I am a “cradle Catholic.” A cute term meaning that from the time I was born the sights, smells, sounds, and feelings of Catholic life, which seem very foreign to anyone not surrounded by the strange Catholic “stuff” from the moment of birth, are actually very familiar and homey to me. Oh and taste- definitely can’t forget about the tastes of Catholic life. Crucifixes, little statues of Saints, stained glass, beads and gold chalices; incense, new wax candles, musty books and Lilies in the spring; chant, repetitive (contemplative) prayer, old English, Latin phrases, priests who can’t keep a tune, and communal responses; grandeur, trust in something older and bigger, awe, sorrow and joy; yeastless bread and wine. Catholicism is sensual. I used to be embarrassed by all the unusual Catholic “stuff.” As a teenager I realized it was weird that our leaders wore medieval looking robes, weird that our prayers still used old English, weird that we had assigned times in worship to stand, kneel, even beat our breast. As I grew, however, the meaning within all this “weird” stuff is what ultimately kept me close to the almighty, all good, yet invisible God. Catholicism recognizes that all of creation points to God, our bodies matter, our worship brings the Holy into the most ordinary of things- most astonishingly bread and wine. We are standing on Holy Ground. Catholicism uses what God gave us- our bodies, food, art, colors, music, words, our physical world to remind us that God is present and all this “stuff” is Holy because He is holy.
My faith story begins in the womb since it was a pretty pivotal faith moment for my parents. My great grandmother, grandmother, great uncle and uncle had all died before I was born. Their death was sudden and unexpected- the aorta in their heart had grown so large that it burst-aortic dissection is the accurate term. My mom and aunt, still living, were diagnosed with a rare connective tissue disorder. Little was known about it. When my mom became pregnant with me, the first doctor told her it was likely that neither of us would survive the pregnancy, and therefore, she ought to have an abortion and, at least, save her own life. My mom spoke with some priests, prayed and, together with my dad, decided that my life was worth the risk to her own. She went home to be with family, friends and familiar doctors in California for the duration of the pregnancy. Many people prayed and gathered to support my parents and to do whatever they could to bring me into the world. Their prayers did bring me into the world and I was named Amy Lynn, meaning Beloved Life.
I don’t remember my Baptism, as I was an infant. However, with a few drops of water and my loved ones around I was welcomed into my spiritual family. Just as I had done nothing to merit my mom risking her life for mine, I had done nothing to earn the community of God that I was carried into. God’s love was always first. He loved me first. I believe I received a grace, a grace that I have nearly always felt and known God’s immense love for me. I have met so many others who seem to struggle constantly with wanting to be deserving of God’s love, with doubting God’s love for them. I don’t know why that is not my struggle, but all I can be is grateful. I remember having a thirst for God since I was young. When I would go to CCD (the old school Catholic equivalent to Sunday school but on a Wednesday) my peers would run out the door cheering that they were “finally” done with class. I always wanted to stay, I couldn’t wait until the next week. The seeds were planted here that would eventually become a Master’s in Theology. I felt a deep sense of peace and ‘rightness’ and also a yearning for more. I have memories of that Fisher Price tape player that has a microphone attached. I had a tape of Jesus songs and I played them over and over again. It filled me with such joy. My family and I would say prayers before bedtime together. I nearly always said the same thing…”for mom, dad, Joseph, me and Aunt Marian.” Reflecting on why I didn’t feel comfortable changing up my nighttime prayer, I think I felt such overwhelming love, it was just too much to vocalize my prayers any further, I didn’t know what might pour out.
I remember two moments as a child that stand out and have stuck with me into adulthood. I had a children’s Bible with pictures and short stories. I shared a room with my brother until I was I think 11, however, many nights I would just sleep in our loft in the very back of the house. This particular night I had been reading my children’s Bible until bedtime. I don’t remember why but I decided it would be fun to set an alarm clock and wake up really early and keep reading my Bible. I’m thinking I must have been maybe 9 years old. So, I went to sleep up in the loft-the farthest room, set my alarm clock and woke up before the sun. I groggily opened up my children’s Bible to my bookmark, the next story was Jesus and the Little Children. It’s the story where many people are trying to see Jesus, the apostles think they are helping by shooing away the children, but Jesus corrects them and tells them to “let the children come to me” (Matthew 19:14). I can remember a literal wave of delight surging through my whole body. I felt it physically overflowing my whole body with a feeling I couldn’t describe. I just remember the moment as never having a more clearer or definite awareness of God’s presence. I knew in a way stronger than I realized was possible that God was real and He loves me and was close to me.
The second moment was similar. I was given a child’s book about St. Therese of Lisieux. A saint who is known for her “little way” because she didn’t do anything big or dramatic for God at all. I finished the book and, once again, was filled with a warm certainty that God loves me and so does St. Therese. I really felt like she was a friend, like she had chosen me, and that she actually cared about my life. I didn’t understand any of her “theology” (or lack there of) at the time. I didn’t even know what it meant to follow her “little way.” I just understood that she loved God, loved me and if she could be a Saint, I too really desired to be a saint. I still believe St. Therese chose me, however, that’s not as special as that may sound. My great aunt who was a Carmelite nun told me, when I was able to visit her hermitage in my late 20’s, that “she’s everywhere, she wants to be a part of everything.” It’s true- you can’t go very far in the Catholic world without finding at least a few of her ‘followers.’ When St. Therese died, she promised to continue interceding for the world and she promised to send down a shower of roses. She has clearly done so. There is no reason for her fame, like I already mentioned, she literally did nothing great. There is no reason that she is as popular as she is, no reason that her statues are everywhere, no reason that anyone who has crossed paths with her just loves her. Yet, ask several Catholics the question: who was influential in guiding them to Jesus? Someone is bound to bring up St. Therese. She is working tirelessly from heaven, surely. I also believe, superstitious as it may sound, that she sent me roses several times in my life. My friendship with her has changed in various ways as I grew older. There were years I mostly forgot about her. There was even a time I felt quite irritated by her, but I’ll wait to share other stories of her guidance.
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