Cross Country Children's Rosary with Lebanon and South Africa June 6, 2026

Two Children's Rosary groups will be uniting in prayer on June 6. Each will meet at their respective parish and pray together. The children will pray at 4:00 p.m. in South Africa and 5:00 p.m. local time in Lebanon. The two Children's Rosary groups are from St. Elias Rihaniyeh Church Baabda, Lebanon and Our Lady of Cedars Woodmead Maronite Catholic Church in Sandton, South Africa. The children will be able to see and hear each other through a projection on a screen in each church. Watch the invitation video at this link. A special thank you to all the organizers. 

Members of the Children's Rosary Celebrate the Jubilee of St. Francis of Assisi in Nigeria

Members of the Children's Rosary joined the Bishop of Shendam, Nigeria in celebrating the Jubilee of St. Francis. The Jubilee event was held at St Francis Parish Mabudi in the Shendam Diocese. Through the visit of the members of the Children's Rosary to the event the parish of St Francis has decided to initiate a Children's Rosary there. 

Members of the Children's Rosary group shared Children's Rosary prayer booklets to the children of St Francis Parish Mabudi where the celebratory event and Mass were held. The parish indicated they would be starting a Children's Rosary. The missionary efforts of the children were indeed fruitful!

Exploring Assisi

Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He went on to visit Belgium, Uganda, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, Madagascar, South Africa, Cameroon, The Democratic Republic of the Congo, Angola, Lesotho, Mozambique, Botswana, Namibia and he is now in Italy where he has been spending a month in Assisi. Asher has a love of history which animates this post. 

In my last post I detailed my trip from South Africa to Italy, my arrival in Assisi, and the beginning of my Italian classes. Here, however, I wish to relate the first couple of visits I was able to make to some of the sites around town and in so doing tell the story of this place, which is surely a detailed and intricate one. 

The first visit I made in Assisi was to the Rocca Maggiore, a large imposing fortress on the heights surrounding the town. This tour was with a man named Marco, a local tour guide who on Wednesdays takes the academy students to a particular sight and explains the history and significance—in Italian, of course. 

The original fortress would likely have been built sometime in the early Middle Ages, and it is believed that Frederick Barbarossa came through that building during his conquest of Assisi, which occurred in 1174. Barbarossa was of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, a German royal family that ruled the Habsburg empire for centuries in the High Middle Ages. They had many notable run-ins with the Pontiffs at that time, even though in a fundamental sense the Holy Roman Emperor was seen as carrying forth the standard of Christian temporal power, while the Pope held the spiritual influence. However, like most things that are meant to work symbiotically, the reality was often much more complicated. In fact, Frederick Barbarossa’s incursion into Italy in which he took Assisi, was part of a larger effort to retake much of the peninsula and bring it out from under Papal domination, thus bringing him into direct conflict with Pope Alexander III. This conflict took the form in Italy of the continual clash between the Guelphs and Ghibellines, two rival factions that supported the Pope and the emperor respectively. In fact, in Dante’s famous Commedia Divina, that particular political struggle is referenced quite often. Of course Dante was not from Assisi, but from Florence, and by his time, the Guelphs had successfully driven the Ghibellines from their city. This left an internal conflict between two factions that came to be known as the White and Black Guelphs, who fought each other almost as fiercely as the Ghibellines had. The Black Guelphs stood in favor of very strong temporal power for the Pope, while the White Guelphs (to whom Dante belonged) believed in a more tempered prerogative that restricted some of the Pope’s earthly power. By the time the Commedia was written, the White Guelphs had been defeated, and Dante had been driven from the city as an exile, which explains much of his bitterness and yet pining fondness for his city, as well has his acid revulsion toward the Black Guelphs. 

However, to return to the Rocca Maggiore, the version that Frederick Barbarossa likely saw is not the version one would see today as it was destroyed in a popular uprising in 1198. And there it lay, destroyed with no need for it to be rebuilt until 1356, when it was rebuilt by a churchman named Cardinal Albornoz. Albornoz also had another fort, the Rocca Minore (of course, smaller) built some distance away from the first with a rock wall connecting the two. 

