What I Love About Catholicism: Another Perspective on 'Coming Home' #Catholic

When I first started to inch my way back to the Catholic Church in 2007, I heard a phrase that was both charming and comforting. "Welcome home," many would say to those either converting to Catholicism or returning to the Church after being absent for years.

Welcome home.

"Home" has many connotations. The first definition, and probably most common, is the home one grew up in, a home with parents and siblings. Another definition is one's hometown. Thinking of "home" usually brings back good memories. I was blessed to have been raised in a good home, with two parents who loved my brother and I very much and provided both the material and emotional support a child needs. I have many fond memories of my upbringing.

After I grew up and moved out, returning home always gave me a sense of security and rooted me in what my parents instilled in me; which namely were traits such as self-sufficiency, resourcefulness, sharp reasoning skills, critical thinking, generosity, consideration, thoughtfulness, and relational skills. I have always thanked God for these gifts.

Recently, I've started to see that returning to the Catholic Church, a "coming home" experience, actually provides another perspective that I've not heard too often. It is a glimpse into our real home, for our true state of rest will not come in this life, but in heaven.

I thought of this recently as I attended Mass. I reflected on the amount of peace my soul experiences when I am at Mass. Just the other day, I thought, "Someday, we who love Jesus Christ and His Church will be in a place where there is no more weeping, no more sorrow, no dissension, no violence, no ugly words, no sin -- someday we will be in a place we were created to be in the first place, our true home with our heavenly Father and Creator."

Just imagine. Our world, growing more chaotic and dark by the minute, would be nothing more than a bad memory; if we remember it at all in heaven. All of the upheaval and unrest that the world is now experiencing would be gone. These sorts of topsy-turvey, fighting-for-the-flesh battles are not our calling. We as Christians are called to a higher plane, a spiritual place where we realize that we're not home yet, but someday will be.

This is what Mass has come to mean to me. It is not only a "coming home" time, but a preview of Things To Come. The peace and joy we feel when we gather together in unity to praise God, to thank Him for His blessings, to remember what the precious Body and Blood of His Son, Jesus Christ did to set us free from sin, and to partake of our Savior's Body and Blood so that life remains in us, is extraordinary and a miracle. Every Sunday, and even daily, we have the opportunity to experience a slice of heaven.

The Mass has become more and more my rock, my anchor, my support. When I attend it, indeed I feel like I am "home."

One morning, after seeing my husband off to work during the wee hours of the morning, I crawled back under the covers, but not until I re-made the bed, straightening the sheets and blankets. As I settled underneath the warm layers, I sighed with pleasure. A thought ran across my mind: order brings comfort.

I thought of how a child needs the rhythms and little rituals of a good home life. It provides that child a sense of security as they experience consistency and dependability in their world. Within the Catholic Church, the same can be said of our liturgy. It is consistent and has been for over 2,000 years. It is dependable, in spite of many kings and rulers attempting to destroy it. It provides comfort and strength to those with eyes to see and ears to hear. The liturgy, with it's rich order, brings comfort.

Some may kick against such order, preferring instead to worship in a freestyle method. Some may chafe against the liturgy, feeling as though it is cramped and doesn't allow individual expression. But no one can put a bridle on your soul. During Mass, entering the interior is difficult but very rewarding. Within ourselves, we can connect the dots of what is transpiring during the liturgy and connect with the Trinity. This does not require big screen TVs, professional worship bands, or liturgical dancing.

All that is required is the willingness to leave at the door the desire to be entertained and instead embrace a deeper spiritual drama that occurs within ourselves. And when we do click with what is happening, we experience home.

I am longing for my real home more and more. I hope to someday hear my Father say to me, "Well done, my good and faithful servant." Meanwhile, I think I have a ways to go in helping others get home, too.

