As life goes on, I see more and more how much I resemble my Dad.
During the portion of our pilgrimage when we walked from Fatima to Coimbra (following the life-path of Sr. Lucia dos Santos, the Fatima visionary) with a group comprised of 9 different nationalities, I really dug into my "inner dad." This is because I was given the sacred task of being the "caboose" of our hike - or "le voiture balai" as it is called in French (literally, "broom car"!).
My Dad always chaperoned church and school trips, and he always seemed to end up tending to the somewhat peripheral kids. The first day of the hike, I saw that this might be part of my future, as my success as the caboose was threatened by the jovial carelessness of the French youth who drifted to the back in the course of the afternoon. They were cheerful and pleasant (though not, apparently, speaking or understanding English)... and they were totally oblivious to the importance of staying with the group (which was actually quite important, since I didn't have the address of our destination!).
The next day confirmed my apprehensions, as my young friends started drifting to the back of the line in the afternoon. Fortunately, I was ready: one of the hike organizers had given me cookies to boost morale in the back and I was completely content to use these as bait. In some semblance of French, I pulled the group into a huddle and explained to them the situation: I needed to be the back of the line. We needed to keep an eye on the rest of the hike group. I had cookies I would happily distribute... IF we stayed in sight of the rest of the group and IF I remained at the back of the train. Immediately, the whole group came to attention and professed their undying loyalty to the plan. Their enthusiasm about the cookies was so sincere that one of the young ladies called them all "Rats.”
From that time on, these precious youth became "the Rats" and gradually took to calling me "Sister Rat.” They miraculously developed a great ability in the English language over the next few days, and I always seemed to run into them in times of need: they needed translation for a Mass in Portuguese, and I happened to be right next to them. I needed a boost for the last leg of the walk into the vigil, and I ran into their group and joined their chain.
Just before we were split up and sent on separate buses at the end of World Youth Day, I ran into the “Rats” one last time. I asked if we could get a picture together, and they had me send it to one of their members. In reply, the young lady wrote back, "Thanks “Sister Rat,” you're a precious testimony for us!" I replied, "And you for me. Now let's be saints!" to which she responded, "AMEN".
Sometimes, saints don't fit our idea of what they "should be". Sometimes they are cheerful, careless French 20-year-olds who like cookies. Certainly, of all the names I have acquired in life, "Sister Rat" is a precious one.
- Sr. Agnes Therese Davis, T.O.R.
