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petrus shared his in this thread:

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[quote name='avemaria40' post='1026626' date='Jul 18 2006, 07:08 AM']
Everyone's stories are awesome:)
I think yours is really cool.

I am a cradle Catholic, so I don't really have a conversion story, although I did become much more interested in my faith due to my 7th grade teacher, Sr. Helen. She was a sweet heart. I'd been going through a rather rough time (as do most adolescents) and she was the one who showed me that I was a lovable person, which was sort of a new idea to me. I mean, my parents loved me, but they "had to." I didn't have many friends, so someone loving me, wanting me to be around, was a big deal. She was the most religious person I'd come across in my years in Catholic grade school, making religion the priority. She prayed before every class, had us read the gospel every morning and had us pray at the end of the day, too. She died the next summer, but I'd been writing to her, so her sister gave me her Bible. I clung to everything I'd learned from her. Then, I went to highschool, which was a Catholic highschool, but barely. I made friends with a guy who was very Catholic, too, and we commiserated together about the shambles that the religion dept there was in. I attended WYD in Toronto that summer, and got completely into being Catholic. In the process, I drew in my parents, who had been trying to be good Catholics, but had never been very well catechized themselves, growing up right after Vatican II. I also became more defensive of my faith, more demanding that we be catechized properly. I really wish I were braver, though, many times, and more willing to stand up for it. I did try in highschool, though. It didn't go so well, though, since the head of the religion dept is the ringleader of the watered-down, borderline heretical teaching. When JPII died, and Benedict XVI was elected, there were a lot of things that were being said that shouldn't have been at school. I had enough and wrote to the Bishop, and actually told off one of my teachers, telling her that if she said one more word against the Pope, I would walk out and I wouldn't go back into her classroom, ever. She did stop. I am now trying to find out what God is calling me to do, because there are so many things that have directed me, unbeknownst to me at the time, to where I am right now, and I know I'm supposed to do SOMETHING, but the question is what?

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I always find it difficult to decide where to start with my conversion story. From one view I must say that my entire life has been a journey to the Church founded upon the Rock, and yet from other view points the journey didn’t get the real kick start until I was in College. In this case I think I will start with a little history from my youth. I grew up in the Foursquare Church. For those of you who are not familiar with this Church it is a Protestant Pentecostal denomination. I always loved Church as a young child. I would love to sing the songs, and I would often sing myself home from school with whichever songs we happened to have sung the previous Sunday. I loved God and wanted to seek him out, but I was always shy of sharing the desire with family or others at Church. I was rarely attentive to the Pastor’s sermon, because I was often reading my Bible ahead of where the Pastor was, and thinking about the scriptures.

I remember two such Sundays vividly, both of which when I was in about the second or third grade. The first Sunday was spent reading and re-reading the Story of the Last Supper. It was at this point I realized that despite what I had been taught, communion was more than just a symbol. I didn’t understand it well enough to be able to say what it was, but I knew it was something. The second Sunday I was reading Mathew Chapter 16, when I realized that Jesus told Peter he was going to start the Church. I just kept wondering what happened to the Church that Peter started? I decided then that I would find out someday.

From that time I grew up pretty “normal” at least in terms of a secular society. I told bad jokes, and would drink occasionally (illegally) and things of the sort. I still called myself Christian and I still went to Church, but my life wasn’t always that which I knew it should be. About the time I was a Senior in Highschool I began to really own my faith again. Shortly after moving away to College I joined the Church of Christ. I helped as friend of mine who was a summer intern from a Bible college teach and lead the youth group and teach Sunday School. After he left to go back to school the Church men (women had no teaching or administrative role over Baptized men) asked me to continue teaching the Youth; I agreed. To teach. The “pastor” (titles are not used in the COC) began to meet with me weekly and we would have theological studies together, so that he could evaluate my understanding to the scriptures more, and to groom me into the Church’s “associate pastor.” At about the same time the youth began asking me questions about why their Catholic friends did all of these weird things. I was able to tell them why Catholics did the wrong things, and how salvation didn’t come from works and the like, but I didn’t know WHY Catholics did those things. I then learned about a Catechism Class offered by my Universities Catholic Center, and I asked if I could join to learn more about Catholicism. The director agreed to allow me to participate.

