Mirjana Soldo - My Heart Will Triumph

The six of us in the first days of the apparitions. From left to right: Ivan, Marija, me, Ivanka, Vicka and Jakov.

CHAPTER 1

I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.

Jesus (Matthew 11:25)

I n the beginning, among the six of us, I was the outsider.

Unlike the others, I had grown up in Sarajevo. With its busy streets and tall buildings, everything about my city was a stark contrast to the fields, dirt roads, and stone houses of Meugorje.

But even greater than the physical differences of these two places were the cultural ones.

Meugorje was populated mostly by the Croats, a proud people who had endured countless hardships throughout history. Whether facing Turkish conquerors or communist oppressors, the residents of Meugorje stayed true to their Catholic faith. Still, even in 1981, those who lived in Meugorje had to be discreet about their beliefs so as not to draw the scrutiny of the government.

The population of Sarajevo, on the other hand, was a colorful blend of all the people who inhabited the rest of Yugoslavia. Sometimes called the Jerusalem of Europe, Sarajevos population of roughly 400,000 people included Bosnian Muslims (about 45%), Serbian Orthodox Christians (30%), a scattering of us Catholic Croats (8%), and even a small community of Jews. The dominant ideology in those days, however, was atheistic communism.

Sarajevos diverse history was especially obvious in its architecture. It looked as if pieces of different puzzles had been tossed together to make a city. On the periphery, the red tile roofs of traditional Bosnian homes shone bright against drab concrete monoliths built by the communists, while closer to Baarija Sarajevos charming Old Town and the heart of the cityornate mosques and Ottoman citadels competed for the eye with extravagant remnants of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Throughout my childhood, I had many friends from varying religions and backgrounds. In fact, out of all my friends in Sarajevo, only a few were Catholic. Muslims and Orthodox were far more prevalent there, and the citys skyline was dominated by minarets and Byzantine church spires. I had friends from both faiths, but we never worried about our differences. I would sometimes even celebrate my friends holy days, and they would celebrate mine. I learned to respect people of other faiths even before the Virgin Mary taught us that it was right to do so.

As I grew up, I was continually drawn to spend my summers in Meugorje, even though the houses there lacked running water and I spent most of my time working beneath the scorching sun. My aunt, uncle and cousins lived in Meugorje, and my parents allowed me to stay with them year after year. Meugorje was my second home.

Uncle imun and Aunt Slava treated me like their own child, so I never felt like I was merely a guest in their home. Their two oldest daughters, Milena and Vesna, were more like sisters to me than cousins. I slept in their room and we talked every night until their little brother Vlado asked us to be quiet or when our giggles accidentally woke their little sister, Jelena.

Sandwiched between scrub-covered mountains, the parish of Meugorje was comprised of five small hamlets. Founded on May 15, 1892, the parish was placed under the protection of Saint James, the patron saint of pilgrimsa choice which, 90 years later, would seem almost prophetic. The first church of St. James was inadvertently built on unstable ground, so a new one was completed in 1969. At first, no one understood why the priests built such a big church, but after the events of 1981, it often seemed too small.

My aunt and uncle lived in Bijakovii, a hamlet near the base of a hill called Podbrdo. Like everyone in Meugorje, they made a meager living by growing tobacco, grapes, and other crops. While traditional Herzegovinian houses featured stone walls and orange tile roofs, imun and Slava lived in a more modern home built with bricks and stucco.

No one in Sarajevo understood what I loved so much about Meugorje, not even my parents. At home, I had all the comforts of city life, which my parents worked hard to provide. By comparison, life in Meugorje was far more difficult. The villagers had to grow most of their own food, ration water, and work just to survive. Yet it was this simplicity that drew me there every summer.

For the first nine years of my life in Sarajevo, my parents treated me like a princess. My father was especially doting. If my mother asked me to do the laundry or wash the dishes, he would do it for me. My parents even brought me my breakfast in bed sometimes, and they always cooked what I liked because I was thin and they wanted me to eat more. To encourage me, my mom and dad applauded if I finished everything on my plate. This led to some embarrassing moments, though. When I was about seven years old, I visited my relatives and the family had prepared a special meal for my aunts father-in-law. I didnt know that it was only for him and I ate all of it.

I sat there proudly, expecting applause, but instead everyone looked at me with surprise. Thankfully, my aunts father-in-law laughed about it.

For a picky eater like me, the food in Meugorje was different from what I was used to. But my mother always warned me before I went there so I never complained.

If I hear that you refused to eat something, she said, then youll come back home that very second.