At the end of July I moved into a small studio apartment in Atchison, Kansas. I started right away at Wal-Mart. It was a scary and exciting time for me. While my former classmates were starting their junior year of college I was working full-time to try and save up money to go to the technical college to become a nurse.
Life was quiet but content for me. No wild parties, no big life-changing decisions. I made friends at Wal-Mart, but didn’t hang out with them outside of work. I certainly stayed out of trouble.
I worked up the nerve to introduce myself to J and E, a young newlywed couple who lived above me. I noticed their car had a rosary hanging from the rear-view window. I noticed a lot of cars around town with rosaries. It was weird.
Days before I moved to Atchison, I learned that my Uncle Dave had been diagnosed with lung cancer. I was very upset. He and I had become very close during the past couple of years. Remember, he was the one always giving Catholic books. And although I had no desire to read them (pretty obvious considering my previous posts) I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him, Uncle Alan and my mom discussing religion. There were many Church teachings that I disagreed with, but seeing their fervor made me yearn to learn more, but the partying and other junk in my life got in the way of my motivation.
Uncle Dave was a very holy and devout Catholic. But he wasn’t all seriousness; he had a playful sparkle in his eye and always encouraged me to have a wine cooler or two so it would loosen me to sing at family reunions. He always had a silly pose when someone took a picture.
I remember praying hard for Dave to beat the cancer. I also remember feeling a little guilty because I suddenly realized that I only prayed to God when I wanted something. I shook off those feelings and remained steadfast in prayer.
I suppose since it was cancer I wasn’t too alarmed at first. There’s always that hope that one can beat it. If not, then usually there’s months or years left for the patient. I was expecting much more time with my dear uncle.
However, just like with Mick, the situation progressed quickly. Within about three short weeks of his cancer diagnosis, Uncle Dave was in the hospital with a mask over his mouth and nose that helped him breathe. He was in the hospital for about six days and my mom and I tried to visit often. The doctors were not hopeful that he would be with us for long. Everyone was praying hard and a lot of our family came together.
While visiting him in the hospital I could see he was very frustrated that he couldn’t talk and communicate. I was always used to him being in a jovial mood; seeing him like this was heartbreaking. However, one day when mom and I were leaving the hospital we said, “We’ll see you soon.” He gave us a huge heartfelt wave good bye.
That was the last time we saw him. He died later that night with surrounded by his family. When the phone rang at our house at nearly one o’clock in the morning I woke with a startle and realized I was still clutching my rosary. I knew what the phone call was about.
Life was quiet but content for me. No wild parties, no big life-changing decisions. I made friends at Wal-Mart, but didn’t hang out with them outside of work. I certainly stayed out of trouble.
I worked up the nerve to introduce myself to J and E, a young newlywed couple who lived above me. I noticed their car had a rosary hanging from the rear-view window. I noticed a lot of cars around town with rosaries. It was weird.
Days before I moved to Atchison, I learned that my Uncle Dave had been diagnosed with lung cancer. I was very upset. He and I had become very close during the past couple of years. Remember, he was the one always giving Catholic books. And although I had no desire to read them (pretty obvious considering my previous posts) I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him, Uncle Alan and my mom discussing religion. There were many Church teachings that I disagreed with, but seeing their fervor made me yearn to learn more, but the partying and other junk in my life got in the way of my motivation.
Uncle Dave was a very holy and devout Catholic. But he wasn’t all seriousness; he had a playful sparkle in his eye and always encouraged me to have a wine cooler or two so it would loosen me to sing at family reunions. He always had a silly pose when someone took a picture.
I remember praying hard for Dave to beat the cancer. I also remember feeling a little guilty because I suddenly realized that I only prayed to God when I wanted something. I shook off those feelings and remained steadfast in prayer.
I suppose since it was cancer I wasn’t too alarmed at first. There’s always that hope that one can beat it. If not, then usually there’s months or years left for the patient. I was expecting much more time with my dear uncle.
However, just like with Mick, the situation progressed quickly. Within about three short weeks of his cancer diagnosis, Uncle Dave was in the hospital with a mask over his mouth and nose that helped him breathe. He was in the hospital for about six days and my mom and I tried to visit often. The doctors were not hopeful that he would be with us for long. Everyone was praying hard and a lot of our family came together.
While visiting him in the hospital I could see he was very frustrated that he couldn’t talk and communicate. I was always used to him being in a jovial mood; seeing him like this was heartbreaking. However, one day when mom and I were leaving the hospital we said, “We’ll see you soon.” He gave us a huge heartfelt wave good bye.
That was the last time we saw him. He died later that night with surrounded by his family. When the phone rang at our house at nearly one o’clock in the morning I woke with a startle and realized I was still clutching my rosary. I knew what the phone call was about.
Just like with Mick’s death, everything was a blur. One thing I remember vividly was going to confession shortly before Dave’s funeral, mostly in memory of him. Sure, I had been to confession a couple times in high school, but it wasn’t ever a heartfelt confession. I poured my heart and soul out to my priest. I had many shameful sins and I was scared to death telling them to a man I had known for years. But I mustered the courage and confessed all the dirty, ugly sins that clouded my soul. When he gave me Absolution I saw tears in his eyes. Catholics believe when we confess we are taking our sins directly to Jesus, but the priest is standing in for the Son of God. I believed I saw Christ’s tears through my priest welcoming me home. I felt so light, so free. I could feel the graces pouring over my soul.
