Today, she turned a hundred. That’s a lot of gettin’ up mornings. Some good, some not so much. Complain? Never!
Magdalena Bianchi was a hard worker. She raised five kids, all by herself, taking in ironing from neighbors, pedaling her baked goods on the streets of Genoa —all to feed and clothe her children and herself.
It was a house fire. She was just twenty-five then. No one else was inside, just her. The doctor gave her little hope. Said if she lived, her damaged internal organs would eventually give out. But they were wrong.
Every day she thanked God that her children had not been inside that terrible inferno to suffer like she did.
It was her scarred face that she hated.
And so did her husband.
Damaged as she was, it was now up to her to care for her five children and herself.
Magda, as she became known, was loved by all. “How can she be so cheerful?” they would say. Magda believed she’d been spared for one reason—to spread joy to others.
Standing in her kitchen and peering out the open window at passersby, she would call out, “Buongiorno!” And she would call each one by name. She knew them all. But her good morning greeting didn’t stop there. Magda won everyone’s heart with her many acts of kindness. She was always there with her homemade gift when a new baby arrived in the neighborhood. She was there with words of comfort when a life was snatched away. Magda Bianchi’s face, scarred as it was, became the expression of graciousness in her community.
In time, no one even noticed her damaged face and hands. All they saw was beauty in her smile, harmony in her words, and generosity in her deeds.
So, today, on Magda’s century mark, neighbors gather outside her open window, just as carolers might on Christmas Eve. Six altos, five sopranos, and four baritones, all begin in unison, “Happy birthday, Magda. We love you!”
Eldon Reed c2014