Patience

I've been good and patient throughout this break, which, believe you me, is quite the accomplishment for me! But now I'm beginning to get a little anxious [in the good, excited way]. Now that I have my preliminary "talks" with my parents under my belt... well, there's little that needs to be done before applying.

Actually, I just need to talk to my spiritual director- tell him all about my visit, my conversations with my parents, and what I feel God is asking of me right now. From there... well, it really depends on what he has to say. I highly doubt [as in very highly doubt, considering he was the one who forced me to call the vocations director and then he was the one who encouraged me to visit sooner rather than later] that he'll say not to apply at all. He might say "wait." He might want me to go to the spiritual exercises before applying.

Which, I mean, I would love to go on that retreat. I really would. But it's the same weekend as the huge high school retreat [1,500+ highschoolers in attendance each year] that is hosted by our seminarians on campus. It's a three-day retreat that has awesome speakers, adoration, Eucharistic procession, praise and worship, and is just over-all an awesome experience. The college students usually help as volunteers-- we do security, small group leadership, women's housing, etc.

But this year is even a bit more special... I've been asked to give a short talk at the retreat! They've asked me to give a talk about conversion to Catholicism, since it is focused on the Holy Eucharist. It's a short talk; only about 10-15 minutes. So I won't be able to give my whole conversion story. But I will be able to compose something that includes certain parts of it and hopefully, considering I converted when I was their age, will be of some inspiration to the high schoolers.

And I have already committed to that speaking arrangement. I just wish the two weren't on the same weekend.

But, honestly, I don't feel like I necessarily need the silent retreat in order to know... I know it sounds crazy, and I can hardly believe that I'm actually at a point of being able to say it, but I honestly feel very confident that it is, at the very least, God's will that I apply with this community. This is where I want to be and I think it's where He wants me to be, too. I mean, unless I'm completely misinterpreted everything [which is certainly possible] but...

See, that's the funny thing about discerning God's will, no matter what the circumstances. Even when you feel pretty darn confident about something, there's that little bitty part of you that wonders: What if this isn't where God wants me? What if I'm somehow manipulating what He's been trying to show me and I'm coming up with an answer that's not what He intended? Besides, what I want and what He wants can never really coincide, can they?

Luckily that's why we have Holy Mother Church, spiritual directors, and other guides that help us in our discernment.

And it's really all about trust. And humility. God doesn't want to deceive us. And we're searching earnestly for His will.

But, anyways, my excitement is beginning to over take my patience... I just want to get back to school, talk to Msgr., and go forth from there! Enough waiting, already! [Just kidding!]

I mean to say... God's timing has been wonderful. He really has taken over the wheel for the time being and He's done an excellent job of steering and taking care of things. So, I'm going to keep with that, me thinks.

But I would like to get back to the Mount here shortly. :-) Good thing classes start in less than a week. And I leave on Saturday.

Failure

I really just need to get back to school so I can get back onto a consistent schedule. For whatever reason, I don't sleep well at home. So I finally fall asleep around 2 or 3am, which means that I rarely wake up in time for Mass at 8:30am.

Thus this morning equals failure on my first goal.

I'm heading off to my church to make a holy hour now, so at least I'll be able to have achieved goal number two.

The honors thesis writing is coming along very slowly. I've written about two and half pages, single-spaced. When I get back from the holy hour I'm hoping to finish the section on St. Bernard's philosophical and theological anthropology (which is essentially his doctrine of grace and free choice). That should take me up to a good six or so pages, which is about 11 or 12 double-spaced. That'll be a good chunk taken care of.

Writing this thesis at home is proving so very frustrating, though. I don't have many sources with me (I have seven, out of fifteen important ones) because the stupid school library made me turn in my books before break. Apparently they don't let people check books out over breaks. Very lame. So I'm stuck with only half of my sources and a rough draft due by Friday. Oh the joy.

Well, no point in complaining too much. As Mancini (old band director) used to say, "Do the best with what you've got."

So, I'm off to the adoration chapel and then back, hopefully nice and refreshed, to tackle grace and free choice and all that fun stuff!

