A Reminder.....
During the years after World War II, bricklayers or laborers worked for the same contractor. They knew each other only by name and where they lived, except the one who said he came from Silesia, a land situated in the south eastern corner of Germany.
Before the war, one part of Silesia belonged to Germany, and the other to Poland. Now it is all part of Poland.
One lunch hour, when all were together, a young laborer swung a rosary around and said: "I found this thing on the ground next to the ladder. It doesn't belong to any of you, does it?" he said this in a disrespectful manner.
The Silesian man stood up: "Yes, it is mine." They all laughed, but he continued: "Do not laugh. I cherish it greatly and will tell you why."
"During the war I was on the Russian front and was taken prisoner, and shipped to a camp in Siberia. When you live in Siberia's bitter cold and sweltering hot summers, with mosquitoes carrying typhoid or other diseases, when you see men who once were stronger and healthier than yourself fall and die, you realize there is only one who can help you, but God. You begin to pray and continue to pray. I am not ashamed to admit I believe in God and pray the Rosary every day."
"There is still another reason. After seven years in Siberia, I and other survivors were sent home through the efforts of our Chancellor, Konrad Adenauer. I returned to Silesia. Former neighbors of my my family told me my father had died, my mother was expelled to West Germany, and my brothers and sisters had been sent to Siberia where they perished."
"The Red Cross told me that the train carrying my mother unloaded expatriates in this region here. So I came here. Every day, I went from village to village looking for my mother. One Sunday afternoon as I approached a village, I saw a procession of pilgrims leaving the church and boarding the train. I went into the church. The organ was silent, and the bells had stopped ringing. Sorrow and quietude enveloped me."
"I prayed to the Blessed Virgin to find my mother. When I got up to leave, I stepped on something. It was a Rosary. I bent down to pick it up. It was my mother's Rosary. I recognized it, because as a boy, I had initialed the back of the cross with my pocketknife."
"The Rosary beads told me my mother had been here with the other pilgrims. I hurried to the railroad station. The station master told me that only one train had come and gone with pilgrims, and that in fifteen minutes I could board a train that would take me to where the pilgrims had gone."
"Upon arriving there, I went to the police to get my mother's address. When I explained the situation, the police brought me to a house. They knocked on the door, and called out: "We are the police. Do not be afraid. Open the door! We have a happy surprise for you!"
"My mother opened the door. It was 12.50am. Mother and I embraced. Words cannot express our joy and happiness of finding each other."
The man was silent a moment before he continued. "Please give me the Rosary. It is a reminder of all the wonderful ways of God."
The men were quiet. Some wiped away tears. The young laborer who found the Rosary handed it over with reverence. From that day, they weren't acquaintances. they were friends!
Source: Fr. Paul Ischier. O.M.I