FATIMA FEELINGS

By Harrison Post

The souls of my sneakers rubbed against the cold cobblestone ground of Fatima Square. The Portuguese breeze made the air feel fine and thin.

I was traveling abroad with the Archdiocesan Boy Choir of Philadelphia, and my director, Mr. Tom, in Portugal. We had arrived in Fatima the night before and had been asked to sing at a rosary that night. As I walked with my two singing partners, Colin and Tim, I looked up at the basilica of Fatima, towering high over the square. It had a bell tower, and on either side were two gigantic photographs of two children to whom Mary had once appeared. As we neared “The Chapel of the Apparitions,” the place where we were assigned to sing, I also saw the large oak tree in the square and the Holy Year Door.

Inside the chapel it was amazing. It was a large room, with walls of glass. It was filled with hundreds of people all holding candles making it look like a miniature village. Inside was another smaller chapel, the size of about three telephone booths. Many priests were there, all dressed in white robes. In front was a beautiful statue of Our Lady of Fatima, in a white gown and gold crown. She sparkled like a diamond. Her face was straight, and rows and rows of people were staring at it. I felt safe in the chapel, especially in front of her.

I took my place on a bench, and soon the rosary had begun. When the prayers were done, we stood up and sang a song. It sounded better than usual. I sat back down, turned around, and noticed for that first time another statue of Mary perched inside the front wall of the basilica. It sparkled, just as the other had done. That’s when I felt it.

It felt as if someone was shining a bright light inside me.  As if someone had elated my spirit and I would never be sad again.  It was certain warmth that no fire could create.  Everything around me, the statues, the chapel, the basilica, and the candles, now glowed with an extra special light that mankind could never imagine.  God was with me.

As I walked back to the hotel after the service, I looked up at the statue of Mary.  The straight expression she had worn earlier had now been replaced with a grin.  I grinned back, and didn’t say a word the whole rest of the way, too touched to speak.