Goals for the Week

Since I've suddenly arrived at the final week of my Christmas vacation, it's time to get down to business. Albeit this business ought to have been business for the entirety of break... well, better late than never, right?

So. Goals for the next five days.

1) Up by 7:45am in order to make it to 8:30am Mass each day.

2) Holy hour after Mass.

3) Major work on my honors thesis. Five pages per day should get me to 25 by the end of the week. A fair sized rough draft to send to my thesis advisor before heading back to school.

Other events that are going to take place throughout the course of the week:

*Half-day "day" of reflection with a friend at the Grotto. I hadn't planned on this, but after a good chat with her over dinner tonight, it's become apparent that it's a good idea. Good for me, but especially needed for her. One of those Holy Spirit inspired decisions.

*Attending my parish's RCIA class on Thursday night. The director asked if I would be willing to give a short witness to the group. It'll be nice to go... I teach RCIA at my school and I've taken a lot from my own experience of RCIA in how I run it at school.

*Hopefully see one of my close guy friends from high school on Friday night. Haven't seen him in ages. Perhaps we'll go get coffee or something like that.

I leave on Saturday morning, back to the Mount on Sunday, and my last semester of classes start on Monday. Good stuff.

Romans 8:28

And now for an interruption from my conversion story (yes, believe it or not, there is more) for a further commentary on parents and vocations.

My mom took today off so that we could have a good half a day to spend with each other before I go back to school. (Only half of a day since my brother and his family came down around 3:30pm.) Somehow I knew that today would be the day that she and I would have "the talk." So, last night I entrusted the conversation to Our Blessed Mother and begged Our Lord for patience with me.

We went out to lunch at Red Robbin's. I wasn't really hungry, but somehow I knew that this would be the setting in which we'd talk. I think it was more that I lost my appetite with nerves than not being hungry in the first place. Regardless. We went.

I was inwardly praying to the Holy Spirit the entire time. Then it came... the opportunity to say something. My mom asked, "So, what are you thinking for after graduation?"

"Oh, well, I'm not sure yet... I'm thinking about a few different things. A job, maybe grad school but probably not... mission work..."

^That of course was the place that I was also supposed to add something about maybe-perhaps-possibly thinking about religious life. But I went silent, losing my courage to say anything at all.

Conversation went on for a little while. Somehow we got to talking about the priesthood. She said something about how it's unfair they can't be married or have a family (yadda yadda). And I commented that there was something beautiful about that sacrifice that allows them to be even better pastors and really, spiritual fathers. That they are able to dedicate their entire life to the spiritual well-being to their flock.

"Is that something you're thinking about doing, then?"

"Well, yeah, I'm definitely thinking about it."

"I knew it!" she said.

I could of chuckled nervously. My heart was beating a million miles an hour. "Yeah. Yeah, I knew you knew..."

I don't really remember the rest of the conversation. I know she said something about grandkids. Having a family. Why someone couldn't do the "same things" and still have a family. And some comment about student loans. Needless to say it was a much different conversation than the one I had with my dad. And I was very glad when the topic changed.

I don't know why it is, but whenever I have the opportunity to explain any part of the Faith to my mom, I always fail with words. My mind goes utterly blank. Despite the fact that to pretty much any one else I could describe the beauties of a religious vocation, with my mom, I can barely stammer out a coherent word. I suppose it all relates back to my first experience ever talking about Faith with her. It just wasn't a good experience.

Well. At any rate. Now both of my parents know about my discernment, at least in the abstract. And both of them are supportive, to one extent or another. My dad was much more encouraging in his support. My mom didn't say anything that was supportive, but in her backwords way she expressed it by not completely disapproving. It's going to be harder for her in the long run. But I know that both of my parents love me and only want me to be happy.

It seems so strange to me. Having actually spoken to them and saying out loud what I never thought I could say... It's very liberating.

And also very terrifying. What is there now to stand between me and my vocation? What obstacles pose difficulties in pursuing my vocation?

Nothing. There's nothing that stands between me and that "next step." In way that has yet to be, everything has become "real."