I'm Thankful For... #tcot #sgp #Catholic

If you're wondering what's up with the hashtags above, I'll explain. When I post a new blog entry, I have it automatically posted to Twitter through TwitterFeed but I forgot to add the hashtags and haven't gotten around to editing my feed line. So, yes, I'm being a bit lazy but intend on fixing it soon. (really!)

But it's also a good way for me to express my thanks for each one of those hashtags.

#tcot is Top Conservatives On Twitter. Now I don't view myself as a "top conservative." The hashtag was started by someone else as a way to help group the "tweets" of conservatives so we could stay informed about conservative issues. I love that hashtag and especially get a kick out of all the liberals who had to admit that conservatives out-tweeted them on Twitter. And if you believe some reports that blogging has taken a backseat to "tweeting," that development is especially delicious.

I've learned so much while on Twitter and following the #tcot hashtag. Most of all, I learned I wasn't alone in my frustration. I learned there are many, many other people who are just as frustrated and they're doing something about it other than tweeting. They're getting together. They're marching. They're protesting. It was because of Twitter that I realized we could make a difference and we are.

It took me a little time to figure out what #sgp meant. It stands for "Smart Girl Politics." And what a bunch they are! The site was started by Teri one year ago and already has almost 13,000 members. Hot diggity! If that's not enough to excite you, think about their first convention that featured guest speakers such as Michelle Malkin! If I hook up with some SGPers here in Columbus, I just may attend the "Smart Girl's Summit" to be held in Washington, DC in September 2010. I think it's very exciting because we are witnessing "regular Americans" getting mobilized. Although I've been saddened by the ignorance and arrogance of some of our politicians, we can actually thank them for reminding us of our awesome Republic - and, who works for whom. A battle is looming that hasn't been seen for hundreds of years and the Smart Girls (and Smart Guys) are going to be in the thick of it.

Finally, last and certainly not least, is the #Catholic hashtag - which really is self-explanatory. Whenever I've used that hashtag, I've always been followed by some great Catholics on Twitter. It's also helped me find some good folks to follow, too. I have felt a beautiful kinship with my fellow Catholics on Twitter as I've talked about Mass or seen others mention important Catholic issues in the news. And any "trad" Twitter stream would be incomplete without following our beloved Fr. Zuhlsdorf!

It's all in fun, and also encouragement and education. This year has been another wonderful year with many new appreciative revelations regarding Catholicism. My newest: I did not realize that the high altar represented Jesus Christ. Something clicked in me when I read about it because it explained why I really disliked the concept of an altar being a "supper table." Something didn't seem right about that view. In fact, the altar is something I'll be writing about a little more but will say this: altars are for sacrificing. In Mosaic Law, the altar was where the animal was sacrificed by the high priest. It wasn't this "touchy-feely" spot where they enjoyed a cup of tea and a slice of bread with jam. Something very profound and significant happened when they were at the altar, with the animal that was slain. It was a very vivid reminder that God required the loss of something in order to gain something better.

Anyway... lots of good stuff and I know the Lord has more on the way! God bless you this Thanksgiving and I pray all of us will be with family and friends, giving thanks for the true blessings our heavenly Father has bestowed upon us. Deo Gratias!

What I Love About Catholicism: Respect

Maybe it all started when I was a young girl, genuflecting toward the altar before I entered the pew. Or maybe it was addressing our teachers as "Sister" or "Father." (or Mr., Miss, and Mrs. ) Or perhaps it was a combination of all those different acknowledgements toward that which was holier, more educated, or older and usually wiser. Catholics know how to treat others with respect.

I also think a focus on the "dignity of life" permeates a Catholic's heart. If a person is faced with God's truth of cherishing life, it's a good bet they won't abuse themselves or mistreat others.

Years ago, I tried to live in an urban neighborhood. This particular part of town was known for its crime and poverty. However, a few visionaries tried to transform the neighborhood by adding art galleries, hip restaurants, and a few trendy bars. Artists and writers were drawn to the Friday night "gallery crawls" and an eclectic coffeehouse offering open mic nights for poetry. Since I fell into the artist crowd, I thought it would be a pretty cool thing to make my home in the midst of it all.

