Mother Teresa

“Keep the joy of loving God in your heart and share this joy with all you meet especially your family. Be holy. Let us pray.” –Mother Teresa

Though Mother Teresa died in 1997, I sometimes like to pretend she didn’t.

Just like in a play, in a TV program, or in a movie, I like to create make-believe moments and pretend I am Mother Teresa.

This day, in my make-believe world, I see a make-believe boy wandering a real place, the streets of Baghdad. I have just left a make-believe hospital where I visited make-believe wounded American soldiers.

Remember, I am not Mother Teresa. I am pretending to be Mother Teresa.

Back to my story.

The pretend soldiers I visited are hurt from fighting the Iraqi war, a real war. In my make-believe world, I pray with them. I ask God to heal their wounds and make them well, again.

Outside the hospital, on my way back to the convent (a convent is a place where real nuns live), a boy runs to greet me. The boy knows that I am a nun by my habit (a nun’s dress and veil is called a habit).

This pretend boy’s shirt and trousers are torn. His feet are bruised and scraped. He clutches a basket. Inside the basket are a loaf of bread, a clutch of olives and a string of figs. My new friend looks about 7 or 8 years old.

Remember, I am not Mother Theresa. I am only pretending.

The young boy cries. He says that he is alone. His eyes are wet, and his basket shakes, as he tells his tale. He says that earlier in the morning his mother, his father, his 2 sisters, and his brother were killed. They were on their way to meet friends. A road was closed because it had been bombed. They had to walk around it, then they got lost.

They stopped to rest and ask directions. His father ordered him to guard the basket and wait by the side of the road. He watched his family cross to the other side, and that’s when it happened. A bomb went off.

My new friend stretches his arms. The basket wobbles. He says his basket of food is all he has left. He asks me if I am hungry and offers to share his basket of food.

Please remember, what you have just read is make-believe. There is no such boy, there is no such basket, and I am not Mother Teresa. I made this story up.

Back to my pretend story.

It is evening. My small boy friend have nibbled grapes and figs and a crust of bread. Later, I tuck my pretend friend into a pretend bed for the night in a nearby make-believe convent.

I teach Omar to fold his hands. Together, we pray. We thank God for grapes, for figs and for a crust of bread. We ask God to end the Iraqi war. We ask God to welcome his mother, his father, his 2 sisters and brother into heaven. We thank God for helping us find each other.

Though my story is not real, I like to think if Mother Teresa were alive, she would like it.

What do you think?