Every week I would sit in the Catechism Class on Sunday night after my own services, and take notes, ask questions, and leave thinking that nothing too objectionable was said. In fact I even AGREED with most of it. This began to worry me, so I would take the notes to my weekly meeting with my pastor, and we would go over the subjects. I would almost always leave my meetings more convinced the Catholic Church was right than when I stepped into the meetings, but the CATHOLIC CHURCH!? They couldn’t actually be right. They worshipped Mary and Saints, they thought works saved them, and they depended on a man made institution called confession. They had some things right I could give them that, but be completely right I couldn’t concede that point.

All was going well until a couple months into the Catechism course when confusion surrounded me. The confusion was worsened when I read Mathew 18:6 “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." How sure could I be that what I was teaching to the youth was right? I was even confused. Was I, I, teaching the wrong thing and causing them to sin, by omission? The weight became great enough that I stopped teaching. I then learned about the Saints, and that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and once I learned about Mary, there was no hope left for my own will, I knew I had to become Catholic, but I still couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Surely I was taught incorrectly.at the Catholic Center. I called my Uncle who converted a few years before and asked him questions, and he gave me the same answers. I learned how to pray the Rosary and was given a small yellow plastic Rosary blessed by JPII. I carried the Rosary in my pocket, and at night I would go into my closet and pray my rosary, I mean it was scripture and I always believed that praying scripture was good, but seeing a minister (even one who wasn’t teaching for a while) pray a Rosary would be scandalous.

Well a even longer story shortened at the end of Nov. 2003 I decided to become Catholic I met with a Priest and he decided that I had sufficient understanding about the Church and why I was converting to allow me to join RCIA late and join the Church at the next Easter Vigil. That Sunday was the Rite of Acceptance. I still was not able to summon the Courage to tell my family I was becoming Catholic until a few weeks later. Much to my surprise my family was very supportive, and drove two-three hours to attend Easter Vigil and see me received into the Church. I can’t stress how much more there is to this story, but it would take volumes to write down my struggles, and how God helped me through each one and blessed me. I thank him everyday :sign: , for showing me the way to him was through his Son, and that his Son left use his Church to point the way to him.

Benjamin Isaac Pio Rogers

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Mine's not really a convert story, because I grew up in teh Catholic Church. My family isn't the perfect family and sometimes they weren't the perfect example for me. I went to CCD every week, attending Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, as well as going to reconciliation during Lent and Advent. I went to a Catholic School starting in 4th grade. I absolutely fell in love with the Church. More of, I didn't have any doubts. I honestly thought I was called to be a sister.

Then, highschool started. My child's faith disappeared. I had doubts. I even lost my faith in God for two years. My best friend was just Confirmed. Everyone still knew me as the "Good little Catholic Girl." I couldn't let other's know that I had left the Church. My friend invited me on a retreat that her Church and my Church were joining on, as well as 5 others parishes in my state. I went because I knew that I couldn't let her know that I didn't believe in God.

THe Title of hte retreat was "transformed." Wow. It was a transformation for me. I had never actually said aloud that I didn't believe in GOd until one of the small group talks. This scared me. It was no longer a thought in my mind, but something I said and believed. On the second night of hte retreat, we had Adoration. Jason Pastore, from Lifeteen was our speaker for the weekend. He is amazing!!! Anyways, we had to write down all of our brokennes, and when we felt called, to lay it at the feet of Jesus in the Eucharist. I wrote down everything. I gave Jesus everything. I allowed Him to come back into my life. THe choir was singing, Bring hte Rain, by MercyMe. I broke down crying in awe of GOd. I was like, "God, here I am. I lay before you."

Oh, also, I went to reconciliation that day. I told the priest my sins, none of which had to do with doubt, and he started talking to me about how I have to believe in God. Wow. Amazing. God is truly there. THe Catholic Church is the whole truth. It makes sense. :)

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I was raised Baptist. My father was a Protestant minister, more specifically Baptist. Oh, let's see...I was exposed to Fundamentalism, Pentacostalism (at the school I went to) Calvinism, (at the church we attended when Dad had no church)...

I craved a real love relationship with God, but I wasn't finding it where I was. It was all so fake and nauseating...

