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Kayla
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| Joined: | Mon Jul 30th, 2007 |
| Location: | Emmitsburg, Maryland USA |
| Posts: | 369 |
| First Name: | Kayla | | Gender: | Female | | Faith History: | Atheist, kind-of Mormon, Catholic |
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Posted: Mon Jul 30th, 2007 08:43 pm |
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Well, this is my conversion story. It's kind of long (heh, understatement), but it's one that I've been adding to for a long while now. And I have a feeling it will continue to be added to, as I know my journey is far from over. If you have the time, I invite you to read, respond with questions, reactions, what ever you wish. But, heh, it is quite long. You have been warned!
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. But I am comforted, because God Himself has provided that way for me, and I now have been given all of the tools to reach this goal... I have made a promise, the same promise that Saint Dominic Savio made before his First Holy Communion, "Death, but not sin." I know that I was foolish to make such a promise, being the sinner I am, but I also knew that I could die to my sin and be cleansed of it through the wonderful Sacrament of Reconciliation.
First Holy Communion. I can only repeat what I have said twice before now... I expected that great emotional high, but I didn't get it. Instead, I received something so much more powerful and infinitely better. I will not put into words my encounter with Christ, this is something that I hold close to my heart and I can not let it go…
I have been Catholic now for… just over three months. Three beautiful, beautiful months. Sure seems like such a short time, really. I still struggle spiritually, almost more than I did before I was Catholic. But I am filled with this deep, penetrating desire for holiness. I want to serve the Lord in all that I do, I want to give myself completely to Him, to love Him with my full being, without any reserve. I want to be His and only His.
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I believe, Lord, help my unbelief.
Jesus, I trust in You!
There's not a lot of job security for us after death. I suppose that's one advantage of being a philosopher. - Peter Kreeft
http://kayla23mount.blogspot.com/
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CajunRick
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| Joined: | Fri Sep 29th, 2006 |
| Location: | Houma, Louisiana USA |
| Posts: | 5353 |
| First Name: | Rick (& Kermie) | | Gender: | Male | | Faith History: | Lifetime Catholic, Latin Rite |
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Posted: Mon Jul 30th, 2007 09:08 pm |
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You have a wonderful story, Kayla. Thank you for sharing it with us. May the rest of your journey be as wonderful as the beginning!
____________________
Understanding is the reward of faith. Therefore seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand. - Augustine
Rick Luquette
Luquette Lane
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Juan
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| Joined: | Tue Oct 17th, 2006 |
| Location: | Texas USA |
| Posts: | 247 |
| First Name: | unregister | | Gender: | Male | | Faith History: | unregister |
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Posted: Mon Jul 30th, 2007 10:56 pm |
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Wow? Sea Wolf by Jack London. I think, of all the authors I've read, he had the most to do with me converting to atheist at a young age. I remember in one book he said that each man had his own religion and in Sea Wolf, he proved to me that might makes right.
I still don’t know what to think of that encounter.
I think I can help there. When I converted, my wife and I had a similar experience. We had begun praying the Rosary together and we both dropped it without explaining to each other why. What I hadn't told my wife and what she hadn't told me, is everytime we prayed together, we each got horrible, scary, visions and feelings. My wife revealed what happened to her to a friend. Her wise friend said it sounded as though Satan was trying to scare her. At the same time, I picked up a book that essentially told me the same thing. Incependent of each other, we decided to try again. We were both surprised that we had both had the same experience. But that just confirmed the supernatural nature of the visions.
Needless to say, we've been praying ever since.
I have been Catholic now for… just over three months.
May God complete the Good Work He has begun in you. Thanks for sharing your wonderful story.
Sincerely,
Juan
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ChildoftheCreator
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| Joined: | Tue Jul 10th, 2007 |
| Location: | Minnesota USA |
| Posts: | 16 |
| First Name: | Hillary | | Gender: | Female | | Faith History: | Lutheran |
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Posted: Tue Jul 31st, 2007 12:25 pm |
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Kayla,
That was a wonderful conversion story. You seem to be so strong and are constantly searching for the truth. I know kind of what it is like with the parents who don't like to talk about religion. My mom doesn't really mind, but I have only talked to my dad twice about religion besides the times that he was telling me how illogical people are for not believing in evolution and for thinking that fasting will do anything. Yeah, we go to church and say prayers at dinner, but besides that we don't talk about religion. In fact, I think I learned everything about my faith from school, books, and the internet. Anyways, it was very courageous of you to write a letter to your parents about your faith, and to act upon what you believe to be right. That must have been very difficult and it really shows how commited you are to Christ and the Truth. Your story was very inspiring to me, thank you for writing it.
May God's peace be with you,
Hillary
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