It didn't take long for me to notice there was a turf war over the area. On one side stood those who had lived there for years. Even though the buildings were in disrepair and chaos often erupted in the streets, it was still their home. They looked at those creating the new businesses as interlopers. They just didn't belong.

On the other side were the up-and-coming creatives who loved the old buildings and wanted to restore them to their former glory. Urban living was becoming attractive to many who wanted to be near downtown and places like the symphony and ballet house.

I was so naive. I thought since I lived near other artists, we'd have some kind of instant community. This did not happen. (Because it's just so doggone uncool to be friendly...) And in time, I discovered it wasn't the adult long-time dwellers who intimidated me. It was the kids.

One weeknight, at around 2:00 AM, I awoke to the sounds of voices outside my window. In the apartment building courtyard, I heard swearing and more noise. As I peeked out of my window, I expected to see a few older teens making a racket. Instead, I was saddened and stunned to see two small boys around the ages of nine or ten years old. Why were they out so late? Wasn't it a school night? Didn't anyone care where they were?

I ended up calling the police who arrived and escorted the young boys out the front door. (Officer: What are you guys doing here, anyway? Do you live here? Boy: No, we don't live here, but the door was open!")

After that episode, I pondered the issue of respect. Obviously, these young boys weren't taught to respect themselves because if they were, they would have naturally respected someone's property that was not their own. So much of society's ills is the direct result of people not respecting themselves and others. Jesus had an excellent point when He said, "Love your neighbor as yourself." He knew if we truly loved ourselves, it would follow that we'd treat our neighbors well.

When priests and nuns started to wear "street clothes," I felt a sense of loss. First, I do believe that religious clothing is a witness to the world. There is a difference between the sacred and the worldly. But I also felt that it diminished the respect usually given to those who had surrendered all in order to devote their entire life to Christ. Could it be that the vestments worn by our priests, bishops, archbishops, and cardinals are a way of maintaining respect?

I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me if I had not been raised Catholic. Would I have given in to the gravitational pull of the culture, compromising any thought or pattern of morality? Would I have absorbed relativism like a sponge, insisting that it really didn't make a difference whether I was a thief or a liar?

It is only by the grace of God that He placed me on a solid path from the very start. Sure, I wandered. But somehow I knew the right direction that would get me home.

God is so very, very, very, very, very, very good.

Tonight's "Coming Home" Program - The Sanctuary, etc.

I'm starting to feel like a fish out of water in this group. Most of the lay leaders involved are progressive. They're also between the ages of 50-65. So we often hear "Back in our day, we weren't allowed to do this..." or "It used to be the priest didn't face the congregation at all, so it was like he was up there doing his thing and we just watched."

Sigh.

The leader tonight pointed out that after Vatican II, most church buildings had the pews arranged in a fan formation, around the altar area. This seemed to be much preferable in everyone's eyes versus the "old" way of having the church be one long rectangle with a few wings to the side to create a visual cross.

The parish that is sponsoring this program has a modern sanctuary. I can't help it. Modern tabernacles leave me cold. (For the one on the left - I have no idea where it is.)








Is there any way a modernist cube could evoke the majesty and splendor of our God? Now church buildings like this, take my breath away:












I much prefer the "old" style. Why? Because everyone is facing the altar. The tabernacle is right there, calling to us.

I know it's an issue of preference, but to me, the whole "fan" idea just invites distraction. Instead of looking at the altar and being unified in our hearts toward Jesus Christ, our eyes inevitably drift toward the late-comers or the young mother leaving with her child. I loved the Latin Mass because the priest was facing the tabernacle. I felt more connected to him as he performed the rite. I felt as though he was truly leading us, his congregation.