The reason for this updated construction was that Albornoz, a Spaniard by birth, was acting on behalf of the Pope, at that time the Avignon Pope Innocent VI. Innocent was engaged in a struggle with his rival, Giovanni di Vico, who claimed to be the Bishop of Rome, and hence the Pope. Since Church law does not allow for two men to be Pope at once, the reason for the war between them should be self-evident.  The Cardinal came to win support for the Pope-in-exile’s cause, and, having obtained the backing of the Archbishop of Milan and the bishops of Florence and Pisa, he set about fortifying the region and solidifying the Pope’s position, including building the Rocca Maggiore that still stands today. 

Upon arriving at the Rocca Maggiore, we were able to walk through its narrow corridors and small slit windows through which the archers could fire with a reasonable hope of being enough protected as to prevent being struck in return. The small spiraling staircase to the upper tower was steep, uneven, and dizzying enough to give any Medieval knight’s tower a run for its money. At the top, overlooking the city, we were rewarded with a beautiful view, though the rainy, overcast, windy, and (if one is being honest) downright chilly spring day rendered the high altitude even severer in temperature than it might otherwise have been. 

After this tour, we walked back down to the Accademy and were able to walk a bit about the city and admire the Calendimaggio which was then just starting. 

I suppose it is about time I explain this Calendimaggio to which I have oft referred and which I have to this point avoided completely elucidating. 

The Calendimaggio is essentially a medieval festival that is celebrated in springtime both to mark arrival of the season and to commemorate the great traditions and competitions typical of yesteryear. In general, across Italy, the competitions take the form of two or more rival factions from the same town which claim to be (and often actually are) bitter rivals that contend for bragging rights for the rest of the year until the next Calendimaggio. 

In Assisi, the two bitterly opposed (well, not quite) factions are the upper and lower parts of town, quite ostentatiously named the Nobilissima Parte di Sopra and the Magnifica Parte di Sotto respectively. 

The two sides actually date back to the Guelph-Ghibelline divide where the Sopra faction was allied with the Ghibellines and the Sotto faction was allied with the Guelphs. The Nepi family were the leaders of the former, and the Fiumi of the latter. 

In the days preceding the competitions, there are many preparations apparent all around town, many of them rather strange to the untrained eye. Street lights are extinguished and replaced with medieval lamps (that are nonetheless LED lit), olive branches are erected to cover up the wires or electrical lines that power the various utilities of the town, and wooden structures are constructed to mimic medieval vendors’ stalls. Overall, it is a great time for the guys to dust off their toolboxes and bond over some such construction project. 

Finally, the festivities begin with a ceremony at San Rufino (sopra) and at San Francesco (sotto) blessing the flags of the two sides. I attended at San Rufino, and it was a beautiful sight, seeing everyone dressed in full medieval getup processing into the Church. There was a short service with a prayer, and then the event was officially begun. 

It seemed that everyone in the village was involved. There were knights with chain mail and boots, great ladies with elaborate headdresses and impractically long trains, great gentlemen with elaborate headdresses and no trains (of course). 

All of the actual competitions were ticketed events, mostly in the Piazza del Commune, but the energy was palpable everywhere. 

One night we were told that we had to abstain from any lights or television for the whole evening because a drama was being held outside our window. It was hosted by the sotto section, and if the surrounding residences did anything arye (that is, accidentally come outside or cause some anachronism such as modern lights), the judge could penalize sotto. This seemed liked a pretty good incentive to get the neighbors to comply since, if they didn’t, they would be taken in hand not so much by any legal body but just by their own fellow neighbors. 

After several days, the celebrations were brought to a conclusion, and it transpired that the sotto part won, which was where I was staying. There was great jubilation in our area, while the sopra section just had to endure another year of defeat and must needs console themselves with the though of, “We’ll get ’em next year!” 

During that first week, the school provided us with another tour which I wanted to speak a bit about. It was to the library of the Franciscans at San Francesco, a place generally only frequented by researchers or friars. Inside are housed various ancient texts, including ones from the time of St. Francis. 

