Story of My Soul

The most important day of my life - I am baptized into Christ
at St. Catherina's Parish.

Just before Vatican II ended I was born to a young, modern and idealistic married couple. My parents had been raised Catholic; Dad had been an altar boy and Mom had wanted to be a missionary nun. But being young in the heady days of the early 60's they began to look back on their upbringing as "oppressed". While they did have me baptized Catholic as a newborn, they did not name me after any saints or relatives as was the custom up until that time.

Even as they seemed to reject the Church there was still a crucifix hanging in our home. I wore a medal of Our Lady of Lourdes and a gold cross pinned to my undershirt. My parents were thoroughly Catholic in their sensibility even while striving to throw away what they deemed to be old-fashioned superstitious ways. If memory serves me correctly I did not go to Mass with either one of my parents until my grandmother's funeral when I was 16.

When I was almost 4 we moved to Canada from the Netherlands. The crucifix still hung over the doorway in my parents bedroom but otherwise nobody would have guessed we belonged to any kind of a faith tradition.

I had identified myself as a Catholic as far back as age 7 when I brought home a form from school that asked what religion we were. Even though we were not practicing I was happy to learn that I could mark down "Roman Catholic" - it seemed grand somehow and prettier than saying "protestant."

A few years later we moved into a neighbourhood with a large Italian Catholic population. When my friend made her First Communion she invited me to attend. It was my first conscious exposure to the Eucharist although I had no idea what that meant. I watched the people line up to receive a "white round thing" and I was fascinated. While I didn't go home and share this great discovery, a seed had indeed been planted.

Since my parents didn't take me to Mass during my school years I occasionally attended protestant church services with different friends. One of them even encouraged me to "accept Jesus into my heart" at an altar call. I couldn't do it; I sat rooted to my seat. I wanted to make a formal gesture to Him but I think I was scared I might do something wrong in front of the congregation.

When I was 10 we returned to Holland to visit our family and we stayed with my mother's parents. Before a meal my grandparents always crossed themselves and prayed. I wanted to do that too but I was very self-conscious. My mom would have tolerated it but I think my father would have ridiculed such a display of piety. I still have a mental block about praying before meals.

The year I was 12 my Catholic friends were confirmed. It really appealed to me that everyone chose a saint's name for Confirmation. I felt short-changed that my parents had given me a pagan first name. I did not attend any of the Confirmations but did attend Sunday Mass once or twice during that time.

When I was in high school I joined a Masonic organization for teenage girls called Job's Daughters. I loved the fellowship, the prayers and hymns, the hierarchy and the mysticism. There were "secret rituals" and white satin gowns that made us look like angels. I knew very little about the Mass at that point but I was ripe for a conversion experience.

In "Jobies" I met a friend who was a Lebanese Melkite Catholic. Her little brother was making his First Communion and she invited me to attend. I loved the Melkite church! There were heady clouds of incense, the Mass was in Arabic, and there was all the mystery, pomp and ceremony one could hope for!

I attended Mass for a few weeks and told my friend I wanted to receive Communion. She told the priest and he said he would give me some instruction and then devise some kind of First Communion service for me. Shortly after that the friendship ended and so did my hopes of celebrating my First Communion.

That summer we went back to Holland again for a long anticipated visit. We arrived only to find out that my maternal grandmother had passed away from a sudden heart attack just hours before our plane touched down.

The funeral was in a Catholic church, of course. When it was time for Communion I knew enough about Catholicism and the “rules” that I was not entitled to receive. I told my mother this and she was absolutely flabbergasted at my sudden piety. Of course my timing could not have been worse. I should have sat out Communion but it never occurred to me. I think I did receive to keep the peace with my mother but I have no memory of that part of the Mass.

The next Spring I started seeing a boy that I would marry the following year. He belonged to the Mennonite church although he had been baptized into the Lutheran faith. I attended services at his church but found the 45 minute sermons to be lacking somehow. I kept attending because I wanted to be married by a minister and at that point my forays into Catholicism had seemingly borne little fruit. Of course they had but I didn’t know it at that time. Every time I went to Mass, every exposure to the Eucharist, was a step forward.

The year after we married I gave birth to my first son. I knew I wanted him baptized. Since I did not belong to a church in the remote town where I lived, my in-law’s Lutheran minister was willing to baptize my son when we went to visit our families in the city. I felt that the Lutherans were an “acceptable” protestant group so I agreed. Two years later my second son was also baptized by a Lutheran minister.

I think the Holy Spirit had grown weary of my search for a spiritual home in other religions. For Easter, which roughly coincides with my youngest son's birthday, the mother-in-law decided to come for a visit and my life changed forever. The Lord will use the most unusual people to bring us to Him.

