Following are excerpts from Tim Drake's online diary about his assignment to cover World Youth Day for the Register:

Home at Last

All I can say is “wow.” World Youth Day was both uplifting and exhausting, between taking in the sights and the sounds, listening and praying, and interviewing attendees.

If you've never been to a World Youth Day, I highly recommend it for the simple reason that it will give you a renewed hope for the future of the Church. In the face of terrorism, Church infighting, and the sexual-abuse scandals, World Youth Day was a clear reminder that, as the Holy Father said, we must “make known the reason for our hope.”

It was fascinating to observe each day of World Youth Day, each event drawing more people than the previous event. An estimated 200,000 attended the opening Mass. Two days later 400,000 attended the papal welcoming ceremony. No one was able to count the number at the Way of the Cross, but I expect it would have been nearly 500,000 as it went directly through the heart of the city — drawing spectators from restaurants, hospitals and office buildings. About 600,000 attended the vigil and 800,000 attended Sunday's Mass.

Yet beyond the numbers are the stories that the young will take home with them. Stories of meeting other Catholic youth from around the world. Stories of meeting Christ in the sacraments and in one another. Stories of getting close to the Holy Father and simply being in his presence.

The great stories of the Pope during World Youth Day involve the many unexpected surprises along the way, with the Holy Father's arrival in Toronto on Tuesday and his emotional, independent descent down the airplane's staircase kicking them off.

There was also his impromptu tour of Strawberry Island when he arrived and his blessing of several mentally handicapped people from his boat on Lake Simcoe.

On Saturday, he was scheduled to meet with Canada's politicos. Along his way, he saw a group gathered at the fence at Morrow Park. There, he stopped the golf cart to greet them, where a 2-year-old girl was brought to him. He kissed and blessed her.

In spite of hot weather, rain and mud, the young people remained enthusiastic. It was infectious. As one traveled the streets of Toronto it was common to run into groups from Kenya, from Edmonton, and from the United States gathered around praying, singing, playing cards or hacky-sack.

Even when groups from different countries and unfamiliar languages met up with one another they would share what they could. One group from Brazil met up with a group from Minnesota. Unable to speak one another's language, they sang. The Minnesotans taught the Brazilians the chicken dance, and the Brazilians sang the tune in Portuguese. It provided a global perspective on the universal Church.

Bumblings and Grace

Technically, I was covering World Youth Day as a journalist rather than enjoying it as a pilgrim. Yet from the time I arrived in Toronto I found that my work often became a pilgrimage experience.

During my first trip from my hotel downtown to the Canadian Exhibition Place where many of the events were being held, the bus was unable to take me all the way there and dropped me two miles away. Thus began the endless walking that would mark my next four days.

Apparently, because of the Pope's impending arrival, all bus traffic was being limited as roads were being closed. Fortunately, along the way, I met a German journalist and a photographer from Catholic News Service in Bonn that knew their way around. After about a one-mile walk we were able to catch a trolley that took us very near our drop-off point.

Each day, and at each turn, similar experiences would take place — preventing me from doing what I had originally intended but placing me in position for something else. It was a wonderful lesson in being open to God, even if it turned out at times to be frustrating.

On Saturday, I made a similar attempt to get by bus from one point to another. It also proved unsuccessful. However, shortly after being returned to my original starting point I ran into the confessional booths at Downsview. Located at the rear of the park, had I made it to my original destination, I never would have known that the confessionals were available amidst the massive sea of humanity gathered there. Fortunately, I was able to partake of the sacrament with a wonderful young priest from the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal. Shortly thereafter I had the fortune of running into a Sister that I know. Again, had my attempted trip been successful it's very doubtful that we would have run into one another.

And this is the way it went, day after day. Seldom taking the time to find food to eat, on three occasions different youth had an extra lunch or dinner which they offered to me during my interviews. On another occasion, lost, a young man pulled the map from his pocket and gave it to me, directing me to where I needed to go.

The final grace-filled moment, however, took place when I arrived at the airport for my departure. Under direction from the hotel staff, I arrived at the airport five hours early, exhausted and hungry. When I approached the ticketing counter, the agent asked if I would like to take an earlier flight, leaving in just half an hour. “If there's room, sure,” I replied.

And then, mimicking O.J. Simpson's famous (or perhaps infamous) commercial, I ran through Toronto's Pearson airport to make the gate on time, forced to butt in line ahead of people at customs and at the security checkpoint. Imagine my surprise, when I boarded the plane, to realize that the agent had upgraded my ticket to first class. For the first, and only, time in my life I was seated in the plane's first row of seats — being pampered by the stewardess and treated to a full breakfast.

It was like God was saying, “You see Tim, I've been preparing a place for you all along.” It was the perfect ending to a grace-filled trip.