However, I still had temptations to be angry at God. He kept taking away those I loved most from my life. I was still angry that he had denied my family a miracle. But instead of turning my back on Him like I had so many times previously, I decided to face Him and move forward.
Too many times had I been focused on the dying aspect of my loved one’s deaths. For the first time I really thought about what happens after death. My lovable uncles were in Heaven- face to face with God the Almighty. They got to meet the Virgin Mary and saints. They got to talk to Christ. They got to see their parents and grandparents again. They were free from sadness, sorrow and pain. They were blessedly happy. That boggled my mind. I wanted to see them again someday and experience all that. That meant I needed to change my ways.
I started to devour all the books Uncle Dave had given me. That triggered a thirst to learn more about the Catholic faith. There were many things I had disagreed with the Church on but soon I realized just how ignorant I had been regarding these teachings. I had been too stubborn and proud to learn WHY something was considered wrong (example: abortion) or WHY we had to do certain things (always go to Mass, fast during Lent, etc.) I finally learned the WHY’s, and realized I had robbed myself of beautiful and life-changing teachings.
No longer could I depend solely on myself for happiness.
I had to put God first in my life. Always.
I couldn’t just run to Him when I needed something: to keep a boyfriend, to ease unhappiness, to save a loved one from death.
I needed to include Him in everything and order to do that I couldn’t just say “I’m a Christian.” I needed to actually get off my butt and go to Mass and Confession regularly to receive the graces Christ gives us through these Sacraments. I needed to pray in thanksgiving and praise. I needed to pick up a Bible and study it. I needed to stop sleeping with a rosary under my pillow and actually pray it. I needed to change my ways of thinking that I was always right and needed to humble myself to realize that I am not in charge and that I can’t just make up my own rules and truths.
This wasn’t another emotional "Jesus high" that would soon fade. I had faith, knowledge and grace to help me. I felt so incredibly happy and free.
I talked to my upstairs neighbor J about my re-discovery of the faith. She was a devout Catholic and exclaimed, “You’ve had a spiritual growth spurt!” I wasn’t really a convert to the faith since I had been born Catholic, and I never was a full-fledged agnostic or atheist. I had an infantile form of spirituality before, but it had grown into a sort of spiritual teenager form.
For the first time I looked forward to going to Church. I was shocked at what I saw. I did not observe the usual scene I pictured at Mass; you know, the devout old ladies clutching to their rosaries, parents wrangling their fussy children, and teenagers with comatose expressions. Instead I saw the church full of people my age, my age, and they certainly were not in a comatose state. They were fully enjoying their time at Mass. When Mass was over instead of everyone making a mad dash for the exit most all of them knelt down in prayer. I knew I was in the right place.
Through the encouragement of J and E I decided to apply to Benedictine College. It was during the school’s Christmas break (December 20th) that I went and talked to the admissions office and explained that while I had really horrible grades from college, I was a top student in high school and vowed I would work hard. Three days after Christmas I gave my mom the best late-Christmas gift I could give: I was accepted to Benedictine College.
I later learned that my mom had prayed two novenas (a series of prayers): one when I went to my first college visit to Benedictine and the other when I first moved to Atchison. I think I was always meant to end up in Atchison and fully embrace my faith. I just think I took the long, long, looooong way to get there!
I still sin. I am far from being a holy person. I still suffer from doubts sometimes. But praise be to Him- our God is so merciful! I am happy to be a daughter of God.
C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Every story of conversion is the story of blessed defeat.”
I talked to my upstairs neighbor J about my re-discovery of the faith. She was a devout Catholic and exclaimed, “You’ve had a spiritual growth spurt!” I wasn’t really a convert to the faith since I had been born Catholic, and I never was a full-fledged agnostic or atheist. I had an infantile form of spirituality before, but it had grown into a sort of spiritual teenager form.
For the first time I looked forward to going to Church. I was shocked at what I saw. I did not observe the usual scene I pictured at Mass; you know, the devout old ladies clutching to their rosaries, parents wrangling their fussy children, and teenagers with comatose expressions. Instead I saw the church full of people my age, my age, and they certainly were not in a comatose state. They were fully enjoying their time at Mass. When Mass was over instead of everyone making a mad dash for the exit most all of them knelt down in prayer. I knew I was in the right place.
Through the encouragement of J and E I decided to apply to Benedictine College. It was during the school’s Christmas break (December 20th) that I went and talked to the admissions office and explained that while I had really horrible grades from college, I was a top student in high school and vowed I would work hard. Three days after Christmas I gave my mom the best late-Christmas gift I could give: I was accepted to Benedictine College.
I later learned that my mom had prayed two novenas (a series of prayers): one when I went to my first college visit to Benedictine and the other when I first moved to Atchison. I think I was always meant to end up in Atchison and fully embrace my faith. I just think I took the long, long, looooong way to get there!
I still sin. I am far from being a holy person. I still suffer from doubts sometimes. But praise be to Him- our God is so merciful! I am happy to be a daughter of God.
C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Every story of conversion is the story of blessed defeat.”
Thank God for my own defeat.
