* Before I begin this next post, I need to make a quick caveat:  I don’t go around announcing that I periodically have visions, or strange dreams that come true.  It’s not a good way to make friends unless you enjoy the company of meth addicts or patients from the local psyche ward.  Sharing this piece of myself is rather terrifying, but I’m just going to have to trust God with that because it’s true, and I can’t very well leave out the most pivotal moment in my story thus far.  So take it or leave it as you will, but I know what I felt and saw. 

The next rite in our process was the Penitential Rite.  The other rites had taken place on Sundays during Mass, but this rite was a more low-key rite with just our Tuesday night class.  I did NOT want to go to our class that night.  I even picked a fight with Lukus to keep from going.  I had plopped into bed with my pj’s on and some old reruns on-line, and was not going to budge from that spot for the rest of the night.  But something in me wouldn’t let me stay put.  I knew I had to go.  I just knew.  But I was determined I was not going to be happy about it.  I don’t always control my attitude the way I should, but regardless of how I feel about something, if I truly believe it’s the right thing to do, I cannot allow myself to walk away.  My highest value is Truth, and when I know something to be True, I can hate it all I want and put up an immature fuss, but I still know I have to follow where it leads.

So we arrived about 40 minutes late.  Our class typically begins with “Vespers” or an evening prayer time in the chapel, followed by a lecture/discussion in the classroom.  But tonight, the order was swapped, and we’d missed the lecture my own sponsor had given, and everyone took a break before chapel time.  I was not looking forward to the chapel service, or the rite…if anything, I’d hoped we’d skipped that part and had arrived in time for the lecture.  But not so.  I sat hopelessly in my chair, weak-heartedly sang the hymn, and barely uttered the prayers.

But as our RCIA director, Paul, gave his homily on the Transfiguration on the Mount, he mentioned Peter.  He happened to mention that right before the Transfiguration, Jesus had asked Peter, “Who do you say that I am?” and Peter responds, “You are the Christ.”  Oh how that hit me – and I didn’t hear any of the rest of the homily because my mind had taken a tangent onto Peter.

I’ve never particularly related to Peter before.  After all, Peter was outspoken and adventurous and stubborn, three things that…well, we’re not always very self-aware, are we?  But this time, Peter hit me square in the face as being me.  You see, Peter KNEW the truth.  He had been with Jesus for sometime now, he had seen miracles, he was one of the top three of Jesus’ circle of friends.  Peter pretty much thought of himself the way I’ve always thought of myself – one of God’s favorites.  Don’t worry, I’m not delusional enough to think that my boundless humility is going to get me canonized as a saint any time soon.  Hi, I’m Ellany, and I’m a hubristic smarty-pants (not to mention outspoken and stubborn).

But I’m not alone.  Peter proceeds to make an ass of himself.  Moses and Elijah appear to Jesus as he’s praying, and Peter tries to get Moses and Elijah to stay longer by offering to make tents for them (whereas God quickly tells Peter to essentially shut-up and listen).  Peter goes on to do some more stupid things, like cutting off ears to defend Jesus, then turning around and denying him three times because he’s terrified out of his mind.  He knows what’s true, he loves his best friend, and yet, he’s so freaking scared of everything changing that all the life just gets sucked out of him because he doesn’t want to leave what’s familiar and what seems to be working so well.  Peter liked the way things were.  He wasn’t ready for things to change.

I could feel Peter then.  “But being a Protestant is working so well, Jesus!  People are getting saved, miracles are happening, people are seeking you and worshipping you…why should any of that have to change or be done differently when I’m SO feeling this vibe you’ve got going on here, Lord?  Can’t we just keep things the way they are, Jesus?  I’m not feeling you here in the Catholic Church, just like Peter wasn’t feeling that whole “getting beaten and thrown in prison” part.  It just doesn’t seem like this is the direction you meant to go, so why don’t we just stay here and figure out a new plan of what Your Holy Church should look like?”  Yeah, I got Peter then.  I’ve got Christ the Son of God right in front of me, and yet, I’m wanting to put up tents for the apparitions of Moses and Elijah.  Me and Peter?  We prefer the familiar past to the daunting future.

But in spite of his jackassness, Peter knew what was true.  And he couldn’t keep denying it.  After three times of trying to, his heart finally broke, and he just couldn’t keep running away.  And eventually, Peter got his redemption – times three, mind you.

As I sat contemplating all of this, I was pretty sure of what God wanted from me, so I reluctantly decided to submit to what I knew was true, and went up to participate in the rite.

Then I closed my eyes.

And we began to pray.

Then all of a sudden, I got really dizzy, and even though I knew my hands were interlocked in front of me, I couldn’t feel them any longer, and my arms felt like they were beginning to float out at my sides like I was spreading some wings.  I was just sure that I was about to start floating into the air if I didn’t focus really hard on staying on the ground.  Then, above the circle of people gathered, with my eyes closed, I saw a beautiful lady hovering above us, kind of pinkish and yellowish light surrounded her, with her arms spread like wings, and she just stayed there for a while.  I felt that any moment, I would float right up to her – until our Deacon Paul came to me and placed his hands on my head and pushed down.  I still don’t know what he was doing in that moment, so I’ll have to ask him some time.  Yes, my eyes were closed, so I wasn’t seeing with physical eyes, but it was much clearer than my imagination, and I could physically FEEL what was happening.

