Expert: Griff Ruby - 12/29/2003

Question
I am looking for good Catholic material that inspires. Example- Do you have an inspiring  Saints Writing?  Maybe something that struck you from Mother Teresa? Or a homily that you kept? Maybe writing from you? Stuff like that.  Something that when read really wakes up the soul. If you do please get it to me as I am working on a site to help others find Christ. Here is an example:

  (Matthew 9:9-13)    

Once there was a very holy abbot called Anastasius. In fact, he was considered a saint by his fellow desert monks. One day when a monk by the name of James sinned and was told to leave the community. Anastasius got up and walked out with him, saying: “I to am a sinner.” James however, did not reform. Years later he came to visit Anastasius as he was saying his evening prayer.

“Forgive me for interrupting your prayer and making you break your rule,” James said.

“Don't worry,” Anastasius replied, “ My rule is to receive you with hospitality.”

And he gave him food and lodging for the night. Anastasius had an old copy of the Bible which was worth quit a bit of money. Seeing the book, James took it with him when he was leaving the next morning. When Anastasius realized that he had stolen the book, he didn't follow him. Fearing that he might only make him add the sin of perjury to that of theft, James went to a nearby merchant to sell the book, asking a high price.

“Give me the book for a little while so that I can find out whether it's worth that much,” the merchant said.

He took it to Anastasius. Anastasius took one look at it and said. “Yes this is a splendid book. In fact it's worth much more.” The buyer came back and told the thief what Anastasius had said.

Stunned he asked, “ Was that all he said? Did he make no other remarks?”

“No,” said the merchant, “he did not say another word.”

On hearing this James was deeply moved, and said,  “I've changed my mind. I don't want to sell the book after all.” And he hastened back to Anastasius and, with tears in his eyes, gave him back the book and begged for his forgiveness. Anastasius received him with the same kindness as before.

He simply said, “ I forgive you. Keep the book. Read a little from it each day, and pray to Christ who received sinners like us, and brought them back to God's love and friendship. Now go in peace.

His fellow monks were surprised to see him wasting his time on someone like James, but he said, “Tell me, if your robe is torn, will you throw it away?” And they replied, “No, we will mend it and put it back on.” Then he said, “If you take such care of your robe, will not God be merciful to one who bears his image?”

The kindness of Anastasius  paid off. James changed his life. He returned to the life of a monk and became known for his goodness and holiness.  

Answer
I would think that examples like that would be found in collections of the lives of the saints.  One of my own personal favorites goes something like this:
Some of the monks tended to make fun of Saint Thomas Aquinas (whom they called the "dumb ox") because he was always so sincere and innocent of the world's ways.
One time, a monk said to the saint "There's a pig flying around over the courtyard; look out this window!"  The saint promptly went to the window to look out and see the flying pig, and of course there was no flying pig.  The first monk thought this was hilarious until the holy saint said "I would rather believe that a pig could fly than a monk could lie."
I don't doubt that Butler's Lives of the Saints (the edition available from TAN Books and Publishers is a good one) is full of such accounts.  Much of what makes for a saint is the sort of qualities shown in the example you have given.
One of my favorites, what I have been looking for however is the story behind the rather well-known "praying hands" painting (that even some protestants reprint):
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the academy.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No...no ..no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late."
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one ever makes it alone!
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.