Enjoy
Coming Back Home
Life was good. Or so I thought. I was living in New York City on the upper Westside with my new bride, and working as an actor. Maybe you have seen one of my award winning performances: Dunking my face into a bowl of baked beans, singing into a chunk of Velveeta cheese, talking with a mouth full of cookies, or maybe as the bright neon orange and green live version the very popular toy at the time, “Big Frank.” As well as in film, TV shows, theatre, and something very dear to me, Third Rail Comedy, the sketch comedy group I was a founding member of. One of our reviews at the time said we were “rude, crude and lewd.” We considered that a badge of honor. I was auditioning or filming during the day and performing sketch comedy in clubs at night. Yes, life was good. But let me back up a bit.
I was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and raised Catholic. We went to Mass every Sunday and on holy days, and fasted from meat on Fridays. This fasting thing was not good for me. See, I hated fish at the time and I dreaded the Fridays when we had tuna fish casserole. I attended Catholic school for six years. I can remember when I was about eight, sitting in a dark auditorium at school with my mom and dad watching my older sister and younger brother in the school Christmas play. She was a candy cane and he was an elf. And while gazing up at their brilliant performance on stage I remember thinking, I would never, ever want to be on a stage in front of people.
I was an extremely shy and introverted child. It is nothing less than ironic that I wound up an actor. But that is another story. By this time, our family moved to Florida. In seventh and eighth grade, I attended weekly catechism classes while in public school. And I was an altar boy. My mom and dad, brother and two sisters and I were by all accounts a Catholic family. Looking back, I remember it all fondly and feel quite fortunate to have had a faith centered family. But in my early teen years, seeing kids in the neighborhood playing and having fun while I had to get dressed up and head to church began to be a real drag.
I began to realize that I went to Mass because that is what we did on Sunday, not because I wanted to go. My faith was not something I believed, but something I went along with. I began to wonder if what went on during Mass was real and true or just made up rituals and stories. I made half-hearted attempts to read the Bible, but found it all rather boring and hard to comprehend. I did not take the time or effort to investigate further.
So, like any good son, I just went along without complaint. Okay, maybe a little complaining, but inside I knew it would never really get very far. The more I went to Mass, the less sense it made to me. I mean, who is this God? This bearded man I imagined in my youth. I found it a challenge to grasp the concept of Who or what was God. If He was not an old man in the clouds, Who was He? I thought that if I could just get a picture of what God looks like in my mind, then I would be able to understand. But that image never materialized. Instead, my frustration grew and my doubt multiplied.
While at college, I moved out on my own and that is when the drifting really began. On weekends while at home, I would attend Mass. But for one reason or another I would not make it to church on many Sundays. There were times that I would make an attempt to seek out a Catholic church close by the college, but never followed through on showing up on Sunday. There was always an urge inside me that wanted to seek out God, to go to Mass, but I tried my best to ignore that feeling, thinking that it was just a habit from always going to Mass with my family in my youth. I also allowed negative news in newspapers or television about the Catholic Church to put a deeper wedge between me and my faith.
I thought that if the Catholic Church did not satisfy me, maybe a non-Catholic church or another religion might be a better fit for me. I tried non-denominational Christian churches, unity churches, found my way to a few different Buddhist temples and a Baptist church, but none of them satisfied me. So I decided to ignore that urge and enjoy college life. One thing for sure, I was spiritually adrift.
After graduating college as a newly minted theatre major, I began auditioning at professional theaters in the area. The local theater scene was coming into its own and I found a nice fit with a theater company and enjoyed performing in a number of productions.
One day, after a morning rehearsal for a play I was performing in, I joined my family in the hospital waiting room where my mom was having surgery. As we sat awaiting word on my mother’s outcome, I scanned the room and at the other end, I noticed a familiar face. A very attractive girl that I had gone to high school with, but never said hello to because I was very shy. As I was deciding whether to say hello or not, her aunt spoke up and said, “I think she knows you.” Two years later, Dede became my wife.
After meeting with some success locally with my acting, we decided to take a bite out of the Big Apple. That first year in New York City was an exhilarating and frightening time. What a rush for me it was walking the streets of Manhattan going from audition to audition! After about six months of beating the streets, I began booking commercials. I did thank God for my new found success, but did not bother to follow that urge inside me to attend Mass. On the surface, exploring what this island metropolis had to offer, with my wife, made that first year even more exciting. I began living the dream of every actor: Working only as an actor. And in New York City no less!
Then, without warning, my wife began experiencing neurological issues. After consulting with a neurologist and undergoing many medical tests, it was discovered that she had Lyme disease. A ticborne illness which mimics multiple sclerosis and at that time was rather rare. There was controversy on the best protocol to effectively treat this illness. After two years of treatment with a doctor who was very knowledgeable with the disease and whom we both trusted, she was symptom-free. About a year later, our son was born.
As any new parent can attest, those first few months were joy-filled exhaustion. Bringing new life into this world, learning how to be a parent, hoping you do it “correctly,” whatever that is. I was smitten. That little guy filled me with a type of love I had never experienced. How I am going to guide and teach him was a constant thought in my mind as I would gaze at him asleep in my arms. One thing I knew for sure was to give him as much love as humanly possible. At my mother’s insistence, our son was baptized into the Catholic Church. That first year with our son was a blast and a blur working and enjoying our new family.
After our son’s first birthday, my wife’s health declined dramatically. Vertigo, exhaustion, difficulty walking, and temporary partial blindness filled her with fear. After many tests with her neurologist, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. We were devastated to say the least. After the initial shock of the diagnosis, with my wife’s positive attitude and constant smile, we began to find our way with this new wrinkle in our life.
Vaguely familiar with the disease and with the doctors saying symptoms are different for everyone, I began to research and learn all I could about this thing called MS. At that time, I felt invincible. I did not need anyone’s help, I could do it all: Assist my wife, care for my son, work, and so on. There was no thought of going to Mass, asking for or needing God’s help. I could do it all. And I did. For a while.
As an actor, there is time during the day between auditions that I could take care of our son, assist my wife, grocery shop, and do whatever else came up. I had tons of energy and relished the fact that I could do all that I did. I would get my wife and son situated, then go and audition or film, then come home and do what needed to be done. Then, I was off again. A few evenings a week I would rehearse or perform with my sketch comedy group at clubs around New York City. At times it seemed like I was always in motion. Living in New York City was convenient in that everything was a train, bus, or cab ride away.
About the time our son was two, the urge inside of me of going back to church was getting harder to suppress. I began to think that maybe we should go to Mass as a family because that is what I did growing up. So we began our half-hearted attempts of attending Mass. We were often late, I was easily distracted by my son who could not sit still for a second, and many Sundays we could easily talk ourselves out of going to Mass for one bad excuse or another. But, even through the distractions and excuses, that urge was ever present in my heart.
There were periods of time when my wife was almost symptom-free and could get around and have a “normal” life, which we did our best to enjoy to the fullest. As time went on, however, walking became more of a challenge for her and getting around proved more difficult. And that began to put a strain on both of us.
As time passed, I realized that life in New York City would become a major challenge for my wife because to her diminishing mobility. So we decided to relocate to California. Settling in the valley just over the hill from Hollywood, it had everything that we were looking for: Lots of space for my son to play, easier for my wife to navigate, and opportunities for acting work. After a time, we became acclimated to our new area, not to mention that we loved the weather.
