I’ve been afraid to talk about it too much here, but after a long period of not attending church at all, I started attending St. Mary’s about 14 months ago. In September, I began RCIA classes, which is what you have to do if you want to be come Catholic.
I think I do.
Please, if you think this is a horrible decision, don’t tell me. Just quietly exit this blog and don’t leave a comment.
Every time I’ve thought, “Maybe this is a mistake,” I run into someone who gives me encouragement. Once it was Kathi, at Young Lives. A week ago, it was Margy, right in the middle of H-E-B. We were both crying. And last Sunday, it was the lay minister at Mass.
Usually, I end up in Pat’s line. Pat is a deacon and co-leads our RCIA class (Rite of Catholic Initiation for Adults). He knows me. He gives a proper blessing, since I can’t partake of the bread and wine yet. But Pat wasn’t there last Sunday. I ended up with my arms crossed in front of some rancher.
I bowed my head.
He gingerly reached out his hand and barely touched my forehead with his rough fingertips. He said, “God bless you, darlin’.”