How can I describe my emotions right now? I would say that I'm terrified... it would seem to be the appropriate response. But honestly, I'm not. I wouldn't say that I'm indifferent, but I don't have any "outbursts" or emotion or anything like that. I'm excited. A little bit nervous. But mostly just ready.

I was talking to a friend tonight and the perfect metaphor came to me. I feel like I'm floating down the stream of God's will for me. I'm not doing anything of my own power. I just feel as though I've let go and allowed God to take control. I'm floating; everything in the past few months have come to me so smoothly that I feel like, in some ways, they've just happened to me. Like everything was set before me so perfectly that the next step was so very natural. I didn't even really have to think about it. It just happened.

And I think I have finally learned that when things are going like this, I have to be extra careful to keep relaxing and allowing myself to continue floating. I've always had the tendency to suddenly realize I'm in deep waters and begin to tense up and panic. Which of course completely disrupts the flow.

I'm a horrible swimmer in real life, so this analogy helps me a lot.

You know, it's funny to be at this point and to feel so at peace with everything. I never would have imagined everything unfolding the way it is currently. God is so, so good to me. And so patient with me. I can't help but feeling slightly guilty that He does so much of the work. But you know what? Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to let yourself be loved by God. To let Him do the dirty work.

My spiritual director has a favorite verse from Romans that he likes to quote at me fairly often... All things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

Amen!

Conversion Story pt 3

“I believe, Lord help my unbelief!” Mark 9:24

As I slowly backed away from the Mormon Church I found myself wondering where it was that God was leading me. I was still unconvinced, despite the constant attempts by my Catholic friend to persuade me, that Catholicism could be the “true Church.” I began questioning why I was limiting myself to Christian religions. I mean, I only knew that God existed and that He was love. I had just assumed that this meant that the God whom I experienced was the Christian God. That didn’t necessarily have to be the case. But I wasn’t very enthusiastic about looking elsewhere; perhaps another way that the Holy Spirit was guiding me.

One day my Catholic friend invited me to go to Mass with her. It was Pentecost (which, for those who may not know, is considered the birthday of the Church- it marks the night when the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles in the Upper Room). I was skeptical, but I agreed to go with her. Something interesting happened at that Mass. Nothing spectacular, but enough to catch my attention. The Gospel reading was the exact same as that which I had read just the night before at home. And then Father preached on an issue (I don’t remember what it was) that my Catholic friend and I had debated about for hours the night before. The whole incident did little for me other than make me raise an eyebrow.

A few weeks later I was invited to Mass again, but by a different Catholic friend. This time there was something called “adoration” before Mass. Now, by this time I knew what Catholics believed about the bread and wine. I knew that they believed, based off of John 6, that this bread and wine, by the power of the priest, was changed into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. Again, it sounded crazy to me… but hey, God could do what He wanted, right? Regardless, I didn’t believe it.

So, we went to adoration before Mass. I knelt down, not entirely sure why I was kneeling. I looked around the church a bit, tried to people watch, but found my gaze being continuously drawn back toward the little host in the funny looking sun thing (which I now know is called a Monstrance). I began to pray, just as I did often times at home. And before I knew what I was doing, I found myself praying the very prayer of a man in Mark’s Gospel who asked Jesus for the healing of his son, “I believe, Lord help my unbelief!”

What shall I say? Once again my experience is an ineffable one. How can I put into words what I experienced? Let it suffice for me to say that I was once more left with an undeniable knowledge that truly, truly that host was the Son of God, Jesus Christ Himself.

I came forth from that period of prayer and the Mass that followed with a sure knowledge: I must become Catholic. If the bread and wine truly became the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, then I had no choice but to become Catholic.

Conversion Story pt 2

“My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready.” Psalm 108:2

Words fail to convey what happened next. As many times as I’ve tried to explain it out loud (which is few) or tried writing it down (which is many) I can never quite put the right words to the experience.

In a night of despair at my pitiful state, I found myself doing something that I never would have imagined myself doing… Overwhelmed by the bleakness of my world-views, I decided that I would give God one chance and once chance only. I knelt down by the side of my bed, thinking to myself the entire time that I had gone absolutely crazy, that I was speaking to no one but my imagination.

