I haven’t posted here in a couple years. I fell in a rut and my faith wavered. The Lord, in true fashion, never let me go. Earlier this year I started a new blog, only four posts in, so I am going to transfer them over to here and remove the other blog. This one has more history in it, and I have enjoyed going back and reading some of my older posts. So without further ado, let’s catch up.
In 2012 I wrote this post about how I left the Catholic faith. I have been heavily involved in my Baptist church. When #5 was born, I took a break from church. In all honesty though, that was the perfect exit strategy. I had really checked out much earlier. I hadn’t been getting fed in quite some time anyway. Maybe it is really none of that, and just as simple as, what I was used to. I was raised Catholic and so it is familiar and feels like home.
Prior to my departure from the Catholic church, I was a devout Catholic. Several years before that I was also a devout Catholic. And many years before that. At the times in between my devout Catholicism I stumble in my faith and leave the fullness of faith found in the Catholic church. This last time I spent four years away. All that matters right now is that….
The Lord is calling me home.
Like, strongly calling me. It began several months ago. Driving down the street when passing a Catholic church, I could feel a (please, no jokes here!) force drawing me. After a little bit I began to realize, it was the Blessed Sacrament. So I went to Mass and was brought to tears during the consecration. And really, I have never felt the presence of God as strongly as I do in a Catholic Church. It literally feels holy and demands reverence. I know we don’t gauge this stuff on feelings, so when I state it feels holy, I am speaking of the atmosphere. Like you can pick up on the joy or tension in a room, that is what I am talking about.
Several weeks ago I was tempted to throw my Catholic stuff away. Stuff I have been holding for years. Stuff that is priceless but so valuable to me. So thankful I didn’t! The picture is a box of prayer cards my beloved aunt would spend hours praying, even when her energy started failing and she would fall asleep praying, she would wake up and finish. Two and a half hours every night. These are her cards and now they are mine. And….
He is calling me home!