I thought about Buddhism, Hinduism, Wicca, anything I could find that could help me feel real and not fake like a $5 weave.

And then I discovered Roman Catholicism. My Grandmother was a devout Catholic, and I believe it was her prayers that led our family back to the church. I feel so fulfilled here, it's incredible. I no longer feel as if I have to have an "exclusive" relationship with God. I feel like I am in a family now.

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(Eek, it's a wee bit long. Sorry!)

Let’s see… I guess it’s always good to start at the beginning. I was born Oct. 18th 1988 into a very loving family, albeit one that did not (and does not still, though I am working on that) practice religion. I grew up in a household where religion was never spoken of and the name of God never mentioned, lest it be a prelude to a curse word. But my parents raised me to be a kind, loving, and compassionate little girl- and I think, for the most part, they have succeeded.

When I was young, I had a short exposure to Christianity. I used to visit my grandma’s house every once in a while and spend the night there. In her bookshelf, she had a bunch of children’s stories, some of which included Old Testament stories. Those used to be my favorite- I would read Daniel and the Lions Den, and the Baby Moses stories over and over again. I never knew they were anything but stories. Fiction, I thought, just like Miss Piggy.

I guess God was biding His time.

I grew up rather ignorant of people’s beliefs. I was slightly aware that the majority of people believed in a “god”, but I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand, really, what that meant. As I grew older, I realized that the main religion was Christianity. Again, I didn’t really know what that meant either. I was 13 years old and didn’t even know who Jesus was. In my naïve little mind, I thought he was just some guy from history who was “crucified” (didn’t know what that meant either) for stealing sheep even though he didn’t do it… I didn’t realize that there was a bunch of different denominations of Christianity. I only knew what I knew from what I watched on tv- big cathedrals and priests. Funny, really, now that I look back. I thought that the Catholic church (though I didn’t know it by this name), was the only church of Christianity.

All of this was just second nature to me, though. I never really thought about the meaning of life. I was too young. Every once in a while, before I’d fall asleep, I’d think about life after death, and all I would picture was a never-ending black space.

That was until 7th grade. Then I started getting interested in Philosophy. I read “The Sea Wolf” by Jack London. This opened the door for me to really start thinking about life, our purpose, and the state of reality. Unfortunately, the conclusions I came up with were rather bleak. I took upon a very atheistic philosophy and I was very interested in it. I developed it and defended it.
9th grade finally rolled around and about half-way through the year my friends and I got into some heated discussions about religion. One friend was Mormon, the other was Catholic. They teamed up against me and we had quite a few debates. I was good at debating- I could refute everything that they said. I could twist and manipulate their arguments into shreds. I was having fun… but I was also miserable. Miserable because I did not have this ‘joy’ that they had. But I had the Truth! I thought. Yet the Truth depressed me, because there was no meaning. Nothing besides the pleasures that this world could offer. And for whatever reason, none of those seemed appealing to me.

I started desiring what they had. I started wishing that I had been raised in a religious family so that I could be brainwashed- brainwashed, but happy. I told my friends this. I told them that they were lucky that they had grown up in their respective religion, that they truly personified the saying “ignorance is bliss”. I guess it was this “desire” that really put things into motion.
After I had revealed my secret longing to my friends, my Mormon friend gave to me the Book of Mormon. I decided to read it, for the heck of it, just to see what it was about. You’ll find that the Book of Mormon is much like the Old Testament, filled with the same types of stories, the same messages and what not. All about God working in the minds, hearts, and wills of His people… One night, for a reason I can not explain, the desire to believe in God grew within me to a very painful point. I finally decided that I didn’t care if I was being foolish, that I was trading in Truth for comfort- none of that mattered anymore. I just wanted to believe in God. My life couldn’t continue if I didn’t. I had to.

So, that night, I got on my knees to pray for the first time. It was awkward. My mind kept telling me I was crazy. That I was talking to my imagination and that I was a real idiot. But I ignored all of that. I didn’t know who I was talking to, but I asked with a sincere heart if God was out there- and that if He was, and if He would show Himself to me, that I would believe. I needed to know. I wanted to believe. I needed to believe. But I needed a reason, because logic couldn’t persuade me.

