Every Step Counts

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.

Blessings were abundant: friends, family, money, vacations—you name it, I had it all. So how did it all go so wrong? I didn't really have a wonderful storybook childhood—tell me someone who has—but I wouldn't say it was terrible. There was always food on the table, clothes on my back, and a roof over my head, but we struggled. I don't just mean we struggled financially, which we definitely did, but I mean we struggled to find our way as a family. My parents were divorced by the time I was six, and my father turned to heavier drinking than ever before. Meanwhile, my mother found men who were into the same drugs and habits as she was. Though we had a rough start, it didn't stay that way. Eventually, against all statistical odds, both of my parents and my now stepfather, by the grace of God, got sober and have stayed that way. Relationships were rebuilt, and the sun began to rise in our lives again. A few years went by, and there came a point when I realized that I had to do something productive and different in my life so that I could avoid all of the pitfalls of my childhood. I buckled down and went back to school. I got my barber’s license and worked myself into a nice career. I made plenty of money and met the woman of my dreams. The opportunity eventually arose, and I started a second career in law enforcement in addition to cutting hair. Everyone liked me, I had friends in very high places, and it looked as if the sky was the limit. So how'd I end up in prison? Unbelievably True Wait a minute, this isn't my life…this can't be real…HOW IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! You see, despite everything I had, I was missing something. The worst part of it was that I knew all along exactly what that something was, and I ignored it. It's not like I didn't ever try, but I just couldn't give God my everything. Instead, I lost it all…or did I? This is how it is: Whatever sin you're holding onto will eventually work its roots deep down into the core of your soul and choke you out until you can't breathe anymore. Even seemingly insignificant sins demand more of you, little by little, until your life is upside down, and you're so disoriented that you don't know which way is up. That's how it started for me. I began giving in to my lustful thoughts somewhere around middle school. By the time I was in college, I was a full-fledged womanizer. When I did finally meet the woman of my dreams, there was no way I could ever do what was right anymore. How could someone like me be faithful? But that's not all. For a while, I tried to go to Mass and do all the right things. I went to confession regularly and joined clubs and committees, but I always kept just a little bit of my old sins for myself. It's not necessarily that I wanted to, but I was so attached, and I was afraid to let go. Time went on, and I slowly stopped going to Mass. My old sinful ways began to fester and creep back into the forefront of my life. Time moved fast, and pleasures swirled all around me as I threw caution to the wind. I was high on life. On top of it all, I was very successful and admired by many. Then it all came crashing down. I made some terrible choices that left me serving a 30-year prison sentence. More importantly, I left behind people who loved and cared for me with a lifetime of pain. You see, sin has a way of convincing you to go further than you've gone and making you more depraved than you once were. Your moral compass becomes confused. Worse things seem more exciting, and the old sins don't cut it anymore. Before you know it, you've become someone you don't even recognize. Fast forward to the present day... I live in an 11x9 ft. cell, and I spend twenty-two hours a day locked inside of it. There is chaos all around me. This is not how I imagined my life would turn out. But, I found God within these walls. I have spent the last few years here in prison praying and seeking the help I needed. I have been studying Scripture and taking lots of classes. I've also been sharing the message of God's mercy and peace with all the other inmates who will listen to me. It took an extreme wake-up call before I finally surrendered to God, but now that I have, my life has been totally different. I wake up every morning thankful to be alive. I am grateful every day for the shower of blessings that I receive despite my incarceration. For the first time in my life, I experienced peace in my soul. It took me losing my physical liberty to find my spiritual freedom. You don't have to go to prison to find and accept God's peace. He will meet you wherever you are, but let me warn you—if you hold anything back from Him, you may very well end up being my neighbor in prison. If you recognize yourself in this story, please don't wait to seek professional help and guidance, starting from, but not limited to, your local parish priest. There is no shame in admitting you have a problem, and there is no better time than NOW to get help. If you're in prison and you're reading this, I want you to know that it's not too late for you. God loves you. He can forgive whatever it is you've done. Jesus Christ shed His precious blood to forgive all of us who come to Him with our pain and our brokenness. You can start right now, this very moment, by recognizing that you are powerless without Him. Cry out to Him with the words of the tax collector: "O God, be merciful to me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13). I leave you with this: "What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?" (Matthew. 16:26)

Are there doors in your life that refuse to open, no matter your efforts? Know the secret behind those closed doors through this heartfelt experience. Opening the door to the Cathedral of Saint Jude, my husband and I found our seats amidst a large crowd gathered for the funeral of a woman I had met long ago when I was only 20 years old. She and her husband were the pastoral leaders of a Catholic Charismatic Prayer Community at the time. While she and I had not been close personal friends, she had touched my life in significant ways when I was involved with this dynamic faith-filled group. Her middle son, Ken, was now Father Ken, and that day was also the 25th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. Scanning the congregation revealed many familiar faces from both my past and present. Father Ken’s touching tribute to his mother and the loving eulogies by his siblings reflected the impact the prayer group had on their own family, as well as many in attendance that day. Their words prompted memories to course through my mind—of how the Holy Spirit used this community to change many lives, especially mine. Dragged into Love I had been raised by two very devout Catholic parents who attended Mass daily, but as a teen, I only grudgingly participated in the life of the Church. I felt resentful of my father’s insistence on family Rosary every night and saying grace not just before meals but after as well. Attending the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament on a Friday night at 10 PM didn’t bode well for my social status as a 15-year-old, especially when my friends asked what I had done over the weekend. Being a Catholic, for me then, was just about plenty of rules, requirements, and rituals. My experience each week was not one of joy or fellowship with other believers but rather one of duty. Still, when my sister invited me to join her at her college’s weekend retreat the fall after I graduated from high school, I agreed. My small town offered little