I cannot remember how, but I found a church nearby that we would attend on occasion. When we attended, I found myself sitting in the pew questioning many things about the Catholic faith and the Mass. Why Mass? I mean, is all that takes place in the Mass necessary? At times I would be half asleep. I would complain to myself that the readers are boring or that the priest is boring. Does he really believe what he is saying? Other times I found myself getting very angry during homilies. So much so that I would get up and walk out of the church in a huff.
I was not happy. I did not quite realize it at that moment, but somewhere along the way, I developed an attitude that someone else was to blame for whatever was going wrong in my life. Impatience, frustration, anger, and many other emotions churned in my mind as more responsibilities began to pile up and I was becoming more resentful of my circumstance. My focus shifted from what I can do for my wife to, look at all this stuff I have to do for my wife.
Through the anger and frustration, I still had that urge inside pulling me to Mass. When my son was in kindergarten, I began to think if I should have him go through the sacraments, reconciliation and first Holy Communion being the first two. I really struggled with this decision. I mean, I was struggling with my faith or lack thereof, so why push him into something that I had many questions with? After much thought, I decided that I would have him go through the sacraments and when he finished confirmation, he could decide for himself if he wanted to continue.
After signing up for the Sunday morning class, I found out that the Holy Communion/Reconciliation class is a two-year process and on top of that, parents had to “volunteer” two times in the class. And if that was not bad enough, the class began at 9AM on Sunday. I struggled making it to Mass at 10AM! Oh great, I thought. My plan was to “volunteer” the first two classes and get the obligation over with quickly, then I would not have to deal with it for the rest of the year.
My plan worked, sort of. I attended the first class with a few other parents and our job was to help keep the kids focused. A bit of a challenge, because there were thirty some kids packed in that classroom. I do enjoy children, so interacting with them and doing my best to keep them focused was a fun challenge. And something else began to happen, I found myself listening to what the instructor was saying. I remembered the Bible lesson she was teaching the kids from when I went to Catholic school, but somehow it felt like I was hearing it in a new way. I felt drawn to all she was saying. I went back the next Sunday and again, found myself listening intently to everything this catechist had to say.
My “volunteer” obligation fulfilled, I went back week after week to help out and get reacquainted with the faith in which I was raised. I ended up helping out the two years of required classes for Reconciliation/First Holy Communion. I actually looked forward to those classes. I was very happy for my son, but still very confused and had many doubts about my faith, the Church and if it was real and true. But that feeling inside of me, that urge, would not let go. I decided that if my son was to be confirmed in the Catholic Church, which was a two-year program for ninth and tenth grade, then he should continue with the non-required catechism classes third through eighth grade. Even though I had my doubts, I felt that to give my son a fair shot of knowing the faith, he should have the benefit of those classes which coincided with a typical school year.
So, we continued our routine of my son going to catechism class on Sunday, then we attended Mass right after. We would take our position in the pew about three quarters of the way back of the church, sometimes further back but never closer. I suppose it felt safer back there, like the priest could not see that far back and we could get lost in the crowd. I doubted almost everything I knew about the Catholic Church. Does the bread and wine really transform into the body and blood of Christ? Was Mary really a virgin? And even more unbelievable to me—did Jesus really resurrect from the dead? Now come on, really? Week after week I would ask myself those questions and more. Is all that takes place in the Mass necessary? I would say to myself, “there has got to be more to this (the Mass) than just this (what I am seeing).”
After about five years of asking the same questions wondering if there was more to the Mass than what I am seeing…it happened.
There I was, in the pew with my wife and son, I am slouching, half asleep, and mind wandering when I began to feel an odd sensation in my chest. I began to feel a warmth, a heat in the center of my chest. I sat up, I looked around to see if anyone else might be feeling what I was feeling. In a matter of moments this heat intensified and my chest felt as if it was opening and this heat turned into an intense fire, burning in my chest. An incredible fire with the most amazing indescribable feeling of love. A love so intense, so beautiful, so unconditional just flowing from my chest along with this intense burning fire. I began saying to myself, “I get this, I get this, I get this,” but I did not know what I was getting. Then, in my mind I could see curtains opening. Curtain after curtain, one after another opening, deeper and deeper in my mind. Then, every question every doubt I had about the Catholic faith, about the Mass, about Mary, about, about everything—it was answered at once. YES! It is all true. It is all real.
As I was sitting there, having this life altering experience, I was unsure what to do next. I just had every doubt and question about my Catholic faith that I ever had, answered in an instant. I am sitting there, with my chest open with a roaring, surging fire ablaze with the most incredible feeling of love that I ever experienced and I am thinking, what do I do now? Should I walk up the aisle and stop the priest during Mass and tell him what is happening to me? Should I stand up and shout with joy of my experience? I wanted to, but thought the people would think I was a lunatic. So, I just sat there, trying to comprehend what was happening to me.
After Mass I did not say anything to anyone, not even my wife. I just was not sure what to make of this fiery love burning inside of me. It was with me the whole week and I could not wait to get back to church the next Sunday to see what was going to happen next.
Upon entering the church, I felt an instant connection in my chest, almost like I was being plugged back in. Although I had the fire ablaze in me throughout the week, it felt like this is where I needed to be. The church. Week after week it continued and I found myself moving up a pew or two every week. After about four weeks, we were sitting in the front pew and all I could say in my mind as this fire of love burned in my chest was, “How do I get there?” The tabernacle. I just wanted to be as close to the Holy Eucharist as humanly possible.
As I write this, I cannot help but think of the angels and saints desiring to be near and praising Jesus at the tabernacles in Catholic churches around the world. Oh to be near You Jesus, oh to love You, stripped of ego and all pretense!
Now, as challenging as this story would have been for me to believe if someone told me this over ten years ago, this part of the story would have been even harder to accept. As we sat in the front pew each week, a word or a phrase from a song, a reading, the homily, basically anything that was uttered or sung during the service, whatever the Holy Spirit needed me to think about, that word or phrase would burn in fire in front of me. Yes, I know, that is hard to believe. It took me a couple weeks to realize that this was really happening to me. Each week, I was not expecting, just accepting of what was unfolding to me and taking in all that was offered. This continued for about eight weeks. The fire and feeling of love in my chest stayed with me for several months, then slowly it began to dissipate with time. But to this day, almost every time I enter a Catholic church I feel that connection and a bit of the heat in my chest.
I have been asked, “Why did you get to have this experience?” My smart alec answer is, because I am super-duper special. But in reality, to God, we are all super-duper special. I honestly do not know the answer. It may be a combination of reasons. I was so determined to know what was going on in the Mass. Not just what we could see but, all that we cannot see. The spiritual, mystical, unseen aspect of the Mass. I just kept asking over and over and over again. Week after week, month after month, year after year, “There has got to be more to this (the Mass) than just this (what I’m seeing).” And on that day, God answered me. Maybe He was so tired of me asking that He finally said, “Stop your whining, here’s your answer.” For whatever reason, I am thankful. That gift brought me back to the fullness of the faith in a huge way. I am a full participant in the Mass, searching and opening myself to an ever deepening understanding of my Catholic faith. I expect to always be discovering more of this incredible Church that Jesus founded and handed over to Saint Peter, the first pope all the way through to Pope Francis.