What happened next is something that I can never explain in words. It sounds corny and if I heard it from someone else, I’d probably think they were crazy. So, I don’t blame anyone thinking the same of me… I began to shake- my entire body. My palms grew sweaty and I felt light headed. But I wasn’t even concerned with my physical body… my heart, it swelled within me. And I felt the greatest happiness in the world- and I knew! I simply and fully “knew” without a doubt that He existed!

I told my Mormon friend about this experience and she told me that it was the Holy Ghost speaking to me, telling me that the Book of Mormon was true and that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was the true Church of Christ. She then showed me some testimonies from her church, and they were similar to mine. So, I believed her.

I’ll skim over the next few months rather quickly. They were filled with research, going to the LDS church, meeting with their missionaries a few times, and basically me flirting with this new belief in God. I wasn’t focused on a relationship with God, however, but more upon His “Church” and His Truth. But again, I think God used this to His advantage. He instilled in me from the very beginning a belief that He has but One Truth, and thus only One True Church. That eliminates quite a few different options.

Well, Summer came and went and soon it was my sophomore year. Religious debates continued, this time between myself (defending the LDS) and my Catholic friend. Ooh, she was a feisty one! I would continue to school her (thanks to my ability to manipulate language) in the debates, but she would never give up. I found out only afterwards how much she really cared about me; she prayed each and every night for my conversion. St. Monica and St. Rita were very common helpers upon my behalf. I think that is part of the reason I feel such a connection to St. Augustine.

Winter passed by and I was still stubborn in my ways. I was frustrated, however, because my parents would not allow me to convert to Mormonism…

Now I must explain something here… growing up in a household were religion was NEVER spoken about, I found (and find still) it hard to bring up the subject. In fact, it became my worst fear (and still is). So bad, in fact, that I believe it is a psychological issue, because I still can’t bring up or talk about religion with my parents. It scares the living daylights out of me. It has caused me to lie and deceive… Ever heard of a kid lying to go to church? I was so scared of the subject that I couldn’t even ask to go to church. When it finally came time for me to tell my parents about my new found discovery and desire to become Mormon, I was so afraid I wrote them a letter about it. Needless to say, that didn’t go over well. And it only increased my fear…
At any rate, I was stuck. There was no going forward, without permission of my parents. I didn’t know what to do. So, I resigned myself to waiting until I was 18 to do anything official. Little did I know I would be on a different path by that time.

One day my friend said something that really got me thinking. She said to me “ What if that experience you had (speaking of the night that I finally believed in God) was just a candle in the darkness? And since you’ve never experience light, it seems to you all engulfing- but really there’s still a bonfire out there, waiting to be lit?”. That stopped me dead in my tracks. For whatever reason, it brought me back to that night… had my experience really been telling me that the LDS church was right? Or that God existed? Maybe there was more than what I was seeing, and because I had never seen before, it seemed like it was all there ever could be. Maybe.

Now, after having been exposed for a while to the LDS, I was quite accustomed to “feeling the Holy Spirit” as a testifier to Truth. If you’re unfamiliar with the LDS, that is a big one with them- if you feel happy inside, then the Holy Spirit is telling you that this is Truth. It’s a very feeling based faith… Anywho, I wasn’t so sure anymore. I stopped attending their church events (I only went to their Sunday service twice, b/c of my parents). I began to distance myself from their church and to begin reflecting once more upon God, without any thought towards a church.

One Saturday evening my parents went out of town. My Catholic friend (who knew about my insecurities concerning religion with them and, who had consequently grown to become my best friend) saw this as an opportunity to invite me to Mass. I agreed to go, thinking it would be an interesting experience. It was Pentecost. I was thoroughly confused the entire time, but I felt “the Holy Spirit”, that same feeling I felt at the Mormon Church. Again, confusion. The Gospel reading happened to be something I had read the night before. Father’s homily was on a topic that my friend and I had been discussing quite deeply the night before. The coincidences were unreal.

I was unconvinced. But my friend still did not give up on me. She gave me a copy of C.S. Lewis’ “Mere Christianity”. What a wonderful book! This convinced me that the LDS were not Christian and they did not hold God’s Truth. But who did? My friend kept telling me Catholic, but I wasn’t likely to believe her.