I find it slightly amusing that I feel like a radical. Somehow, I found all these blogs online that celebrate gorgeous church architecture, the Extraordinary Form of the liturgy, Gregorian Chants and sacred song. I don't know how it happened (I think it started with The Curt Jester's blog but I can't remember how I found him.) but it did. Now my days are filled with listening to Ave Maria Radio, praying the rosary with Mother Angelica and her sisters, visiting Fr. Z's site and loving all the other blogs I'm starting to discover.

For the most part, they're all leaning toward orthodoxy and I just love it.

My First Latin Mass

Okay. I loved it.

I attended my first Latin Mass today. I was looking forward to this all week, especially after my "Coming Home" session on Thursday that made me long for something substantial. Well, I got substantial, alright. Grade A Prime Beef. Yessireebob.

As soon as I walked in and saw many women wearing veils on their heads, I knew I was in a good place. I was with people who take the Mass seriously. It isn't rote for them. It isn't a drudgery. It's desirable, it's vital. It's life.

I was surprised by how many younger women wore a head covering. My husband and I had a discussion years ago about this practice. He used to attend a strict Church of Christ where all the women wore head coverings. I told him I wasn't sure if I could ever do that. One Sunday, I attended a non-denominational service with a colorful scarf on my head, just to see how it felt. Of course no one else was wearing any type of head covering. I felt kind of silly. That was it for me.

Or so I thought.

This morning, piety had a new face. It no longer was the sole ownership of elderly women who shuffled slowly to a pew. No, piety wore the face of a young woman, head bent down as she followed the service in the Roman Catholic Daily Missal with her husband. Piety was with the young mother with a black lace mantilla as she draped her arm around her young four-year old daughter, who wore an adorable straw hat. Piety was with the young man who sat behind me, kneeling in prayer after the service was finished.

This hunger, this desire to cross the barren land of secularism into the holy was what moved me to tears. The words were unknown to me but the heart cry was unmistakable. The chimes, the incense, the choir's voice in unity, spiraling toward heaven were used by God to remind me that this is a journey and I'm surrounded by the sublime microcosm of His eternal love. There is nothing too small that cannot be offered up to Him. And it is not ritual for the sake of ritual. All of it has meaning. I know this like I know the back of my hand. I may not completely understand the meaning, yet - but I know it is there.

I spoke with the priest afterward and shared with him that it was my first experience of a Latin Mass. He was a joy to meet, all smiles and obviously very much in love with what he does. This is what I enjoy - meeting priests who love what they do. Their desire opens doors for those of us still trying to figure things out.

I also shared with him what Pope Benedict had to say about church buildings with stained glass windows. Here is the full text:

I would like to draw your attention to a few aspects of this beautiful structure which I think can serve as a starting point for a reflection on our particular vocations within the unity of the Mystical Body.

The first has to do with the stained glass windows, which flood the interior with mystic light. From the outside, those windows are dark, heavy, even dreary. But once one enters the church, they suddenly come alive; reflecting the light passing through them, they reveal all their splendor. Many writers – here in America we can think of Nathaniel Hawthorne – have used the image of stained glass to illustrate the mystery of the Church herself. It is only from the inside, from the experience of faith and ecclesial life, that we see the Church as she truly is: flooded with grace, resplendent in beauty, adorned by the manifold gifts of the Spirit. It follows that we, who live the life of grace within the Church’s communion, are called to draw all people into this mystery of light.

(Pope Benedict XVI Sermon at St. Patrick's Cathedral)

The parish nearest to me is unfortunately the owner of one very ugly brick and mortar building. There is nothing grand about it. I do not feel challenged when I am there nor uplifted. They have three graphic windows that is simply modern designs of color and shape. There are no saints or angels or anything that I associate with aspiring toward heaven. I need this. I need imagery and ritual to shake off the sludge of the world and awaken my soul. I'll take this old church with the creaking wooden floor any day over some sterile, "modern" structure.