As my son continued through the CRE program at church, each week I would sit outside of the confirmation classes. I would peek in the classrooms as I walked by and would become distressed at what I was seeing. Teens looking like they were half asleep, ignoring the teacher. In another classroom, the kids were clowning around with one another not even paying attention to the teacher. Each week the same thing. I would sit at the benches and think, oh no, when these kids get confirmed, they are never going to come back to church! Someone has got to do something. I began getting the urge to tell these kids my story, so that maybe they would understand how important their Catholic faith is. Each week I would think the same thing but resisted that urge inside of me.
Okay, yes I know, I am slow at understanding that God is speaking to me. It eventually clicked that I had to tell them my story. A friend introduced me to the director of religious education. The next year, I was teaching one of the confirmation classes and in the first class of each group of teens, I tell them my story. I have been a confirmation catechist for the past nine years and I continue to grow in passion about my faith and seeing the kids respond in a positive way to my story and classes is truly a blessing to me and I trust, a blessing to them. All thanks to God!
And yes, I am following the urging (yea I know, what took me so long?) to share my story through this story in the quest to help more and more people grow in their faith, come back to their Catholic faith or come into the Catholic Church. As the song says, “all are welcome in this place.”
Billie Gillespie (www.RedemptionStreet.net) is an Actor, Catholic Speaker, and Confirmation Catechist residing in Los Angeles, California.
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Jul 12, 2024
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Jul 12, 2024
Loneliness is the new normal worldwide, but not for this family! Read on for this incredible tip on staying connected always.
I recently became an empty nester. All five of my children live hours apart from one another, which makes family gatherings few and far between. This is one of the bittersweet consequences of successfully launching your children; they can fly pretty far sometimes.
Last Christmas, our whole family had the happy occasion of visiting with each other. At the end of those three joyful days, when it was time for goodbyes, I overheard one sibling say to another: “I’ll see you in the Eucharist.”
This is the way. This is how we stay close to one another. We cling to the Eucharist. And Jesus binds us together.
We certainly miss one another and wish we had more time together. But God has called us to work in different pastures and to be content with the time we’ve been given. So, in between visits and phone calls, we go to Mass and continue to stay connected.
Feeling Alone?
Attending the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass allows us to enter into a reality that’s not bound by space and time. It’s the stepping out of this world and into a sacred space where Heaven touches Earth in a real way, and we are united with the entire family of God, those worshiping both here on Earth and in Heaven.
By partaking in Holy Communion, we find that we indeed are not alone. One of Jesus’ last words to His disciples was: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) The Eucharist is the immense gift of His continual Presence with us.
Naturally, we miss loved ones who are no longer with us; sometimes, the ache can be quite fierce. It is in those moments that we must cling to the Eucharist. On particularly lonesome days, I make an extra effort to get to Mass a little early and linger a little longer afterward. I intercede for each of my loved ones and receive comfort knowing I am not alone and that I am close to Jesus’ Heart. I pray that each of my loved one’s hearts are also close to Jesus’ Heart, so we can also be together. Jesus promised: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to Myself.” (John 12:32)
Incredibly Close
One of my favorite lines during the Eucharistic Prayer is this: “Humbly we pray that partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we may be gathered into one by the Holy Spirit.”
God gathers what once was scattered and draws us into the one body of Christ. The Holy Spirit at Mass has been tasked in a particular way with uniting us. We absolutely need God’s help to be in true communion with others.
Have you ever been in the same room with someone, but yet it felt like you were a million miles away? The opposite of that can also be true. Even if we are miles apart, we can feel incredibly close to others.
Ultimate Reality
Last year, I felt particularly close to my grandmother at her funeral Mass. It was very comforting, for I felt like she was right there with us, especially during the Eucharistic prayer and Holy Communion. My grandmother had a strong devotion to the Eucharist and strove to attend daily Mass for as long as she physically could. I was so grateful for that time of intimacy with her and will always treasure that. This reminds me of another portion of the Eucharistic prayer:
“Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection and all who have died in Your mercy: welcome them into the light of Your face. Have mercy on us all, we pray, that with the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, with Blessed Joseph, Her Spouse, with the Blessed Apostles, and all the Saints who have pleased You throughout the ages, we may merit to be co-heirs to eternal life, and may praise and glorify You through Your Son, Jesus Christ.”
While at Mass or Eucharistic Adoration, we are in the Real Presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We are also joined by the Saints and Angels in Heaven. One day we will see this reality for ourselves. For now, we believe with the eyes of faith.
Let us take courage whenever we feel lonely or are missing a loved one. Jesus’ Loving and Merciful Heart is constantly beating for us and yearning for us to spend time with Him in the Eucharist. This is where we find our peace. This is where our hearts are fed. Like Saint John, let us rest peacefully on the loving breast of Jesus and pray that many others will find their way to His Sacred Eucharistic Heart. Then, we will be truly together.
May 24, 2024
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My husband was given a death sentence; I did not want to live on without him, but his firm convictions surprised me.
Five years ago, my world came crashing down when my husband was diagnosed with a terminal disease. The life and the future I envisioned were forever changed in an instant. It was terrifying and confusing; the most hopeless and helpless I’ve ever felt. It was as though I had been plunged into an abyss of constant fear and despair. I had only my faith to cling onto as I faced the darkest days I’ve ever known. Days of caring for my dying husband and days of preparing to face a life completely different than what I had planned.
Chris and I had been together since we were teenagers. We were best friends and nearly inseparable. We had been married for over twenty years and were happily raising our four children in what seemed like an idyllic life. Now he was given a death sentence, and I didn’t know how I could live without him. In truth, part of me didn’t want to. One day, in a moment of brokenness, I confided in him that I thought I might die of a broken heart if I had to live without him. His reaction was not as desperate. He sternly but empathetically told me that I had to keep living until God called me home; that I couldn’t wish or waste my life away because his was coming to an end. He confidently assured me that he would be watching over me and our children from the other side of the veil.
The Other Side of Grief
Chris had an unshakeable faith in God’s love and mercy. Convinced that we wouldn’t be separated forever, he would often recite the phrase: “It’s just for a little while.” This was our constant reminder that no heartache lasts forever—and these words gave me boundless hope. Hope that God will guide us through this, and hope that I will be reunited with Chris in the next life. During these dark days, we clung to Our Lady in the Rosary—a devotion we were already familiar with. The Sorrowful Mysteries were recited more often than not because contemplating the suffering and death of Our Lord brought us closer to Him in our own suffering. The Divine Mercy Chaplet was a new devotion that we added to our daily routine. Like the Rosary, this was a humbling reminder of what Jesus willingly endured for our salvation, and somehow it made the cross we had been given seem less heavy.
We began to more clearly see the beauty in suffering and sacrifice. I would mentally repeat the small prayer: “Oh, Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in You” every hour of the day. It would bring a wave of calm over me whenever I felt a rush of uncertainty or fear. During this time, our prayer life deepened tremendously and gave us hope that Our Lord would be merciful to Chris and our family as we endured this painful journey. Today, it gives me hope that Chris is at peace, watching over and interceding for us from the other side—just as he promised.
In these uncertain days of my new life, it’s hope that keeps me going and gives me strength. It has given me immeasurable gratitude for God’s endless love and tender mercy. Hope is a tremendous gift; an inextinguishable interior glow to focus on when we feel broken. Hope calms, hope strengthens, and hope heals. Hope takes courage to hold onto.
As Saint John Paul II said: “I plead with you! Never, ever give up on hope. Never doubt, never tire and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.”