The summer went by with many more discussions, this time with my friend slowly winning me over with her reasoning. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but I was beginning to think the Catholic church was looking pretty darn good. I was introduced to a wonderful young lady named Elizabeth who was a very strong Catholic (in fact, as you‘ll see later, she has partially inspired my desire to look into the religious life… a few months after we met, she joined the Poor Clares in California). She and I clicked immediately and had much in common. She took me to Mass at a Maronite parish, and it was there that I had my first experience of Adoration. She attempted to explain to me how the bread and wine were not bread and wine, but the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. She tried to explain what Adoration was. I understood what she was saying, but I didn’t ‘get it’.

Hmm. Again, this may seem like another one of those “hey- she’s crazy” things, but it’s part of all of this anyways. I was pondering the concept of the Eucharist host actually being Christ Himself. Of Him being truly present and in front of me during Adoration. I closed my eyes for a moment and let my mind go blank. (I like to do this sometimes to allow my subconciense to create what ever image it would like in my head.) Without actually thinking, a picture of Jesus appeared in my head. He stood in front of me and offered me His hand. I grasped it, and He led me to a set of chairs, He sat in one and I sat in the other- a place for us to have an open conversation with each other.

That wasn't the weird part. In fact, that was pretty cool. So, I opened my eyes and continued pondering, including what I had just pictured in my head... and then the weird thing happened. It started with me just having a hard time breathing. My breath got short and I figured it was just the incense or something. Then suddenly there was a sharp, constant pain in my stomach- like a pit of pain. Not like anything I had ever experienced before- not as though I had cramps or had a stomach ache, but a pit of excrutiating pain. It was all I could do not to cry out, and I just clasped my hands together tighter. A buzzing then began in my ear (almost like the sound of electricity) and it got louder and louder. I was sweating pretty badly, I could feel the chills and see the droplets all over my hands and arms. I could feel it around my face and back. Then the scariest part of it all- everything started going black. My head was spinning and the room was being lost to blackness. It was at this point that I got up from my kneeling position to sit. Slowly my vision came back and the buzzing descended into the sound of mere silence. My body was chilled from the sweat, but the ache in my stomach was gone- and for the most part I returned to normal, with exception that I was now freezing. Not just physically, but I was cold inside too... I don't know how to explain it... I continued praying, asking God if this had been something sent by Him, or if it was just my body going wacko on me. Almost immediately after I had begun praying again, I felt a great warmth come over me and my chills were gone...

I still don’t know what to think of that encounter. It scared me, to say the least, but I had still not yet reached a conclusion on whether or not I believed in the Real Presence. Finally I came across John 6 (I had read the entire New Testament previously, but rereading this with the idea that Christ could actually be present in the Bread made it stand out to me all the more), and finally across 2 Corinthians. I admitted, this idea sure has a good chance of being something that Jesus truly did teach.

A few nights later I went Holy Hour again- this time by myself (and actually, quite by accident). The reading, I don’t remember all of it, but part of it spoke about the man who wished to have his son healed. Jesus asked the man “Do you believe?”. The man said, “Yes, Lord, I believe” and then, realizing he lacked in faith, he responded “Lord, help my unbelief”. Those words were cemented into my mind. The entire hour I spent reciting that prayer “I believe. Lord, help my unbelief.”

I began going to Daily Mass (without my parents knowing) and loved it. The sounds, the smells, the beauty of the tradition… I always felt such peace. I was slowly admitting that this was Right. That this was Truth.

My Catholic friend was ecstatic, yet mystified at the same time. Elizabeth, whom I had been introduced to, became very close to me, much like my other friend. Except she and I had much in common, in the sense of spiritual matters. She, like myself, had problems speaking with her parents about what she wanted to do with her religious life. I could not tell my parents that I wanted to become Catholic. She could not tell hers that she wanted to become a nun- a cloistered nun… That summer we strengthened each other. We both grew in faith, we both grew closer to God, and she inspired me as no other has before.

During January of my junior year, Elizabeth joined the Poor Clares Convent in California. It was a tough parting for us, who in such a short time had grown so close. But she gave me hope and a new strength of talking to my parents. Even the thought of doing so made me shake, but I knew if she could face and overcome her trials, so could I.