The mother-in-law attended all the Holy Week Masses at the only Catholic Church in town. She asked if she could "take" Communion on Easter Sunday and Father said she could as there were no churches of her denomination in the area. She told me this and I was outraged! I thought it grossly unfair that someone who was not Catholic would be allowed to do this.

I got on the phone Easter morning to ask the Sister who was parish administrator if I too could receive. The answer was no. She asked if I was a baptized Catholic and I said I was. She asked if I had received any of the Sacraments before. I had not. It was explained to me that as a Catholic I must follow the proper channels. I had not even made the attempt to come to church during Holy Week, never mind going to Confession. I was certainly welcome to come to Mass that day and perhaps after Easter I might be interested in receiving some religious instruction. I was a bit put out but I went to church anyway.

I'd like to say my experience that Easter was as dramatic as St. Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus, but it was not. My first impression of the church was that the seating configuration was odd. They had arranged the pews in a semi-circle around the altar. There was some sort of dark green macrame artwork hanging on the wall. I did like the Stations of the Cross though as they were large framed paintings. Other than that I remember staying for coffee and I probably told Sister that I would return but that was about it.

A few weeks passed and I had not been to Mass. Then one Sunday morning I woke up. It was absolutely clear to me that I must go to church except I didn’t know which one to go to. I went by the Anglican church and hesitated; my friend went there. I kept going down the street. I walked into the Catholic church and took a seat in the back row.

At first I found the service to be a little confusing with all the standing and sitting and flipping back and forth in the missal. It wasn’t Mass because we didn’t have a priest. We only had Mass once a month when the priest would come up from the city. I started to copy what the others were doing when it came to the different postures and all the other things that I do naturally now. I learned the responses and prayers. After a couple of weeks I began to sit in the front row.

I started to receive instruction in the faith. I was given a book to read about the Sacraments and later found out the book was pulled due to doctrinal error. I got a better education in orthodox Catholicism by reading The Nun's Story by Kathryn Hulme.

After about a month Sister and Father decided I was ready to receive First Communion. Yes, you read that correctly - one month! I was very excited. Finally after attending everyone else's First Communion it was my turn!

Looking back I want to shake my head in sorrow. I had no idea what being Catholic meant. I could articulate that the Real Presence was in the Tabernacle and we received Jesus in communion, but that was all. I had a vague notion that artificial birth control was bad but when I asked Sister about it she told me to use my conscience. If I felt I could not care for 12 children, then I should not have 12 children. Nobody ever said I should stop taking the Pill although I wasn't offering that information to anybody either. The evil of abortion was never addressed. The fact that marriage was a promise one literally made in front of God, present in the Tabernacle, was never discussed. My conscience was poorly formed and the foundation of my faith life resembled a sandy cliff overlooking a raging sea.

Yet, even in my extreme ignorance I loved serving the Church. I was a lector, I taught catechism to the class preparing for First Communion, and I was parish council secretary. But the "crowning glory" of my ministry was being an EMHC because as much as I loved volunteering, what I really wanted to be, was a priest. I honestly believed that diminishing male vocations were a sign from God that He wanted women to fill the gap and be priests. I truly believed that the Church could be changed from within and I wanted to be at the forefront of that change. When I was distributing Communion it made me feel like a priest. It made me feel special.

There were several reasons why I wanted to be a priest. I thought the Church could and should be a democracy. In our mission station we had a nun who was the parish administrator and led weekly Communion services where she would give a "talk" after the readings which seemed to me very much like a homily. She did as good a job distributing Communion and counselling us as our enigmatic priest. Furthermore the lines between ordained Priesthood and the common priesthood of the laity were blurred due to pathetic catechesis. I am not blaming Sister who tried to educate me but the whole atmosphere of poor teaching after Vatican II.

My spiritual pride grew at a sickening and unbelievable rate but I couldn't see it. Thank goodness that what goes up, must come down. After nearly two years of very active service in the Church I was becoming burned out. We moved to a bigger town and I joined another parish but I was just a small fish in a very large pond. I had no friends at church. I didn’t belong to any of the lay ministries. My marriage was falling apart and we divorced soon after our move.

The next 7 years were a total disaster. My lack of proper catechesis, my poor faith foundation and my acceptance of modern "morals" caused me untold grief and disappointment. I would go to Mass but I was totally blind to the Truth. The confessional booth was right in the church, but I never availed myself of it to find the grace I could receive there. It was the worst time of my life. I was without hope. And things were about to get worse, much worse.