By: Mary Therese Emmons
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Apr 10, 2024
Evangelize
Apr 10, 2024
When a terrible loss led Josh Blakesley into the light, music from his soul became a balm to many bleeding hearts.
Growing up in the small town of Alexandria, Josh was a carefree child.
He grew up listening to his Dad’s music; two elder sisters with a great music collection was a bonus that nurtured his musical taste. Without professional training or theoretical inputs, in an age with no internet and YouTube, Josh had what he would later call ‘a side entry’ into the world of music. Starting on the drums and simultaneously learning to sing, he was enamored by the likes of Don Henley and Phil Collins, following their legendary works through magazines and books.
With his mother, though, Church was a non-negotiable matter. Thanks to her insistence, he went to Mass every Sunday. But he would leave God there and live the rest of his life on a totally different plane.
Diving Deeper
They met in Spanish class when he was 15, and unlike any other 15-year-old, she took him along to a prayer meeting. This was new and different from anything he had experienced before. Teenagers his age were coming together to worship the Lord. This worship experience was modern and engaging…with music, talks, and skits by people his age! He was intrigued, but he wouldn’t have kept coming back every week if Jenny hadn’t asked him to.
Several months later, Jenny was hit by a drunk driver and killed in an accident. Her loss was a huge blow to the entire community. As he struggled with the grief of losing her, it triggered a realization that life here is finite, and there must be purpose in it, a reason that we are living.
From that very moment, he began a journey, searching for answers to the questions that fascinated him…‘What is the reason for me? What is the purpose of what I’m doing right now? Why has God put me on this planet? What’s my role while I’m here?’
He started diving more into why we were here on this planet. In realizing that his gifts were from God, and in searching for a purpose in the use of these gifts, he realized that he wanted to give back to God and return the love.
A Bolt of Realization
He started playing music for Mass and getting involved in the liturgy. As he puts it: “There has been a faith part to my music and a music part to my faith as well. Those are still ingrained. I pray through music a lot”. And it is this experience of prayer that he tries to hand over to his brethren through writing and playing music. The “awesome and overwhelming” experience of leading people into worship and hearing them singing along makes him whisper so often: “The Lord is moving right now, and I don’t have to work.”
Bridging the Gap
Josh is now a full-time singer, songwriter, producer, music director, husband, and dad.
Even while leading the music at Mass every Sunday, Josh knows that Mass can happen without music—what a musician does at Mass doesn’t bring Jesus any greater into the room; He is there regardless. What a musician can do is “elevate the worship of the faithful by bringing some extra beauty through music.” This indeed, is one of his life goals—to try and bridge that gap and bring quality music into the liturgy.
But he doesn’t stop there; in addition to adding beauty to the Sacramental experience, he goes another mile to bring God to the people.
Right from His Heart
As a Catholic musician, Josh writes songs for the Mass and writes from the heart. Sometimes, when it comes out, it might not be out rightly Mass-material, but what comes out is still a tribute to God for the gift of music.
He relates that his song Even in This was such an experience right from his heart.
The Church community he was part of had just lost a teen, and seeing them go through the pain, the tragedy, and the devastation took him back to his own experience of losing a dear friend in his teenage years. Diving into the pain, he wrote that even in these darkest nights, God is with us. In the ‘valleys of pain’, in the ‘shattered, broken things’, in the ' hurt you cannot hide’ and the ‘fear you cannot fight’, he reassures his listeners that though you cannot see God, “You are not alone.”
This is one message Josh wants to repeat to the world: “God is moving with you.”
Mar 21, 2024
Encounter
Mar 21, 2024
Would my life ever return to normal? How can I possibly continue my work? Brooding over these, a terrible solution popped into my head…
I was finding life extremely stressful. In my fifth year at college, the onset of bipolar disorder was hindering my efforts to complete my teaching degree. I had no diagnosis yet, but I was plagued with insomnia, and I looked frazzled and unkempt, which impeded my prospects of employment as a teacher. Since I had strong natural tendencies toward perfectionism, I felt so ashamed and feared that I was letting everyone down. I spiraled into anger, despondency, and depression. People were concerned about my decline and tried to help. I was even sent to the hospital by ambulance from the school, but doctors could find nothing wrong except elevated blood pressure. I prayed but found no consolation. Even Easter Mass—my favorite time—didn’t break the vicious cycle. Why wouldn’t Jesus help me? I felt so angry with Him. Finally, I just stopped praying.
As this continued, day after day, month after month, I didn’t know what to do. Would my life ever return to normal? It seemed unlikely. As graduation approached, my fear increased. Teaching is a tough job with few breaks, and the students would need me to remain level-headed while dealing with their many needs and providing a good learning environment. How could I possibly do this in my current state? A terrible solution popped into my head: “You should just kill yourself.” Instead of casting off that thought and sending it straight back to hell where it belonged, I let it sit. It seemed like a simple, logical answer to my dilemma. I just wanted to be numb instead of under constant attack.
To my utter regret, I chose despair. But, in what I expected to be my last moments, I thought of my family and the type of person I had once been. In genuine remorse, I raised my head to the heavens and said: “I’m so sorry, Jesus. Sorry for everything. Just give me what I deserve.” I thought those would be the last words I would utter in this life. But God had other plans.
Listening to the Divine
My mother was, by providence, praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet at that very moment. Suddenly, she heard the words loud and clear in her heart “Go find Ellen.” She obediently set aside her rosary beads and found me on the floor of the garage. She caught on quickly, exclaiming in horror: “What are you doing?!” while she pulled me into the house.
My parents were heartbroken. There’s no rulebook for times such as these, but they decided to take me to Mass. I was totally broken, and I needed a Savior more than ever before. I longed for a come-to-Jesus moment, but I was convinced that I was the last person in the world He would ever want to see. I wanted to believe that Jesus is my Shepherd and would come after His lost sheep, but it was hard because nothing had changed. I was still consumed by intense self-hatred, oppressed by darkness. It was almost physically painful.
During the preparation of the gifts, I broke down in tears. I had not cried for a really long time, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I was at the end of my own strength, with no idea where to go next. But as I wept, the weight slowly lifted, and I felt myself enfolded in His Divine Mercy. I didn’t deserve it, but He gave me the gift of Himself, and I knew that He loved me the same at my lowest point as much as He loved me at my highest point.
In Pursuit of Love
In the days to come, I could barely face God, but He kept showing up and pursuing me in the little things. I re-established communication with Jesus with the aid of a Divine Mercy picture in our living room. I tried to talk, mostly complaining about the struggle and then feeling bad about it in light of the recent rescue.
Weirdly, I thought I could hear a tender voice whispering: “Did you really think I would leave you to die? I love you. I will never forsake you. I promise to never leave you. All is forgiven. Trust in my mercy.” I wanted to believe this, but I couldn’t trust that it was true. I was growing discouraged at the walls I was erecting, but I kept chatting with Jesus: “How do I learn to trust You?”
The answer surprised me. Where do you go when you feel no hope but have to go on living? When you feel totally unlovable, too proud to accept anything yet desperately wanting to be humble? In other words, where do you want to go when you want a full reconciliation with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit but are too scared and disbelieving of a loving reception to find your way home? The answer is the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and Queen of Heaven.
While I was learning to trust, my awkward attempts did not displease Jesus. He was calling me closer, closer to His Sacred Heart, through His Blessed Mother. I fell in love with Him and His faithfulness.