The archivist, a tall Italian friar, explained to us the history of about five or six. One was a hymn book that was created likely during the lifetime of St. Francis. It was important for determining what sort of prayers and what kind of liturgy was practiced in the time of St. Francis. Since books were so expensive in that time, they were only able to have one and would all use it in common. Books at that time required months and sometimes years of labor, tediously stretching animal skin, solidifying it with wax, allowing it to dry, and then painstakingly writing on it in perfect order and without crossing the column barriers. There were professionals called copyists whose job it was to meticulously write down texts, usually from another manuscript. Their reputation was one of meticulous care but likely no comprehension; that is, they likely understood very little of what they were writing. 

He also showed us a book written by a theologian who wrote his own texts. This man, on the other hand, of course understood what he was writing but was likely the only one; his writing was so bad that upon close examination, no one was able to read a word of it from our group. The friar said that there was some expert from Perugia who had spent years working with this medieval theologian’s texts and for whom it was now quite easy to decipher them. However, to the untrained eye, their meaning is quite elusive. 

We also saw a Bible donated by King Louis IX to the Franciscan order. King Louis was someone I spoke about when I was in Paris; he was a saint in his own right and greatly admired the Franciscans. He sent them a Bible as a gift, and quite a valuable gift it was. The friar showed us the heavy, supersized cover and binding and the large pages and then proceeded to tell us that that was only the book of Isaiah. It would have taken months and months, he said, for a copyist to, by himself, put together all the pages necessary for that one volume along. All put together, for the whole Bible, it would take a single person about fifteen years to complete. Certainly the gift of a king. 

The classes continued, and I slowly settled into my routine of Assisian life. Every day I would rotate through the churches I would visit because, of course, there are so many to choose from. My favorite was the Chiesa Nuova, a small, baroque church built over the site of Francis’s house. It is exquisitely decorated, right in the center of town, and yet somehow just out of the way of the crowds. 

In my next post I will speak about my day trip to Florence, the city of Dante. It was my first time there, but nevertheless it was full of great discoveries and misadventures.

To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE

New Children's Rosary in Dingolfing, Germany

We received these pictures from the new Children's Rosary in Dingolfing, Germany. The group has formed at Bistum Regensburg Parish. The group meets monthly. The picture above was taken at their May meeting. 

Children's Rosary to Meet Each Monday at Immaculate Heart Primary School in Nbuan, Nigeria

This past week Fr Paul Miapkwap shared pictures from his visit to Immaculate Heart Nursery and Primary School in Nbuan. "Sr. Christiana the new head teacher was excited to have me in their school and promised to introduce the Children's Rosary in the whole school. They will be meeting every Monday by 12:00 p.m."

Fr. Miapkwap shared two Children's Rosary t shirts as well as handmade rosaries and prayer books.

Children Explain Why the Children's Rosary Has Been Important in Their Lives

 

We recently received these lovely letters from a family in Front Royal, Virginia. The children first learned about the Children's Rosary through the Children's Rosary which airs on EWTN. They obtained the DVD and prayed along with it from home. Then later after several years they began a Children's Rosary in their parish that meets weekly in front of the Blessed Sacrament each Thursday. As we are preparing a book to give to Pope Leo at a Papal Audience in Rome, they sent in letters sharing why the Children's Rosary has been important to them.

Mass Offered for All the Members of the Children's Rosary on May 25, 2026

A Mass was offered on May 25, 2026 for all the members of the Children's Rosary and all who help the Children's Rosary. We continue to have a Mass said for this intention on the twenty-fifth of each month. The Eucharist is such a powerful gift from Our Lord that when we wanted to extend thanksgiving to all of you, we knew of no better way to express gratitude. May Our Lord's love be poured down on all of you through the powerful sacrifice of the Holy Mass. 

The picture included in this post was taken during a May Crowning and Children's Rosary at St Peter Claver Church in West Hartford, Connecticut in 2019. A few days ago, I happened to stumble on the picture in a Children's Rosary post. As today is the Feast of Mary Mother of the Church, it seemed a beautiful example of how honoring and drawing close to Our Blessed Mother brings a harvest of blessings and a deeper love of Christ. Asher who when the picture was taken was 12, now is 19 and is a seminarian through the Archdiocese of Hartford, Connecticut. He left on June 28 2025 at the age of 18 to spread the Children's Rosary through Europe and Africa for a year. This missionary adventure has taken him to France, Belgium, Uganda, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, Madagascar, South Africa, Cameroon, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Angola, Lesotho, Mozambique, Namibia, Botswana, and Italy. The journey is not nearly finished and he is looking forward to traveling to the Netherlands next week. 

