My Father Again

My father fell asleep, having nothing but God's mercy. I was a young lad when he hastened to God. He departed just as he had emerged from his mother's womb! Of what he had left behind, I still have two treasured items: a staff as tall as his arm which he occasionally wielded when leaving home, and a stone mortar he, himself, had handcrafted. What led me to write about my father was a story, relayed to me by a friend, about a family that was torn apart over an inheritance. My father lived free from the love of money. Whatever he earned from his work, in which he excelled, he used to spend on his household and those in need. His hand was always open. He was a man whom, if you ever saw leaving his home on any given day, his elegance would capture your attention. He generally never went out without a jacket, its only flaw being its bulging pocket filled with items he intended to distribute (almonds, walnuts, candy...). My father passed away with the conviction that the money he had was the money he had spent. How did he get to this legacy left by our Church Fathers? The Spirit is generous.