For the first time since this process began, I felt it.  I felt that other world that I used to feel at my old church.  I felt like I might possibly have a place here, like I had broken through to what I’d been missing all along.  I don’t know if it was Mary, or an angel, or some other saint.  I don’t like to put names on things when names aren’t given.  What I DO know, is that my mind NEVER would have conjured up a female, Moses or Elijah maybe, but not a female, and that in itself confirmed to me that this wasn’t coming from my own imagination.  But I saw her, and she was lovely and peaceful, and I was filled with peace and confidence for the first time.  I couldn’t help but remember the story of Peter, and his three reinstatements from Jesus.  Now, after three terrifying rites, God had granted me this gift, this little sign that He’s guiding this process, and that my time to come into the Church is at hand.  God had already brought the church family together for my heart.  Over time, He had brought doctrine together for my mind.  And now, He had brought this experience to anchor my spirit.

This Saturday night is Easter Vigil, when Lukus and I will be officially confirmed as Catholics, and I have great peace and confidence that God has guided every second of this journey:  from Rome to that pancake breakfast, from who my sponsor has been to the personal revelations I’ve had.  It’s been a hard and scary road, and in the process of it all, I’ve had to explain myself to a lot of baffled Protestants.  It hasn’t been fun, and it hasn’t been easy, but I’m pretty sure that it’s going to be worth it.

So I’ve noticed a trend occurring:  whenever we have a rite coming up, immediately beforehand, I have a mini-crisis.  I haven’t shared much of my personal struggles with becoming Catholic to anyone outside of our RCIA class because honestly, six days of the week, I feel like a full-blown Catholic, and it’s only one day of the week that I really struggle.  But now, I confess that as strong a supporter of Catholicism as I’ve been on Facebook and talking with other friends, it’s been a lot harder than it’s seemed.

If one wants to become Catholic, one must first attend RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults), which is a 9-12 month long class about the Catholic faith.  There are also several little “ceremonies” or rites that prepare you for the Big Event: confirmation.  But for each rite so far, I’ve had a little freak-out fest that leaves everyone wondering if I’m going to require smelling salts or medication.

Our first rite that we went through was the Rite of Welcoming, of which I had nightmares all the night before, and the only thing that got me there was just sheer determination.  I was nervous, but it turned out to be a lovely experience.  We were asked several questions in front of the congregation about our profession of faith, and then we were prayed over and blessed.  Our sponsors anointed our heads, eyes, ears, mouths, hearts, shoulders, hands, and feet, then placed a pretty, carved wooden cross around our necks.  It was the official beginning of the whole parish seeing who we were so they could pray for us throughout this process.  It was beautiful.

Then there was the Rite of Sending (the ceremony at which the parish sends you forth to the archbishop to participate in the Rite of Election).  I hadn’t thought much about the rite until we were actually in the sanctuary, and I began to feel almost sick inside at the nature of what I was about to do.  When we were called to sign our names in the Book of the Elect (which forever memorializes the names of new converts), I was so terrified, I couldn’t even feel the pen in my hands.  For all I know, my signature could read “Big Bird”.  I wanted to run screaming from the building, but I somehow managed to hold it together because I knew that I didn’t want to pull out unless I KNEW it wasn’t the right thing for me, and I didn’t KNOW that.  I’m sure a lot of people would interpret my internal turmoil as a testament that perhaps this is not the right path for me, and I have had experiences where I’ve been about to do something, gotten so sick inside that I’ve almost thrown up, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to do what I was about to do.  I experienced that when I almost enrolled in community college after high school.  Instead, I got sick before I could even ask for the paper work.  A few months later, I was at a four-year college meeting the love of my life and some forever friends.

But something in me knew this feeling wasn’t the same.  I don’t know how to explain the difference between one kind of nervous nausea and another, but I kind of felt like I was being tested, and rather than turn and run, I needed to push through.  So I did.

That evening, we returned to the cathedral for The Rite of Election in which we are presented individually to the archbishop.  That experience wasn’t too bad except my sponsor didn’t show up, and I was starting to build that up in my head as a bad omen.  Fortunately, our RCIA director (who’s gotten to know me pretty well too) stood in for my sponsor, and distracted my nervousness with hilarious cynical quips (cynical being my favorite kind of quips).  When I approached the archbishop to shake his hand, I extended my hand but was still a good distance from him.  He took my hand and gave me a good, hard tug so that I had to take a step closer.  I chuckled to myself, “So this is how it’s gonna be, huh, Lord?  You’re going to tug me in, kicking and screaming, aren’t you?”