in the way of new experiences, and this would definitely be out of the norm for me. As it turned out, this retreat would set the trajectory for the rest of my life! Between the warm camaraderie of the participants, as well as the huge smile that covered Father Bill’s face when he shared about the Lord with us, I saw something I had never seen in my home parish, and I knew that was what I truly wanted in my life: JOY! Near the end of the weekend, during the quiet time outdoors, I offered my life to God, not knowing exactly what that really meant. Hopeless Cases Less than two years later, my sister and I moved from the east coast of Florida to the west, first due to her job and later, because of my acceptance to a college in Saint Petersburg. Our efforts to find a place to live within our means were thwarted time and again due to the unwillingness of numerous apartment managers to rent a one-bedroom unit to two girls—even though we had shared a bedroom our whole lives and were sisters! Discouraged after yet another refusal, we stopped at the Cathedral of Saint Jude to pray. Knowing nothing about this Saint, we spied a prayer card and discovered that Saint Jude was the ‘patron of hopeless cases.’ After a bumpy search for affordable housing, our futile situation seemed to qualify as a hopeless case, so we knelt down to invoke Saint Jude’s intercession. Lo and behold, after arriving at the next apartment complex on our list, we were again greeted with the same hesitance. However, this time, the older woman looked at me, paused, and said, “You remind me of my granddaughter. I don’t rent one-bedrooms to two women, but...I like you, and I’m going to make an exception!” We came to find out that the nearest Catholic Church to our new home was the Holy Cross, where a group called 'Presence of God Prayer Community' met each Tuesday night. Had we been able to rent any other apartment, we would not have been led to this group of joy-filled people we soon came to call 'family!' It was clear that the Holy Spirit was at work, and His presence was revealed time and time again in the 17 years I was actively involved in the group. Completing the Circle Returning to Saint Jude’s, the celebration of life that day was not only of our long-ago pastoral leaders, but it was also very much my own! Remembering my brokenness as a young adult and the loneliness and insecurity I felt at that time, I marveled at how the Lord had changed my life. He used His Spirit and His people to heal me emotionally and spiritually, filling my life with deep and rich friendships that have stood the test of time. He helped me discover the gifts He had given me—the community offered me a place to serve in various ways until I realized that my natural abilities, like that of organization, could be used for spiritual purposes. After several years, I was invited onto a new Pastoral Team whose dynamic leader mentored me by example. Through his encouragement and support, I developed leadership skills that resulted in beginning new ministries to serve the 'household of faith' in the prayer community and the 'least of these' outside the doors of the church. When a new parish began nearby some years later, I was asked to join the music ministry there, and with the Spirit’s prompting, I also participated in various other ministries. Bringing in all that I had learned and experienced over the years, I was able to set up many events that offered opportunities for healing, conversion, and growth within our parish community. For the last 14 years, I have been blessed to organize a women’s fellowship group begun by myself and a friend, who, like me, was changed by the love and care of Christian communities. I have found all of God’s promises in the Scriptures to be true. He is faithful, forgiving, kind, compassionate, and a source of joy deeper than any I have ever thought possible! He has provided meaning and purpose in my life, and with His grace and direction, I have been able to partner with Jesus in ministry for over 40 years now. I didn’t have to 'wander in the desert' for those years, as did the Israelites. The same God Who led His people by the “pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night” (Exodus 13:22) has led me day by day, year by year, revealing His plans for me along the way. A song from my prayer group days lilts through my mind, “Oh how good, how wonderful it is when brothers and sisters live as one!” (Psalm 133:1). Looking around that day, I saw clear evidence of that. The Spirit at work in Father Ken’s mother brought much fruit from the seeds she planted, both in her home and in our community of faith. That same Spirit then brought forth a harvest from the seeds planted and watered in my life over the years. The Apostle Paul said it best in his letter to Ephesians: “Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen!” (3:20-21)

A winning combination is cooking within. Do you want a taste? In 1953, Bishop Fulton Sheen wrote, “The vast majority of the people in Western civilizations are engaged in the task of getting.” These words still hold so much truth even today. Let’s be honest. These days, there is a whole subculture of influencers whose lavish lifestyles are funded by a successful swaying of their followers to purchase particular products that they advocate. Influence, consumerism, and greed abound. We desire the newest model of smartphones even before they hit the shelves. We want to get our hands on the trendiest items whilst they are still in vogue. We know that given the ever-changing trend pattern, it would not be too long before these same products are advertised through alternate media labeled ‘In Excellent Used Condition’ or, worse, ‘Brand New With Tags.’ “The massing of wealth,” observes Sheen, “has a peculiar effect on the soul; it intensifies the desire of getting.” In other words, the more we get, the more we want to get. This endless quest for gratification through wealth drains us and causes fatigue in our very being, whether we realize it or not. So then, if amassing wealth is essentially an unquenchable desire, how do we find happiness, self-worth, and contentment in the consumeristic world that we live in? Grit and Gratitude Saint Paul directs us, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18). Most of us would admit that this is easier said than done. But does that mean it is impossible? Despite living a life of peril and strife, Saint Paul, one of the forefathers of Christianity, led by example. Was he imprisoned for promoting Christianity? Absolutely. Was his life in danger? Constantly. Was he shipwrecked, stoned, and ridiculed? Without a doubt. And despite all of these—and more—challenges, Saint Paul regularly exhorted Christians, “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7). In fact, gratitude and giving due thanks and praise to God was a recurring and, dare I say, constant theme of his correspondence to the Churches. From Rome to Corinth, Ephesus to Philippi, the early Christians were encouraged to give thanks—to be grateful—in all circumstances, not just the good ones. Then, as now, this encouragement is both timely and confronting. However, being grateful in all circumstances requires prayer, effort, and perseverance. Grateful and Giving If we were to follow Saint Paul’s example and examine what we have with gratitude, what would that look like? Would we be grateful to have: a roof over our heads, money to pay the bills and feed the family, and enough to spend on little luxuries along the way? Would we be grateful for the family and friends we have around us, the vocation, and the talents