August 19, 2024 
By M. Regina Cram
Each of us has a story about how our faith came to be. In a way, my story began with an elderly gentleman in the East Glastonbury Post Office.
I was writing a series of newspaper articles profiling extraordinary people in our community, so I was always looking for interesting residents. One day, I stopped at the Post Office and noticed a car with a POW license plate out front.
I entered the tiny Post Office where a lone customer, an elderly man, was buying stamps from a cheery woman behind the counter.
“Excuse me, sir,” I began. “Is that your POW license plate?”
The gentleman stood up straight, thrust his achy shoulders back with pride, and replied, “Why yes, it is.”
“May I ask where you served?”
That’s all I said. Before my eyes, this elderly gentleman was transformed into a 19-year-old corporal in the Battle of the Bulge. Stories poured out about being captured and taken to Dresden, Germany, during the bombing, where he was forced to pile dead bodies onto railroad ties. He told of starvation and the lice-infested quarters at Slaughterhouse-Five, where hundreds of GIs, including Kurt Vonnegut, were crowded three or four to a wooden slat that served as a bed. He spoke of a GI who was shot at point-blank range for stealing a can of beans and of a soldier who starved to death because he refused to steal food to survive.
As the gentleman spoke, time quietly halted. Two more customers strolled in but quickly realized they were hearing living history, drawn in sharp detail by one who had survived unimaginable deprivations of war.
And so we listened, every one of us in that tiny room, trying to sear the images this gentleman painted for us into our memories. We knew that soon, no one would be left to tell these stories.
I don’t know how long we stood there, but hearing that story reminded me of our freedoms and the reality that freedom comes at a high cost.
That’s why God continually told the children of Israel to tell their stories. When they did not, they forgot how God delivered them from slavery and brought them to the Promised Land. They forgot God’s provision and faithfulness, His protection, His tender love. Telling the stories helped the children of Israel remember, which kept their faith alive.
That’s why I tell stories about living our faith. It’s too easy to think of church as an obligation rather than a privilege. Many people view prayer as something we do when we’re really old or really sick, or really desperate, rather than yearning for God with the passion of a lover.
Like freedom, our faith comes at a cost.
Each unique story of faith stands as a beacon to others and reminds us of God’s amazing love. It is our responsibility and privilege to share that faith with others.
Tell the stories.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
