Let the Light Fill the Day

A day in late September 2024.

Today feels like the sun is shining. Ironically, considering I’ve spent the last three months in a country labeled by everyone as “tropical,” this was my first year without a summer. I left at the end of June and soon, at the end of the Brazilian winter, I’ll leave again. While drying my hair, a song from Liniker’s new album catches my attention. “I hope today brings a sunny day, and if there’s fog, may I be an inner sun.” I think about the children at my school, where I’m about to go, to whom I’ll say good morning as they arrive happily, greeting Nana, the doorkeeper. May I be a sun for them, I repeat to myself.

I’m in Florianópolis, in a state in the south of Brazil. A Brazilian friend, before I left, told me enthusiastically that this was one of the most economically developed states in Brazil, where the economy thrives, there’s work, and many tourists. Somewhat disillusioned, I asked myself what I was going there to do, then. It only took twenty-four hours in the city to remind me that development and progress do not mean equity and well-being for all, and to realize that, due to complex social, economic, and racial layers, many people are still left behind — even in cities like Floripa.

I live in Mont Serrat, a hill that matches the European imagination of Brazilian poverty. Here, the Marist Social School Lucia Mayvonne, where I’m working as a volunteer educator, offers comprehensive education to children and adolescents aged 6 to 18 who live in vulnerable situations. But this is not just a school: it’s a community space, where over time paths have been built, networks woven, projects developed, and transformations begun. I’ve never felt pity here — only deep admiration for all the people who work every day to bring about positive change, truly believing in what they do.

Every day I discover a new part — a new teacher, a new child, a family situation that was unknown the day before — and little by little, the city and the community begin to take shape. And so, week after week, I’m learning to get to know this land and its reality, with all its contradictions, complexities, and beauty. I’ve discovered the importance of kites and how big Brazil really is. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful sunsets of my life while playing in the square with the children and painted stories from folklore with them.

But like every journey, not everything was easy — especially in the weeks after the Genfest, which were not simple. The rain made it difficult to leave the hill where I lived, I struggled with the frustration of speaking a language I didn’t yet master (and for me, someone who loves to talk, feeling limited in speech is a punishment). Small disappointments and the challenges of adjusting to a new lifestyle, as well as a case of mumps I caught, added to the difficulty of spending months away from my friends, loved ones, and family. And on top of that, the effort of returning to a routine after three intense weeks of Genfest, filled with celebration, friendship, and emotion.

One day, while talking with someone who welcomed me, we read this excerpt from Chiara Lubich:

“Let the light fill the day”

[…] When the shadows of life make our path uncertain, when we’re even paralyzed by the darkness, this Word of the Gospel reminds us that light is kindled by love — and that a simple concrete act of love, however small (a prayer, a smile, a word), can spark the light that helps us keep going. When we ride a bicycle at night, if we stop, we fall into darkness, but if we pedal again, the dynamo generates the current needed to light the way. […]

These words stirred something in me. Something that said: “keep pedaling, keep loving, and the light will come!” That invitation stayed with me in the weeks that followed and filled my days with precious moments — opportunities to love this community, generating light. I remember that during those slightly more “cloudy” weeks, it was hard to stay at the school in the afternoon, while now, I don’t even notice the time passing — in fact, I have to force myself to leave, or I’d stay there until nightfall.

What also helped me in this ‘pedaling’ was seeing the love that already surrounded me: among the teachers and school staff, who accompany the students with such dedication, thinking about each one’s needs; among the members of the pastoral group I work with and the care each one puts into what they do; in the Mont Serrat community itself and all the social projects created and developed by those who live here; and among the focolarinos and the Focolare Movement community in the city that welcomed me. That love was present in many people.

In just a few days, I’ll return home. I am grateful to this place, to these people. How I would love to watch the children and adolescents I met here grow up, to be with them as they develop the kindness and attentiveness I so often see behind their curious eyes. Maybe I won’t be here anymore — but you, future volunteers, will be. And you can continue helping this wonderful community to generate the light that this place so deeply needs. May you too be a sun for others.

Sara Cason