Apparently, I came into the Church just a few weeks too soon. According to some of my Protestant friends, the Rapture is going to occur on Saturday. Too bad I’ve already signed my deal with the Devil. It’s okay – I’ll be following my Rapture Ready friends around, waiting to scavenge any awesome clothes and/or accessories they leave behind. Who wants to face the Great Tribulation with any fewer pairs of fabulous shoes than necessary? This girl.
This very much officially BAPTIZED, CONFIRMED, AND IN FULL COMMUNION WITH ROME girl.
I still catch myself at various points throughout the day thinking, “Hey. I’m. . .Catholic now”. Sometimes it’s an excited thought. Other times it’s followed by “And I don’t want to have to talk to Fr. Jack about this in Confession”. And THOSE particular moments are what’s on my mind today.
I knew, on a cognitive level, that conversion is an ongoing process for everyone, for the rest of our lives. Cradle Catholics and Newbies alike – the conversion from me, myself, what I want, what I think I need, what I think is best, to the sacrifice of self. Which, by the way, is um. . .not a concept I’m like, radically fond of.
Ego? Me? No way.
I knew that. But it didn’t really sink in until a few days after Easter Vigil. The journey really is just beginning. Was I ready for conversion? Absolutely. As ready as it is possible for me to be. But I have so. . .much. . .further. . .to. . .go. I can converse about Catholic theology all day long – albeit with no degree of expertise – but I am constantly struggling with the conversion of my mind. I make absolutely ZERO claims to perfection or holiness.
Anxiety, worry? Check.
Pride, arrogance, lust? Check, cash, or credit?
And I dig my 4-inch-heels so deeply in the sand about working on some of these things that the stilettos are bound to break off before I’m done. But I kneel before the True Presence, and in the quiet, think: You still love me. I am flawed. I am imperfect. I really, really like some of those flaws. But. You. Love. Me. And your Church – this beautiful, flawed, imperfect Church loves me.
You know something? For the first time ever, I feel relieved. Like I’m not doing this alone. The Eucharist. Confession. The Communion of the Saints. The Rosary. Mary, sweet Mary. I feel like I’ve been treading water in a sea of my own ugliness for so long, and instead of an emergency raft, someone sent the spiritual Navy Seals. Can I keep up? He – er… heck no I can’t. But I know that I am absolutely not going to drown, either. And some day – although I can pretty much guarantee it isn’t going to be any day in the immediate future – I’m going to try and look back to where I started, and I won’t even be able to see it it will be so far away. Because the road goes ever on and on, out from the door where it began. . .