that God has blessed us with? Or would we still desire to blindly follow what’s trending and fritter away our money, energy, and happiness on things we don’t need and appreciate? Or could it possibly result in a more ordered and prudent approach to what we have and what we spend our money on? Of course, the measure of our success in practicing gratitude is offset by the energy we put into it. Like any spiritual endeavor, we are not going to become proficient at gratitude overnight. It is going to take time and effort. Slowly but surely, gratitude will color the way we see the world. In appreciating and being thankful for what we have and not chasing after more than we need, we are much better disposed to give to others rather than to receive ourselves. This combination of gratitude and giving is a winning combination. Once again, Bishop Fulton Sheen agrees, “The reason it is more blessed to give than to receive is because it helps to detach the soul from the material and the temporal in order to ally it with a spirit of altruism and charity which is the essence of religion. There is more happiness in rejoicing in the good of others than in rejoicing in our own good. The receiver rejoices in his good; the giver in the joy of others, and to such comes the peace nothing in the world can give.” Give gratitude a Go Expressing gratitude involves the growth mindset. To grow in gratitude is to grow in self-knowledge, knowledge of God, and His plan for us. In separating ourselves from the cyclic nature of amassing wealth and the futile pursuit of happiness, we open ourselves up to finding happiness where we are. We also ensure the right ordering of ourselves and our benefits as a result of God’s goodness. Like Saint Paul, we can recognize, “For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever. Amen.” (Romans 11:36). This attitude of gratitude—which rolls rhythmically and poetically off the tongue—also helps us to see the silver lining in things that do not always turn out the way that we want them to. And this is the most poignantly beautiful aspect of gratitude, the spiritual aspect. As Saint Augustine explains, “God is so good that in His hand, even evil brings about good. He would never have permitted evil to occur if He had not, thanks to His perfect goodness, been able to use it.”

When everything around you turn to chaos, have you ever asked, “What does God want?” My life, like each of ours, is unique and irreplaceable. God is good, and I am thankful for my life, even with all the ups and downs. I was born to Catholic parents and baptized Catholic on the Feast of Christ the King. I attended a Catholic grammar school and one year of Catholic High School. I couldn’t wait to be confirmed and become a soldier for Christ. I remember telling Jesus I would never miss Mass. I married a Catholic man and raised our children Catholic. My faith, though, was in my head and hadn’t yet moved to my heart. Tracing Back Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of Jesus as my friend. As a young, newly married woman, I remember missing Mass a few times because I thought I would enjoy doing whatever I wanted. I was so wrong. I thank my mother-in-law’s unwitting intervention: on one of those Sundays, she asked me how Mass was. I managed to ignore her question and change the subject, but God reached me through her question. The next Sunday, I went to Mass and resolved never to miss again. Like many moms, I was busy with family life, volunteering at school, teaching religious education, working part-time, etc. Frankly, I did not know how to say “no” to anyone. I was exhausted. Yes, I was a good woman and tried to do good things, but I did not know Jesus very well. I knew He was my friend and received Him at Mass every week, but I realize now I was simply going through the motions. When my kids were in junior high, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and experienced constant pain. I would come home from work and rest. The pain caused me to stop doing many things. One day a friend called to ask how I was. All I did was complain about myself and my pain. Then my friend asked me, “What does God want?” I became uncomfortable and began to cry. Then I got angry and quickly hung up. “What does God have to do with my pain,” I thought. My friend’s question haunted me. It was all I could think about. Though to this day, I can’t remember who invited me to the women’s weekend, the minute I heard about a retreat at my parish called Christ Renews His Parish (CRHP), I immediately said, “Yes!” All I could think about was a weekend away from home, catching up on sleep, and having someone waiting on me. Again, I was so wrong. Practically every minute of the weekend was planned. Rest? I got some, but nothing like I had expected. Notice the focus on “me, myself, and I.” Where was the Lord? Little did I know that my “yes” to this Spirit-filled weekend would open the door to my heart. Overwhelming Presence During one of the talks, I was moved to tears. I felt compelled to pause, and in my heart, say directly to God words that would change my life, words that I meant with all my heart, words that opened the door for Jesus to enter and began to move my knowledge of God from my head to my heart! “Lord, I love you,” I said, “I am all yours. I will do whatever you ask of me, and I will go wherever you send me.” My heart needed to expand so I could learn to love like God loves me. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life” (John 3:16). That conversation sparked a conversion, a metanoia, a turning of my heart toward God. I had experienced the unconditional love of God, and suddenly God became first and foremost in my life. It’s just so hard to describe, except that I will never forget it. I felt like God took my hand in the darkness and ran with me. I was on fire and happy and surprised at what the Lord was doing and continues to do in my life. Shortly after my conversion and following a Life in the Spirit seminar, I was healed of my fibromyalgia. I looked at my life and asked the Lord to help me become more like Him. I realized that I needed to learn forgiveness, so I asked God to show me who I needed to forgive or to ask forgiveness from. He did, and little by little, I learned how to forgive and accept forgiveness. I experienced healing in one of my most important relationships - my relationship with my mom. I finally learned how to love her as God did. My family experienced healing, as well. I began to pray more. Prayer was exciting to me. Silence was where I met the Lord. In 2003 I felt God calling me to Kenya, and in 2004, I volunteered at a hospice orphanage for three months. Since CRHP, I had felt called to become a spiritual director and went on to be a certified spiritual director. There is so much more. There is always so much more when you come to know Jesus Christ. Looking back at my life, I wouldn’t change a thing because it has made me who I am today. However, I do wonder what may have happened to me had I not said those life-changing words. God loves you. God knows you completely —good and bad— but still loves you. God wants you to live in the light of His love. God wants you to be happy and bring all your burdens to him. “Come to me all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). I encourage you to say this prayer from the depths of your heart: “Lord, I love you. I am all yours. I will do whatever you ask of me, and I will go wherever you send me.” I pray your life will never be the same and that no matter what is going on around you, you will find rest and peace because you walk with the Lord.

