Five years ago this evening, I did my first communion. Five years ago this evening, I stood before God and chose a different path. Five years ago this evening, I entered a life of higher expectation and a miracle that was larger than life.
As a child, I was baptized as a Catholic but, neither one of my parents are religious people and the Church was never part of our life. We often attended mass for Christmas or Easter but I think it’s fair to say that none of us truly had a relationship with God of any kind…my parents, by choice and my self, for lack of knowing any thing different.
I don’t imagine that it’s ever easy coming into your faith. Pope John Paul II strongly believed that people had to move away from God in order to find their way back to Him. He also believed that the Church’s most important role was to give people a place to go when they finally did find their way back. Finding your faith as an adult though is an emotional roller coaster that can take you to some of the deepest and darkest places of your soul. As adults, we’ve often created our own prisons of fear and anger that get strongly challenged while in the presence of great conviction.
My own story really doesn’t have a whole lot to tell. I have been drawn to churches for as long as I can remember and while something continually called to me, I seldom ever entered its sanctuary. One faithful day, I was telling an old friend about it and she invited me to go to church with her one day. I went…I fell in love and the rest is a history wrought with tears and surrender. People often ask me what made me choose the Catholic Church. I always answer the same thing… “I didn’t choose it…I chose me”. And that’s the truth.
At the time, nearly five and half years ago, my life was a much darker place than it is now. I was lost and struggling. I was angry and hurt and frustrated. I felt more broken that I ever have in my entire life. While I don’t remember feeling a great deal of sadness at the time, I do remember feeling a lot of indifference, which looking back, is so much worse. The moment that hopelessness sets in is the moment that the fires in your heart begin to extinguish and you have to hope like hell that the devil doesn’t come and claim payment that day.
My eight months in preparation for my first communion was an extremely difficult and deeply spiritual experience. I realized time and time again that the scars of my past were real and that if I was ever going to heal, I had to let go and find room in my heart for forgiveness…room to forgive myself. At some point in time, I had to stop punishing myself for everything that I couldn’t make right and for all the people that I couldn’t make happy. At some point in time, I had to allow my life to be shaped by the people that did love me as oppose to the people that refused to love me.
The morning of my communion, my group and I met in the basement of our church. Holy Week had been a marathon of church services and most of us would find ourselves weeping from emotional exhaustion that was overwhelming at times. Father Joe asked that he be given a moment with each of us to express, through prayer, what he had learned about our individual journeys to this day. When my turn came, he placed his hands on my head, Father Michael held my hands and while I tears streamed down my face, I heard Father Joe whisper “I pray that you will be healed of your past hurts enough to recognize your future husband when he walks into your life.”
Two weeks later, I met Steve.
My relationship with my husband is nothing short of miraculous. My relationship with God is nothing short of spectacular. And every year, on this day, I take a moment to look back and remember the incredible blessings and grace that was bestowed on me that Saturday evening. Little did Father Joe know that I would be healed of my past hurts because my husband walked into my life. My husband is my proof of God’s love and compassion for lost souls that are just trying to find their way back. Of course, even marriage doesn’t provide any guarantees and marriage in no way heals the wounds that only you can take care of but, sometimes, certain experiences stand out in our lives so clearly as the hand of God. Love does heal all wounds and love is God’s greatest gifts. Love is acknowledging our hopelessness and taking us by the hand anyways. Love is sacrificing your only Son so that the rest of us could spend eternity by your side.
May the miracles of your life shine ever brightly this weekend, for the greatest miracle of all has already happened…
As a child, I was baptized as a Catholic but, neither one of my parents are religious people and the Church was never part of our life. We often attended mass for Christmas or Easter but I think it’s fair to say that none of us truly had a relationship with God of any kind…my parents, by choice and my self, for lack of knowing any thing different.
I don’t imagine that it’s ever easy coming into your faith. Pope John Paul II strongly believed that people had to move away from God in order to find their way back to Him. He also believed that the Church’s most important role was to give people a place to go when they finally did find their way back. Finding your faith as an adult though is an emotional roller coaster that can take you to some of the deepest and darkest places of your soul. As adults, we’ve often created our own prisons of fear and anger that get strongly challenged while in the presence of great conviction.
My own story really doesn’t have a whole lot to tell. I have been drawn to churches for as long as I can remember and while something continually called to me, I seldom ever entered its sanctuary. One faithful day, I was telling an old friend about it and she invited me to go to church with her one day. I went…I fell in love and the rest is a history wrought with tears and surrender. People often ask me what made me choose the Catholic Church. I always answer the same thing… “I didn’t choose it…I chose me”. And that’s the truth.
At the time, nearly five and half years ago, my life was a much darker place than it is now. I was lost and struggling. I was angry and hurt and frustrated. I felt more broken that I ever have in my entire life. While I don’t remember feeling a great deal of sadness at the time, I do remember feeling a lot of indifference, which looking back, is so much worse. The moment that hopelessness sets in is the moment that the fires in your heart begin to extinguish and you have to hope like hell that the devil doesn’t come and claim payment that day.
My eight months in preparation for my first communion was an extremely difficult and deeply spiritual experience. I realized time and time again that the scars of my past were real and that if I was ever going to heal, I had to let go and find room in my heart for forgiveness…room to forgive myself. At some point in time, I had to stop punishing myself for everything that I couldn’t make right and for all the people that I couldn’t make happy. At some point in time, I had to allow my life to be shaped by the people that did love me as oppose to the people that refused to love me.
The morning of my communion, my group and I met in the basement of our church. Holy Week had been a marathon of church services and most of us would find ourselves weeping from emotional exhaustion that was overwhelming at times. Father Joe asked that he be given a moment with each of us to express, through prayer, what he had learned about our individual journeys to this day. When my turn came, he placed his hands on my head, Father Michael held my hands and while I tears streamed down my face, I heard Father Joe whisper “I pray that you will be healed of your past hurts enough to recognize your future husband when he walks into your life.”
Two weeks later, I met Steve.
My relationship with my husband is nothing short of miraculous. My relationship with God is nothing short of spectacular. And every year, on this day, I take a moment to look back and remember the incredible blessings and grace that was bestowed on me that Saturday evening. Little did Father Joe know that I would be healed of my past hurts because my husband walked into my life. My husband is my proof of God’s love and compassion for lost souls that are just trying to find their way back. Of course, even marriage doesn’t provide any guarantees and marriage in no way heals the wounds that only you can take care of but, sometimes, certain experiences stand out in our lives so clearly as the hand of God. Love does heal all wounds and love is God’s greatest gifts. Love is acknowledging our hopelessness and taking us by the hand anyways. Love is sacrificing your only Son so that the rest of us could spend eternity by your side.
May the miracles of your life shine ever brightly this weekend, for the greatest miracle of all has already happened…
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