November 2017

          A little over ten years ago, through a series of events that seemed completely coincidental to me at the time, I decided to go on a weekend retreat at a Catholic retreat house in New Orleans.  I was a cradle Catholic and had always attended Sunday mass, but I did so more out of habit and enculturation than piety.  At the time, my late husband and I had three school-age children and life was typically hectic; the allure of a quiet weekend drew me in and I made the decision to attend the retreat.
          Throughout the retreat weekend, the presenting priest gave a series of talks to the smallish group of attendees; each talk was followed by a period of quiet reflection.  He spoke of God’s love for us individually, of how Jesus willingly and obediently endured crucifixion and death so that I might have eternal life with Him, and of the graces and gifts that are available to me through the Holy Spirit and the sacraments so that I can live in a way that is responsive to His sacrifice.  All these were words that I’d heard before throughout my life, but for some reason they got my attention this time.  At some point during the retreat, I was invited to allow the priest to pray with me to seek a new activation in my life of the Holy Spirit’s gifts that I had received in Baptism and Confirmation.  The talks moved me and I made a heartfelt prayer to be more open to any gifts of the Holy Spirit that God might want me to have. I went to bed that evening feeling rather dejected, as if the talks and time for reflection had made me aware of a hole, of something missing from my life, that I had not been aware of before.
          Then something really unusual happened.  As soon as I opened my eyes the next morning, I had a strong desire to read scripture.  This had NEVER happened before; indeed, the only Bible I owned at the time was a huge, decorative, white leather-bound book that we received as a wedding present and kept safely on a shelf in a cabinet.  Fortunately, the retreat house furnished a Bible in each bedroom.  Recalling that the presenter of the retreat had mentioned the gospel of Mark as a good starting place to read scripture, I read that short book.
          It was Sunday and I eagerly joined my family for mass and returned home.  As the day proceeded, I became aware of an evolving change within myself; I lack the words to adequately describe it.  I felt as if love were growing within me and filling me to capacity.  I suddenly understood, in a way I never had, the things that I’d heard through so many years of Catholic education and mass attendance.  I knew, in the same way that I know my name, that Jesus loved me and died for me and left me His Spirit to guide me in my life.  Rather than just knowing about Jesus, I knew Jesus. And that changed everything.
          The most immediate identifiable differences were a hunger for scripture and a new, deep appreciation for my Catholic faith, mass, and the sacraments.  Over time, as I indulged my desire to learn more about the spiritual life, began a routine of daily prayer with scripture, and frequented the sacraments, I noticed more subtle changes.  I began to recognize God’s presence in my life and to see things differently. My growing understanding of my own sinfulness began to make me less judgmental and critical and more humble, forgiving and compassionate.  And all of that paved the way for an interior peace and joy.
          God certainly knew what he was doing when he brought me to that first encounter with Jesus and gave me the desire and grace to persevere to know Him more.  Several years after that initial retreat weekend, I experienced a season of trial and loss in my life.  Even while my “boat” was tossed in stormy seas, I knew that Jesus was with me in the boat—even if it sometimes seemed that He was sleeping.  I cannot imagine what my life would be like right now if I did not have a relationship with Him that gives me this confidence.
          I am forever grateful to God that he sort of “nagged” me into attending that retreat years ago.  My only regret is that I didn’t accept His invitation sooner.