By Father Jonathan Morris
FOX News Religion Contributor

From a distance and from up close too, this island is paradise. Page Six of the local newspaper announces the arrival of the celebrity-of-the-day. Capri is still the unrivaled European meeting point of the rich, famous and the not-so-happy.

Our little fishing boat weaves its way unnoticed through a graveyard of private yachts, each a little larger and more exquisite then the next, with the only signs of on-board life being the flags of origin flapping in the ocean breeze and personal security crews keeping the curious at bay.

In less than 30 minutes we make a full circle of the island and disembark at Marina Grande. The locals greet us with catchy phrases of English, then French, Spanish and German. They point to their topless white limousines taxis. They all boast the best tour, the best food, for the best, unspecified price.

We thank them kindly, find a local orange bus and head for the mountains. As I squirm to find wiggle room and lean toward an open window for fresh air, I remember my days in Latin America. But here the streets are lined not with chickens and cardboard huts, but with boutique shops of Prada, Giorgio Armani, Versace, Gucci and the like.

The last stop on the bus line is still tourist central. Pretty faces, hidden mostly by oversized Mary-Kate Olsen sunglasses, can be seen toting bags of merchandise and dashing in and out of yacht-dweller destinations.

A kind man in overalls, leaning against a wall, points us in the direction of our hiking trails. I am looking forward to the sounds of so many peddlers hawking their trinkets giving way to the chirping of birds. We aren’t out of the fray just yet, but we are close.

Then I see her.

Hunched over and standing as tall as she could at 4 feet, 1 inch, she is just doing her thing — what she surely does every day, unnoticed and unimportant to the swirling commercial activity of this island paradise. For a few long seconds I watch, I gawk. What a smile! And could that really be her child?

Here is a woman so severely handicapped she could be in a home for the invalid. Instead, she is maneuvering herself, not so graciously, with mini-crutches, up and down steps of the steep inclines of Capri, in pursuit of a little child, as any mother would.

Two days later, I can’t get my mind off Capri. It’s not the natural beauty of its aquatic caves or awesome precipices. It’s not the yachts, restaurants, or even the quiet hiking trails I loved so much.

It’s the smiling woman. I must go back and tell her story.

I’ve convinced one of my students to come along. At the port, we ask for the cheapest ferry tickets from Sorrento to Capri. Even as we prepare to leave, I’m fighting skepticism and keeping obvious doubts mostly to myself. But I can’t help but wonder if the smiling woman even lives on the island. Chances are she was a tourist and is now long gone. Even if she is one of the 12,000 island residents, I don’t know her name and I don’t know where she lives.

I do remember when and where I saw her. We’re start there, I suppose.

The ferry will be full. As we prepare to board, I notice a middle-aged woman who stands out from the rest as confident in her ways. Well-dressed and elegant, if she weren’t so fair-skinned I would think she was a local.

There she is again at the front of the line as we scurry to disembark at the ferry’s hull. Ten minutes later I find her again waiting for the infamous orange bus where we will probably fight for the same wiggle space and for air from an open window. Baffled by the strange coincidence of our constantly crossing paths, I thought to give it a try:

“Signora, if you don’t mind, I have a rather strange question. I was here in Capri the other day and saw a woman with a great smile. I want to find her and ask her why she is so happy. You look like you know your way around. Would you help me find her?”

“I am not from Capri, but have lived here for many years,” she said, in perfect Italian. “Who is this woman you look for?”

“I don’t know her name. I’ve never talked to her. I only saw her for a brief moment. I just know she has great difficulty walking and she takes care of a small child.”

A few more questions and answers and I realize we may have found a guardian angel.

“We’ll talk more when we get off the bus,” she says in a discreet voice.

Maria accompanies us past tourist central and through the long and winding streets of the residential areas. “I think you are talking about Lucia. Yes, indeed, you noticed a very courageous and special woman and people need to know her story. Follow me.”

