Читать книгу She Made Me Laugh - Stephanie Emmons - Страница 8

The year was 1979. My grade six buddies and I, sporting our polyester seventies wear, were chatty and excited. It wasn’t every day we got to watch a film at school. Our teacher had said that this one was called Something Beautiful for God. We were all sitting cross-legged on the orange shag carpet in the library at Pope John XXIII School in Ottawa, Canada. My friend Lisa and I sat with our knees touching; we were always together. Then someone turned out the lights and the show began.

I saw the image of a small woman with dark skin and a white outfit. “Who’s that?” I asked, looking up at Mrs. McGetrick, the school librarian who was standing beside me. “Shh …” she said slowly with a little smile, a straight index finger pressed to her lips. Then in a whisper, “You’ll see.” What I saw on the screen over the next hour struck a strange chord in me. The music was sad, and the woman was slowly walking toward the camera, holding a scrawny child by the hand. Neither of them looked too cheerful. I didn’t understand what was going on, but I was spellbound. There was something about her.

The narrator said that her name was Mother Teresa and that she was helping the poor and the sick. There were kids in the streets, people in beds, babies in cribs, and more ladies in white. When it was over, the lights came on and everyone started chatting noisily. I remember looking around to see if anyone else looked like they were about to cry. Mrs. McGetrick said that Mother Teresa must be a very special nun to have given her whole life to God and to helping the poor people.

The poor people? I wondered. Why were they poor? How come they were living on the streets and in the train stations? Who were these kids, and why weren’t their moms and dads looking after them?

I can still clearly recall the look on Mother Teresa’s face, and I could have sworn she was looking right at me. There was so much on her face. At times she looked warm and kind, but at other times, a little scary. She looked almost angry. I tried to make sense of this. But then, our teacher told us to line up and we headed back to class.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it—the film, the children, and their sad faces. And her face. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mother Teresa’s face.

Soon after seeing that film, I had a dream I was in India talking with her. She smiled her kind smile at me, and I felt her warm presence. Then I was back at home, alone in my room, dreaming I was talking to God: “I want to meet her! I want to join them and help the poor people! But how will I ever get to India? How can I explain this to Mom and Dad? Will they even let me go?” God then replied, “You’ll know when the time is right, but you have to wait.”

Waiting is hard at any age, but it is especially so at 11 when you suddenly know exactly what you’re meant to do. Frustrated, but undaunted, I continued, “God, why did you show me this and make me want to go there so badly if all I can do is wait? How long?” I demanded. Then, gently, “You’re young and you’re not ready. You’ll have to wait, sweetheart.” With all the grown-up conviction I could gather, I shot back, “I’m ready! I really am, Father.” He spoke again, this time with a little more conviction: “Stephie. It’s not time yet.” And with that, I woke up.

It seemed so real.

I was exasperated. I simply could not imagine why He wouldn’t just make it happen right then and there. I was good and ready and felt sure I would make a very good nun.

Sixteen years later, I stood in front of her for real, and her smile was just as kind and her presence just as warm as I had imagined….