Patriotism is, for me, a matter of the heart.

As the grandson of desperate immigrants, I always had this image of America as a safe and welcoming and free place, a light unto a cruel world. A country with great heart.

Last November’s election was a gift to me, it jolted me awake and is slowly turning me into a true patriot, I love my country in a new and completely different way. You can fight for your country with guns, you can fight for your country with heart. Both are powerful weapons and tools.

Albert Einstein wrote that blind belief in authority – any authority – is the greatest enemy of truth. I was taught as a reporter and a citizen to never be afraid to raise my voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. That is what patriot’s do, I believe they comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted. If you are neutral about injustice, then you have chosen the side of the oppressors.

Pope Francis challenges us to stand with the vulnerable and the poor, that is the true calling of the faithful. That was the true calling of Christ and almost every great man or woman of faith throughout human history.

How do I love my country? You don’t need to pick up a gun or rifle to do that. I can love my country by living my life.

I love my country by going to see Connie Martell, who is very much alone and at a crossroads in her life.

I do it by helping Devota Nyiraneza pay off the loans that keep her from going to school. I do it by helping Mawulidi Diodone Majaliwa get the tools he needs to resume his carving work, and the refugee children play their soccer games with pride.

I do it by helping the Mansion residents get the soap and body wash and books and air conditioners and clothes and trips to the outside world that they need.

Connie was the first resident of the Mansion that I spoke with and raised money for. She has a strong and very alert mind, and was so eager to find work and do good,  even confined to an assisted care facility and on oxygen. From her, I got the idea of America once again as a generous and caring country.

When I asked people to send her patterns and wool, I had no idea I would be altering my life and hers. This was the first time I turned to the Army of Good for help, and I was astonished at the response. Every time I went into the Manson Connie was busy once more, her days had purpose and meaning, she no longer felt forgotten and less than useful.

This was a revelation, to me and to her. It paved the way for me to be a patriot, to love my country in my own  individual way.

I did not have to join the raging mobs of the left or the right, or turn to cable for my news.  I did not have to argue. All I had to do was do good, and in that way, reveal the soul of the country I love, and fight for that soul. I never imagined having so many loving soldiers right behind me.

My country is the world, wrote Thomas Paine, an my religion is to do good. Out citizenship in the United States is our national character. Our citizenship in a state or town is only our local distinction. Out great title is Americans.

Whatever is my right as a man or woman is also the right of another, of every other. It becomes my duty to guarantee as well as to possess. those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, wrote Paine, “must undergo the fatigues of supporting it.”

I learned this year to not fear or flee from conflict., or tremble under the shadow of what they call the news. I learned that belief in a cruel God or a cruel leader makes for cruel men and women. My country is not cruel.

“To argue with a man who has renounced the use and authority of reason,” wrote Paine, “and whose philosophy consists in holding humanity in contempt, is like administering medicine to the dead, or endeavoring to convert an atheist by scripture.”

The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. I love the man or woman that can smile in trouble, that can gather from distress and grow. The patriotic heart does not rise to argument or rage or grievance, but to compassion and justice.

Connie had the right do her work, to knit with her baskets of yarn to pass out her shawls and caps to the staff and to the children in nearby hospitals. I was struck by the clarity of her mind, the honesty of her words, and her commitment to service. Very American to me.

She is the pioneer, she paved the way for the Army Of Good and all of the work it has done.

Now, she enters an uncertain world, and will have to make her own way there. I am no seer, I cannot predict her future, but I sense she is moving on, beyond my reach.

I am grateful to her, because she has shown me the way to be a patriot, to love my country, and so many of you have shown me what that means.

If you wish to write her, you can send your letters and messages to Connie Martell, 2215 Burdett Ave.,  Fifth Floor, Troy, N.Y., 12180. Your letters have the greatest value to here.