I could admit everything to Mary. Although I feared that I could not keep my promise to my earthly mother because, on my own, I was still barely mustering the will to live, my mother inspired me to consecrate my life to Mary, trusting that she would help me get through this. I didn’t know much about what that meant, but 33 Days to Morning Glory and Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Father Michael E. Gaitley, MIC, helped me understand. The Blessed Mother is always willing to be our intercessor, and she will never turn down a request from a child wanting to return to Jesus. As I went through the consecration, I resolved never to attempt suicide again with the words: “No matter what happens, I will not quit.”
Meanwhile, I started taking long walks on the beach while I talked with God the Father and meditated on the parable of the prodigal son. I tried to put myself in the shoes of the prodigal son, but it took me some time to get close to God the Father. First, I imagined Him at a distance, then walking toward me. Another day, I pictured Him running towards me even though it made Him look ridiculous to His friends and neighbors.
Finally, the day came when I could picture myself in the arms of the Father, then being welcomed not just to His home but to my seat at the family table. As I envisaged Him pulling out a chair for me, I was no longer a headstrong young woman but a 10-year-old girl with ridiculous glasses and a bob haircut. When I accepted the Father’s love for me, I became like a little child again, living in the present moment and trusting Him completely. I fell in love with God and His faithfulness. My Good Shepherd has saved me from the prison of fear and anger, continuing to lead me along the safe path and carrying me when I falter.
Now, I want to share my story so that everyone can know God’s goodness and love. His Sacred Heart is welling up with tender love and mercy just for you. He wants to love you lavishly, and I encourage you to welcome Him without fear. He will never abandon you or let you down. Step into His light and come home.
Mar 12, 2024
Encounter
Mar 12, 2024
Through the darkest valleys and toughest nights, Belinda heard a voice that kept calling her back.
My mother walked out on us when I was around eleven. At the time, I thought that she left because she didn't want me. But in fact, after years of silently suffering through marital abuse, she couldn’t hold on anymore. As much as she wanted to save us, my father had threatened to kill her if she took us with her. It was too much to take in at such a young age, and as I was striving hard to navigate through this difficult time, my father started a cycle of abuse that would haunt me for years to come.
Valleys and Hills
To numb the pain of my father’s abuse and compensate for the loneliness of my mother’s abandonment, I started resorting to all kinds of ‘relief’ mechanisms. And at a point when I couldn’t stand the abuse anymore, I ran away with Charles, my boyfriend from school. I reconnected with my mother during this time and lived with her and her new husband for a while.
At 17, I married Charles. His family had a history of incarceration, and he followed suit soon enough. I kept hanging out with the same bunch of people, and eventually, I, too, fell into crime. At 19, I got sentenced to prison for the first time—five years for aggravated assault.
In prison, I felt more alone than I had ever been in my life. Everyone who was supposed to love and nurture me had abandoned me, used me, and abused me. I remember giving up, even trying to end my life. For a long time, I kept on spiraling downwards until I met Sharon and Joyce. They had given their lives to the Lord. Though I had no clue about Jesus, I thought I'd give it a try as I didn't have anything else. There, trapped inside those walls, I started a new life with Christ.
Falling, Rising, Learning…
About a year and a half into my sentence, I came up for parole. Somehow in my heart, I just knew I was going to make parole because I'd been living for Jesus. I felt like I was doing all the right things, so when the denial came back with a year set off, I just didn't understand. I started questioning God and was quite angry.
It was at this time that I was transferred to another correctional facility. At the end of the church services, when the chaplain reached out for a handshake, I flinched and withdrew. He was a Spirit-filled man, and the Holy Spirit had shown him that I had been hurt. The next morning, he asked to see me. There in his office, as he asked about what had happened to me and how I was hurting, I opened up and shared for the first time in my life.
Finally, out of prison and in private rehab, I started a job and was slowly getting a hold on my new life when I met Steven. I started going out with him, and we got pregnant. I remember being excited about it. As he wanted to make it right, we got married and started a family. That marked the beginning of probably the worst 17 years of my life, marked by his physical abuse and infidelity and the continuing influence of drugs and crime.
He would even go on to hurt our kids, and this once sent me into a rage—I wanted to shoot him. At that moment, I heard these verses: “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.” (Romans 12:19) and “The Lord will fight for you” (Exodus 14:14), and that prompted me to let him go.
Never a Criminal
I was never able to be a criminal for long; God would just arrest me and try to get me back on track. In spite of His repeated efforts, I wasn't living for Him. I always kept God back, although I knew He was there. After a series of arrests and releases, I finally came home for good in 1996. I got back in touch with the Church and finally started building a true and sincere relationship with Jesus. The Church slowly became my life; I never really had that kind of a relationship with Jesus before.
I just couldn't get enough of it because I started to see that it's not the things that I've done but who I am in Christ that's going to keep me on this road. But, the real conversion happened with Bridges to Life*.
How can I Not?
Even though I hadn’t been a participant in the program as an offender, being able to facilitate in those small groups was a blessing I hadn’t anticipated—one that would change my life in beautiful ways. When I heard other women and men share their stories, something clicked inside of me. It affirmed me that I was not the only one and encouraged me to show up time and again. I would be so tired and worn out from work, but I would walk into the prisons and just be rejuvenated because I knew that that was where I was supposed to be.
Bridges to Life is about learning to forgive yourself; not only did helping others help me become whole, it also helped me heal…and I am still healing.
First, it was my mother. She had cancer, and I brought her home; I looked after her for as long as she stayed until she passed away peacefully at my home. In 2005, my father’s cancer came back, and the doctors estimated he had at most six months. I brought him home too. Everybody told me not to take in this man after what he did to me. I asked: “how can I not?” Jesus forgave me, and I feel that God would want me to do this.
Had I chosen to hold on to the bitterness or hatred toward my parents for the abandonment and the abuse, I don't know if they would have given their lives to the Lord. Just looking back over my life, I see how Jesus kept pursuing me and trying to help me. I was so resistant to feeling what was new, and it was so easy to stay in what was comfortable, but I am grateful to Jesus that I was able to finally completely surrender to Him. He is my Savior, He is my rock, and He is my friend. I just cannot imagine a life without Jesus.
Feb 10, 2024
Encounter
Feb 10, 2024
As a teenager, I did what every teen tries to do—I tried to fit in. I had this feeling, though, that I was unlike my peers. Somewhere along the way, I realized that it was my faith that made me different. I resented my parents for giving me this thing that made me stand out. I became rebellious and started to go to parties, discos, and nightclubs.
I didn't want to pray anymore. I just wanted the whole excitement of putting on makeup, dressing up, daydreaming about who's going to be at the parties, dancing all night long, and most of all, just ‘fitting in there.’
But, coming home at night, sitting on my bed all by myself, I felt empty inside. I hated who I'd become; it was a total paradox where I didn't like who I was, and yet I didn't know how to change and become myself.
On one of those nights, crying by myself, I remembered the simple happiness that I had as a child when I knew that God and my family loved me. Back then, that was all that mattered. So, for the first time in a long time, I prayed. I cried to Him and asked Him to bring me back to that happiness.
I kind of gave Him an ultimatum that if He did not reveal Himself to me in that next year, I would never return to Him. It was a very dangerous prayer but, at the same time, a very powerful one. I said the prayer and then totally forgot about it.
