around as it drew nearer the earth. At the moment
it seemed we were to be consumed by flames, it
returned to its place in the sky just as suddenly as it
had begun. In the sun’s place, there appeared Saint
Joseph, who was holding Baby Jesus.
“Es un milagro!”
I found myself crying along with the
rest of the crowd. “It’s a miracle!”
At that moment, I knew that, difficult as it was, this
was more than copious reward for the dusty journey,
the loss of my best dress from Paris, the drenching
evening in the rain, and even the fight to move in
the impenetrable throngs. At that moment, I also
realized why everyone, including
Madre
and
Tío
Juan wanted to endure the arduous journey in order
to witness this miracle. I glanced over at
Madre
,
who smiled at me serenely, tears streaming down
her face. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I was
astounded to find it was the youngest of the three
children.
“Olá,”
she said.
Not that much different from Spanish, was it?
“Hola,”
I replied hesitantly.
She handed me a pair of wooden Rosaries. They
appeared to be handmade, but they were polished so
much they shone in the bright sunlight.
“For me?” I asked uncertainly. She had probably
noticed I was one of the only people gathered there
who did not have a Rosary.
“Sim,”
she replied, a broad grin spreading across her
angelic face.
“Gracias,”
I said, accepting the modest yet
beautiful gift.
I looked the girl over from head to toe. She was
dressed in a simple dress, probably homespun
cotton, and I suddenly felt well-to-do in my
relatively fancy dress compared to hers. I should
have worn my everyday dress! Despite her humble
attire, one could not help but realize how blessed
and holy she was.
“Jacinta,” the girl said, pointing to herself.
“Maria,” I responded, pointing to myself in turn.
Jacinta could probably tell that I was Spanish, so
she did not stay to chat. She merely patted my hand,
and as she was turning away, she said softly, “
Rezar
,
Maria.”
Madre
looked at me after my new friend had left.
“Do you know what she just said to you, niña?” she
asked me.
I shook my head; some Portuguese words were
similar to Spanish, but I could not understand what
that last word was.
“She told you to pray, Maria,”
Pray. That is what my father had taught me to do,
and what he had said to me just before his death;
that is what
Tío
Juan had said he was going to do;
that is what Jacinta, the littlest shepherdess, had
said to me.
Many more miracles occurred that afternoon, but
my mind was focused on Jacinta’s message to pray.
For the first time, I realized I had made an appalling
mistake by neglecting my religion in the past, and by
not believing the story of the Fatima apparitions.
I knelt to the ground, picked up my new Rosaries,
kissed the Crucifix, and began to pray.
Chantal LaFortune
, now in tenth grade, has been
homeschooled through Seton her entire life. She enjoys
reading and writing, and has played the piano for nine years.
She feels Seton’s challenging curriculum has fostered her
love of writing, and she hopes to put Seton’s English courses
to good use by pursuing a career in writing.
Rezar | Chantal LaFortune | Grade 10
27
BAYLEY BULLETIN, MAR-MAY 2016
