When I was a kid you could always pick out my room by the array of dozens of plastic saints and ultra fancy May altars, and if you hit it just right you might catch me playing "Mass" (when Necco Wafers were in season) or under the skirt of my dressing table pretending to be one or another of the hermit saints.

No matter what, Sunday Mass was a priority in my family, so was Catholic school and being Catholic. But it was a kind of rote religion that carried me for many years, through college, a marriage and four children. As devoted as I thought I was, I never knew that there was any more to be had than church on Sunday. The hermit in me kept me isolated in private prayer that was so private that even God had no more life than the plastic statues and I had no interaction with anyone. It was lonely but it was all the faith I had.

I remember a recurring dream that I had even as a kid. It always involved a very familiar house where suddenly a door that I had never seen before would open and inside would be revealed rooms of unbelievable splendor and riches; gold silver decorations and glittering crystal chandeliers and lavish furniture fit for a king. I was scared by the dream when I was little but when I grew older I understood it to be a yearning in me for something more than what I had.

When I was 40 years old I was talked into making a Cursillo weekend. I truly was knocked off my horse and grew out of my childhood religion in an instant of revelation. The door opened and before me was the unbelievable splendor and riches of my dream - a living God who opened His arms to me through a loving community in whom I saw Jesus in all His glory every hour of the day. My hermit days were over. Everything I did became a holy act done in concert with a community that welcomed and strengthened me. I was no longer alone but I was filled with the Spirit of God and the need to serve. Of course, out of that need came a call to the music ministry and the advent of Joyful Noise, the choir I still direct at St. Mary's, and more than a few music "gigs" in the Cursillo community. I don't suppose I need to tell you that I've never had my recurring dream since my Cursillo weekend experience!

Probably most surprising to me is that the New Life that converted me twenty years ago is just as awesome today as it was then. The key seems to be my Group Reunion at St. Mary's and a loving community that keeps me in tow and doesn't allow me to slide into the dark places we like to hide in when life gets impossible. The crosses I've carried have been too heavy to bear alone. Thank You, Lord. You have always seen to it that there are many hands ready to bear me up and eager hearts who pray for me when I can no longer pray for myself.

Recently, I came across a prayer of thanksgiving that I had written in my journal close to the time of the tragic end of my marriage. It reads, "Thank you, My God, for those You've sent to work in my life and who hold me in the palm of Your hands lest I forget who loves me for all time."