Mary Mother of the Church Please Pray for Us

May Meeting of the Children's Rosary at St. Elias Rihaniyeh Church in Lebanon

We received these lovely pictures of the Children's Rosary meeting on May 16, 2026. The group is growing in attendance. Please note the statue of Our Blessed Mother and the beautiful flowers that surround her.

Celebrating the Feast of St. Rita in Cascia, Italy

On May 22, we celebrated the Feast of St. Rita. Asher, who is spending a year spreading the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa, received the suggestion from a priest to travel to Cascia on the Feast of St. Rita. It was an excellent suggestion. Thus after his Italian classes ended at noon in Assisi he set out to catch a series of buses to arrive in Cascia for a visit to the Basilica named after St Rita. Things began to look a bit bleak when the bus meant to take him the first leg of the journey buzzed by without stopping. Asher had in error been on the wrong side of the street. Finding a ride was not easy but he finally met with success. Praise God he arrived in time to pray in the Basilica of St. Rita. This Church houses the incorrupt body of St. Rita. Asher was able to pray for all the members of the Children's Rosary before the relic. As his visit was late in the day he was one of the last people to pray in the Church before it was locked.

Another Church in Cascia was open a bit longer. This was a Church named after St. Francis of Assisi. Asher went there to pray next. While praying he realized there was someone else in the Church praying and the man was wearing a priestly collar. Asher inquired if he was the parish priest. He responded that he was. This provided a wonderful opportunity for Asher to share information about the Children's Rosary. The priest seemed interested and thought there might be an opportunity for him to introduce the Children's Rosary in his parish. Praise God, celebrating the Feast of St. Rita in Cascia was full of tremendous blessings.

First Meeting of the Children's Rosary in Iraq

We are excited to share that the Children's Rosary at  "Al-Tahira Cathedral" which is best translated to Immaculate Conception Cathedral in Qaraqosh (Bakhdida) Iraq met today for the first time. Qaraqosh is next to the city of Mosul. They had a wonderful turnout with 143 children meeting to pray. The group was also able to have a Children's Rosary banner printed in Arabic which is shown in the picture above.

We warmly welcome the children of Al-Tahira Cathedral to the Children's Rosary!

Children's Rosary at Holy Name Church in Springfield, Massachusetts USA

We recently received pictures from the Children's Rosary at Holy Name Church in Springfield, Massachusetts. This group had their first meeting on November 21, 2025. They meet on the third Friday of the month. 

Arrival in Assisi

Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon and then the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Angola, South Africa and Mozambique followed. There was a relatively short journey through Botswana, Namibia and Lesotho. This dispatch chronicles his departure from South Africa a short visit to Paris and arrival in Assisi, Italy. 

As I sat at Johannesburg O.R. Tambo airport and awaited the start of the boarding process at the gate, I reflected on my time in Africa which had lasted for nearly six months. I had been to eastern, central, and southern Africa. I had spent more time in this continent than I have in any other excepting my own. It had been a beautiful and adventurous experience, one I was profoundly grateful for. I had spent time in small villages and cities; in mountains and plains; in deserts and forests; in parishes and schools.