This family’s story seems like a bad movie, but the ending is sure to startle you Our story starts at home, where I grew up in San Antonio, Texas, with my two younger brothers, Oscar and Louis. Dad was the music minister at our church, while Mom played the piano. Our childhood was happy– all about church and family, with my grandparents living nearby. We thought everything was fine, but when I was in sixth grade, Mom and Dad told us they were getting divorced. We didn’t know what that meant at first because nobody in my family had been divorced, but we soon found out. We were bounced from house to house as they fought for custody. About a year later, Dad went out of town for the weekend. My brothers and I were supposed to be with Mom but ended up staying with some friends at the last minute. We were surprised when Dad flew home early and came to collect us but devastated when he told us why. Mom had been found dead in her car in a deserted parking lot. Apparently, two men had robbed her at gunpoint and stolen her purse and jewelry. Then, both of them raped her in the back seat before shooting her in the face three times and leaving her to die on the floorboard of her car. When Dad told us, we couldn’t believe it. Why would anybody want to kill Mom? We wondered if they were going to come after us. Fear became part of our young lives. The Aftermath After the funeral, we tried to return to normal life with Dad, but I’ve learned that normal never returns for victims of serious crime. Dad had a construction business. A year after Mom’s murder, Dad was arrested with two of his employees and charged with capital murder and criminal solicitation for hiring these two men to kill Mom. The three of them were all blaming each other. One of the employees claimed he overheard Dad hiring the other guy to commit the murder. Dad proclaimed his innocence, and we believed him, but his bail was denied, and everything changed for us. When Mom was killed, we were the victim’s kids. People, especially at church, wanted to help us through the process. They were giving and kind. However, after Dad was arrested, we suddenly got treated differently. There’s a stigma about being an offender’s kid. People described us as damaged goods who wouldn’t amount to anything. We moved in with my aunt and uncle, and I started high school in Austin, but kept visiting Dad in the county jail because we loved him and believed in his innocence. Two and a half years later, Dad was finally put on trial. It was really hard for us seeing all the details splashed all over the news, especially for me because I shared the same name. When he was found guilty, we were devastated, especially when he was sentenced to death and transferred to Huntsville to await execution. If you’re the family member of an inmate, it’s like your life is on hold. Shocking Confession During my senior year in college, there was a new development in the case. The secretary to the District Attorney disclosed that the prosecutor had altered evidence to prove Dad was guilty. We had always believed in Dad’s innocence, so we were overjoyed. Dad was taken off death row and sent back to the county jail to await a new trial which took place four years later. My brothers and I testified for him, and the jury found him not guilty of capital murder, which meant he would never be executed. I can’t express the relief I felt to know that I wasn’t going to lose Dad like that. However, they found him guilty of the lesser charge of murder, which came with a life sentence. Despite this, everyone knew that he would be released on parole soon. We had done all we could over all these years to get Dad home, so we were so excited that it was about to happen and that he would come and live with our family. While I was visiting him before his release, I asked him to clarify some of the issues that had come out during the trial. He said I could ask him anything, but when I got to this one particular question, he looked me right in the face and said, “Jim, I did it, and she deserved it.” I was shocked. He was confessing, and he wasn’t even sorry about what he had done. He was blaming it on Mom. He thought he was the victim because he was in prison. I was furious. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t the victim. My mom, who was buried, was the victim. I can’t describe how betrayed we all felt that he had been lying to us for all this time. It felt like we were all grieving for Mom for the very first time because when Dad got arrested, it all became about him. My family protested his parole, so the parole board denied it. I went back to see him in jail to tell him that he would go back to prison, not to Death Row, where he was safe from other prisoners, but to a maximum security prison for the rest of his life. I told him that he would never see any of us again. We had been visiting him all these years, writing to him, and putting money in his prison account. He had been a big part of our lives, but now we were turning our backs on him. Letting the Hook Off After four years of no contact, I went back to see Dad in prison. I had my own son now, and I couldn’t comprehend ever hurting him, especially since I’d learned that Dad had also hired the men to kill my brothers and me as well. I wanted some answers, but the first thing he did was apologize to me for what he had done to Mom, my brothers, and me. He was a man who had never said sorry for anything. I didn’t believe it, but I learned that when you hear somebody say they are sorry, you start healing. The next thing he said was, “Jim, I finally gave my life to God and became a Christian after I hit rock bottom in prison.” For the next year, I visited Dad once a month. During that time, I went through a forgiveness process. On the face of it, it seems impossible to be able to forgive your dad for killing your mom. I work with a lot of crime victims. What I have learned is that if you don’t forgive an offender or someone who has hurt you, you become bitter, angry, and depressed. I didn’t want Dad to control me any longer, so I forgave Dad, not to let him off the hook, but to let myself off the hook. I didn’t want to be that bitter, angry, depressed man. In this process of reconciliation, I spoke up for Mom, who had had her voice taken from her. Over that year, as we talked through the issues, I saw a life change in Dad. About a year after I resumed contact, I got a call from the prison chaplain telling me that Dad had suffered a brain aneurysm. He was brain-dead, so we had to make the decision to take him off life support, which sounds easy, but it wasn’t. Despite everything, I still loved him. We claimed his body so we wouldn’t have the legacy of having our father buried on prison grounds. We were surprised to see the warden and prison chaplain at the funeral, and they told us that, for the first time, approval had been given to have a memorial service for our dad at the prison chapel. When we attended, we sat in the front row with 300 prison inmates seated behind us, surrounded by guards. For the next three hours, the men came up to the microphone, one by one, looked us straight in the face, and told us their stories of how they had turned to Christ because Dad had shared his faith with them and changed their lives. By admitting and repenting his bad choices, taking responsibility for his actions, and asking God for forgiveness, he had taken his life in a new direction and led others with him. When you hear one person say that, it is powerful–300 is overwhelming. I started speaking in churches, in prisons, and in restorative justice programs - to victims and to offenders wanting to rehabilitate, sharing our story of restoration after a forgiveness process. I have witnessed over and over how people can change. When I tell our story, I get to honor both our parents–Mom for the positive impact she had on our lives and Dad for his decision to truly repent of his sins. The ending of our story is that we have been able to see how God can take horrible situations and turn them into good. What we have learned about repentance and forgiveness has made us much better husbands and fathers because we were intentional in giving our families something better. We have learned through bitter experience that to truly repent, you have to keep repenting, and to truly forgive, you have to keep forgiving, not once, but constantly.

