Hands of Hope

A Tale of Work, War, Love, and the Ties that Bind

St. Padre Pio, Paul Pitstick, and St. Paul Parish

by Paul Pitstick

Editor's Note: this story was reprinted with permission from the book "Beautiful Hope," a Dynamic Catholic collection of real-life stories by a variety of authors, including Pope Francis, Matthew Kelly, and Fr. Mike Schmitz. Paul Pitstick has been a parishioner of St. Paul Church and Mary, Help of Christians Church, as has many of his family members. His son, Fr. Martin Pitstick, is a pastor of Divine Mercy and St. Bernard Parishes in norther Kentucky. Paul Pitstick passed away on October 14, 2025, at the age of 102.

I have the hands of Midwestern farmboy. They are weathered and coarse. They are sun-dried and calloused. They are tired and bruised. My hands have tilled soil and planted seeds. They look every bit of the ninety-three years of life I have lived.

I have the hands of a husband. They have fixed cars and changed lightbulbs. They have stained the fence and changed the oil. They have mown the lawn and taken out the garbage. My hands are uniquely formed to hold the hand of my bride of seventy years. They never feel quite as good as when they are in hers.

I have the hands of a father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. They have changed diapers of forty-five of the most beautiful children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren a man could ask for. They have dried tears, played catch, wrapped presents, rocked cribs, tickled toes, and fed each child with love.

I have the hands of a son. They shook my father's hand as I left for World War II, and they held my mother tight when I returned home. They have gripped the shovel as I buried both of my earthly parents. My hands have opened the good book written by my Heavenly Father. They have held the Body of Jesus Christ every day for over seventy years.

Ultimately my hope rests not in the work of my own hands, but in the hands of Jesus. Jesus has been with me every day of my life. I felt this most powerfully the day I kissed the wounds of Christ on the hands of the great saint Padre Pio.

I met Padre Pio during my third year serving as a bomb site auto pilot mechanic in World War II. When the war ended, I was asked to remain in Europe for an extra year of service. My family contacted me from home in Ohio and told me they thought I was stationed near San Giovanni Rotondo, where Padre Pio lived.

Sure enough, when I looked at my map, I realized I was in the town right next to San Giovanni Rotondo. Can you believe that? What are the chances? It had to have been the Lord!

The first time I met Padre Pio, he allowed a group of us to kiss the glove covering the stigmata on his palm. What a grace! I was deeply moved by his presence. There was something different about Padre Pio. His presence was weightier than others'. He was always joyful, always smiling, despite his painful wounds. It was a gift for him to suffer with the Lord. I felt closer to God when I was with Padre Pio, and I couldn't wait to visit him again.

God gave me the opportunity to visit Padre Pio on four occasions during my time in Italy. I remember him inviting a fellow soldier and me to kneel before the altar as he said Mass. We were so close to him that we could clearly see the stigmata on his palms as he celebrated the Eucharist. He always took off his gloves for Mass.

We received the Body of Christ from those hands. Later, he invited me to kneel in front of him, placing his right hand on my head and holding his left hand out in front of me. I kissed the wound of Christ in Padre Pio's flesh. That experience was such a special grace. I think about it every day.

The only time I spoke to Padre Pio was to ask him to pray for my sister and father, who were both in poor health. My mother had written me from home to request this prayer intention from him.

After hearing my request, he said to me, "I will keep them in the palm of my hand." I knew they would be taken care of. And they were.

I can feel Padre Pio with me all the time. I know he is praying for me and my family. On the day Padre Pio died, the bells at our church tolled miraculously for almost three hours. The janitor had to clip the wire near the bells to make them stop.

I could hear the bells tolling out on the farm nearly a mile away. That was Padre Pio's way of saying goodbye to us. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear those bells ringing and I smile.

The saints are beacons of hope in the world. They show us that ordinary men and women can be the living hands of Jesus acting in the world. Saints show the world that God does powerful things through those that make themselves available to him. Padre Pio gives me hope that one life can make a difference in another. He gives me hope that my hands can do God's work. Even through a simple Midwestern farmer, husband, father, and son, God can bring hope into the world. If God can make a saint out of an ordinary man like Padre Pio, he can do the same thing with you and me.

In my life, hope has been found in people. It is through people that God has shown me how he loves to do the extraordinary through the ordinary. My wife is my hope. My children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are my hope. Padre Pio is my hope. Jesus is my hope. You are my hope.

Yes, you reading this, you are my hope. You are a gift from God to the world. You hold within you the hope of a greater and more beautiful Church. You hold within you the hope that this can become a nation of holy families and saintly priests and religious. You hold within you the hope that love can prevail over hate. You hold within you the hope that God will bring the wonderful message of salvation to every corner of the earth.

Paul and Pat Pitstick were married for more than 75 years. This photo appeared with the story, "Area WWII veteran turns 100: 'I've been so lucky.,'" in the Springfield New Sun and was reprinted with permission from the Dayton Daily News.