But I desired to believe. I think it was the first time in my life that I was actually open to the possibility that God could exist. It was the first time that I laid aside my pride and was ready to believe, should there be good enough reason to do so.

So I knelt down and I prayed for the first time in my life. I told God that I was ready. I asked Him to reveal Himself to me; I told Him I wanted so badly to believe, but that I couldn’t. I poured out my heart before Him and I asked in all sincerity if He existed.

What happened next is beyond words. Truly ineffable. My body began to shake ever so slightly and I was filled with a joy that I had never before known. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest! In the course of a single moment I knew, without any doubt, that God existed and more, the He loved me! That God was love! Love beyond any love I had ever known!

A few moments later I was sitting on the floor next to my bed, out of breath and shaking uncontrollably. My palms were sweating. All that I could do was cry. So I cried. Out of joy, out of shock, out of sorrow… I don’t know. Probably a mixture of all three.

This experience left me convinced, beyond any measure of doubt, of God’s existence. Despite my skeptical nature (which, trust me, I’m a very skeptical person), I could in no way doubt what happened that night. But it also left me a little bit lost. My whole world was turned around. Everything I had believed was debunked in one night. Where was I supposed to go from there? God seemed to have overlooked that part.

I don’t remember how many days or weeks passed before I confided my experience to one of my Mormon friends. I had already decided beforehand that I needed to find the Church which held the “truth” about God and about Christ. I knew that it could not be any Protestant or non-denominational church, because they did not have any legitimate claim to the truth. They all disagreed about major questions about the faith. Plus, they all had broken off from the Catholic Church and had no direct connection to Christ.

The Mormon Church claimed to possess the fullness of truth and proclaimed a “Great Apostasy,” during which the Holy Spirit had left the Church Jesus established.

I won’t go too much into my exploration into the Mormon Church, except to say that I spent a few months looking into what they believed and why they believed it. I didn’t care that they had “strange” beliefs. In my mind, God existing was itself a weird belief. And besides, God could do whatever He wanted. I just wanted to know what the truth was.

I almost become Mormon. I’m not sure exactly what eventually dissuaded me. Perhaps it was another work of the Holy Spirit, guiding me where He wanted me, despite my wanderings.

Conversion Story pt 1

Upon the request of one of my friends, I have begun to write out my conversion story. As well as sending it to her, I will post it here as well.

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+M

*A note: When people find out that I’m a convert to Catholicism they are often curious as to what led me to the Church- both Catholics and non-Catholics alike. The first question they usually ask is: What did you convert from? When I answer with “atheism,” I think it sparks a lot of curiosity. So they ask me my story. Almost every time this happens I get very nervous and fidgety, not knowing exactly what to say. I usually give some sort of brief response but rarely share my entire story. I’ve just always found it difficult to talk about something that is, by its very nature, so very intimate. But, I’ve been encouraged both by those who have heard my story and spiritual guides who have not that I ought to share and to share often; an opportunity of deepening my own faith and, if God wills it, enriching someone else’s. Therefore what I write here will capture the entirety of God’s gentle (and some times not so gentle) hand working in my life. Take it; read it, if you will, and glean from it whatever the Spirit desires.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you…” Jeremiah 1:5

As a young child I knew absolutely nothing about Jesus, about God, or about religion in general. I grew up in an atheistic/agnostic household where the name of God was never invoked, lest it were to precede a curse word. My very short exposure to anything having to do with God was when I would stay the night at my grandma’s apartment. She had a cabinet full of children’s books out of which I would often pick and read different books. My favorite story was “Daniel and the Lion’s Den” and my second favorite was about the baby Moses, followed by the Little Miss Piggy series.

Of course, at the time I had no idea that my two favorite stories were children versions of different Old Testament stories. In fact, I don’t think I realized the irony of it until long after my conversion. I think I had been reading through the Book of Daniel and came across a more mature version of the story which sparked the memory back to my childhood. I think I laughed for a good ten minutes upon that realization.