I think I found my church. :-)

This Made Me Freakin' Cry

I found an amazing website through "The Crescat" blog:

Catholics Come Home

Okay. The guy who "welcomes" visitors to the page is entirely too handsome, but aside from that - what genius! Very easy to navigate and the "commercials" just blew me away. It was the "Movie" one that made me cry - and convicted me.

Scroll down to see the new commercials.

Coming Home Program & Thoughts

Last night was good. We have six people in the group, all coming back to the Catholic faith for various reasons. I was the most excited, of course. Since we agreed that what we spoke about was confidential, I can't name specifics. But I am very happy to be in a place where it's okay to ask questions and admit you're unsure about the Church's teachings on a specific issue.

I think the issue I most struggle with is the whole thing with Mary. I left the Catholic church when I was 20. I had joined an Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship group in college and one of the leaders challenged me in my faith.

Although I was raised Catholic, I never made a real connection that Jesus Christ truly died for my sins and that it was a personal call to me to admit I was a sinner and ask for His forgiveness that was freely offered. And so I found myself having dinner with the leader one night and afterward, praying the "Sinner's Prayer." A raging fire was lit within my soul that was further flamed by all of the wonderful books I found on the Christian life.

In the midst of the Evangelical training I was receiving, I developed a strong suspicion toward anything that looked like Marian worship. I am still unsure how to reconcile my belief that Mary was not born without sin and was not conceived in some special way.

I do agree that many Protestants don't think of Mary enough. Non-denoms do it even less. I also am believing more in God's holiness being imparted and if He chose Mary as the vessel to carry the Word Made Flesh into the world, wouldn't she be sanctified also in a very unique way?

If anyone who has an understanding of Marian theology is reading this - pray that I somehow get it. I want to "get it" if there is something I'm missing. I'm just not fully seeing the picture at this point.

Okay. So I'm Manic.

I swear I'm like a cocaine addict in the middle of a Hollywood party. I can't get enough of these blogs and I know doggone well I have other things I should be doing but at least my taxes are done.

I'm just totally blown away by the blogs. Here are a few things I'm noticing:

1) Ornate photographs showing priestly robes is in.
2) Photographs of nuns and priests are in.
3) The Latin "Ora Pro Nobis" (Pray For Us) underneath a photo of a saint is in.
4) Poking fun at ugly modern church architecture is in.
5) Celebrating the Catholic faith is in.

At the risk of sounding all "when-I-was-your-age" sentimental, I am amazed by the humor, insight, and devotion these bloggers have toward being Catholic and loving (almost) all things Catholic.

Yes, I was not brought up on the internet. So I'll just get that out of the way. However, I do consider myself a lite Geek with a few self-created websites under my belt. I love how the web has linked so many people together. I know I've met my fair share on political and religious blogs and the frequent arts/creative-type online communities.

That last word is key for me right now. I am pretty isolated right now in my journey, which is why the blogs are luring me left and right. But tonight I hope to meet others who are in the same boat. I'm attending a "Coming Home" series for Catholics who are thinking of returning to their faith.

Well, I've already returned, really. I can just see me tonight (jumping around in my seat) - "Yes, I've 'come home' a few weeks ago, been praying the rosary, studying the catechism again, and I already have a blog about it!"

Can anyone say "Type A" personality?

"Come As You Are"

I remember years ago, when I was involved with a non-denominational church, embracing fully their welcoming motto: Come As You Are.

I remember the underlying thoughts behind that phrase. Come as you are, dressed casually in your torn jeans and Depeche Mode t-shirt. Come as you are and be unafraid of any talk of damnation or sin. Come as you are and be comfortable with the popular and talented worship team, the small groups of sci-fi geeks and serious cyclists, the big screen TV's lighting up an impersonal huge auditorium. Settle in for an intelligent discussion of faith and hey! Don't forget to bring your customized cup o' joe in here with you!

Is it just me or have we lost an appreciation for the sacred? Or perhaps lost an appreciation for "scared?"

