I spent most of my life as a committed atheist. Not the kind who was angry at religion—just the kind who couldn’t see how it fit. Faith felt abstract, like a foreign language everyone else seemed to speak fluently. I was curious, quietly observant, even respectful—but deep down, I assumed religion simply wasn’t for me. I saw it as something that people needed, but I didn’t think I had that same need. I believed in self-sufficiency, logic, and the comfort of what I could prove. Yet, beneath the surface of all that confidence was a silent, aching question: What if there’s more? I didn’t have the language for it at the time, but I now recognize that those stirrings were the Holy Spirit planting seeds in soil I didn’t even know was fertile.
Then came the storm. A dark, consuming season where everything felt hollow. I was wrestling with grief, identity, purpose—and losing every round. Until, one day, the emptiness cracked open into clarity. I had what I now call my come to Jesus moment. I saw, as plain as day, that there was a Jesus-shaped hole in my heart. Nothing else fit. Only Him.
What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. As I sat crying, desperate to go to church—my husband walked through the door. He had been wrestling with his own questions, and God had been quietly working on both our hearts in tandem. I’ll never forget the awe of that moment. We were being called home, together.
We joined RCIA, now often called OCIA in some places (Order of Christian Initiation of Adults), and learned what it means to live a sacramental life. Each session was like rediscovering a part of myself I didn't know I'd lost. Our journey culminated with our wedding convalidation ceremony—a sacred affirmation of our union in the eyes of the Church.
But nothing compares to the night of my baptism and confirmation at Easter. The joy in my heart was immeasurable. I felt like the angels were singing. I wasn’t just welcomed—I was embraced. The grace I received overwhelmed every fear and doubt. I finally understood what Psalm 23 meant:
“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2-3)
I wish someone had told me earlier. I wish I had listened. But even in that regret, there’s peace—the kind only Jesus can give. A peace that quiets the chaos and gently whispers, you’re home now.
Now, I want to share that joy with others. I’ve poured my journey into an ebook that might resonate with seekers or skeptics like I once was to help new Catholics and Catholic converts.
Let’s continue to pray for each other. Faith is a gift—but also a journey. And we don’t walk it alone. 💛