It was in the air. Too many times João had heard his parents argue, and the fact that he and his mother and brothers had to leave home because his father had a child with another woman didn’t surprise him very much. He was 16 then, he was involved in his parish, he had friends. Within him, though, he felt betrayed and dissatisfied, with a strong need for freedom, to be himself. It was an apprehension that led him to discontinue his studies. He took up his schooling again years later, only after he had found the real reason for living. “At 20 years of age,” recounts João, “I participated in a Focolare activity with the youth group from my parish. During those few days, I realized that the Gospel isn’t so much to be commented or reflected upon, as it is to be put into practice immediately. I was particularly struck by those passages which say how to treat our neighbors: the Good Samaritan, the Golden Rule. I had gone to the activity out of pure curiosity, and instead it was the event which changed my life.” In Sao José do Rio Preto (State of Sao Paulo), which is my hometown, there are many people who live on the street. One evening, as I was going back home on my bicycle, I crossed paths with a man who was walking barefoot. His feet were dirty and wounded. At the sight of him, I couldn’t pedal any further. “That man is my neighbor, I have to go back to him.” Before I reached him, I took off my shoes to give them to him. He looked at me, surprised. I saw that he was wearing a T-shirt with my favorite soccer team on it, and I said to him, to take away his embarrassment, “So you’re a Santista fan? So am I! What’s your name?” He took the shoes, and we became friends. I was at the train station, returning from a meeting held in another city. At that hour–two o’clock in the morning–the means of public transportation no longer run, and so I started towards home on foot, crossing the center of the city. Looking around, I saw lots of people who took advantage of the fact that stores were closed to sleep in front of the shop windows. I wasn’t afraid, because this was my hometown. At one point, however, a big, tall man came up to me and asked for money. I must confess that I started to be a little afraid. Who was to say that he wasn’t violent? But I thought, “He, too, is my brother, the Gospel says so.” Calmly, I told him that I couldn’t give him anything because I had no money either. He began to tell me his story, then he had me put on his headphones. He was listening to a sermon by a Protestant pastor. I listened to the transmission for a bit, so that I could tell him that this person was saying nice things and that it’s good to listen to these positive messages every so often. He asked me, “Who are you?” Not knowing how to respond, I asked him why he wanted to know. He said, “Because nobody treats us this well.” This went on for 30 or 40 minutes. I thought about the distance I still needed to travel in order to arrive home, about the fact that I needed to wake up at 6 the next morning to go to work. But I felt that I had to stay a while longer to accommodate this neighbor who needed company and listening. In the end, after he had asked for my address in order to come to my house for a barbecue, we said goodbye, with the knowledge that we had each found a brother. One rainy day, as I was returning home on my motorcycle, I saw a man, soaking wet, who was trying without success to get up from a puddle. I recognized him: he was one of my next-door neighbors who was always drunk. In the nearby bar, there were several men who simply watched the scene without doing anything. Trying not to get angry, I stopped, left the motorcycle there and accompanied him home, explaining to his wife what had happened. Then I retraced my steps to go back for the motorcycle. As I walked, a phrase re-echoed deep in my heart: “You did it to Me.” I was no longer angry. It was enough for me to feel happy and to not blame those men, astonished, who continued to watch me.