I remember a class at a Presbyterian church where we watched the video series by R.C. Sprouls called "The Holiness of God." It was scary. God in all His Might and Power. Confronting us. Challenging us. Humbling us. Yep. Scary.

I don't think we're being scared by the right things. I've heard plenty about terrorists and the vile, brutal acts they perpetrate upon society, but what about our Holy God? His Son? The Seraphim? When the Holiness of God is touched, people die. When the Holiness of God passes by, the body can turn to stone. When the Holiness of God comes, the "you are" is left shaking in its boots.

I am filled with joy and not a little terror by the thoughts of where I am being led on my journey. I know I hunger for God once again but this time, it isn't an attempt to bring Him down to my level, but to be lifted up to His.

And that, I know, will be an awesome, terror/joy-filled experience indeed.

Amazing Mary, Full of Grace

It was Thursday, March 6 when I heard the news that my sister-in-law's father had passed away. My prayers were immediately with her, knowing the pain and sorrow she was feeling since my own mother had passed away a year ago. I headed to a store to buy a condolence card, not sure if I was going to be able to make the two-hour drive in for the funeral, especially with a large snow storm heading in our direction. But I wanted her to know I was thinking of her.

On Friday, March 7, a door opened. I didn't know a door was opening at that moment; which is usually the case when something that we don't understand is born anew in our life. It is only in reflection that we realize with surprise, Oh, that's when it began...

On Friday, March 7, 2008, I prayed the Rosary for the first time in almost thirty years.

When I look at it, I can attribute it to nothing less than the grace of God. I remembered sitting at my desk with this overwhelming need to pray the Rosary for my sister-in-law and just being stunned. Stunned. Why am I feeling impressed to pray through a bunch of beads repetitively when I had renounced such a ritual back when I was 20? Why was I feeling this urge when I had decided that such rituals were close to idolatry decades ago?

All I knew at that moment was that I felt I should do it. I felt "prompted by the Spirit" as some of my Christian brothers and sisters would say. And aside from the fact that some may question the validity of praying the Rosary, the bottom line was that I was feeling prompted and my spirit knew better than to ignore it. And that was how I ended up kneeling at the bed, holding the rose-scented beads of a rosary given to my mother from her niece who brought them back from the Vatican; murmuring the ancient prayers.

I will honestly tell you that although I was praying the Rosary, I wasn't involved with it wholeheartedly. I was praying with a "I-hope-this-is-actually-accomplishing-something" attitude. I was uncertain, full of both doubt and incredulity. How on earth did a woman who had led so many Bible studies within a non-denominational church and involved in so many ministries, come to this?

She came to it by grace. She came to it by trust.

After I prayed it, I felt as though I had obeyed something but not quite comprehending what it could be.

Not too long after that, I received a call from one of my first cousins, who is just incredibly smart but incredibly full of anxiety. Much too much for her age. After talking to her, I ended up doing an internet search for Catholic sites that could help her. Now mind you, at this time I was in the midst of my own private resistence against the pull toward coming home. Still, I found a few good sites that I thought would encourage her and sent them on. Then I felt it again, a prompting to pray the Rosary for my cousin. This time, I went to a local parish and entered the sanctuary. I pulled down the kneeler and began to pray.

I was surprised at how quickly praying the Rosary went for me. It felt good after I finished. The silence of the church seemed to affirm that what was done, was done. Prayers had been heard. Petitions granted. Strength and courage released.

This was the beginning of my praying the Rosary, which I am now doing almost everyday. We have a radio station in town that broadcasts Mother Angelica praying the Rosary with her sisters from 7:30-8:00 AM. Before, my mornings were rather meandering and unorganized. Now I get up easily and look forward to starting my day with prayer. I am still uncertain of where my spirit is in this whole process, but I am trusting that God has led me here and given me the grace to pray something that my mind does not fully understand.

