She was over eight decades old. Although she was born in Brazil, she maintained an accent quite characteristic of her Italian origin.

It was during one of our visits that she told us about her childhood and the sadness she carried in her soul, since those days.

She was born and raised in the countryside. Girl, she fed dreams. In the poverty in which she lived, she dreamed that one day she could win a toy. And what she wanted the most was a doll.

But Christmas es followed one another, birthdays too, and nothing came to her. However, she remained waiting.

Finally, on her sixth birthday, she received a package. And she imagined it would be the long-awaited doll. The package was simple but what mattered the most was the thing inside of it.

She unwrapped it, almost tearing the paper, and the tears spouted abundantly. What she was getting was a hoe. A hoe for her to work the land.

It was a brutal shock. And because she was crying a lot, she was scolded. After all, her parents said, that tool had not been cheap and she needed it to help them.

To her delight, she was enrolled in school. Four kilometers away. Four to go, four to go back.

But she did not care. She walked the path really happy. Knowing the letters, learning to put them together, finding out the secret of the words. An endless joy.

An applied student, her grades were always great, with neat assignments, written in the light of a small lamp.

And if she spent the afternoon working in the fields, hoe in hand, the mornings were glorious.

It was like entering a fairy tale with letters, stories, reliefs, drawings.

It was three years of happiness. The hardship of the hot days, the small hands calloused by the hoe had the compensation in handling the pencil.

And she already pictured herself attending another larger school, in the city. And, who knows, if there was a place where she could stay studying all day.

However, at the beginning of the fourth grade, the school told them to ask their parents to buy a few materials: a notebook, a pencil.

She repeated several times: It was just a notebook and a pencil. But my father refused to spend any amount.

What for? -  he said. Women do not need this. It was too much already to have spent so many years studying.

 And that had marked her withdrawal from school.

She never made it back. Over time, the difficulties became greater and greater.

She continued reading everything that fell into her hands: newspapers, printed advertisements, medicine inserts.

And she wrote and wrote. A pretty letter, almost drawn, for those who really love what they do.

The years passed. She got married, had children, moved to the city where the access to books became easier.

Books that she devoured, feeding her soul.

But her great sadness had never left her. It stayed within her soul, as if it ironed.

*   *   *

If we enjoy the blessings from school, let us thank God!

If we enjoy the fortune of learning to read, write, count, let us be grateful to life.

Above all let us thank the parents who allowed us the access to the school benches, lighting up our minds, feeding our intelligence.

And, finally, let us use all of these benefits very well, writing down only the good, promoting the useful and reading whatever can provide us with progress.

Spiritist Moment Team.
June, 6.2020.