I was a deeply religious child. I might not have understood the complexities of the Catholic Mass, but I was awed by the solemnity. Something about it being said in Latin made the service exotic and mysterious.

            Stained glass windows speak to me. When the sun shines through, the images come to light, almost surreal. I longed to be there, with the holy figures, experiencing what Jesus did. I wanted to feel His holy touch.

            Whenever a breeze did pass me by, I knew that was God, in one of His three forms. I believed it was most likely the Holy Spirit as in that form, God is often depicted as a gentle wind.

            My parents enrolled me in a Catholic elementary school from grades 1 through 7. I struggled academically and socially. Recesses and lunches amplified my aloneness as I had no one to talk to or play with.

            From an early age I learned to keep moving. Walk over there, then there, and then there. In my mind, this prevented kids from seeing that no one walked with me.

            In actuality, though, I understood that God walked with me.

            Much later I heard the poem about Jesus traveling alongside a lonely person, called Footprints in the Sand. The traveler looks back on his life, and notices two sets of footprints. But at points, there is only one set. In the poem, the man and said something like:

“Lord, when I needed you the most, why did you leave me?”
And you might know what God said back.
God says back, “those were the moments I carried you.”

            Unfortunately, I seldom saw two sets of footprints. I trudged along, by myself, except for rare moments when my older brother chose to play with me, or when my mother decided to treat me nicely. I bore my thoughts inside me, as there was no one who cared to listen.

            The words of the poem taught me an important lesson: even when you think you are truly alone, when it feels as if the world has left you behind or closed doors prohibiting entrance, God is there.

            When in the Catholic school, we attended Mass every morning. That was my favorite part of the school day. I fell into the chants, the incense, the mystery, allowing them to calm me, to make me feel cared for.

            On special holydays our entire school processed around the playground, singing religious songs I was included! I marched, just like everyone else. I sang, just like the girl next to me. If the sun shone, I’d glance toward heaven and send prayers to God, asking Him to save me, to protect me, to walk with me.

            Because my family was dysfunctional, and because I wasn’t a girlie-girl, I understood that I didn’t satisfy my family’s definition of female. I wasn’t interested in cooking or cleaning, even though I had to wipe dust off something every afternoon before I could do my schoolwork.

            I hated dresses and tights and getting my hair done. I cared little for teen magazines, when I got older, and although I did want to dress like the others, our family finances prevented me from wearing anything stylish.

            If it had been allowed, I would have worn pants to school instead of the awful faded uniforms that we could afford.

            You’d think that because my classmates ignored me, or even worse, denigrated me, that I would have begged to leave the Catholic school and enroll in the public one. Because I’d found a safety net, a kind nun who ran a lunchtime tutoring session, I now felt comfortable. No longer did I roam the playground alone. No longer did I have to face the laughter of girls whenever I used the restroom.

            My faith blossomed.

            I imagined myself wearing the habit, dedicating my life to praying to God, and doing good works. At the end of seventh grade religious priests and nuns visited our school. Most nuns, I learned, lived in a convent where they worked at schools, hospitals or with the elderly. That would be better than getting married, as I had no interest in men or children.

            When a nun from a monastery spoke, my body leaned forward, almost by its own accord. I pictured quiet, calmness, a life away from my family, in a place where their belittling couldn’t reach me. I saw myself on bended me, praying to God, all day long.

            People needed help. By then I knew hunger from a lack of food, hunger for love, hunger for peace. I would pray that those wishes would be fulfilled.

            I pictured myself working in the gardens, tending plants that would provide sustenance for my fellow nuns. I liked gardening. There was something satisfying about eating a tomato freshly picked, harvesting raspberries, even though my arms got covered in scratches, in pulling carrots out of the ground and reaching up to pick apples and peaches and pears.

When I expressed my fervent desire to become a nun, my parents refused to sign the permission slip.

I didn’t yet know the word “call” but I felt drawn to serve.

Throughout high school, I prayed, still hoping my parents would change their minds. When I realized that wasn’t going to happen, then I found another way out of the house: an academic scholarship.

I attended Mass at the Neumann Center at my university. My fellow members were young, like me. When they sang, my imagination saw the notes, the words, rising to heaven. God smiling and blessing them.  So, I joined that church and relished the intense faith that welcomed me.

I married when I met the one man who offered unconditional love. Together we created a family, a home. We tried to shelter our kids from bullies, but it’s nearly impossible. We offered encouragement and support. We prayed as a family.

Later on, after our kids had gone off to live their lives, I joined our church choir and took on the mantle of lector, reading from the Bible during the service.

Time passed.

While “The Call” had disappeared, my devotion increased. I feel God everywhere, whether at the gym, where, thanks to His intervention, my knees are better. I see Him out on walks, in the cries of birds, the chirping of insects, the clouds floating overhead, the blessings He give me.

I believe that God walks with me, has always walked with me, but sometimes I was blind to His presence. I am not what you’d call a “Holy Roller”. I don’t belong to a bible study group, although if someone invited me, I’d join.

Last year friends took me to a one-day retreat. The prayers, the peace, the grace, carried me back to my childhood when the Mass gave me comfort and solace, when the music filled my soul, when being alone wasn’t really me alone, but God walking with me.

Not everyone is meant to be in a holy order. Most of us work, establish a household, and find friends with common interests. For a while, I didn’t “see” God in those pursuits. When my eyes opened, my heart filled with joy.

God is with me. He was always with me, even though I feared He’d abandoned me. He’s given me a purpose. Well, probably not just one, but many that disappear when no longer needed, added new ones when I was needed elsewhere.

Through God, all things are possible.

Yes, evil exists. It assumes different shapes and comes from all directions, but I can always pray and hope and trust.

I am answering “the call”.