A story about how a verse from the Bible changed the life of a Hindu girl and her transformative journey. Don’t miss to read on… I was born and raised in a Hindu family in India. Growing up in a religious family, I was always encouraged to spend time in prayer. As a kid, I never went to school without a tilak (tilak is a mark, generally made on the forehead of a Hindu, indicating a person's sectarian affiliation). I believed in Hindu gods and goddesses, but it was a very transactional relationship. My prayers to them were limited to the week before school exams. Ironically, I went to a Catholic school where I was introduced to Christianity, but I always viewed Christianity as having nothing to do with me. Despite twelve years in a Catholic school, I never understood who Jesus really was nor what He did for me. I graduated high school with flying colors. I was extremely happy that my prayers to the Hindu gods had been answered. I secured admission to the best college in the city. Paradoxically, this was a Catholic college run by the Jesuit fathers. Dumb Struck During my first year of college, I attended a mandatory class on religion, where people spoke about their faith. I observed that while the Christian students had a lot to say about Jesus, the Hindus like me were mute when it came to professing their faith. I knew nothing about the Gita (the Bhagavad Gita is one of the holy scriptures of Hinduism). All I knew was how to ask God for my wishes to be fulfilled. I felt embarrassed to call myself a Hindu. Then a Christian professor played a video about Jesus from the movie, The Passion of Christ. I saw how brutally He was scourged and how much He suffered when He was nailed to the cross. I had tears in my eyes. I could barely watch the crucifixion. Sadly, even then, I did not know the real reason why he had died on the cross at Calvary. But after watching that video, I started taking an interest in knowing more about Jesus. I visited public libraries to search for the Bible but with little luck. Then I decided to read the PDF version of the Bible available on the Internet. I started with the book of Genesis but did not find Jesus there. Then, I randomly searched for Bible verses on Google. A verse from the book of Matthew struck me: “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3). This verse teaches us not to judge others. A few weeks later, we had another religion class taught by a different professor. He asked each of us to share our beliefs and thoughts about our respective religions. Out of nowhere, I raised my hand and explained the verse above from Matthew—a shy Hindu girl sharing her thoughts about a Christian Bible verse! I believe my boldness was the work of the Holy Spirit. The professor had no idea that I was a Hindu. He liked my explanation and encouraged more people to speak up about their religion. This incident was a stepping stone in my conversion to the Catholic faith. Moments of Truth During this time, when I was coming to know Jesus and Christianity, I often asked myself, “Why do I always feel so peaceful in a church?” My experience in Hindu temples was quite different. There I found myself distracted by the shouts of vendors, the clanging of the temple bells, the priests chanting the mantras, and the rush of people pushing through large crowds to view the face of the gods. The peace I found in a church presented a stark contrast. One day during the Covid lockdown, I stumbled upon a video on YouTube in which a priest explained in a lucid manner that no matter how many sins we have committed in our lives, we can still be reunited with God because His Son paid the price for our sins. Jesus Christ, Son of God, became human, lived among us, loved us, healed us, forgave sins, died on the cross and rose again from the dead, and now lives with us until the end of time. Coming to know the Gospel changed my life. I learned that Jesus knows me and would love me even as a Hindu. Before, I had viewed Jesus as one of the many gods people worshipped, but now I realized who the true God is. None of the Hindu gods I had known had suffered and died for my sins. My heart filled with love for Jesus, and from that day, I considered myself a follower of Christ Jesus. Tears of Joy The Holy Spirit guided me to learn more about Jesus. I bought a Bible and started reading it. I was filled with admiration and love for Jesus. Previously, my relationship with God had been transactional. The fact that God loves me just as I am was a foreign concept to me. I learned that Jesus wants to talk to me every day and to have a personal relationship with me. He loves me even when I am sinful. He is willing to forgive all my sins and accept me lovingly into His arms. I was not worthy of His love, but He loved me nonetheless. Today, my personal relationship with Jesus is the most important thing in my life. While I was on this journey of establishing a personal relationship with Him, I had a dream in which I saw a man dressed in a brownish-red cloak walking in front of me on a road. The road was flanked by monsters on either side. The monsters wanted to harm me and made terrifying noises. However, these creatures started losing their vigor because of the man who was walking ahead of me. Because he was so powerful, they could not scare me or hurt me. I felt protected and safe in His presence. I did not understand what the dream was about. But much later, a nun I knew from the Missionaries of Charity helped me interpret the dream. The man walking ahead of me was Jesus. He came to me to strengthen my faith in Him and protect me from the devil. I cried tears of joy after realizing that the creator of the sun, moon, and stars knows and cares for me. It took me two years to convert to the Catholic faith, but when God opens a door, no person can close it. The Holy Spirit put angels disguised as men and women on my path to Catholicism. On June 25, 2022, I received the sacraments of Baptism, Holy Communion, and Confirmation. Today, I tell people about what Jesus did on the cross for them. I see Christ in every person I encounter. I wish to continue sharing the joy of the Gospel everywhere I can.

