St. George Karslidis

In a village, a church was being built and everyone helped as they could. Anyone who had an animal used it to carry stones, and those who were old worked. There was also a very poor grandmother in the village who had nothing to give for the church.
Her soul ached for this, and as the animals carrying the stones passed by, she would gather grass and throw it to them to eat to gain strength.
When the temple was finished, they held the inauguration and wrote the name of the Bishop on an inscription.
But this is what happened: as soon as the name of the Despot was written and the inscription was placed, the next day they would find his name erased and the grandmother's name written.
This happened three times. Everyone was wondering and called the grandmother. When she went to the temple, they asked her:
– Grandma, what on earth did you do that your name is written on the plaque, while we have engraved the name of the Despot?
– Good? But what good can I do, my child, the poor thing?
But they insisted. Then the grandmother thought and answered them:
– I didn't do anything, my children. Only when I saw the animals carrying the stones for the temple, my soul burned because I couldn't offer anything, so I gathered grass and threw it to the animals.
And yet, these few herbs from grandma caught on as much as no one else's offering did, because it was genuine, humble, and secret.