It took me months. It was the August preceding my senior year that I finally sat down with my parents to speak with them. I was trembling head to foot, but I was able to get their blessing to join RCIA. I would be 18 by then, they said, and the choice would then be my own.

So, in October I enrolled in RCIA. I went to the classes on Thursday evenings and to Mass on Sundays. It felt extremely awkward leaving my house dressed up on Sunday mornings to go to Mass, while everyone is sitting around watching TV. I struggled a lot spiritually… God had blessed me with an amazing knowledge and belief of Christ’s Real Presence in the Holy Eucharist. Ah, what a blessing! And yet a suffering for me at the same time… I can not explain the pain I felt at not being able to receive Our Lord in Holy Communion- to see others and not be able to partake… I struggled in faith- before I was so dependent upon “feelings” to carry my faith, and then the Lord was teaching me (and still is) faith without such a dependence. It’s hard.

The months went on and I went through the various Rites involved with RCIA. Sunday dismissals killed me… I hated having to leave before the Liturgy of the Eucharist, before seeing Our Lord… but then, it was also a type of blessing, because I did not have to feel the pain of not receiving Him during Holy Communion. We would be dismissed out to have discussion in the fireside room. I didn’t mind the discussions all that much and our group grew closer together.

Easter Vigil.

I wonder if there is a way for me to really put that night's events into words. Everytime someone asks me how I felt or what it was like, all that I can do is smile and mumble, because I can't find the right words to really say what type of transformation occurred. Words can not suffice, my joy is much deeper than words or expressions. I have been touched by God, I have been washed by Him, filled with Him, am in full communion with Him. Who could dare put that sort of experience into words or language? It is impossible.The whole day leading up to that night was a type of haze for me. I was excited, yet numb. It didn't seem real. It did not register with me that it was the night, it couldn't be the night. I had waited so long, wanted it so badly... sometimes you can't really believe that dreams can come true until they do.The fire and procession into the church was really cool. To be led only by Light, Christ's Light. The Old Testament readings and responsorial psalms-- the prayers sung by Father... Everything was prefect.

The New Testament reading caught my attention. It reminded me of exactly what I was doing, of what was going to be happening during my baptism. Father's homily, very moving and simply perfect for the occasion. I prepared silently, preparing to die once and for all to my self, preparing to receive the new life that Christ is offering me. To be truly born anew, a life in Christ. (“I’m just a dead man lying on the carpet can’t find a heartbeat…” ah, good ‘ole Jars of Clay)

Ted called our names, and we proceeded to the front of the church. I forgot to bow. My mind was racing. I was second to last to be baptized. I watched Andrew (a friend about ten years my elder, whom I had grown pretty close to through the months), and it brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful grace that God offers us!!! To be cleansed, for all of our sins to be washed from our souls, to be brought to life in Christ our Lord!! I will admit that I was nervous, and I probably looked it too. Not necessarily because I was scared or wasn't ready or anything like that. Just nervous. I don't know why. It was finally happening!!I stepped up to the basin and Father smiled at me. I leaned over and turned my head. He mispronounced my name, but I didn't care... The water caught me by surprised as it was poured over my head. It was cool, but not too cold and definitely not warm. And now is where words fail me. I wish I could say what I felt or what I thought, but it is all beyond expression. There was no "over-coming emotion of the Spirit" or anything like that-- just a peace and joy that filled the soul to its very depths. A pure and sincere knowledge that neither logic nor emotion had any control over. I don't know how else to explain it...

We went into the side chapel where there were many hugs and congratulations given. I received my baptismal stole/scapular and Katelyn received the baptismal candle. I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't cry, though I thought I would beforehand, but my joy was past tears. It is past tears still. I saw Drew (one of the RCIA coordinators and a sponsor), and the smile on his face was priceless when he saw me. We hugged and shared our joy together... Oh how wonderful the world would be if only the joy that filled that small little room could be seen by the entire world!!

We went back out in front of the church and our sponsors lit our baptismal candles from the Easter Candle. We then prepared for Confirmation. Once more, I was one of the last to be confirmed. Father went down the row twice, the first time placing his hands upon our heads and praying over us. When he did this, I felt strengthened and ready to press forward. He came finally to me, and I said"My name is Kayla Dominic Savio and I wish to be confirmed."

