal for you, then you know it means a lot to her. As I walked home that evening, I could not believe what I had just experienced. I could only shake my head in disbelief. I have had gourmet dinners in exotic restaurants across the globe, but I have forgotten almost every meal I have eaten in these high-end places. The only meal I remember is the meal Alistera served me that evening!
What made Alistera’s meal special from all the other meals I have had before? The difference was simple; she put so much love into preparing that meal for me. That was the secret ingredient.
Alistera is now gone to the Lord, but she left a compelling lesson to me that it is not the size of the work or the gifts that we give that matters; rather it is the amount of love we put into these things that really counts. However big and however important our gifts or services to others might be; when they are empty of love, and dry of sacrifice, then they lack a soul, and they will never have any effect on anyone. Authentic love and investing our lives into what we are doing is what counts.
In Alistera’s meal I saw echoes of the Lord’s commentary on the “Poor Widow’s mite” and in the example of Alistera I got a lesson of the spirit that needs to inform every act of our almsgiving.
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