site and pilgrimage destination.
The claim was that Mary had selected a small group of children in Medjugorje to appear before and share her messages from heaven, as she’d reportedly done on many occasions with other children around the world since the death of her son, Jesus Christ. Mary repeatedly appeared as a vision to these Yugoslavian boys and girls, speaking only to them even though there were often others, including grown-ups, present. The children entered a trancelike state during these visitations, and only shared the messages with the rest of the village when the apparitions were finished.
When word of the visitations started to spread, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims began trekking to Medjugorje in the hopes of seeing the mother of Jesus and witnessing for themselves the great miracles that were occurring there.
For my parents—both devout Catholics who prayed regularly to the Virgin Mary—the apparitions seemed to be an answer to their prayers. People at church told them that several miracles had been seen in Medjugorje, such as the sun spinning in the sky above the tiny village. But there had also been reports that many pilgrims there had been cured of grave illnesses, ailments, and all manner of diseases and injuries.
Mom and Dad believed with all their hearts that if there was any chance, even the very remotest possibility, that making a pilgrimage to Medjugorje would miraculously heal me and make me whole again, then they had to act upon it at once. They decided that no matter what it took, they were going to get me to Yugoslavia.
My father is a loyal and caring family man who always worked to be the best possible provider he could be and ensure that his loved ones never wanted for anything. He really wanted to make the pilgrimage to Medjugorje, but he was busy with his insurance company. Therefore, my parents agreed that Dad would stay home with my brothers and hold down the fort, and Mom would take me to Yugoslavia. Before long, we were off, traveling with a group of other Catholics who were on the same pilgrimage.
I was only seven years old, and I found my first trip out of the country to be both fascinating and frightening. Just traveling with my mother was a memorable experience in itself because we’d never really gone anywhere alone together, unless it was to a hospital for yet another surgery. But now we were making our way to an exotic country I’d never even heard of, and a place where the mother of Jesus was supposed to be visiting to boot! What an adventure, like setting off on a journey to a magical place from a storybook!
The reality was quite a bit different.
T HE Y UGOSLAVIAN COUNTRYSIDE was like an alien landscape to me, and just about as far away from our suburban American lifestyle as I could possibly imagine. To say that I was shocked as we arrived in the village would be an understatement. I was hungry when we got to Medjugorje; since I’d never been out of the country, I imagined that we’d find a McDonald’s drive-through somewhere. Instead, we found cows and goats wandering through the middle of the street, along with chickens and roosters living in people’s homes.
Mom and I stayed with a wonderfully warm and friendly family for our ten-day visit. However, they spoke very little English and were so poor that they didn’t have electricity. It was winter by then, and my mother and I had to sleep fully clothed so we wouldn’t freeze. In the evening, she and I sat around the family’s fire to keep warm, and we all figured out a sort of sign language so we could communicate with each other. The family was very kind—and even if I wasn’t accustomed to the living conditions or the local cuisine of lamb and peppers and salty cheeses, we had some laughs and shared some bonding meals together.
Every morning, Mom and I would hike up the mountain to the area where the young visionaries received their apparitions of Mary. Along the way, we’d see hundreds of people
The claim was that Mary had selected a small group of children in Medjugorje to appear before and share her messages from heaven, as she’d reportedly done on many occasions with other children around the world since the death of her son, Jesus Christ. Mary repeatedly appeared as a vision to these Yugoslavian boys and girls, speaking only to them even though there were often others, including grown-ups, present. The children entered a trancelike state during these visitations, and only shared the messages with the rest of the village when the apparitions were finished.
When word of the visitations started to spread, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims began trekking to Medjugorje in the hopes of seeing the mother of Jesus and witnessing for themselves the great miracles that were occurring there.
For my parents—both devout Catholics who prayed regularly to the Virgin Mary—the apparitions seemed to be an answer to their prayers. People at church told them that several miracles had been seen in Medjugorje, such as the sun spinning in the sky above the tiny village. But there had also been reports that many pilgrims there had been cured of grave illnesses, ailments, and all manner of diseases and injuries.
Mom and Dad believed with all their hearts that if there was any chance, even the very remotest possibility, that making a pilgrimage to Medjugorje would miraculously heal me and make me whole again, then they had to act upon it at once. They decided that no matter what it took, they were going to get me to Yugoslavia.
My father is a loyal and caring family man who always worked to be the best possible provider he could be and ensure that his loved ones never wanted for anything. He really wanted to make the pilgrimage to Medjugorje, but he was busy with his insurance company. Therefore, my parents agreed that Dad would stay home with my brothers and hold down the fort, and Mom would take me to Yugoslavia. Before long, we were off, traveling with a group of other Catholics who were on the same pilgrimage.
I was only seven years old, and I found my first trip out of the country to be both fascinating and frightening. Just traveling with my mother was a memorable experience in itself because we’d never really gone anywhere alone together, unless it was to a hospital for yet another surgery. But now we were making our way to an exotic country I’d never even heard of, and a place where the mother of Jesus was supposed to be visiting to boot! What an adventure, like setting off on a journey to a magical place from a storybook!
The reality was quite a bit different.
T HE Y UGOSLAVIAN COUNTRYSIDE was like an alien landscape to me, and just about as far away from our suburban American lifestyle as I could possibly imagine. To say that I was shocked as we arrived in the village would be an understatement. I was hungry when we got to Medjugorje; since I’d never been out of the country, I imagined that we’d find a McDonald’s drive-through somewhere. Instead, we found cows and goats wandering through the middle of the street, along with chickens and roosters living in people’s homes.
Mom and I stayed with a wonderfully warm and friendly family for our ten-day visit. However, they spoke very little English and were so poor that they didn’t have electricity. It was winter by then, and my mother and I had to sleep fully clothed so we wouldn’t freeze. In the evening, she and I sat around the family’s fire to keep warm, and we all figured out a sort of sign language so we could communicate with each other. The family was very kind—and even if I wasn’t accustomed to the living conditions or the local cuisine of lamb and peppers and salty cheeses, we had some laughs and shared some bonding meals together.
Every morning, Mom and I would hike up the mountain to the area where the young visionaries received their apparitions of Mary. Along the way, we’d see hundreds of people
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