When I first embarked on this African trip from Paris back in September, I did not even know the full scope of the countries that I would be visiting. That is to say, many of the countries simply were added along the way. For instance, I did not know I would be going to Mozambique until a few weeks before I arrived there. Obtaining visas and figuring out transport had not always been easy, but with my guardian angel’s help, I managed. Going to many countries in Africa gives you an experience that is a bit difficult to understand until once you are actually there yourself. Many things one hears about from afar: the safaris, the villages, the colorful clothing and intricate dancing. Many other things serve as ready deterrents for anyone actually planning a trip: the malaria, the inadequate road infrastructure, the lack of public transit (in some places), the poverty, the wildlife, healthcare services. And as you might expect, the true experience lies somewhere in the middle. It is true that the pace of life, the diet, the ways of getting around are all things that require getting used to. However, it is also the case that none of these will impede anyone’s having a memorable and very authentic experience. Meeting real people, staying with them, eating at their table, visiting their churches and communities were all some of my favorite parts, and of course none of those involve simply following a guidebook and staying at a hotel. In fact, I only spent a half of one day on safari during those six months (it was at Queen Elizabeth Park in Uganda). When Fr. Cleophus in Kenya remarked on how it was such a pity that we would not be visiting the Tsavo Park on this visit of mine, I remarked that I had come to see children, not animals.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. We will now begin the boarding process,” came the voice over the loudspeaker. We queued up, boarded, were seated, took off, and watched as Africa slid away into the impenetrable darkness below.

About eleven and a half hours later, the plane coasted to a smooth landing at Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris. I deplaned, went through passport control (which has now become completely automated for visa-free passports) and collected my bags. In the process of trying to find the proper exit for the rideshare rides, I ran into more than one person who ended up asking me for directions on where to go. The Paris airport is actually one where one needs to be careful because it is easier than one may think to get baited by some seemingly helpful gentleman into being taken to a less-frequented area of the airport where you are offered a ride for wildly above the government-fixed taxi fare to downtown. There is a well-organized gang that operates this racket. They have baiters to ask people if they need a taxi and then pretend to take them to one, drivers who pose as the taxi drivers, and lookouts who keep their eyes peeled for airport police or security agents so that the men can scatter at the first sign of trouble. They depend on your being disoriented from a long flight, not knowing the local language (i.e., just speaking English), and failing to notice the signage around you. The first time I was in the Paris with my mother at the airport I was led by one of these baiters down onto a different floor entirely to a parking lot completely devoid of people where he left me with a driver who told us the ride would cost €150. In fact, the government fixes the price of taxis at €56 or €65 from CDG to downtown, depending on which side of the river you are going to. A Parisian taxi driver I talked to described the men I spoke of above as the “mafia” and said they could even become dangerous. One way to know the difference between a legitimate taxi and a fake one, the taxi driver told me, is that a real taxi driver will never approach you and ask you if you want a ride.

“It’s bad taste,” he said. Anywhere else, I would have dismissed that as violating the capitalist principle of going after the profit, but in a place like France with its book length set of society manners, I can believe it.

Not wanting to fall in with any of these men, however, I booked an Uber from my phone. Nevertheless, I still managed to end up on the wrong floor (through my own fault, though). Thankfully, the Uber driver was kind enough to wait the three minutes needed for me to charge down the stairs to the correct floor.

Soon I was on my way. The driver and I made some small talk along the way; he was not originally an Uber driver, having only done the job for four months. His real job, he told me, was working for a company that produced plane meals. Skychefs or GateGourmet, I don’t remember which.

When we pulled up in front of the parish, I called Fr. Duloisy.

“Hello, Asher,” he said.

“Hello, Father,” I replied in French. “I’ve just arrived.”

“Why, then, Asher, just come in. You know the code,” he responded as though I had only just returned from a quick walk to the bakery for some croissants and coffee.

It was true. I did know the code and somehow had not forgotten it in all the months that had passed since my last visit. As I came down the steps into the presbytery (yes, it is down the steps and not up; it’s a strange 1960s construction), I really did feel almost as though no time had gone by since my days at the Foyer Jean Bosco when I would commute down to the parish to serve Masses on the weekends. The same group of tourists languidly awaiting in disorderly fashion in front of the church the arrival of their tour guide. The same traffic noisily traversing the traffic circle in front of the house. The same crisp early morning air that I grew to love about Paris. I breathed a deep breath of satisfaction. I was, if not exactly home, at least on familiar ground.

Fr. Duloisy brought me back to reality.

“Will you serve the Mass?” he asked.

I looked at my watch. The 9:00 a.m. Mass was in about twenty minutes. I had not showered or changed, but at least I was wearing a collared shirt and slacks. At Mass, I saw the old Saturday morning regulars I had known, still strong in their daily Mass attendance.