A few months later, I was introduced to the Holy Family Mission, a residential community where you come to learn your faith and know God. There was daily prayer, Sacramental life, frequent Confession, daily Rosary, and observation of the Holy Hour. I remember thinking, “That is way too much prayer for a single day!” At that point, I could hardly even give five minutes of my day to God.
Somehow, I ended up applying for the Mission. Every single day, I would sit in prayer in front of the Eucharistic Lord and ask Him who I was and what the purpose of my life was. Slowly but surely, the Lord revealed Himself to me through the Scriptures and from spending time in silence with Him. I gradually received healing from my inner wounds and grew in prayer and relationship with the Lord.
From the rebellious teenage girl who felt totally lost, to the joyous daughter of God, I underwent quite the transformation. Yes, God wants us to know Him. He reveals Himself to us because He faithfully answers every single prayer that we raise to Him.
Feb 08, 2024
Encounter
Feb 08, 2024
Caught in a spiral of drugs and sex work, I was losing myself, until this happened.
It was night. I was in the brothel, dressed ready for “work.” There was a gentle knock at the door, not the big bang by the police, but a truly gentle tap. The brothel lady—the Madame—opened the door, and my mother walked in.
I felt ashamed. I was dressed for this “work” that I had been doing for months now, and there in the room was my mom!
She just sat there and told me: “Sweetheart, please come home.”
She showed me love. She didn't judge me. She just asked me to come back.
I was overwhelmed by grace at that moment. I should have gone home then, but the drugs would not let me. I sincerely felt ashamed.
She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper, slid it across, and told me: “I love you. You can call me anytime, and I'll come.”
The next morning, I told a friend of mine that I wanted to get off heroin. I was scared. At 24, I was tired of life, and it felt like I'd lived enough to be done with life. . My friend knew a doctor who treated drug addicts, and I got an appointment in three days. I called my mom, told her I was going to the doctor, and that I wanted to get off heroin.
She was crying on the phone. She jumped in the car and came straight to me. She'd been waiting…
How it all began
Our family shifted to Brisbane when my father got a job at Expo 88. I was 12. I was enrolled at an elite private girls’ school, but I just didn’t fit in. I dreamed of going to Hollywood and making movies, so I needed to attend a school that specializes in Film and TV.
I found a school renowned for Film and TV, and my parents easily gave in to my request to change schools. What I didn't tell them was that the school was also in the newspapers because they were infamous for gangs and drugs. The school gave me so many creative friends, and I excelled in school. I topped a lot of my classes and won awards for Film, TV, and Drama. I had the grades to get to University.
Two weeks before the end of grade 12, someone offered me marijuana. I said yes. At the end of school, we all went away, and again I tried other drugs...
From the kid who was laser-focused on finishing school, I went on a downward spiral. I still got into University, but in the second year, I ended up in a relationship with a guy who was a heroin addict. I remember all of my friends at the time telling me: “You're going to end up a junkie, a heroin addict.” I, on the other hand, thought I was going to be his savior.
But all the sex, drugs, and rock and roll ended up getting me pregnant. We went to the doctor, my partner still high on heroin. The doctor looked at us and immediately advised me to get a termination—she must have felt that with us, this child had no hope. Three days later, I had an abortion.
I felt guilty, ashamed, and alone. I would watch my partner take heroin, get numb, and be unaffected. I begged him for some heroin, but he was all: “I love you, I'm not giving you heroin.” One day, he needed money, and I managed to bargain some heroin in return. It was a tiny bit, and it made me sick, but it also made me feel nothing. I kept on using, the dose getting higher and higher each time.
I eventually dropped out of University and became a frequent user.
I had no idea how I was going to pay for almost a hundred dollars’ worth of heroin I was using on a daily basis. We started growing marijuana in the house; we would sell it and use the money to buy even more drugs. We sold everything we owned, got kicked out of my apartment, and then, slowly, I started stealing from my family and friends. I didn't even feel ashamed. Soon, I started stealing from work. I thought they didn’t know, but I eventually got kicked out of there too.
Finally, the only thing that I had left was my body. That first night I had sex with strangers, I wanted to scrub myself clean. But I couldn't! You can't scrub yourself clean to the inside out...But that didn’t stop me from going back. From making $300 a night and spending all of it on heroin for my partner and me, I went to make a thousand dollars a night; every cent I made went into buying more drugs.
It was in the middle of this downward spiral that my mother walked in and saved me with her love and mercy. But that wasn’t enough.
A Hole in My Soul
The doctor asked me about my drug history. As I went over the long story, my mum kept on crying—she was shocked by the fullness of my story. The doctor told me that I needed rehab. I asked: “Don't drug addicts go to rehab?” He was surprised: “You don't think you are one?”
Then, he looked me in the eye and said: “I don't think drugs are your problem. Your problem is, you have a hole in your soul that only Jesus can fill.”
I purposefully chose a rehab that I was sure to be non-Christian. I was sick, starting to slowly detox when, one day after dinner, they called us all out for a prayer meeting. I was angry, so I sat in the corner and tried to block them out—their music, their singing, and their Jesus everything. On Sunday, they took us to church. I stood outside and smoked cigarettes. I was angry, hurt, and lonely.
Begin Anew
On the sixth Sunday, August 15, it was pouring rain—a conspiracy from Heaven, in hindsight. I had no choice but to go inside the building. I stayed at the back, thinking that God couldn't see me there. I had started to become aware that some of my life choices would be considered sins, so there I sat, at the back. At the end however, the priest said: “Is there anyone in here who would like to give their heart to Jesus today?”
I remember standing in front and listening to the priest say: “Do you want to give your heart to Jesus? He can give you forgiveness for your past, a brand new life today, and hope for your future.”
By that stage, I was clean, off heroin for almost six weeks. But what I didn't realize was that there was much difference between being clean and being free. I repeated the Salvation prayer with the priest, a prayer I didn’t even understand, but there, I gave my heart to Jesus.
That day, I began a transformation journey. I got to begin anew, receive the fullness of the love, grace, and goodness of a God who had known me my whole life and saved me from myself.
The way forward was not one without mistakes. I got into a relationship in rehab, and I got pregnant again. But instead of thinking of it as a punishment for a bad choice that I had made, we decided to settle down. My partner said to me: “Let's get married and do our best to do it His way now.” Grace was born a year later, through her, I have experienced so much grace.
I've always had the passion to tell stories; God gave me a story that has helped to transform lives. He has since used me in so many ways to share my story—in words, in writing, and in giving my all to work for and with the women who are stuck in a similar life that I used to lead.
Today, I am a woman changed by grace. I was met by the love of Heaven, and now I want to live life in a way that allows me to partner with the purposes of Heaven.
Jan 06, 2024
Engage
Jan 06, 2024
It takes courage to start a 1000-piece puzzle and finish it; so is it with life.
Last Christmas, I received a 1000-piece puzzle from my Kris Kringle at work featuring the Twelve Apostles of the famous Great Ocean Road (a spectacular group of rock formations in Southwestern Victoria, Australia).
I was not keen to start. I had done three of them with my daughter a few years ago, so I knew the hard work they entail. However, as I looked at the three completed puzzles hanging at home, in spite of the inertia I was feeling, I felt an inner drive to meditate on “the Twelve Apostles.”
On Shaky Ground
I wondered how the Apostles of Jesus felt when He died on the cross and left them. Early Christian sources, including the Gospels, state that the disciples were devastated, full of disbelief and fear that they went into hiding. They were not at their best at the end of Jesus’ life.