Just before Christmas of 1994 I threw a party. I invited all the single people I knew because it is the most depressing time of year to be alone. I invited my neighbour who was a single dad and lapsed Catholic. Seven months later we married in a civil ceremony. Two months after that my father died of a sudden heart attack at age 55. A year after that my mother was diagnosed with cancer and she died 10 months later, also at age 55. Three months after my mom died my stepchildren were in a car accident. The truck was totalled but they were not badly injured.

Shortly after that my husband and I decided to go back to church. We decided to look into the annulment process for our first marriages. We met with the priest about it once and were overwhelmed with what the process entailed. But the truth is, what we didn't like was that the priest kept referring to our former spouses as if they were our current ones. Of course he was right but I was too stubborn to accept that.

Over the next 5 years I did attend Mass a few times, usually around Advent and Christmas, but the flame of my faith was barely a flicker. Then the priest sex-abuse scandals became front page news. I announced that I was done with the Church forever.

The church was located practically next door to my son's school so I would be forced to drive by it when I dropped him off. There were times when I would go by and I would cry from anger and frustration. Then I would remind myself that I was finished with all of it. I couldn't receive Communion because of my marriage impediment and I had never felt welcomed there either. A priest had been removed due to allegations of abuse and so had the bishop. I think I probably considered myself lucky I had escaped from that sinking ship, the barque of Peter.

In September of 2002 I was invited to go to New York to visit my family. I spent a week there and one day went into the city. It was always my custom to stop in at St. Patrick's Cathedral and pay my respects. This time however, as I was walking past, I actually crossed the street to put distance between myself and the church. Oh yes, I was tough alright.

I am sure by that time the Lord had had enough of my foolishness. He began to set the stage for my return to the One True Church.

At that time, my stepson, who had moved away, had started dating a Catholic girl and they would go to Mass on Sundays. I was beside myself! My stepson had always refused to come to Mass on the rare occasions when we asked him. But the final blow came when I realized that my stepson could receive Holy Communion and I could not. I was insanely jealous! So I did the only thing I could think of; I went to Mass!

The parish had just welcomed their new priest that very day. He said he was from New York City and I felt an instant connection. Near the end of the homily he invited lapsed Catholics to come and talk to him about rectifying their situations. I was in tears before Mass was over and I sobbed all the way home. The Holy Spirit knew I needed to hear that invitation.

I wrote Father a letter outlining my past very briefly. It took me a few rewrites and a couple of days to get the nerve to throw it in the mail. He called shortly after he received the letter and we set up a time to meet. My eldest son came home for Christmas and there were some issues to deal with so I cancelled the meeting with the priest. I did attend Mass during the rest of Advent and on Christmas Eve.

Like all the other failed attempts to return to the Church over the years my reversion seemed to fade quickly. I had not been to Mass since Christmas and at the end of February Father phoned me and said he still had my letter on his desk and he wanted to look after his paperwork. He had not forgotten me; the priest or God! He came over for a meeting and explained the whole annulment process being careful not to refer to our former spouses as if they were our current ones! It did not take me long to decide I was going to go through with it. My husband was not so sure.

It wasn't long before I hit another snag. My biggest hurdle to returning was the Church's position on artificial birth control. My total conversion hinged on this single issue. When I came back to the Church I wasn't really thinking about it when I walked in the front door. I was thinking about how much I wanted to receive Holy Communion again. But when the time came to fill out the necessary papers for the annulment there was an uneasyness in my soul. I had to face the Church's condemnation of ABC once and for all for I knew that I could not be Catholic if I did not understand this difficult teaching. I was not going to do this by halves.

When I was young I was vaguely aware of Pope Paul VI's encyclical Humanae Vitae. My understanding (or misunderstanding) was that the Church wanted women to have as many babies as possible. If any type of family planning was allowed it might be our grandmother's hit and miss rhythm method. It never occurred to me that Grandma wanted all those kids and loved each one. Humae Vitae was written when I was 4 years old but it was about to make a profound impact on my life.

Luckily I had found an orthodox website with a forum where questions could be asked. I asked about ABC and got the answers I expected from them. ABC was wrong, NFP was right. I was not satisfied.

I asked our priest why contraception is wrong and he emailed me an excellent article by Abp. Chaput of Denver, explaining Humae Vitae and the Church's position on being open to life. It illustrated how periodic abstinence during fertile times in the wife's cycle is an objectively moral means of working with God to postpone or achieve pregnancy. It explained that the marital act must always be unitive and open to the transmission of life. Nowhere did it say I must have a baby every year or two until I expired from exhaustion.