Freelance artist Holly Rodriguez had been an atheist all her life and never thought about God or considered joining a religion or even going to church, but one day… It was December of 2016, I had woken up one winter morning wanting nothing more than my usual cup of coffee. I had been an atheist all of my life. I had never thought about God and certainly never considered joining a religion or going to church. However on that day, for no reason at all, I felt a sudden desire to go to church. There was nothing unusual going on in my life to bring about this sudden change of heart. I had been living a fairly normal, quiet life as a freelance artist in a small seaside town in Kent, England. I searched for the closest church that was open that day and found a Roman Catholic church within walking distance. That was a surprise.Although I had passed that area many times, I had never noticed a church there before. It’s amazing how blind we are to the presence of God, and how near He is to us, when we walk the path of life with a closed heart. Ringing Back I phoned the church and a kind lady answered the phone.She introduced herself as the parish secretary and I asked her some questions which she was happy to answer. She told me the church was Catholic and that she would let the priest know I had phoned and we said our goodbyes. I was shy and didn’t know what to expect. I’ve always been one of those people who likes to know everything about a situation before making a decision. I didn’t know what a Catholic Church was, and had never met a priest before. I decided to take the day off work and learn about the Catholic faith, so did a lot of reading on Wikipedia for a few hours. Then my phone rang.On the other line was a kind voice—a priest who introduced himself as Father Mark. He was very friendly and enthusiastic which came as a shock to me. I had never in my life met someone so eager to meet me and welcome me. We scheduled a time for me to visit the church the next day. When I had arrived, Father Mark was there in his cassock to greet me. It was the first time I’d seen a priest in person and I remember being really fascinated by his cassock. I guess I’d never thought about what a priest looks like. I had only seen the Pope briefly on the television news occasionally, but never anything beyond that. Father Mark sat with me and we talked for a couple of hours, then he invited me to join the “RCIA” classes. He also suggested that it was a good idea to start going to Mass right away, so I did. I can recall the first Mass I ever went to. It was Gaudete Sunday and I sat in the very front pew, absolutely clueless to the etiquette. Everyone around me was standing and then sitting and then standing again and sometimes kneeling, and reciting the creed and other prayers. I was new and found this a bit intimidating, but also fascinating and intriguing. I followed what everyone else was doing to the best of my ability. The priest was wearing a beautiful rose vestment that looked very ornate and delicate. He chanted at the altar and I watched and listened closely as incense filled the chapel. It was a very beautiful English Mass, and from then on I knew I’d come back. Straight to the Heart I liked it so much that I kept going back every weekend and even started attending daily Mass. My love for Jesus grew at every encounter. During my first Christmas Eve Mass, the priest tenderly carried the Christ Child statue, wrapped in his ivory satin cope the way that priests hold a monstrance.As he processed around the chapel with the Infant Christ to the crib, accompanied by the chanting of prayers, I was moved to tears. I thought that was so lovely. Never in my life had I seen anything like it before. As I prepared to be received into the Catholic Church, I spent a lot of time reading at home, especially from the catechism given to me by the priests of the parish. A week before my baptism that I was told I’d need to choose a Saint for my confirmation. There were thousands of Saints however, and didn’t know how I’d choose from them all. I knew nothing about them except for Saint Philomena because the priest did a homily on her one Sunday morning. By divine providence I came across a fascinating book, “Interior Castles” while I was volunteering in the parish café. It was written by a Spanish Saint I’d never even heard of before—the Carmelite nun, Saint Teresa of Avila. Since my family is of Spanish heritage, I chose her as my patron although I didn’t know much else about her. Finally, during the Easter vigil Mass on April 15th 2017, I was baptized and confirmed into the Catholic Church. I was so excited that I could now receive the Blessed Sacrament at the altar rail, instead of a blessing that I was up bright and early on Easter Sunday to sing with the choir at the main Mass. Soon after, I joined the Legion of Mary and began praying the Rosary, making Rosaries and doing mission work around the town to bring the lapsed Catholics back to Mass and pray the Rosary with people at home. Saint Teresa remained a guiding influence in my life, teaching me to love Jesus more and more, but I had no idea who the Carmelites were until I joined our parish on a day pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Simon Stock at Aylesford Priory, a historic home of the Carmelite friars. A Radical Change Years later, I would stumble upon another Spaniard, Saint Josemaria Escriva who also had a great love for Saint Teresa of Avila and the Carmelites. He was the founder of Opus Dei, a prelature within the Catholic Church, which I joined as a co-operator, with a mission to pray for the members and priests. I felt God calling me to a deeper commitment, but didn’t know if that was with Opus Dei, or in religious life as a nun.A priest friend told me that I had to make up my mind and choose which path to take, that I couldn’t stay suspended in uncertainty forever. He was right, so I began to pray and fast, listening to God’s call. My life had gone through a lot of changes in a short period of time and I suffered a dark night of the soul. My Cross felt very heavy, but I knew that if I kept persevering in my faith, all would be well. I had to let go of the need for total control, allow God to lead the way and stop fighting against His will.I had been too caught up in my own ego and desires to really listen to Him. When that epiphany came, I decided to let go and live each day as it came to me, as a gift from God and to let Him lead the way. I adopted the philosophy that God places us where we are in life because that is where He needs us at that specific time. I made myself an instrument to His divine will. When I abandoned myself to Him, God showed me that everything had happened that way because He was calling me from the very start. Lead Kindly Light I kept receiving gifts from the Saints which were leading me to Carmel. One day, I was entranced by a bright pink rose growing out of the cement. Later I discovered that it was the birthday of Saint Thèrése of Lisieux who said that she would send people roses as a sign from Heaven. That same day, I was in a secular incense shop when I came across a box of pretty rose scented incense sticks with an image of St Thèrése of Lisieux on the box. These little signs helped plant seeds of vocation and seeds of faith. As I write this, I am about to celebrate my 6th anniversary as a Catholic and preparing to enter the sacred garden of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Accepting this vocation to be a cloistered nun, if God wills it to be so, I spend my life praying for the Church, for the world, and for priests. It has been a long journey, and I have met so many wonderful people along the way. Saint Thèrése of Lisieux referred to Carmel as her desert where Our Lord spent forty days in contemplation and prayer, but for me it is the garden of Gethsemane where Our Lord sat among the olive trees in agony. I join Him in His agony with unbridled love, and walk with Him on the Via Dolorosa. Together we suffer for souls and offer the world our love.