Somehow, this is how I felt as I started the year—fearful, uneasy, sad, broken-hearted, and uncertain. I had not fully recovered from the grief of losing my dad and a close friend. I must admit my faith was standing on shaky ground. It seemed as if my passion and energy for life had been overtaken by lethargy, lukewarmness, and a dark night of the soul, which threatened to (and sometimes succeeded in) overshadowing my joy, energy, and desire to serve the Lord. I could not shake it off despite great efforts.
But if we do not stop at that disappointing episode of the disciples fleeing their Master, we see at the end of the Gospels, these same men, ready to take on the world and even to die for Christ. What changed?
The Gospels record that the disciples were transformed on witnessing the Resurrected Christ. When they went to Bethany to witness His Ascension, spent time with Him, learned from Him, and received His blessings, it had a powerful effect. He did not only give them instruction but a purpose and a promise. They were not only to be messengers but witnesses as well. He promised to accompany them in their mission and gave them a Mighty Helper at that.
This is what I have been praying for lately—an encounter with the Resurrected Jesus once more so that my life will be divinely renovated.
Not Giving Up
As I started the puzzle, trying to put together this scenic marvel of the Twelve Apostles, I recognized that every piece was significant. Every person whom I will encounter in this New Year will contribute to my growth and color my life. They will come in different hues—some strong, others subtle, some in bright pigments, others grey, some in a magical combination of tints, while others dull or fierce, but everyone necessary to complete the picture.
Jigsaw puzzles take time to put together, and so does life. There is much patience to be asked for as we connect with one another. There is gratitude for when the link is done. And when the pieces don’t fit, there is hopefully a trusting encouragement to not give up. Sometimes, we may need to take a rest from it, come back, and try again. The puzzle, like life, is not covered by splashes of bright, happy colors all the time. The blacks, the greys, and the dark shades are needed to create a contrast.
It takes courage to start a puzzle, but more so to finish it. Patience, perseverance, time, commitment, focus, sacrifice, and devotion will be demanded. It is similar to when we start to follow Jesus. Like the Apostles, will we hold on till the very end? Will we be able to meet our Lord face to face and hear Him say: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23), or as Saint Paul says: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7)?
This year, you might be asked too: Are you holding that piece of the puzzle that could make someone’s life better? Are you the missing piece?
By: Dina Mananquil Delfino
More
Nov 22, 2023
Encounter
Nov 22, 2023
All that Tom Naemi could think of, day and night, was that he needed to get even with those who put him behind bars.
My family immigrated to America from Iraq when I was 11 years old. We started a grocery store and we all worked hard to make it successful. It was a tough environment to grow up in and I didn’t want to be seen as weak, so I never let anyone get the better of me. Though I was going to church regularly with my family and serving on the altar, my real god was money and success. So my family was happy when I married at 19; they hoped I’d settle down.
I became a successful businessman, taking over the family grocery store. I thought I was invincible and could get away with anything, especially when I survived being shot at by rivals. When another Chaldean group started another supermarket nearby, the competition became vicious. We weren’t just undercutting each other, we were committing crimes to put each other out of business. I set a fire in their store, but their insurance paid for the repair. I sent them a time bomb, they sent people to kill me. I was furious, and decided to get my revenge once and for all. I was going to kill them; my wife begged me not to but I loaded a 14-foot truck with gasoline and dynamite and drove it toward their building. When I lit the fuse, the whole truck caught fire right away. I was caught in the flames. Just before the truck exploded, I jumped out and rolled in the snow; I couldn’t see. My face, hands, and right ear melted.
I ran away down the street and got taken to the hospital. The police came to question me, but my big-shot lawyer told me not to worry. At the last minute though, everything changed, so I left for Iraq. My wife and children followed. After seven months, I quietly came back to San Diego to see my parents. But I still had grudges I wanted to settle, so trouble started again.
Crazy Visitors
The FBI raided my mom’s house. Although I escaped in the nick of time, I had to leave the country again. As business was going well in Iraq, I decided not to go back to America. Then, my lawyer called and said that if I turned myself in, he’d make a deal to get me a sentence of only 5-8 years. I came back, but I was sent to jail for 60-90 years. On appeal, the time was cut to 15-40 years, which still seemed like forever.
As I moved from prison to prison, my reputation for violence preceded me. I often got into brawls with other inmates and people were afraid of me. I still used to go to Church, but I was filled with anger and obsessed with revenge. I had an image stuck in my mind, of walking into my rival’s store, masked, shooting everyone in the store, and walking out. I couldn’t stand it that they were free while I was behind bars. My kids were growing up without me and my wife had divorced me.
At my sixth prison in ten years, I met these crazy, holy volunteers, thirteen of them, coming in every week with priests. They were excited about Jesus all the time. They spoke in tongues and talked about miracles and healing. I thought they were crazy, but I appreciated them for coming in. Deacon Ed and his wife Barbara had been doing this for thirteen years. One day, he asked me: “Tom, how is your walk with Jesus?” I told him it was great, but there was only one thing I wanted to do. As I walked away, he called me back, asking: “Are you talking about revenge?” I told him that I simply called it “getting even.” He said: “You don’t know what it means to be a good Christian, do you?” He told me that being a good Christian didn’t just mean worshiping Jesus, it meant loving the Lord and doing everything that Jesus did including forgiving your enemies. “Well”, I said, “That was Jesus; it’s easy for Him, but it’s not easy for me.”
Deacon Ed asked me to pray every day: “Lord Jesus, take this anger from me. I ask you to come between me and my enemies, I ask you to help me forgive them and to bless them.” To bless my enemies? No way! But his repeated prompting somehow got to me, and from that day, I started praying about forgiveness and healing.
Calling Back
For a long time nothing happened. Then, one day, as I was flipping through the channels, I saw this preacher on TV: “Do you know Jesus? Or are you just a Church-goer?” I felt he was talking directly to me. At 10 PM, as the power went out as usual, I sat there on my bunk and told Jesus: “Lord, all my life, I never knew you. I had everything, now I have nothing. Have my life. I give it to you. From now on, you use it for whatever you want. You will probably do a better job of it than I ever did.”
I joined Scripture study, and signed up for Life in the Spirit. During Scripture study one day, I saw a vision of Jesus in His glory, and like a laser from Heaven, I felt filled with God’s Love. The Scripture spoke to me, and I discovered my purpose. The Lord started talking to me in dreams and revealed things about people that they had never told anyone else. I started calling them from prison to talk about what the Lord had said, and promised to pray for them. Later, I’d hear about how they’d experienced healing in their lives.
On a Mission
When I was transferred to another prison, they didn’t have a Catholic service, so I started one and began preaching the Gospel there. We started with 11 members, grew to 58, and more kept joining. Men were getting healed of the wounds that had imprisoned them before they ever got into prison.
After 15 years, I returned home on a new mission—Save souls, destroy the enemy.
My friends would come home, and find me reading the Scripture for hours. They couldn’t understand what had happened to me. I told them that the old Tom had died. I was a new creation in Christ Jesus, proud to be His follower.
I lost a lot of friends but gained a lot of brothers and sisters in Christ.
I wanted to work with youth, to deliver them to Jesus so they wouldn’t end up dead or in prison. My cousins thought I had gone mad and told my mother that I would get over it soon enough. But I went on to meet the Bishop, who gave his approval, and I found a priest, Father Caleb, who was ready to work with me on this.