As I grew older I became a little bit more aware of the presence and importance of religion to other people. I also imbibed much of my parents’ views and feelings toward religion. I was taught, albeit not directly or even intentionally, that religion was a crutch that weak people used to get through life. That church was a place that people went to be social with one another and to boost their confidence. It was something we clearly didn’t need, because we were strong, we were family. And nothing is stronger than a family sealed by the bonds of love. We would survive the hard times depending on nothing but each other. That’s what it meant to be a “My Last Name.”

I have very few memories of ever thinking about God’s existence as a child. They are all from back in Portland, so I must’ve been under 7. One of my earliest memories is asking God, if He existed, to clean my room for me overnight. Didn’t happen. I also remember lying in bed, closing my eyes, and trying to think what eternity would be like, what life after death would be like. I remember picturing darkness. A never-ending black hole. It gave me shivers. And I think that was the night, if there ever was a specific “time,” that I decided for myself that I didn’t believe in God.

By the time I reached the upper years of middle school, I was an adamant atheist. I had read the book (it’s still one of my favorites) The Sea Wolf by Jack London. There’s a character in the book, the antagonist, who is the perfect atheist. Intelligent, self-educated, and brutal. But he gave words to how I viewed the world in my head. I only now realize exactly Nietszchean he is. But, essentially, his world view consisted that the only meaning to life is to live. To survive. To be powerful, because only the powerful survive. The strong eat the weak and the weak die. There was no ultimate meaning to life. There was no value to life, except to your own. The weak grasp and hold onto anything they can to give their meager, weak lives some sort of meaning. The strong have no use for such things.

Bleak views for a 13-year old, but they were mine. I adopted them, developed them, and believed in them full-heartedly. Not that I enjoyed the fact they were true. Not at all. In fact, I deplored the fact that this was the state of reality. But, truth is truth and I wasn’t going to adopt some religious views just to satisfy my unsatisfaction with the way things were.

Despite these views, I was, for the most part, a good kid. I experimented with some not-so-good behaviors at one point or another. We, my friends and I, would steal wallets and other such smaller goods from stores. We messed around with smoking a little bit. I used to steal pot from my older brother and sell it to my friend’s brother, who was a drug dealer. But most of that didn’t last very long. I never felt guilty, per se, but I never really enjoyed doing that kind of stuff either.

Luckily my friend group shifted a bit when I entered high school. I was a part of the high school band (played the trumpet) and eventually my social life revolved around it. Most of the kids in the band were all those goodie-goodie types. Strangely enough, almost all were Christian, too. Of course, I didn’t believe what they did. But since they didn’t engage in “sinful” behavior, neither did I.

My world-view at this time did not change at the influence of my friends. On the contrary, I grew even more convicted that, essentially, “might was right.” My observances of my Christian friends did not lend to a positive light. What I mean by this is that their faith, it seemed to me at least, was only surface level. They didn’t know what they believed. To me, they were brainwashed. They hardly knew why they believed what they believed. They simply followed what they had been taught all their life. They hadn’t actually thought deeply at all about their faith.

So, I challenged them. I argued with them. I attempted to ruin what little faith that they had. And frankly, I won most of the arguments. Yet, for some reason, these friends of mine did not yield or give up on their faith. Each day they would come back and try again. Their perseverance astonished me. Their peace, especially, astonished me. Sure, they would get frustrated at times. But each day they would be back. United with one another (which was quite a feat itself, considering the three friends of whom I speak consisted of two Mormons and a Catholic).

About a year went by of this back and forth arguing. I did not yield. I couldn’t. But as time went by, I did begin to envy my friends. Not because I thought they were right, that they possessed the truth. On the contrary, I envied their ignorance. I envied their peace of mind that came with being so brainwashed that they could not see the truth of the state of the world. Frankly, my atheistic world-view depressed me. I mean really made me depressed. I think my freshman and sophomore year of high school were two of the most depressing of my life. I was not happy. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I ever contemplated suicide, but I certainly wasn’t in a good state to say the least.

Shortly thereafter a desire grew in me to believe in God. A sidewise desire wishing that I too had been born into a Christian household so that I could be free from the terrible truth I knew. This desire was killing me. I wished so badly for it to be true that God existed. But my intellect could not consent. There was nothing in any arguments that I read that could convince me. God was dead and I was left to face that bitter truth alone.