Before Christmas in 2011, my two daughters and I sat silently at the breakfast table, our heads drooping and our eyes downcast.
Heather, my 38-year-old child, was bravely battling the effects of the last rounds of chemotherapy. Her sister, Amy, flew to Florida from her home in Seattle to offer unwavering support and stay through the holidays.
Avery, Heather’s six-year-old daughter, was in school that morning, leaving the three of us staring into our coffee cups. Heather leaned on her arm as if her head couldn’t hold itself up. Her pale face was still beautiful, and the scarf around her head was neatly tied and quite pretty.
The fear and uncertainty between us cast a looming shadow that appeared to block the Florida sun and hope.
“You know what?!” my voice broke the deafening silence. “If we make it through this whole horror intact, I am taking us to Italy! I knew saving those credit card points for years would be helpful to us someday!”
The three of us refilled our coffee and began to envision the possibilities. Amy and Heather, though doubtful, couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of excitement for a dream trip.
Five people boarded a plane bound for Rome on a sunny early spring morning in 2013. The menacing shadow was gone.
We chose to go in March because of Avery’s spring break and to avoid high temperatures and crowds.
We planned to begin our journey in Rome and then explore other parts of Italy. I booked the trip a year in advance and was determined not to let cancer interfere with our plans.
However, then Pope Benedict resigned. The papal conclave was scheduled to occur in Rome on the Monday after our weekend tour of the Vatican. We were set to meet our Italian guide, Maria, in St. Peter’s Square on Saturday morning, March 9, 2013, at 8 a.m.
To say the world descended on Rome is an understatement. People were everywhere.
I stated many times throughout my daughter’s year-long battle with cancer that my faith soared to a new level. I gave God my daughter, trusting Him and His will. Now, her scarves were in a drawer, her eyes always sparkled, and life was returning to normalcy.
St. Peter’s Square is awe-inspiring and enormous. In the center, the Obelisk is supposedly where Roman soldiers crucified the apostle Peter.
We met lovely Maria at the Obelisk. She took a particular interest in telling Avery all she was about to see in a way only an eight-year-old could understand. The crowds had not yet arrived, so the square was reasonably empty.
Since I had visited the Vatican on a previous trip, I stepped a few feet away from the family and turned to look at the scene around us.
The Basilica was behind me, and the Catholic cardinals from around the world were staying in the Vatican apartments to my left. Newly erected media scaffolding surrounded the perimeter of the square. Birds flew in circles above us while workers attached the smokestack to the Sistine Chapel.
Standing in this sacred place, I noticed a lone figure entering St. Peter’s outside the Vatican walls and strolling into the square. I only spotted this man from a distance because of the scarlet red scarf tied at the waist of his vestments and the matching Biretta adorning the top of his head.
I wondered, “Is that a cardinal? If so, what is he doing out here?” My eyes were drawn to him as he approached. He walked diagonally across the square, heading directly toward our family gathered around Maria.
Our family is Protestant, but I sensed something was off for this cardinal to be where he was and doing what he was doing. As he drew nearer, Maria’s eyes widened. She, too, froze in silence.
I expected him to walk around us, but instead, he walked right between us. I touched the sleeve of his Simar and noticed the gold ring on his finger as he bowed his head to us. He smiled while speaking, gazing into my eyes, but I had no idea what he was saying.
As I watched him stroll away, I focused on his hands, the back of his head, and his gait.
“Is that normal?” I asked a stunned Maria.
“No,” she replied. “Maybe this cardinal will be our new Papa!”
During my daughter’s illness, while praying to ease our mighty struggle, my Bible dropped to the floor. It fell open to reveal this red-letter quote: “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”
Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the solitary cardinal, assured five touring Protestants that they were well for holding onto their faith amidst suffering. Three days later, this kind man of God would be forever known as “Pope Francis.”
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Tennessee-raised, Georgia-residing author and columnist. Her latest book is “Southern Comfort: Stories of Family, Friendship, Fiery Trials, and Faith.” She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more of her inspirational stories, click here.