And I'm starting to suspect more and more, that the Virgin Mary is behind all of it. :-)

Here I Go...

Well, now. I will first say that I need another blog like Britney needs another haircut, but yet I'm here. Stunned, but here all the same.

As I recently said to my very devoutly Catholic father, "I feel like I'm being slammed by a spiritual tsunami." I'm not kidding.

Quick info about me: I was born and raised Catholic, attended Catholic schools, an all-girl's Catholic high school and a Catholic university for two years before transferring to a larger secular college. It was at the latter when I discovered inter-denominational groups and decided that Rome had fallen short in my oh-so-wise 20 yr. old eyes and I wanted "something more." I made a quick turn to a Presbyterian church, a sidestep into a Conservative Baptist church, and then a casual stroll into the Vineyard Christian Fellowship where I spent years in various ministries and serving on a church-planting team. I dallied with the thought of becoming a missionary but when the Presbyterian church said I had "potential" but wasn't ready yet, I promptly threw a spiritual tantrum and pouted for about two years before finally moving on. The Presbyterian church was right. I didn't belong in some Papua New Guinea jungle and really - did I truly think I could be satisfied with socializing (ahem...fellowshipping) with just one person for four or five years?

Gimme a break says my inner Italian.

Bottom line: I spent 25 years away from the RC Church. I married a very good man a little over six years ago. My first marriage. His second. And yes, you guessed right. Of course he isn't Catholic. (Why simplify my life...well, ever?) He was a Church of Christ minister for many years and I had lovely visions of finding a good church and ministering together. After about five years of waiting for him to want to go somewhere, anywhere - I tried on different churches like prom dresses. I felt exhausted. The Vineyard didn't fit anymore. Nor did any other church I visited.

My dear mother, who absolutely corkscrewed her lovely modified beehive into the ceiling the day I announced I was leaving the Catholic church in 1982; passed away in March 2007. This caused quite a bit of emotional upheaval in my life, not the least of which was the beginning of such spiritual longing that it propelled me straight into the arms of Rome. But I didn't want Rome. No...no...I thought. Not that cold and impersonal institution that had no idea how to carry a tune. Please! Not that!

I have fought this for a year now. I started to attend Mass last year in tiny droplets. A Sunday here. Drip. Another Sunday a few months later. Drip. And then finally, this year, during Lent - I attended Palm Sunday. The following week, I attended Easter Sunday. I felt slightly saddened that my husband had no interest at all but it wasn't a total surprise. For the past five years, he never seemed interested in celebrating this most holy of seasons with me. But I couldn't wait anymore. Something was calling me and I knew enough from my spiritual history that it wasn't AT&T. God was calling me home.

Before Palm Sunday, my brother's wife lost her father to cancer. For some bizarre reason, I felt impressed to pray the Rosary for her. I had no idea why it was the Rosary. I hadn't prayed the Rosary for decades, and yet I couldn't resist. And so I knelt by the bed and prayed. A few days later, I spoke with one of my cousins, a vivacious twenty-something who worries far too much about life for her age, and again - an impression upon my spirit to pray the Rosary. So I did.

I prayed the Rosary four times last week and once today. I find this all so strange because after all my Evangelical and Charismatic training - I haven't taken the Rosary seriously. But somehow, I know I'm to comply with this inner insistence to pray it.

There is so much I'm trying to absorb. I'll be attending a special "Coming Home" program for prodigals such as me. I'm discovering there are "liberal" and "conservative" Catholics. It's as though I'm being introduced to a new game but not sure which team I belong to yet. I do know what has drawn me back to the Church are the Sacraments. And of course I had to complicate matters by marrying outside of the church, but I'm working on it.

This blog will be the most personal I've authored yet. It is going to be about my journey back to the Catholic Church, and loving her once again - warts and all. Because I know that deep down, she has always been there for me, warts and all.

She just was waiting until I ran out of food and shelter.