Afterward, after doing some bush trimming (Fr. Duloisy never shies away from the necessary tasks for the parish), he showed me around some of the newer improvements he had brought about in the parish, including redoing the flooring on the altar in the lower sanctuary, which eliminated the tripping hazards that had almost caused me to fall forward headlong with the tall, silver processional Cross on one Sunday when I served Mass during my last stay. I reminded Fr. Duloisy of this event, which he himself had not forgotten.

That evening, there was the Saturday night Mass. Just before this Mass, I saw Alain, a good friend of Fr. Duloisy’s and also a friend of mine that I had gotten to know well during my last visit. He is a renowned singer who has performed all over the world for a French cultural institute.

The three of us went out to visit a parishioner who had invited us over to see his house in the Bois de Boulogne, a very exclusive and wealthy enclave just west of Paris. This parishioner had an out-of-the-way, unassuming house on a small side street dinner at a quiet restaurant in the seventeenth arrondissement not far from the church. The seventeenth is not much of a tourist area, despite its proximity to the Arc de Triomphe, but it is one of my favorite areas of Paris due to its elegant Haussmanian architecture, charming restaurants, and intimate neighborhood feel. Unlike Montmartre, which is busting at the seams with foreign tourists, the seventeenth is a real Parisian neighborhood, and you can feel it.

The parishioner we went to visit was an artist and had a formidable collection of art that only he knows how he managed to obtain. It included works from his grandfather, small statues from more than one famous sculptor, and paintings that were from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In the center of the house (which was itself of a wonderfully charming nineteenth century style) was a small courtyard with potted plants that was completely shielded from the street. Really a delightful house.

For dinner, Fr. Duloisy, Alain, and I went to a local restaurant where we had our reunion dinner. It was wonderfully spent, even though Alain had the misfortune to have some meat juice spilled on his evening jacket by a waitress.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, I set off for Assisi where my Italian classes were set to begin the following day. Alain was kind enough to drive me to the airport.

Upon arriving, I was quite literally shocked by the stringent weight and size control measures Air France (of all airlines!) had put in place to make sure no one was bringing anything remotely overweight or oversized on the plane. All of my carry-on luggage had to be under 12 kg, I found out (after I had already sent my very underweight checked bags through). Every passenger had to put his bags on a scale and fit them in a box to make sure they were the right size. After seeing my bag ring up at over 14 kg, I was sent back to the check-in desk where I was told I needed to have the bag checked for 80 euros. Beginning to feel like I was being robbed in broad daylight with my eyes wide open, I decided to see do what I could to avoid this hefty fee. After combing through the bag for anything I could possibly jettison and cramming everything I could in the various pockets of my cargo pants, I was helped by the very nice employees who let me through with a bag that still was most of the way to 13 kg. After passing through the security line, I proceeded to put everything in my pockets back in my bag.

Otherwise, my travel went smoothly. The flight was on time and proceeded without a hitch. At the Florence airport, I was able to easily board the tram that went directly to the Santa Maria Novella train station where I boarded a train bound for Foligno with a stop at Assisi.

That evening, I arrived at the Casa Papa Giovanni, the guesthouse where I am staying for the entire month of May while I take Italian courses here. It was a relief to arrive at this comfortable, centrally located, welcoming place after a couple of long days of travel. I met a very nice young Australian man at dinner, and after dinner he invited me to take a walk with him through the town, where preparations for a medieval festival called the Calendimaggio were in the fever pitch of preparation. I’ll explain more about the Calendimaggio later.

After getting a very good night of sleep, the next morning, it was time for my first Italian lesson. I was actually quite excited to begin formally learning a language I had long admired from a distance, so to speak. The instruction, even for us beginners, was from the first moments, completely in Italian. The teachers made it known that they would not be willing to use English at all in their classes, even if just for translation purposes (e.g. “What’s ‘cup’ in Italian?”). Instead they we were obliged to stumble about with these strange new words, often resorting to a kind of clumsy sign language, or some badly disguised Spanish. But within a couple of days the wisdom of their approach began to show itself.
Without recourse to an English crutch, our minds began to latch on to some Italian phrases, especially those needed for inquiring after more. We had to rely on our rapidly increasing Italian vocabulary to make our way through the lessons, and the whole experience felt rather like a stranded sailor who, after much flailing and useless kicking, finally begins to grasp about the edges of the rocks and then, slowly but surely, hauls himself up onto dry land.

