By Loren Thacker-Leach
For the same reason that there is no single cause for my devotion to the Lord, rather a multitude of graces on his part and gradual understandings on mine, there is equally no single explanation for why I put aside fear and isolation to finally open the gift of faith.
I spent years living under rigid adherence to a materialistic world, one in which my sense of ‘self’ or ‘destiny’ was orientated towards worldly achievements.
It was a period of dark despair, caught in the grip of often debilitating mental illnesses.
Pride and uncertainty caused me to believe the only way out of a quagmire of depression and anxiety was to engage in yet more therapy, to commit to yet more prescriptions, more self-denial about and restrictions on how I truly wished to see and engage with the world.
This continued even after I met my future husband, who already a Christian and had himself wandered from the faith during early adulthood – a period he now regrets.
As time in our relationship passed, we found ourselves returning to those ‘big questions’; why are we here, what will allow us to have a fulfilling life, is there more to my physical body than mindlessly plodding through life absent true purpose?
After hitting a particularly low point, not just in my relationship, but in my relationship with myself, I attended a Catholic Mass. The urge came to me because I genuinely believed there was no other untried avenue available for me.
It wasn’t at all what I expected. I left the church with a sense of peace I had not felt before.
During the service, people had sung together, prayed together, worshipped, cried, reflected; they had all turned to something higher than themselves saying, I am nought but a servant; I come before you for guidance and hope.
Admittedly, the words of the Creed and the Our Father were somewhat foreign to me. There were statements listed on the screen which I couldn’t prescribe to – statements which deep in my heart I knew I wanted to know as the truth, but it takes time to break down old barriers. It took time for me to let myself go and say as the others did during that Mass: I am but a servant, direct me as you will and tell me that I’m not alone.
When I told my future husband I had attended church, he was surprised to say the least. But the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes suggested something deeper. He saw that I had experienced something humbling, something peaceful, something which aligned with the direction which he wanted the rest of his life to flow as well.
He says to me now that we were brought together by the Holy Spirit to come ‘back’ to the church together. I found faith, and he found his faith again.
My husband proposed to me a few months after my first encounter with the faith. He could see me changing.
He could see me wanting to become a wife and a mother, could see me reflecting on my actions, and finding peace in the Scriptures. He saw me yearning for something profound for my soul, to bring vigour into my way of being and to banish the demons that had always held me back.
As I look back now, while expecting our first child, I can be certain that the Holy Spirit called to me, as it probably had my whole life, prompting me to rejoice with the abandon of a child in the glory of God. Praise God, I responded.
I joined the RCIA and committed that by the time of our wedding it was a ceremony between two Catholics.
I was baptised, confirmed and received my first Holy Communion at Easter shortly before engaging in the Sacrament of Marriage.
That was a month I will never forget. It was as though the angels and saints had closed their arms around me and had lifted me higher than ever before. I was free from that lonely abyss I had known, and free from the fear of an eternity in darkness.
It was only the Catholic Church which could have offered me such truth. Especially in the Eucharist – which still moves me every time I receive it.
I was brought up clean out of those baptismal waters, and now it is not I that lives, but Christ who lives in me.