As Lukus has watched all of my inner (and outer) turmoil, he’s told me that there’s no rush, there’s no need for me to become Catholic THIS YEAR.  I can take my time.  Everyone has reminded me of that, in fact.  No one wants you to become Catholic if you’re not ready.  Unlike in Protestantism when you have that “moment of decision”, there’s zero pressure from Catholics to join the Church.  But something deep inside me has known, from the day we started this process, was that it was now or never for me.  My decision must be made because I can’t remain in “no man’s land” any longer.  I want to know where I belong.  I want to have a Home.  I need to choose, and I am NOT going to let fear make my decision.  I’d rather a floating lady do that for me…

We left the church that had told me to be thankful for my mom’s cancer, and had just started attending a fairly new, non-denominational church. We’d only gone a couple of times when my mom died. Our oldest daughter was four, and our second daughter was only one, and my hormones were still all over the place. My mom had been my best friend. She and I had lived on our own out in California away from the rest of our family for most of my upbringing, and there were huge portions of my life that only she had been present for. Now she was gone, I was a young mom, and I was struggling with all the internal guilt of the ways that I had failed her. My salvation came in the form of this new church we’d started attending with our friends.

The first Sunday after my mom’s funeral, the pastor had already found out somehow and approached me with such love and compassion – and he never once told me to be thankful about my mom’s death. The worship was full of life, the pastor was excellent at breaking down the Word, but always, ALWAYS, bringing it back to Jesus. The community was close-knit and passionate, and there were plenty of places to get involved. Where had this place been all my life?! It was the first time since our church back in college that I actually felt like getting up on Sunday mornings to go to church.

But before we had found this place, we had already started looking further into Catholicism. We had a brief interest in the Orthodox Church…until we attended…and we knew it just wasn’t for us. But this new church, it was phenomenal – it just wasn’t Catholic. Through lots of reading and study, Lukus had become convinced that Catholicism was true, but in all honesty, between my mom’s death, Lukus doing school full-time, and moving to a new house, we just didn’t have the energy to go through a nine-month class to convert. So we started this new church with Lukus already convinced of Catholicism, and me just wanting to get swallowed in the warm, healing presence of this new, spiritual family. We let our pastor know of our inclinations toward Catholicism, and he was completely cool about it. They even let us lead a small group, which was much more open-minded than what we had experienced from others.

It was here that I learned to grow in my prayer life. I went to classes on prophecy that were uncomfortably challenging, but well-balanced and not wonky. I began to see images or visions during worship that only took me deeper in prayer and worship. Our small group was growing, and people began connecting in greater intimacy, sharing their insights, confessing their sins, and asking for prayer for hard things. Our marriage had never been better, our friendships felt rich, and life just felt like spring time. Well…for me it did.

Lukus was fine. But only fine. His passion is for truth, and once he’d studied Catholicism, it was where his heart was. He’d found a treasure that Protestantism just didn’t possess, and he grew more and more disenchanted as time went by. But he knew I was still too fragile to move. Every day was a small step toward healing, but he knew I wasn’t ready to take any big leaps yet.

Oddly enough, it was at an economics conference that started stirring up that old desire in me again. Lukus was getting his master’s in economics and decided to attend a libertarian economics conference held at the Mises Institute in Auburn, Alabama. I’ll go anywhere to get out of town, so I tagged along with him, attending a couple of lectures, but spending most of my time exploring the small town of Auburn. We got to each lunch with some of Lukus’ personal heroes, like Tom Woods, Lew Rockwell, and Jeff Tucker – all libertarian thinkers and historians who also happen to be Catholic. But the greatest impression made on me was by Dr. Gerard Casey, an Irish Catholic/anarchist/professor/gentleman.

Dr. Casey had lectured on how his faith aligns with anarchism – a fascinating and entertaining lecture – and we asked him to have drinks afterwards. We told him about our newfound interest in Catholicism, our visit to Rome, our conversations with Andrew, and our studies. Like the seminarians, the thing that stood out to me most about Dr. Casey, was his obvious and overflowing love for Jesus. Everything he said was centered around Christ, and his eyes were lit with joy. It had made sense with the seminarians, but I hadn’t met enough “average” Catholics to get a good guage on how they relate to Jesus.

But at this conference, I met Catholic after Catholic after Catholic who loved to talk about the Church, who knew scripture, and who loved Jesus most of all. What stood out to me even more was their love for one another. These total strangers were coming together for an economics conference, making new friends amongst Protestants, atheists, and Buddhists, but as soon as they discovered another Catholic next to them, there was an instant bond. I’d never seen this in Protestantism, it may exist among those who attend the same church, or a few friends you make along the way, but nothing like this. This was almost miraculous, and I watched silently in awe. These people knew each other on a level that typically takes years to develop, and yet, the scripture that played over and over in my mind that whole week as I observed them was, “They will know you by your love for one another.” THIS was what Jesus’ Church was supposed to look like! Bonded in unity, loving one another through Christ, and savoring that fellowship. Dr. Casey never really said anything about faith that blew me away – it was he himself, simply being a good witness of love for one’s brother and for Christ, and I will never forget him.

Again, those wistful thoughts began to reemerge – in spite of how much I was loving our new church, I wished we were Catholic.