Finding My Way to Faith

Around age ten, I wore my favorite white blouse with small purple flowers to go to church with my mom and sister. There was a trim on the collar and cuffs. I was wearing some sort of skirt with dress shoes. It was a very hot day and the air, as my grandmother would say, was “close.” During the packed service I began to feel faint. As my vision blurred and my ears began to ring, I looked up at the fuzzy Jesus suspended on his cross above the altar. I thought, why are you doing this to me?

I remember making my first Holy Communion. Seeing the pictures now, the words “child- bride” go through my head. I liked the Blessed Mother statue I received that day, a gift from my grandparents. I enjoyed the party at my parent’s house afterward and the flowers another guest brought me. But I didn’t understand what the day was for.

Although my understanding of God was shallow, I knew that He existed. Around this same time in my life I had terrible growing pains that would often keep me awake at night. After a bad week where I had lost sleep over the pain, I found myself again trying to ignore the knots in my legs so I could get some rest. Feeling desperate, I rolled onto my stomach, clasped my hands and prayed silently to God, so as not to wake my sister in the bunk bed under me. I told Him my name and where I lived and said I figured since He was supposed to be able to do anything, I hoped He could hear my thoughts. I mentally explained the pain in my legs was keeping me up so long at night that I was tired every day at school. I asked Him to please, just for this one night, take away the pain so I could get enough sleep. As soon as I ended the prayer, I had a concentrated awareness that I was alone and my legs still hurt. A lot of good that did, I thought. A few seconds later a tingling sensation started all over both of my legs. It was not the pins and needles feeling you have when a limb is asleep, it was a pleasant feeling, like dazzling powder being sprinkled all over my legs.