Once again, there was no rush of overwhelming spirit or anything to that sort, though I might have expected it. I have been so used to those sorts of feelings in the past, I feared that they wouldn't come and that I wouldn't have the fullest experience without them. How wrong I was. They didn't come, but I had an even fuller experience without them. I may have "felt" nothing in the way of emotions, but I felt in an even deeper way, and my joy (which I had thought was complete), increased all the more. I knew the Holy Spirit had joined me, a companion for me now, never to leave my side.We turned to face the congregation and I saw my family. My dad was almost in tears, smiling from ear to ear. My mom, well... I smiled at her, she smiled back, but then went back to a scowl. I think she was happy for me, but very tired and slightly annoyed at the length of the Mass thus far. My grandma was smiling, but she was also very tired.

We went back to our seats and a strange sensation came over me... I turned to Katelyn and whispered, "Hey, I'm Catholic now!" She grinned and whispered back, "Yup. You're in the club now."All the time leading up to that night, I couldn't help but feel that entering the Church was going to be some sort of Climax to my journey, a type of final fulfillment or something to that sort... but when I had gone back to my pew and looked up towards Jesus on the Cross, I realized that everything had just begun. I am a new creation, I have a new life in Christ, and I have oh so much more to journey through. I realized now how extremely feeble and unworthy I am, and how much further I have to go to reach perfection in Christ. I want to be a saint, I want to be holy-- and I have such a long way to go.

Annnnnnnnd it's been just over a year now since my baptism. Annnnnnnnd being Catholic is awesome. :P

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[quote name='TeresaBenedicta' post='1617482' date='Aug 4 2008, 10:15 PM'](Eek, it's a wee bit long. Sorry!)

Annnnnnnnd it's been just over a year now since my baptism. Annnnnnnnd being Catholic is awesome. :P[/quote]
Great story! Thanks for sharing. :love:

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I had been born and raised catholic my whole life, but I was half hearted for a long time. Then, one saturday morning at the age of thirteen I was channel flipping and hit EWTN. I discovered the church in a way that I never had before. Really, what I went through was a love story between Our Lord and I. Whenever I hear the song "A Whole New World" I think of that love story. I wrote about another song that I think of when remembering my conversion story on my blog www.childofourlady.blogspot.com. (Hyperlinks usually don't work for me on the computers at my school for some reason.)

God Blessed the Broken Road

I discovered a song that perfectly describes my conversion from being a half-hearted Catholic to an overflowing one. It's called, "God Blessed the Broken Road." I tweaked the song a little to make it fit, but for the most part it's the same as the original version.

"I set out on a narrow way many years ago, hoping I would find true joy along the broken road. But I got lost a time or two, wiped my brow and kept pushing through. I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to You.

And every long lost dream led me to where You are. Others things that stired my heart, they were just northern stars pointing me on my way into Your loving arms. This much I know is true, that God blessed the broken road that led me straight to You.

I think about all the years I spent just passing through. I'd like to take the time I lost and give it back to You, but You just smile and take my hand. You've heard this before. You understand. It's all part of a grander plan that is coming through.

And every long lost dream led me to where You are. Other things that stired my heart, they were just northern stars pointing me on my way into Your loving arms. This much I know is true, that God blessed the broken road that me straight to You.

Now I'm just rolling home in my Beloved's arms. This much I know is true that God blessed the broken road and led me straight to You. ... that God blessed the broken road and led me straight to You."

My conversion story truly was a love story, just not the kind that I expected. There are many different types of love and one of them is between God and humanity. I fell in- love with Jesus. I never dreamed that such love existed. In the words of St. Augustine, "Our hearts were made for You Oh Lord, and they are restless until they rest in You." I found true peace and happiness.

"God Blessed the Broken Road" was originally performed by Rascal Flats but I prefer this version by Selah. [url="http://youtube.com/watch?v=PZ7n6NXXYmo"]http://youtube.com/watch?v=PZ7n6NXXYmo[/url]

If you'd like the lyrics to the real song, then go to www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/rascalflats/blessedthebrokenroad.html.
Posted by Rose Petal of St. Therese at 8:14 PM 1 comments Edited by tinytherese

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