Before I went to prison, I had lots of money, I had popularity, and everything had to be my way. I was a perfectionist. In my old days of crime, it was all about me, but after meeting Jesus, I realized that everything in the world was garbage compared to Him. Now, it was all about Jesus, who lives in me. He drives me to do all things, and I can’t do anything without Him.
I wrote a book about my experiences to give people hope, not just people in prison, but anyone chained to their sins. We’re always going to have problems, but with His help, we can overcome every obstacle in life. It is only through Christ that we can find true freedom.
My Savior lives. He is alive and well. Blessed be the Name of the Lord!
Sep 27, 2023
Encounter
Sep 27, 2023
From being a faithful Muslim praying to Allah three times a day, fasting, almsgiving, and doing Namaz, to being baptized in the Pope’s Private Chapel, Munira’s journey has twists and turns that might surprise you!
My image of Allah was of a stern master who would punish my slightest error. If I wanted anything, I had to buy Allah’s favor with fasting and prayer. I always had this fear that if I were to do anything wrong, I would be punished.
The First Seed
A cousin of mine had a near-death experience, and he told me that he experienced a vision of plunging through a dark tunnel, at the end of which he saw a bright light and two people standing there—Jesus and Mary. I was confused; shouldn’t he have seen the prophet Mohammed or Imam Ali? Since he felt so sure that it was Jesus and Mary, we asked our imam for an explanation. He replied that Isa (Jesus) is also a great prophet, so when we die, he comes to escort our souls.
His answer didn’t satisfy me, but it began my search for the truth about Jesus.
The Search
Despite having lots of Christian friends, I didn’t know where to start. They invited me to a Novena to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, and I started attending the novenas regularly, listening carefully to the homilies explaining the word of God. Although I didn’t understand much, I believe that it was Mary who understood and eventually led me to the truth.
In a series of dreams through which the Lord would speak to me over the years, I saw a finger pointing out a man dressed as a shepherd while a voice called me by name, saying, “Munira, follow Him.” I knew the shepherd was Jesus, so I asked who was speaking. He replied: “He and I are one.” I wanted to follow Him, but I didn’t know how.
Do You Believe in Angels?
We had a friend whose daughter seemed to be possessed. They were so desperate that they even asked me for a solution. As a Muslim, I told her that we have these Babas they could go to. Two months later, I was astounded when I saw her again. Instead of a thin, puny ghost of a figure I had seen earlier, she had become a healthy, radiant, robust teenager. They told me that a priest, Father Rufus, had delivered her in the name of Jesus.
After several refusals, when we finally accepted their invitation to join them at Mass with Father Rufus, he prayed over me and asked me to read a verse from the Bible; I felt such peace that there was no turning back. He spoke about The Man on the Cross—who died for Muslims, Hindus, and all mankind throughout the world. It awakened a deep desire to know more about Jesus, and I felt that God had sent him in answer to my prayer to know the Truth. When I came home, I opened the Bible for the first time and started reading it with interest.
Father Rufus advised me to seek out a prayer group, but I didn’t know how, so I started praying to Jesus on my own. At one point, I was alternately reading the Bible and the Quran, and I asked Him: “Lord, what is the Truth? If you are the Truth, then give me the desire to only read the Bible.” From then on, I was led to open only the Bible.
When a friend invited me to a prayer group, I initially said no, but she insisted, and the third time, I had to give in. The second time I went, I took my sister along. It turned out to be life-changing for both of us. When the preacher spoke, he said that he’d received a message, “There are two sisters here who have come searching for the Truth. Now their search has ended.”
As we attended the weekly prayer meetings, I slowly started to understand The Word, and I realized that I had to do two things—forgive and repent. My family was intrigued when they noticed a visible change in me, so they started coming too. When my dad learned about the importance of the Rosary, he surprisingly suggested that we start praying it together at home. From then on, we, a Muslim family, would kneel down and pray the Rosary every day.
No End to Wonders
My growing love for Jesus prompted me to join a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Before we went, a voice in a dream told me that although I held fear and anger deep within me, it would soon be released. When I shared this dream with my sister, wondering what it could all mean, she advised me to ask the Holy Spirit. I was puzzled because I didn’t really know who the Holy Spirit was. That would soon change in an amazing way.
When we visited the Church of Saint Peter (where he had that dream showing him all the animals that God now permitted them to eat (Acts 10:11-16)), the Church doors were closed because we were late. Father Rufus rang the bell, but nobody answered. After about 20 minutes, he said, “Let us just pray outside the Church,” but I suddenly felt a voice within me saying: “Munira, you go ring the bell.” With the permission of Father Rufus, I rang the bell. Within seconds, those huge doors opened. The priest had been sitting right beside them, but he only heard the bell when I rang it. Father Rufus exclaimed: “The Gentiles will receive the Holy Spirit.” I was the Gentile!
In Jerusalem, we visited the Upper Room where the Last Supper and the Descent of the Holy Spirit had taken place. As we were praising God, we heard a roar of thunder, a wind blew into the room, and I was blessed with the gift of tongues. I couldn’t believe it! He baptized me in the Holy Spirit in the same place where Mother Mary and the apostles received the Holy Spirit. Even our Jewish tour guide was astonished. He fell to his knees and prayed with us.
The Sprout Keeps Growing
When I returned home, I was longing to be baptized, but my mom said: “See Munira, we follow Jesus, we believe in Jesus, we love Jesus, but conversion...I don’t think we should do it. You know there will be many repercussions from our community.” But there was a deep desire within me to receive the Lord, especially after a dream in which He asked me to attend the Eucharist every day. I remember imploring the Lord like the Canaanite woman: “You fed her the crumbs from Your table, treat me like her and make it possible for me to attend the Eucharist.”
Shortly afterward, while I was walking with my dad, we unexpectedly arrived at a church where the Eucharistic celebration was just beginning. After attending the Mass, my dad said: “Let us come here every day.”
I feel that my road to baptism started there.
The Unexpected Gift
My sister and I decided to join the prayer group on a trip to Rome and Medjugorje. Sister Hazel, who was organizing it, casually asked me if I would like to get baptized in Rome. I wanted a quiet baptism, but the Lord had other plans. She spoke to the Bishop, who got us a five-minute appointment with a Cardinal that lasted two and a half hours; the Cardinal said he would take care of all arrangements to be baptized in Rome.
So we were baptized in the Pope’s Private Chapel by the Cardinal. I took on the name Fatima and my sister took on the name Maria. We joyfully celebrated our baptismal lunch with many cardinals, priests, and religious over there. I just felt that right through it all, the Lord was telling us: “O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him” (Psalm 34:8).
Soon came the Cross of Calvary. Our family experienced a financial crisis that people in our community blamed on our conversion to Christianity. Astonishingly, the rest of my family went the other way. Instead of turning their backs on us and our faith, they also asked for baptism. Amid adversity and opposition, they found strength and courage, and hope in Jesus. Dad expressed it well, “There is no Christianity without a Cross.”
Today, we continue to encourage each other in our faith and share it with others whenever we have the opportunity. When I was speaking to my aunt about my conversion experience, she asked me why I addressed God as “Father.” God, for her, is Allah. I told her that I call Him Father because He has invited me to be His beloved child. I rejoice to have a loving relationship with Him Who loves me so much that He sent His Son to wash me clean from all my sins and reveal the promise of eternal life. After I shared my remarkable experiences, I asked her if she would still follow Allah if she were in my place.
She had no answer.