July 14, 2002
It was the first time in 25 years I was walking voluntarily into a church - if you excluded my wedding ceremony, which to me was an exercise in role-playing. I participated in the mass the best I could, which wasn't much really. I stood when everybody stood and sat when everybody sat, but I just couldn't bring myself to kneel. I was still too proud, too arrogant.
When mass got over I went to meet the parish priest, one Fr. John, who had served the mass. I told him that I wanted to get back to God. The priest gave me a long studied look before saying he wasn't sure of my sincerity and that I should go back to church and meditate for a while.
I stared at him in complete disbelief. Wasn't the fact that I was there an indication of my sincerity? But I was tired and wasn't inclined to argue - besides, there seemed to be an element of truth to what he said - so I returned to the church and sat down, not quite sure what I was supposed to do. My heart wanted to accept Jesus, my heart needed to accept Jesus, but my mind rebelled. I hadn't believed in God for 25 years! I had been so sure that he didn't exist, I hadn't even let my two kids, one 14, the other 6, be baptized. How was I supposed to suddenly start believing he existed? I wanted to, but it was so difficult.
Next: The First Miracle