I used to not believe in God. Or rather, I used to choose to not believe in God. I knew that believing in God meant getting up early to go to Church and a bunch of other “rules” I had no interest in following.
I used to be friends with people who also had no interest in following God’s rules. They were in love with sin. People who commit sin frequently don’t have the time or desire to learn about God. They are so tricked into thinking they are living the good life that they think the hole they feel—and every person without God feels that deep, black hole whether they admit it or not—needs to be filled with more sin.
I was raised with no faith. My parents, who divorced when I was five, were both Christian, but didn’t belong to a parish or congregation. Despite this, they did teach me some basics of Christianity. I knew there was a very important man named Jesus, though I did not know he was God. I knew some Bible stories as well-Adam and Eve, Noah’s Ark-but I did not understand their significance. So I grew up not knowing God nor caring to. Basically I thought God was something people made up to make themselves not so afraid of dying.
One of my friends during junior college, Cheryl, was raised Catholic but didn’t practice her faith. We worked at the same restaurant for years and became good friends. Every summer we would have a blast. During the days you could find us inner tubing down the American River and at night waitressing at Leatherby’s, a local restaurant, or line dancing in a country bar.
The Leatherbys were a good Catholic family. I was friendly with them, but I knew nothing about their faith. In fact, I found out about it when a customer asked me, because the Leatherbys had so many kids, if they were Mormon. “I don’t know,” I said.
I asked Jennifer the owner, “Is your family Mormon?”
She responded with a laugh. “No, we’re Catholic,” she said. Okay, I thought. So? I had never heard the word.
One summer Cheryl began to change. She started going to the Leatherby’s on Sunday nights to “pray a rosary”-whatever that was. She also started mentioning the things she was reading about, things like purgatory and confession. I listened politely, but I didn’t think those things were for me. God needed to push me a little harder.
As Cheryl’s life began to look up, mine plummeted. I was living a lie and was so deep in sin it is a miracle that I was rescued. One day after working all day with Jennifer, she invited me over for dinner. I accepted readily and told her I would drive us to her house after work.
Late that afternoon as we got in my car, Jennifer told me, “Sarah, I would like to go to this thing. It’s called daily Mass, and it’s at a nearby church. You can just drop me off and go on to the house. It only takes about a half an hour. Have one of my kids pick me up.”
Church, I thought. Well, my life is not looking so good right now . . . “It only lasts a half an hour?” I heard myself saying. “I’ll go with you. Maybe it will do me some good.”
Having been raised with no faith, I had no idea what to expect. I walked into the church, St Ignatius, feeling like a kindergartner entering college. I laughed a little inside at all the funny things I saw people doing. When we walked in, Jennifer and others dipped their fingers into a huge marble bowl of water and then touched themselves with it. I thought, Should I dip too? What’s it for? What are they doing?
As we took our place in the pew, Jennifer and others kneeled and prayed before sitting. Hmm. Next a man came out dressed in a long robe, and we all stood up. This was too much. I respected these people because I knew all this was important to them, but I couldn’t help thinking how weird all this was. I found myself internally mocking the people around me as they would stand up, sit down, stand up, kneel; the man in the robe would talk to them, and they would talk back.
I liked the part when the man gave a little talk. I still remember it: He talked about generosity and how when we give something it is best to keep quiet about it instead of going around boasting about our good deed. The talk ended, and the man started doing something with some gold vessels. The people kept responding to things he said and kept kneeling and standing. Feeling awkward and out of place, I started examining the artwork.
The small church comprised a plain brick-walled room with some small stained glass windows. At the front was a small hanging image of the risen Lord with a red background. I sat there just looking at him for a while. He looked plain-fully clothed, no bleeding-but there was something about him. Something familiar and real.
All of a sudden I felt his powerful gaze upon me. There was no escaping him-not in my mind, not anywhere. There, in one miraculous instant, I knew: I knew God was real. I knew Jesus was real. I knew he was a real man who was still alive somehow. I knew that church I was sitting in was real and true. I knew this service—the Mass—had some kind of deep truth. I knew the man in robes was special and that his words and actions spoke truth. I do not know how I knew all these things; just all of a sudden, I knew.
In that moment God snatched my attention and flooded my soul with mercy and grace. A moment had come when I was quiet and totally off guard. God in his all-knowing power saw that moment and completely changed my soul. Of all that was revealed to me, one thing stuck out the most: I knew I had to change my life.
Quietly and unexpectedly, I burst into tears. Jennifer patted my hand and said, smiling, “That’s real good, Sarah.” I fell silent and turned within myself, knowing my poor life had been a lie and that I needed to change it.
I was overwhelmed with new feelings and light. God revealed to me that he is real and true and that only in him is there life and happiness. After Mass we went to Jennifer’s house, and both of us kept quiet about the whole thing. I felt as vulnerable as a baby.
The next Sunday found me at the Leatherby’s praying my first rosary. Jennifer’s 20-year-old son, Jeremy, and 22-year-old daughter, Kimberly, explained to me that the rosary was a meditation on the life of Jesus. They told me as we said the prayers I should try to think about the mysteries that would be announced.
I got the hang of it quickly and was happy to meditate on the Annunciation-baby Jesus inside Mary-and then the Visitation, baby Jesus playing with his cousin John, who leapt for joy. When Kimberly announced the next mystery, the birth of Jesus, I chuckled at myself-I hadn’t known in the previous mystery that Jesus and John hadn’t been born yet. Our Lady filled me with such peace that night. I had never felt the peace of God before. I snuggled into that peace and wanted to remain there forever.
Once I was bundled up close to Our Lady’s heart, there was no turning back to my sinful life. By the end of that summer I learned about God’s “rules” that I had once considered with disdain and began obeying them devoutly. I learned they were not rules at all but invitations to get closer to God the Father and to heaven and to become the person I was created to be. I turned my back so completely on sin that I left behind my entire old life, including most of my “friends.”
By fall I was going to daily Mass, although I could not receive Communion (which made my soul ache). I enrolled in RCIA classes and read as much Catholic material I could. God had given me a second chance, and I swept it up gratefully. My eyes were opened, my whole being was turned facing God, and life was new again. I saw everything differently—the posters in the grocery store that said “Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” the trees outside, even things I had not paid attention to, like the pregnant women contemplating abortion. New beauty and new sorrows.
That Easter, April 1999, I was baptized, received first confession, First Communion, and confirmation all in one night. I stood up in front of the whole church and beamed with joy.
The following spring I attended Franciscan University of Steubenville, Ohio, on the recommendation of my new godparents, Kimberly and Jeremy Leatherby. “You’ll love it. It’s Sarahland,” Kimberly had told me. I called her my first night of orientation and said, “You’re right! It is Sarahland!”
There at Steubenville I discerned my vocation and learned more about who I was. I loved Jesus so much that being his bride as a nun seemed very good to me-time to pray, work for him, shut myself off from the rest of the world. But deeper down was a great love for what seemed to me to be the harder path: marriage, being a mother and wife.
Once again our Lady showed me the way. At Steubenville I met many holy people, people who loved God so much that they were like little lights to me, and I just wanted to follow them around. One such person was a young man whom God revealed to me to be my husband. Timothy and I were married in July 2001, and now we are walking hand in hand toward heaven.