Furthermore the Church wanted me to be healthy and whole. Why would I pump myself full of chemicals or render parts of my anatomy useless just so I could be available for relations every day of the month? Not only was Humanae Vitae starting to make sense but my feminist ideals were being assaulted. Birth control was not liberation at all! It was slavery to a pill, to men's whims, and to society's selfishness and focus on "the other trinity" - me, myself and I.

By this time I was in utter turmoil. I wanted so much to return to the Church but this issue was tearing me apart. Everywhere I looked the Church was holding strong on Her position. Something had to give either way. If I had to leave the Church because I couldn't reconcile myself to natural family planning then at least I was being honest with myself. But to say the Church was right on this issue would be turning my back on everything I had ever been led to believe! It meant being a rebel, being counter-cultural. I wasn't sure I had it in me to do a 180 degree turn. And if the Church was right about this then She had to be right about a male only priesthood and celibacy for homosexuals and unmarried people. The Truth was staring me in the face, forcing to me look at my own life and my own decisions. It was profoundly disturbing.

Then there was a glimmer of hope. My friends from the internet forum were praying for me. They knew something I didn't – that I wanted to believe but that I just couldn't admit it. Finally after a sleepless week I turned my formidable will over to God. One day I woke up and I knew my life was changed forever. The Holy Spirit had come and rearranged my heart. I finally believed what Pope Paul VI had prophesied in Humanae Vitae, which is that birth control would lead to widespread sexual immorality, the acceptance of abortion, and the decay of the family. I had seen it happen in my own family! I had nowhere else to turn - the Church had the answers I had been searching for. I started attending Mass every Sunday and sometimes on weekdays too.

Once I discarded my contraceptive mentality it was much easier to be fully pro-life, promote chastity to co-habiting couples and to reject the acceptance of other unnatural acts.

In early April the church scheduled a Reconciliation service. For years I had been keeping a mental tally of my gravest sins but I was terrified of going to Confession especially if I had to confess to a priest I knew. At the service there were 3 priests. I chose the one in the traditional anonymous confessional. I had to wait about an hour in line before it was my turn. I had practiced my confession based on an examen I had found on the internet. I was prepared...or so I thought.

Except that it was the most beautiful, scary, awesome experience of my life! I truly met Jesus in the confessional. I knelt, got out my "list" and started saying, “Forgive me Father...” and then I was crying. It was a cry that came from the very depths of my soul. After I had finished the kind priest told me I had made a beautiful confession. I was shocked! I had never expected to hear that! I made a lame joke that he had won the jackpot that night because I had chosen him to hear my confession. He said, “No, Jesus has won.” I will never forget that as long as I live!

I felt like I was kneeling right in Jesus’ heart. I felt like I was surrounded by a golden mandorla just like Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was a fitting symbol as it represents the complete bond she shares with Christ.

That confession was so liberating and wonderful that I wanted to go again and recapture the feeling a few weeks later. I entered the confessional and Father seemed surprised to see me. Then he shocked me and said that while I could confess he could not absolve me of my sins because my marriage impediment still existed. I was devastated and ashamed. I was so sure he had told me I could go to confession when we had the reconciliation service! He reminded me I was supposed to have told the other priest about my marital situation. Well, obviously I had not been technical enough or the priest simply didn't hear me. Truth be told I have no recollection of being absolved anyway. I was crushed! I was going to have to confess everything all over again when, and if, the decree of nullity ever came through. It was a low point but I think it was the first time I offered up my suffering to Him even though that was a concept I had not discovered yet. I was determined to reconcile myself with the Church that I was deeply, madly falling in love with.

On Palm Sunday my husband agreed that he too would seek a declaration of nullity. His mother was overjoyed, as was I, and she told me that her prayers had been answered. We submitted our forms, documentation and post-dated cheques. The waiting game began. Holy Mother Church does not move quickly.

On Holy Thursday I went to Mass and for the first time I felt like I belonged. As I knelt listening to the ultimate Eucharistic hymn, "Tantum Ergo", clouds of incense lifting my prayers heavenward, I knew that I could never ever leave the Church. Even if the nullity decrees never came I knew I was Home.

By this time I was quickly realizing that suffering was a way to bring us closer to God. It was torture for me to sit in the pews while everyone else went up for Communion. It killed me to see some people whispering and grinning during the Consecration and to see the Host consumed by others in a disrespectful way. It hurt when people seemed to look right through me. I still felt like I was walking into the church with a huge red letter "S" on my person proclaiming me the worst sort of sinner. The list was endless. But each hurt stoked the fire of my love for Him. The flame of faith, once a smoldering wick, was a raging inferno by this time. I couldn't read or learn enough about the Church and I couldn't stop thinking about God night and day. For the first time in years I felt I was going in the right direction.

