My Strength & My Shield / psm28:7

21 - Three in One - Sorta

Growing up Catholic 

I was raised Catholic, baptized Baptist and joined Church of Christ. Ouch!  

Before I became a Christian, I'd never heard the term 'church hopper'. You know, where you get dissatisfied over the way things are going in your church, so you go across town to another church where things haven't changed, where things are still familiar and comfortable, where you are in your comfort zone each week, warming that pew the same way you did last week. So what would you call what I've done then? Denomination hopper? Like I said before, "Ouch!" 

Let me step back. I was raised Catholic, coming from a very large family who attended Mass weekly and on all the religious holidays. I grew up believing in God, believing Jesus is His son and believing I would one day be in heaven with both of them. 

Since then, I've heard that Catholicism is a cult. I've heard that no Catholic will ever make it through the pearly gates and that no Catholic will ever amount to anything in God's kingdom. 

But I recall a time when I was about twenty years old, and it seemed like everyone in my family was away. My parents were in Little Rock visiting my mom's family, and the siblings who still lived in the same state were on vacation or busy with their families. Me? I was young and in love. The only problem was, he didn't know I was in love with him. As much as we had a good friendship, that's all it was. When he met someone else, I was crushed. My heart and soul and everything about me ached because of him. 

It was early afternoon on a Saturday when I started driving around aimlessly. I didn't feel like being with friends. I wanted to be alone and yet, I wanted to be comforted. I couldn't have it both ways. What did I know? 

I thought about my faith. It wasn't much. I really didn't know anything about God other than some two thousand year-old Bible stories. I was young and basically stupid where God is concerned. God was something we did on Sundays. A requirement, you know, like go to work Monday through Friday, hang with friends on Saturday and hit church on Sunday morning because the parents said so. I didn't know God, and I certainly didn't understand that He had a desire to know me. 

But this particular day, I found myself parked in the church parking lot. I sat there wondering if my going inside would make a difference in how I was feeling. I guess I thought it was worth giving it a try because I found myself walking down the aisle and settling in about five or six rows back from the alter. I slid into the pew with little hope. 

I knelt and started to tell God everything that was in my heart. I cried a ton that day, and was lucky to find that someone had left several packages of tissues in the pew. I heard others come in and go out. The sun started to set, but I kept screaming in my heart for God to hear. I was on my knees for six hours, refusing to leave until He answered me. After reading all the Bible stories where He did stuff for others, it was time He came down from heaven and let me know He was real and cared about me. 

The scary (and wonderful thing is), He did. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see who'd snuck into the church while my mind was elsewhere. I half expected to see one of the priests or parishioners. But I didn't see anything. No one was there - no one at all - no one I could see, but someone I could feel! 

Shaking like crazy, I stood with the worst case of pins and needles ever. It didn't matter though. I found myself mesmerized by the cross at the alter. With all the pain and heartache suddenly a thing of the past, a revelation hit me. He wasn't on the cross anymore. He'd beaten death, achieved victory over all of Satan's plans and schemes. He was with me both in spirit and for that instant where I felt His hand on my shoulder, He was with me physically! 

I went home and cried even more. Not from the burdens that had retreated, but from His touch. Who was I that Jesus would care so deeply about me that He would leave Heaven to stand with me - a lukewarm Catholic girl that had such little understanding of Him. I didn't know it until years later - until someone pointed it out to me that I was His child that I was important to Him.