Despite growing up as a Baptist, alcohol, drugs and college life threw John Edwards into a whirlwind, but did God abandon him? Read on to find out. I was born and raised in a Baptist family in midtown Memphis. I never had a lot of friends in school, but I had a lot at church. That's where my community was. I spent every day with these guys and girls, evangelizing and enjoying all the things that you did as a young Baptist. I loved that period of my life, but when I turned 18, my friendship group dispersed. I was still uncertain about what I wanted to do with my life while most of them went off to college leaving me, for the first time in my life, without a community. I was also at the point in my life where I had to decide what to do. I enrolled at the University of Memphis, a local university, and joined a fraternity. It was then I began to get involved in drinking, drugs, and chasing women. Unfortunately, I filled this void with all the activities that you see in a lot of movies and started drinking and chasing women. One night I made a bad decision--one of the worst decisions of my life--to do cocaine. It plagued me for the next 17 years of my life. When I met Angela, my future wife, I overheard her say that the man she would someday marry had to be Catholic. I wanted to be her man. Even though I had not been to church for over 10 years, I wanted to marry this wonderful woman. Before we married, I went through the RCIA program and became a Catholic, but the truth of the Catholic Church never took deep roots in me because I was just going through the motions. As I became a successful salesperson, I had a lot of responsibilities and stress. My income was entirely dependent on the commissions I made on sales and I had very demanding customers. If a fellow worker made a mistake, or caused an issue, I could lose our income. To relieve the pressure, I began to throw myself into drug use at night, but I managed to hide this from my wife. She had no idea what I was doing. Shortly after the birth of Jacob, our first baby, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She had just two weeks to a couple months to live and that really threw me over the edge. I remember asking God: “How can You let a lying scumbag drug addict like me live, but let someone like her, who has loved You without fail her whole life, die? If that's the kind of God You are, then I don't want anything to do with You!” That day, I remember looking up at the sky and saying: “I hate You and I will never worship You again!” That’s the day when I fully turned away and walked away from God. The Turning Point I had some customers who were very difficult to deal with. Even at night, there was no respite, with texts threatening to take their business away. All the stress overwhelmed me, and I threw myself into the drugs more and more each night. One night, around two in the morning, I suddenly woke up and sat up in bed. It felt like my heart was going to blow out of my chest. I thought: ‘I'm gonna have a heart attack and die’. I wanted to call out to God, but my proud, selfish, stubborn nature would not give in. I didn’t die, but I resolved to throw out the drugs and pour out the alcohol…I followed through with that in the morning…only to buy more drugs and beer in the afternoon. The same thing happened over and over again—customers texting, using drugs to fall asleep, and waking up in the middle of the night. One day, my desire for drugs was so great that I stopped to buy cocaine on my way to pick up my son, Jacob, from my father-in-law's house! As I drove away from the drug dealer’s house, I heard a police siren! The drug enforcement agency was right behind me. Even while I sat in the police station being questioned with my leg chained to a bench,  I still thought I was going to get out of this. As a super salesman, I believed I could talk my way out of anything. But not this time! I ended up in jail in downtown Memphis. Next morning, I thought it was all just a nightmare, until I hit my head on the steel bunk. Dangerous Waters When it dawned on me that I was in jail and not in my home, I panicked. This can't be happening…everybody's going to know…I’m going to lose my job…my wife…my kids…everything in my life…” Very slowly, I began to look back over my life and think about how this all began. That's when I realized how much I had lost when I walked away from Jesus Christ. My eyes filled with tears and I spent that afternoon in prayer. I would later realize that this was no ordinary day. It was Holy Thursday, 3 days before Easter, the day when Jesus chided His apostles when they could not watch one hour with Him as He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. While I talked to Him in prayer, I received a deep sense of certainty that Jesus had never left me, even when I had walked away from Him. He had always been with me even in my darkest moments. When my wife and my mother-in-law came to visit, I was filled with anxiety. I was expecting my wife to say: “I’m done with you. I'm leaving you and taking the children!” It felt like a scene from Law and Order where the prisoner talks on the phone to his visitor on the other side of the glass. As soon as I saw them, I burst into tears and sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” When she spoke, I could hardly believe my ears. “John, stop…I’m not going to divorce you. It has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with the vows we made in the Church…” However, she told me that I couldn't come home yet, even though she was bailing me out. My sister was supposed to pick up that evening from jail to take me to my father's farm in Mississippi. It was Good Friday when I walked out of jail. When I looked up it wasn’t my sister waiting for me but my father. I was nervous to see him but we wound up having the realest conversation we had ever had on the hour and a half car ride down to the farm. A Chance Encounter I knew that I had to do something to change my life and I wanted to start with Mass on Easter Sunday. But when I pulled up at the church for the 11 o'clock Mass, no-one was there. I began to hit the steering wheel with my fists in disappointment and anger. For the first time in 10 years, I wanted to go to Mass and nobody was there. Did God care at all? The next moment, a Sister pulled up and asked if I wanted to go to Mass, then she redirected me to the next town where I found the church filled with families. This felt like another crushing blow because I wasn't with my own family. All I could think about was my wife and how I longed to be worthy of her. I recognized the priest. The last time I saw him, many years ago, I was with her. When Mass finished, I remained in the pew asking God to heal me and reunite me with my family. When I finally got up to leave, I felt an arm on my shoulder which surprised me, since I didn’t know anybody there. As I turned around, I saw that it was the priest who greeted me warmly, “Hello, John”. I was stunned that he remembered my name because it had been at least five years since our last meeting, and that had lasted for about 2 seconds. He took my hand and told me, “I don't know why you're here alone or where your family is, but God wants me to tell you that everything's going to be alright.” I was flabbergasted. How could he know? I made up my mind to change my life