Losing my religion.

When I was little, I wanted to be a nun.  Funny now, but I was completely serious back then.  I loved the Church.  I loved the nuns.  I love seeing the priests in the rectory.  I just loved it.

I spent some time with the nuns in the convent.  I don't remember why.  I think it was while my mother was teaching religious instruction.  Mom, can you let me know?

Anyway!  They were so nice to me and their lives seemed so calm.  They played Hi-Ho Cherry-O with me and I felt like the luckiest girl ever.  It was always so quiet there and I craved the noiseless interaction.  It was Heaven (no pun intended).

As I got older, I didn't spend time there, anymore.  I played in the yard behind them, but I didn't go inside.  I missed them.  I missed feeling so close to God.

It was around that time that I started preparing for my First Holy Communion.  A huge deal in the Catholic Church and I was so proud and so excited for it!  Finally I would be able to receive communion and be an active part in the Church. 

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My grandmother (with whom I was very close) lived across the street on the side of the church.  I spent a lot of time there with her and, therefore, at the church itself.

There was a statue of Mary (the Holy Mother) outside the church.  She was behind a fence and sometimes had a crown of roses on her head.  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I would sit on the sidewalk in front of the fence and talk to her.  I prayed that I would be good and show love to the world.  I prayed that my mother and sister would be happy.  I prayed that the world would be peaceful and happy, too.  I also prayed for my grandmother to live forever.  I loved her so very much.

There were many tears.  I felt love from her, even though she was not here physically and it was just a statue.  She was IN me.  My faith was so very strong.

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I often went to church by myself.  I had Sunday school in the morning, and would go to mass afterward.

EVERYTHING about those masses and the church itself was amazing to me and so, so HOLY.  The pews.  The stained glass.  The statues.  Jesus on the cross.  The stations of the cross.  The organ.  Just everything.  I love it all and I felt so loved there.  I would light candles to honor my father. I loved the silence and the peace.  It's almost overwhelming to me now to remember it.

When we went back to NY last August, I took my girls to my childhood church.  As so many are now, it was locked.  Luckily, the caretaker was nearby and let us in.  As soon as I walked in, I was assaulted with memories of my youth and my faith. 

I walked around a little and told the girls some information about the church and then I settled in the front pew.  I talked to God and I prayed.  I asked forgiveness for my (many) sins.  And I CRIED.  Not tears of sadness, but tears you feel when you have come HOME.  Tears of love and joy and PEACE.  It was one of the most beautiful days of my life.

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When I was preparing for my Confirmation, We were brought into the church during a regular day and told to write our fears on a piece of paper.  I don't remember what I wrote (most likely my mother dying), but I wrote it down and folded the paper as small as I could, crying the whole time.

The priest put all of our secrets in a big urn and lit them on fire.  We watched the ashes rise up out of it and he told us, "God is taking your fears on Himself.  You no longer have to have fear, for he will suffer it for you."

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard and, I think, the first moment that I ever TRULY understood what it meant to be a child of God.  He was sacrificing for us, and it was amazing.


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As I got older and became an angsty teen, I started pulling away from the church and God.  What God would let my father die when I was still growing in my mother's stomach?  What God would allow horrible things to happen to those I love? What God would let people beat my uncle and destroy his belongings for who he loved?

I didn't understand.  I was angry and sad and confused.

I spent years being angry.  So, so angry.

And what I realized about that anger, was that I had lost hope.  I didn't care about anything.  I didn't think things would ever get better.  I was miserable and angry and did so many things wrong.  To myself AND to others.

It was a bad time.

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It took years, but I eventually got my love for God and the church back.  Yes, my father had died and I had never met him, but God also had my Uncle Joe there to take over and treat us as his own.  We were given a father in my uncle.  He loved us as his children and he took care of my mother and made sure we were loved.  I had the opportunity to become close to him in a way which I never would have before.  I didn't have MY father, but I absolutely had A father.  I don't THINK I missed out.  At least, I don't feel that I did.

And yes, Uncle Joe was vilified and hurt and beaten down because he was gay.  But he also kept love in his heart and gave it out to us and his friends without hesitation.  He loved in a completely unique way.  Would he have loved differently?  I don't know.  But he loved completely.  There were no conditions to his love and we knew it.  He was also able to teach me and my sister how to be who we were without fear.  It's a huge lesson to learn.  We were so lucky.

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So my faith was back.

I had (have!) faith that God is real.  I have faith that things will not always work out the way we want, and we will certainly suffer sometimes, and we will question and cry and rail against the world.  We will often find ourselves crying out, "Why me???"

I do all of those things.

But what always brings me back is my faith.  What gets me through my darkest hours is faith.  I have faith that it will pass (and I didn't always...I attempted suicide twice because I had no faith).  I have faith that things will be as they should for me.  I was never promised perfection, but I was promised free will.  What I do with it is my own.

Because I have been given free will, I also understand that we all have been given it.  People (even the horrible ones) have been given free will.  They do with it what they choose.  This is why the world is sometimes not so great.  Free will can create awful things.

It's a gift, though.  Being given free will is allowing us all to make choices - good or bad.  We have that choice, though.  It sucks sometimes.  It is heartbreaking sometimes.  It can be deadly.

But it is ours.

Once I learned that and truly believed it, my life changed.  A calmness settled inside me.  My faith had been completely restored and it brings me peace when I truly need it.


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I don't want this to come across as me proselytizing.  I am not trying to convert or convince.  Catholics really don't do that. ;)  I do not care what you believe or do not believe.  I know that I will love others as they need to be loved and that is because of my faith.  I would be lost without it.

And full disclosure:  I am divorced, I live in sin, my children were born out of wedlock, I curse and sometimes take the Lord's name in vain, I do not attend church, and I do not pray daily.  I am so not perfect, but I don't think that's what it's about.  I think it's about being true to yourself in the only way you can be.

I know that I am loved.  I know that I will see Heaven one day (whether I ask for forgiveness or not).  I know that everyone will be there (Catholic, Christian, Jewish, Muslim).  I don't think Heaven is only for those who believe.  I think it is for everyone who wants love and I am pretty sure we all do.

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So, for anyone reading this, I KNOW.  I know love.  I know God.  I know that I am imperfect and often a hypocrite.  I know that my friends believe things vastly different than I do.

I also know that we are all love.  We are all here.  We all have free will.  We will all suffer and feel pain and sometimes feel angry.

We are human.  I have complete faith in that.


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Fun fact!   I was born on August 15th, which is the Feast of the Assumption - the day Mary was assumed into Heaven.  It was meant to be. <3 p="">

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