SEPTEMBER 1962

At the beginning of 2nd grade I transferred from public school to St. Winifred’s Catholic School where I was required to attend Mass every morning before class.  I actually adored Mass, a fact that made me quite a misfit among my peers.

But while they were teasing me, a potent transformation was taking place in the pews of St. Winifred’s.

Somewhere between rubbing my hands over the polished wood, my knobby little knees pressing into the padded leather kneelers, a lacy veil pinned to my hair, clutching my prized rosary … I felt the call.  I knew my life belonged to God.

I already knew I didn’t belong in my family, and a deep comfort welled up in me knowing that God wanted me.  I assumed I would grow up to be a nun, so I cozied up to Sister John Bosco and Sister Barbara Mary – my favorite teachers – and spent my lunch periods washing their blackboards, asking questions about God.

It turned out I already had some strong opinions about God – and Catholicism – and argued my points when they tried to instruct me differently.  I spent four years pushing them for answers, trying to get past their response of, “You must take it on faith, dear.”

 

 

They were good to me.  They allowed me generous space to express myself – a new experience in my life – and in the process I forged my spiritual beliefs.  I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.

I have been exploring God ever since.  God.  Spirit.  Quantum Physics.  The Universe.  Metaphysics.  It has changed name, expression, and meaning many times over.  There have been times I thought I knew God well … and times I’ve questioned whether God exists at all.

And guess what?  I’m NOT DONE YET.  God keeps shifting on me, and I keep tagging along for the adventure.  I know there’s more to discover and I sure don’t want to miss it.