Learning a language is really not a very linear process, and there are often days that feel very good and others (like when one is sick) when the last thing you want to do is fight your way through the unbroken snowdrift of an unfamiliar language with its foreign pronunciation. Some words or concepts only require one lesson and stick immediately while others require many reiterations and mistakes before they begin to stick, but in the end, seeing yourself go from a clueless babe to a conversant participant in a language is such a beautiful experience, it is hard to compare it to any other. One realizes that one has not only unlocked random workbook sentences and phrases but a whole world of places and books. It is enchanting, really, and often you will find yourself wanting to read a book in this foreign language, no matter its subject, for no other reason than the sheer enjoyment of reading and understanding thoughts and sentences in words and syntax other than your own. I have often felt that it is rather like what one would feel like if one were to open a trap door and enter another world, full of its own places and people, all different from our own.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Of course, as I said, before the euphoria comes many days and weeks and often months and years of arduous toil in the desert of workbook sentences and phrases, verb conjugations, vocabulary memorization, and all the other banal tasks involved with taking on a new language.

This indeed was the work to which I was now consigned to spend a month engaged. There were only three of us starting the course on the same day, and we were all beginners. One of my classmates is a Tanzanian nun named Sr. Agnes, and the other is an Irish scholar named Catherine.

Having been signed up for the super intensive course, I had afternoon one-on-one lessons in addition to the morning classes with the others. One day a week I was given with no afternoon lesson so that I might have some free time to walk about and explore.

One of the great benefits of taking classes while being here is that the entire surroundings serve as a classroom. When one steps foot into town, reads a history plaque, orders food in a restaurant, attends a Mass, converses with strangers, reads a book in the guesthouse library, it is constant immersion in Italian.

Being in Assisi is also a wonderful place for exposure on history and beautiful architecture, so I have found it to be a very pleasing place to be for a month while one is learning Italian. My different discoveries around town and in the region will be the subject of my next dispatch.

To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE

Children's Rosary Begins at St. Gabriel's Parish Langkaku in the Shendam Diocese, Nigeria

We received a lovely email from Fr. Paul Miapkwap from Nigeria. He reported that he was able to introduce the Children's Rosary at St Gabriel's Parish Langkaku in the Shendam Diocese. The Children's Rosary now meets each Tuesday evening at 4PM at the Church. They were given rosaries and the group leader received a Children's Rosary T-Shirt.

69,405 Handmade Rosaries Begin their Journey to Africa

We are very excited to report that 9 barrels each filled to the brim with Children's Rosary materials and handmade rosaries were picked up on May 16.

These barrels will begin a four month sea voyage on May 29. The rosaries will help our Children's Rosary groups in Uganda and Rwanda! A special thank you to all the rosary makers who put their love and time into making these rosaries. 

Thank you to the sponsors of each barrel. In some cases one person was the financial wings to bring a barrel to the children in Africa. In other cases multiple people contributed to the transport costs. 

Thank you to Mary Ann Swain who worked with great care to packed each barrel. This process of preparing 9 barrels takes months. But this shipment represents a victory for Our Blessed Mother. In her month of May, this shipment leaves for Africa which will allow thousands of children to be able to pray the rosary holding a beautiful handmade rosary. 

A list of contents of the 9 barrels:

69,405 handmade rosaries

760 Children's Rosary books

630 Color Children's Rosary pamphlets

180 Child Consecration books

120 A Soul Prepared through Suffering Books

180 Miraculous Medals

195 Scapulars

9 Children's Rosary T shirts

If you are interested in sponsoring a barrel or box click HERE to donate.

First Pictures from the Children's Rosary in Alexandria, Egypt

Today we received these pictures from the Children's Rosary at the Maronite Church of St. Therese in Alexandria, Egypt. The pictures were forwarded to us from Bishop George Chihane from Egypt. He had already begun a Children's Rosary in the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Cairo. The news of this second Children's Rosary in Egypt was unexpected and very exciting.