Found Him

Our Lady of Prompt Succor

I am not a cradle Catholic.

I did not grow up with a Rosary on the nightstand or faithful parents taking me to weekly Mass.

Instead, our little, messed-up, and broken family was in survival mode, and no one was reaching for the cross for any kind of salvation.

Thankfully, my siblings and I were at least baptized as babies. Maybe two of my three siblings were confirmed. As the youngest, I do not think I saw the inside of a church, Catholic or otherwise, until I was sixteen and brought myself.

But I knew to search for Him.

How?

When I was four years old, I had a profound experience that, I believe, sent me on a journey to find Him. The specifics of that are a story for another day, but a giant seed was planted.

And I did find Him, but at first it was not in any church.

My first glimpse of God was in my paternal grandfather.

My grandfather was a member of the Arabi Lion's Club, and to this day, I have never known another soul who has done more for others than he did. His mission was the “crippled children,” and he devoted his every off-hour to serving people with disabilities. He supported his family with work that required a strong back, not a fancy degree.

He was my first model of God in charity.

My second glimpse of God was in my paternal grandmother.

She was a stay-at-home mom who worked only occasionally outside the home. This little French woman from Bunkie, Louisiana, learned to cook the food of my grandfather’s big Sicilian family, along with the Cajun dishes she grew up eating. Her meals fed everyone’s soul because love filled every bite. More importantly, she built their life while my grandfather made their modest living. And she had no days off. Zero.

She was my first model of God in sacrifice.

My next glimpse of God was my paternal aunt and uncle.

They lived in the two-story house behind the Catholic Church with their two daughters, my favorite cousins. Although I now know that no life is without strife, their lives seemed picture-perfect to me.

They were my first model of God in commitment.

In my search, I found God in many other places, too.

Sometimes I had to stare past the wreckage, but He was always there.

Every kind word.

Every “lucky” break.

Every unexplainable “coincidence.”

His fingerprint was on it all.

There were many moments of His Divine Presence.

Too many to count.

There still are.

Amen to that.

But I digress.

Where was I?

Oh yes. I am writing about my search for a spiritual home.

God was leaving breadcrumbs for me all along the way.

Before becoming a practicing Catholic, I visited other churches.

Nothing felt quite right.

My spiritual home ended up being in the Catholic Church, despite my best efforts to talk myself out of it.

Why did I hesitate?

Because I could not just say a few words and receive the Eucharist immediately.

Waiting was difficult. (Did I ever mention my impatience? Yes. I am working on that, too.)

Attending Mass and not receiving was heartbreaking, and I tried to understand the need to prepare.

But I needed God.

STAT.

As soon as possible.

Looking back, I do not really remember how long it took.

I just remember the first time I received the Eucharist.

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, feels the same.

Christ in the Eucharist is real and life-giving, and I can never unknow that.

Unfortunately, I’m not an extremely bright person.

And even after receiving the Bread of Life, being married in the Church, and raising my children in the Church, I may have been the weakest Catholic on planet earth.

For years, I was what you call a "cafeteria Catholic."

What does that mean?

I did what felt comfortable and boldly ignored the rest.

On the outside, I may have looked Catholic.

On the inside, I was still picking and choosing.

I will not give a full confession here, but let me just say, God probably shook His head at me more than once.

Not my proudest season.

But God was working His magic.

And thankfully, unlike me, He has mastered patience.

Over time…

Little by little, I fell in love.

In love with Catholicism.

In love with the Eucharist.

In love with the traditions of this ancient Church.

In love with this very human, sometimes messy, triumphantly global family of believers who are trying, in all sorts of imperfect ways, to follow Christ.

And my faith family is big and still growing!

According to the most recent figures released by the Vatican, there are about 1,405,454,000 Catholics worldwide, a net increase of almost 16 million in a single year.

Catholics now make up 17.8 percent of the world’s population.

The Catholic Church is growing across every continent, with the most significant gains in Africa and the Americas, but even Europe saw an increase in Catholics in the latest report.

In Europe, about 39.6 percent of residents identify as Catholic.

The Church also carries a considerable part of the load in education and care for the vulnerable. Worldwide, there are more than 229,000 Catholic schools, serving over 64 million students from kindergarten through secondary school. In many places, especially poorer communities, these schools are the only realistic option for a solid education.

Catholic charities and healthcare centers number more than 100,000 worldwide. Among them are over 15,000 homes for the elderly or people with disabilities, 8,500 orphanages, about 5,300 hospitals, and nearly 14,000 dispensaries that offer basic medical care where it might otherwise be hard to find.

There are also hundreds of thousands of lay missionaries and almost three million catechists, ordinary people who share and teach the faith in their own languages and communities.

Every one of these numbers is a person.

A story.

A heart that became curious or hungry or tired of carrying life alone.

I know the Catholic Church is not perfect.

Some of the men meant to guard and manage her are terribly flawed.

The doctrine is not flawed.

That truth, and His Presence on the altar, keep me in her pews.

After all of this explanation, if my faith journey (somehow) sounds neat and tidy on paper, please hear this clearly.

It has not been a smooth climb.

It has been circles and backtracks, cafeteria seasons, and long stretches of awkward and clumsy reverence.

Then again, my progress in anything is usually messy.

Sigh.

Of course, I still encounter God every day.

In people.

In places.

In breathtaking experiences.

In the mundane.

In the ordinary.

The Divine in the Daily is ever-present and noteworthy.

But finding my spiritual home, well, that took some time.

If any of this sounds familiar, you are not alone.

Maybe you were not raised Catholic, but you feel a tug you cannot quite explain.

Maybe you were raised Catholic and drifted.

Maybe you are a cafeteria Catholic right now, taking what feels comfortable and leaving the rest, but wondering if there is more.

If you are even a little curious, I hope you will check out the faith.

Sit in a quiet Catholic church on a weekday and just be still.

Go to Mass with a trusted Catholic friend and let them whisper a few explanations.

Ask a priest about OCIA or RCIA if you want to explore in a small group and ask your questions out loud.

You do not have to have everything figured out.

You do not have to be a perfect Catholic.

You do not have to come from a picture-perfect family.

You are allowed to be awkward and clumsy and still come closer.

The Church is not perfect.

Her people are not perfect.

I am definitely not perfect.

Christ in the Eucharist is real and life-giving, and He. Is. Perfect.

That is why I stay.

And that is why I dare to invite you to come and see.