It’s been a couple years since my last post on this blog, and we’ve been busy. We’ve had another baby boy: Maximilian Joseph, who is now a year and a half old. Isabel is in the first grade at the local Catholic school, much to the chagrin of my mother. The days keep ticking by with little time for reflection or writing, but plenty of time to practice selfless service to others. If only practice actually made perfect.
After years now of actually being Catholic, of compulsively crossing myself before and after prayers, of being surrounded by people who believe the same as I do, of being shocked by the occasional Protestant references I come across (such as calling James the other son of Mary), I’m very glad I started this blog. I’ve settled rather comfortably into Catholic life and am finding it difficult to remember what I was like pre-conversion. When a friend of mine in our Bible study asked what made me change my mind about Catholicism, I struggled for a concise reply. Maybe I’ll dig through this blog and send some of it on to her.
Thinking about where I am now and where I was definitely not before, I can say from experiencing the process of conversion…
You know you’re Catholic when:
- You have crucifixes in every room of the house (including the playroom), and move on to collecting statues of Mary at special occasions.
- Catholics you meet at the playground recognize your children’s names as saints names.
- Your daughter’s favorite night time lullaby is “Hail Mary”.
- Your three year old son asks to have a “Jesus” (crucifix around his neck) too, and ends up looking like an archbishop.
- You wonder not if your children will be doctors or astronauts when they grow up, but whether they will be called to a religious vocation or married life.
- Your kids throw fits at church because they want the special bread too.
- The question is not whether to buy a rosary or pray with it. The question is where you put it and how to fix the one that’s now in pieces.
- You feel weird when the doctor asks if you’re interested in a prescription for birth control at your 6 week post-partum checkup.
- You go for a visit back home in Northern Ireland, and the Craigavon boys think you’ve join Sinn Fein.
- You have exorcized salt sitting on the stove to cook with.