A few months after the botched confessional experience Father suggested I start going to Eucharistic Adoration. I had no idea what that entailed. I phoned a lady I knew who coordinated the adorers and the schedule. She told me where to go and what to do. She said I could go for as little as 5 minutes or as long as an hour, or even longer than that if I wanted to. It was all very flexible. The part that appealed to me initially was that all the adorers were on the same level - none of us were partaking of the Eucharist in the little chapel.

I fell so in love with Adoration that I would sneak away from the house as often as I could to go to the chapel. I hesitated to tell my husband about this devotion because he was still slowly getting used to the fact that I was now religious. I wasn't sure how he was going to react to learning that I was staring at a piece of consecrated bread for an hour at a time. Eventually I did tell him and he was fine with it. He knew that the more time I spent in the chapel, the nicer I was to him!

Around this time I began to pray the Rosary. I was too shy to ask anyone to teach me how so I found a site on the internet. I used to think it was a just a prayer recited by elderly European ladies dressed in black. Soon I found out that many young people were devoted to this powerful prayer.

The nullity process was still ongoing. There were stumbling blocks but with prayer we turned them into stepping stones. The worst day came when we received a request for my husband's ex-wife's baptismal certificate. She had not been cooperating with the investigation. I was very close to giving up. I did the only thing I could do. I prayed. I reminded God that He had brought me back to His Church. I told him that we could not come up with the necessary document and He was going to have to do it for us or find some way around it. He did.

The following March I phoned the Tribunal to check on the progress of my case. The administrative assistant had just informed me I had received an affirmative decision on the First Instance, when the mail arrived with news that we had just received an affirmative decision from my husband's Tribunal too! I was ecstatic! I immediately phoned my husband and my in-laws. You'd think I had just won the lottery!

The final decisions on the national level were issued in May. It was affirmative and I immediately phoned Father to “set the date" for the convalidation. He was so excited he wanted us to come down right away! We decided on a date about two weeks away. I wanted it to be in June and I wanted it to be at Thursday night Mass as Jesus instituted Holy Communion on a Thursday. We then proceeded to prepare for our confessions. My anonymous confession to a visiting priest ended up being an anti-climax and nowhere near as exciting as the one 14 months earlier.

Then in front of God we were wed! Finally, after years of anguish, I could receive Holy Communion again. My son said I literally ran down the aisle! I received His Body and His Blood and I felt a burning heat in my chest. It could have been the excitement but I prefer to think of it as the Holy Spirit inflaming me with His love! My tattered soul was whole once again!

I continued to read and study as much as I could about the Church. I wanted to know WHY the Chruch teaches what She does and be able to defend my faith and perhaps even help to convert others. I had an insatiable appetite for learning. I devoured nearly every topic on orthodox Catholic websites. I discovered Catholic authors such as Karl Keating, Patrick Madrid, Frank Sheed, Abp. Fulton Sheen, Fr. Benedict Groeschel and Scott Hahn. I would read the same thing over and over so that I could imprint it on my heart and in my mind. All my life I had thirsted for this knowledge and didn't even know it. And I wanted to know why nobody had ever shared this treasure with me before!

When I learned that the priest acts "in persona Christi" (in the person of Christ) and the Church is His Bride, then it seemed only natural that the priest must be a man. Finally I began to understand that the Sacraments were instituted by Jesus Christ, not the Church. We cannot change what Christ decreed. With no regrets I gave up any last desire I might have had to be an ordained priest. Interestingly, when I read St. Therese of Lisieux's autobiography, "Story of a Soul" she had also expressed a desire to be a priest. I was happy to be in such good company!

The more I understood and accepted authentic Church teaching the more I desired to serve the Church. I joined the Catholic Women's League, Birthright and helped teach RCIA. I lectored and joined parish council. I was asked to be a Confirmation sponsor by one of our RCIA candidates. I wrote for the diocesan newspaper. I silently protested abortion by joining Life Chain every year. I also began to see what our priest goes through while serving the parish and I am quite happy that the Lord did not make me a man and call me to the ordained priesthood! I am quite satisfied to live out my life according to the plans He has prepared for me.

My life is very full now and my soul is at peace. I have made wonderful new friends. My marriage is strong and we have a common vision - to help each other attain Heaven! In retrospect I would not trade one moment of my faith journey for anything. It's been a time of huge spiritual growth. I have a new respect and appreciation for the Sacraments. I will never let anything happen to me again that would cut me off from them. God is infintely merciful and for that I am eternally grateful. Blessed be the Lord!

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