We arrive to a small gate and my new co-conspirator requests entrance through the intercom. “Lucia, it’s your neighbor Maria, the wife of…” The gate buzzed and at Maria’s prodding, the three of us walk in.

There she is. I nodded to Maria to confirm it was most definitely the woman with a smile. Clutching her two mini-crutches, Lucia, came out to greet us, a bit baffled by our mid-afternoon visit.

After a brief, rather uncomfortable introduction, we sat down and conversed over a plate of homemade cake. For over an hour we talked about her life, her physical handicaps and her smile. What follows are some very simple jewels of wisdom from a very simple woman who has found very simple and profound happiness on an island where nothing is simple at all.

First some pictures, then a window into our dialogue, as best I remember:

Photo 1: Our guardian angel, Maria, waits for Lucia to open the gate

Photo 2: Lucia comes out to greet us

Photo 3: Lucia offers us homemade cake

Photo 4: Lucia's daughter, Neome

Photo 5: Lucia walking outdoors to take care of little Neome

Photo 6: Lucia, Neome and Grandma

Photo 7: Lucia, Neome and Father Jonathan

Photo 8: Lucia, Neome, Father Jonathan and Maria

Photo 9: The long path (2 kilometers) along which Lucia was carried to school everyday by her mother and two brothers

Photo 10: View of the town of Capri

Father Jonathan: Lucia, you were born with severe disabilities and have had more than 10 major operations and still you wear a smile. Why?

Lucia: I don’t know. I don’t think it’s anything special, I mean, my disabilities. I learned to see it as normal since I was a little girl. I did everything everyone else did. I even went out at night with friends, even as a teenager and it was normal.

Father Jonathan: How did you get around?

Lucia: They carried me for a long time, especially my two older brothers. Then, when I was 18 years old, the local priest and some people from the church arrived at my door with an electric wheelchair. So things got better.

Father Jonathan: But, Lucia, you say your attitude is normal, but it’s not. Wasn’t there a moment you had a personal crisis and rebelled against what life brought you? Some people in your situation do.

Lucia: Yes, I know, some people respond differently. The father of my daughter, for example. He too was handicapped. He hated life and didn’t even want to see his daughter and so he left. But I think it is better not to lament one’s situation and just to confront it and accept it. Then it’s simple.

Father Jonathan: What exactly is the difference between the two perspectives?

Lucia: The person who laments, is the center of his own world.

Father Jonathan: You live on an island of paradise, where you see people every day who have the best of everything this world offers, including health. Do you every wonder why you are so happy and some of them are not?

Lucia: Perhaps people without my challenges perceive all the little difficulties of life as big difficulties. For me, nothing is big. They are all just little problems.

Father Jonathan: You chose to have a baby. The doctors said it was too dangerous for you to have the baby.

Lucia: Yes, and because there was not enough space inside of me for my baby, I had to lie on my back for seven months. Then I had to go to a specialized hospital in the north of Italy to give birth. My baby is the best thing that ever happened to me. And it’s funny, I remember the woman next to me at the hospital. After her baby was born, she was crying all the time. I didn’t know why. Then she told me she was upset because she didn’t like her baby’s nose, it was too big. Can you believe it?! That’s why people aren’t happy. Silliness.

Father Jonathan: You say you sometimes go into the church to pray, what do you talk to God about? Do you ask him for a miracle?

Lucia: No, I thank him for all the people around me. For my mother and my brothers. I don’t ask for a miracle, I only ask that things don’t get worse, so I can keep going on.

After speaking with Lucia, I spoke with her mother, the grandma of baby Neome. This strong and gracious woman explained to me that for many years she cried every day over the woes of her handicapped daughter, even in public. People told her she would surely die young of sadness.

“But, signora, you look so happy now,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied, in a linguistic mix of Italian and Napolitano dialect, “because one day someone asked me why I was so sad even while my daughter Lucia, in all of her suffering, was always so happy. I looked at my daughter and learned from her how to be happy.”

I hope Lucia Diana’s story helps you as much as it has helped me.

God bless,
Father Jonathan