and go to rehab. My wife came with me when I was admitted and returned to bring me home after 30 days of outpatient care. When my children saw me walk in the door, they cried and threw their arms around me. They jumped all over me and we played until it was time for bed. As I lay in my bed, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude to be there--comfortable in my house with air conditioning and a TV that I could watch whenever I wanted to; dining on food that wasn't prison slop; and lying in my own bed again. I smiled as if I was king of the castle until I looked over to Angela’s empty side of the bed. I thought to myself: “I need to change my whole life; stopping the drugs and alcohol isn’t enough.” I opened my bedside table, looking for a Bible and found a book that Father Larry Richards had given me at a conference. I had only read 3 or 4 pages back then, but when I picked it up that night, I couldn’t put it down until I had read it cover to cover. I stayed up all night and was still reading when my wife woke at 6 am. The book quickened my understanding of what it meant to be a good husband and a father. I earnestly promised my wife that I was going to be the man she deserved. That book set me on a course to start reading Scripture again. I realized how much I’d missed in my life and wanted to make up for lost time. I started leading my family to Mass, and prayed for hours on end each night. In the first year, I read over 70 Catholic books in that first year. Little, by little, I began to change. My wife gave me an opportunity to become the man God called me to be. Now, I’m trying to help other people do the same through my podcast ‘Just a Guy in the Pew’. On Holy Thursday, Jesus prepared to die, and I chose to die to my old self. On Easter Sunday, I felt that I was also resurrected with Him. We know that satan may be quiet when we're on a path far away from Jesus. It's when we start coming closer and closer to Christ that he starts to get really loud. When his lies start to surround us, then we know that we are doing something good. Never give up. Keep on persevering in the love of God, all through your life. You’ll never regret it.

Saying “Yes” to God is the best decision you can ever make! “Please help,” pleaded the church lady making the announcements after Mass, “we desperately need teachers for the junior high religious education program.” I pretended not to hear. We had just moved back to Arizona from Illinois, and the oldest of our five children was entering high school. Each Sunday, the same simple entreaty. God must have been working on me week after week. I knew I was adding five kids to the roster; after all, maybe I should help. My resolve faded, and I signed up. I’ve always said that I wasn’t born with a “no” gene, and organizations can see me coming a mile away. This newest yes is a point in case. “I’m a cradle Catholic; how hard could teaching kids be?” Over the next couple of years, youth ministers popped in and out. After the most recent departure, our Pastor approached me and stated that my fellow volunteer teachers had recommended me to take over as youth minister. Me? Are you willing to try? Again, that missing no-gene failed to save me. God works in mysterious ways, and within a few weeks, I was the new junior high church lady. I previously assumed that only Priests and Nuns could work for the Catholic Church. I remember thinking how awesome it would be to work in such a holy environment with like-minded co-workers in the Lord’s Vineyard. It did not take long for that fantasy to be eradicated. Shortly into my new gig, I had the distressing realization that someone who worked for the Church must be someone who had answers to tough questions and possessed theological smarts. That thought terrified me. I had no background or education in anything churchy. The reality that I was dumb as dirt when it came to faith invaded me every waking moment. Over forty years of being a Catholic and I knew squat. I was unaware of the often quoted line in which God equips those he calls. It was that very fear; however, that propelled me into action. Attending college was not an option. This meant I needed to get creative. I came across a cassette from Sister Gloria when one son was in her kindergarten class. For eight years, I never made the time to listen to it. Something compelled me to do so now. It was called “The Conversion Story of Dr. Scott Hahn.” I had no idea who Dr. Hahn was, but in a quiet moment, I pushed play. This Presbyterian minister’s journey for truth was fascinating, which brought him into the Catholic Church. I craved more. About that time, we were made aware of a Catholic family conference in California happening that summer. I had never heard of most speakers, but Dr. Hahn would be there. My husband was intrigued as well, and we brought the whole family. Speakers such as Tim Staples, Jesse Romero, Steve Ray, and so many other converts inspired us, fanning the embers of our hearts. We bought books and cassettes on many topics, including apologetics and the art of defending the faith. The kids were excited, and so were we. A passion was starting to burn in us that we simply did not have before. Year after year, we would invite other families to join us at the family conference, and they too would be set aflame. I needed to be certified as a youth minister. Once again, God provided, and I attended the St. John Bosco summer conference at Franciscan University. This was all a new adventure to me. I had never experienced God through prayer, worship, adoration, catechesis, and incredible speakers. I hungered for more with a voracity previously inexperienced. With every precious morsel I consumed, I desired more. How could I be this old and so ignorant of God and my faith? Contrary to what people imagine, expanding your knowledge and love of God isn’t boring. It was stimulating and inspiring. My relationship with God was finally being fed. The Mass came alive for us. The joy and increase in faith were evident to all I encountered. My enthusiastic passion invaded all aspects of my life, especially ministry work. God generously blessed my, yes, and the fruit was abounding. All along, God had been moving me closer to Him, laying the breadcrumbs that brought me closer step by step. Twenty-one years later, I still work for the Catholic Church but am now in Marriage Preparation. I still pursue many avenues of continuing to stoke that fire that was set ablaze so many years ago. My endless gratitude goes to those converts who, at all costs, pursued truth and were open to where God led them. They will never know how many lives God impacted by their yes, and by extension, mine. And those five little kids were married in the Church and are raising their children to know God and love their Catholic faith. My husband, too, has been a Deacon for ten years. All glory to you, oh Lord. You are so generous and good to us; you knew the best route to set my heart on fire. I cannot thank you enough. “Moreover, God can make every grace abundant for you, so that in all things, always having all you need, you may have an abundance for every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8) Through suffering and prayer, everything you have given me has led me ever closer to you and all those whom you have placed on my path. Thank you Lord!