My Conversion: Part 1

My Conversion to the Catholic Church

(You are reading)  Part One:  The Backdrop

 Part Two: A Dangerous Journey

Part Three:  Blessed be the Tie that Binds

Why another conversion story…

It has been on my heart since the beginning of my blogging journey to share my conversion to the Catholic faith. Yet, every time I sat down to write, my fingers would halt over the keys, and my thoughts could not be transformed into words on a screen. There are layers upon layers upon layers of backdrop, emotions, conversations, and stages to performing a complete paradigm shift like the one I undertook.  I am not eloquent enough to make the words convey what I want.

So why do I keep trying?   My conversion to the Catholic Church is my testimony.  My hard fought road to the fullness of faith has not only formed who I am, but it is my testament to God’s mercy, grace, forgiveness, timing, and power.

So while my story is not beautifully written, I pray you will put that aside and simply see the beauty of God’s handiwork in my life.  May the telling of my story be a step toward the fullness of the faith for someone else.  May it be a ray of hope for those who are in marriages divided by faith.

Know too that I have tried my hardest to be respectful of our Protestant brothers and sisters as well as my family and friends.    I hold the deepest admiration for the faith of my Protestant family and friends and for the solid upbringing I was given in the faith.  I would not be the woman I am today without those roots.

The soil of my childhood…

My conversion happened within the context of my marriage.  At twenty-one, I found myself married to my college sweetheart and the love of my life.  In an odd twist of fate, he was a self-professed Catholic – a faith for which I held nothing but utter disdain.

I had been raised by my exemplary Christian parents in a very Catholic community, but my Sundays weren’t spent in Mass.  Instead, I spent my Sunday mornings in a pew in a little white country church on a hill which had the word Presbyterian in the name.  My father was raised Baptist and mother was grown in the Methodist church, so Presbyterianism was a compromise of sorts.

It was my home and in that little white church my faith was formed.  I am forever grateful to the foundations that were laid in those early chapters of my life. I’m eternally indebted to my Protestant roots and have so much respect for the love-filled Godly hearts I find in my past.

The vast majority of my school friends were Catholic. While I loved them with my whole heart (and miss many of them now that our paths have diverged), I looked down my nose at their “idolatrous religion.” Their church’s past was filled with evil, power-hungry men that mutilated the self-evident truths of the Bible.  I felt it was unfortunate they were so uneducated in the true ways of God.

I remember one particular instance remarking on the beauty of the town’s big Catholic church. I was hushed and told the statues, images, and ornateness of the building was abominable.  Not only was it idol worship, but think of the money that could have been given to the poor in their place!

Regrettably, many of the Catholics I grew up around (young and old) did not let their faith transform their lives. As a result, their lives were not a testament to the beauty of a lived Catholic faith.  The vast majority of Catholics I knew seemed to be heavy drinking, promiscuous, and pro-choice.

I didn’t even know many of the truths held by the Catholic Church (Papal Infallability, the Real Presence, Apostolic Succession, etc.), but allowed all the cultural misconceptions to create my understanding (or rather, misunderstanding) of the faith.  I knew they worshiped Mary, thought a priest could forgive their sins, and had many empty rituals.  Even at a young age, there existed an uncrossable chasm between my faith and Catholicism.

Off to school…

In 2003, I left my little world and went off to college. I never adjusted well. I yearned for the solitude of the quaint farm in the hollow, and struggled to make meaningful friends. Periodically, I tried the college night life, but felt empty and completely disconnected from my real self. My family’s habit of always going to Sunday church occasionally drew me back to church, but I couldn’t find a church home quite like the little white church on the hill. By the end of my first semester, I was miserable and lost. I asked God to send me help.

One night, the week before my first college finals, I saw a casual acquaintance, Steve, studying in the student lounge. Trying to be friendly, I sidled over and struck up a conversation. Across from Steve slept his friend. As Steve and I talked, Steve’s friend slowly regained consciousness and gradually joined our conversation. I enjoyed their company so much, I ditched my plans and spent the rest of the evening with Steve’s friend and others that later joined us.

I knew something was special about Steve’s friend the night I met him. While I had a tendency to fall for guys quickly, this time there was definitely something more to my feelings. When he told me he had been homeschooled, I thought he was kidding. He acted so …normal (!).

The next day I met up with Steve’s friend again in a class we had unknowingly attended together all semester long (there were 500 students in the class so I never noticed him). The next week of studying and finals we spent much of our spare time with one another.

There was something about this guy, but I had found out along the way that he was not only homeschooled, but also unquestionably Catholic.

We continued seeing each other the next two semesters. The amazing thing about my Catholic boyfriend was that he actually had answers to my unfounded accusations against Catholicism.

Me: “Why do you pray to Saints? Aren’t we to pray and worship God alone?”

Steve’s Friend: “Well what do you think it means when you say in the Apostles’ Creed, ‘I believe in the communion of saints?’”

Where was my personal faith at this point?  I would have told you I was a Christian, but I didn’t allow God transform everything I did.  While I prayed nightly while falling asleep, my church attendance was still sporadic.  Sometimes I would attend Mass with Steve’s friend and other times I would convince him to try out a Protestant church with me. Usually these experiences left us frustrated and we wouldn’t even bring up the topic of religion or attend church together for a while.

The major sore point of our church attendance was communion time.  If we attended Catholic church, I was left shuffling around letting others in and out of the pew while he went up to receive communion.  I did not bow my head at communion time because I was praying, but because I was trying in vain to hide the tears rolling down my face.  I felt so alone and excluded. If we attended Protestant church, Steve’s friend would often berate me in the car on the way home for receiving communion from a church that I was not in full “communion” with.

Obviously, Steve’s friend’s faith wasn’t where it needed to be either.  Alone in a swarm of pagan and Protestants, he had very little to strengthen his Catholic faith at the time. I know I did my fair share of damage to his Catholic faith morale, for which I have since apologized profusely. Though his Mass attendance and personal relationship with Jesus dwindled, there remained a tether to the Catholic faith.  I wondered why he couldn’t just let the Church go.

It was strange how we were drawn towards one another because of our faith, yet it was the one thing that drove us apart.

One cold, snowy night in February, just after I had turned twenty. Steve’s friend took me for a walk. The university we attended held a tradition that any couple who silently walks around the campus lake three times holding hands will be together forever.  Steve’s friend was especially quiet on our walk. He led me around the lake, one, two, three times and then brought me to the first place he told me he loved me. He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

I said, “Yes.”

 

 

My Conversion to the Catholic Church

(You are reading)  Part One:  The Backdrop

 Part Two: A Dangerous Journey

Part Three:  Blessed be the Tie that Binds