Truly. From Honduras (still) John Allen profiles a remarkable woman, Franciscan Sr. Maria Rosa Leggol, founder of the Sociedad Amigos de los Niños.

My proof of her notoriety? My cab driver in Tegucigalpa could name Leggol and the cardinal as prominent Catholic figures in the country … no other priest, no bishop, no other sister, nobody.

"Sor Maria Rosa," he assured me, "is known in all the world."

Leggol exemplifies a classic personality type within Catholicism: the charming, holy sister with a will of iron, who simply won’t take "no" for an answer.

At 80 years old, Leggol still rises at 4 a.m. each day for prayer, Mass, and a holy hour. The small chapel at the society’s headquarters is one of the most beautiful spaces in Tegucigalpa, and each morning it’s perfumed with the aroma of fresh lilacs. She then begins a series of meetings with staff and visitors, which usually commence around 6 a.m. She works a 16-hour day, much of it these days from a seated position over the phone, since her legs have begun to buckle under the strain of her enormous lifelong drive.

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As a young sister, Leggol was assigned to work in a hospital in Tegucigalpa. She threw herself into her work, becoming famous for her willingness to comfort those in danger of death. (Among other examples, the father of the future Cardinal Rodriguez died in her arms.) As a former orphan, however, her heart ached in a special way for poor young children in the capital city, especially those whose parents had been jailed. In those days, whole families were thrown into prison together, leaving the children bereft of any education or normal opportunities for socialization, and exposed to all manner of abuse.

"You almost had to put them back in the womb and let them be born again, in order to make them normal," she said. "But it’s amazing, even in a very quick time, what a huge difference love and care in their lives can make."

The idea began to dawn on Leggol that she would have to be the one to provide that love and care.

While still working night duty at the hospital in the early 1960s, Leggol began to use her days to scout out locations for a home for children. She eventually found a neighborhood that had been slotted for low-income housing, and without any money to her name whatsoever, she signed up for 10 homes.

Before long, the builders called her residence seeking a down payment on the homes. Her superior took the call, and was caught a bit off guard — largely because Leggol hadn’t mentioned anything about it! In fact, Leggol said, she had cleared it with the Mother House in Milwaukee, but decided not to mention anything to her local superior, under the rubric of "better to ask forgiveness than permission."

In the end, the superior told her she could continue, but she would have to do it entirely on her own — don’t expect any money from the community.

"It was for the best," Leggol said. "Had this been a project of the community, I would have been under holy obedience. Now I could do things my way."