Martin de Porres
The Mulatto Saint of the Humble Infirmary
Saint of the infirmary, friend to the forgotten.
I served with my hands, whether scrubbing floors or setting bones, and I learned that holiness lives not in purity, but in presence. I broke no laws but the ones men made—I welcomed all, I healed all, and sometimes, I simply sat with those who had no one. Some called it miracles. I called it love.
What I'm Into: the sick who smell of earth and sweat, rabbits in the cloister garden, mice who share my bread, the ache of swollen limbs, orphaned infants in my arms
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