Every spiritual life is a journey. Mine began in Warner Robins, Georgia in 1971. I was born into a good Methodist family and had a strong Christian foundation laid for me in childhood. But unfortunately, as is all too common, during my teenage years I drifted away somewhat from this good foundation and was lukewarm at best towards Christianity. I still attended weekly church services and youth group activities, but my interests were mainly in having fun with my friends and having a spiritual life was far from my mind.

But at age 17, I had a profound conversion experience that impressed upon me the reality and urgency of Christianity. I gave my heart and life to Jesus and experienced a great sense of meaning and purpose in life. Around this time, my family and I became Southern Baptists, which matched well with my new fervency and devotion.

I ended up going off to college to Jerry Falwell’s well-known Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, which proved to be an ideal place for me at the time to deepen my devotion and learn more about the Faith. It was a great time of spiritual development for me, and by the time I graduated in 1995, I felt energized and excited about where Our Lord would lead me and what He would do through me.

However, with the external support and security of a self-contained Christian environment taken away from me, and being thrust out into “the real world,” I found myself depressed, lonely and struggling to find my place. I had moved back to Georgia, but I could not find a church where I truly felt at home. The usual format of singing a few praise and worship songs and listening to a preacher for 30 to 40 minutes no longer fulfilled my spiritual hunger as it had before. Even my own private devotions of Bible reading and prayer also left me feeling empty. Talking with God became more and more of a struggle and trying to maintain that prior tangible sense of fervent devotion became an oppressive burden. It was a crisis moment in my life.

I was not aware of it at the time, because it was not a teaching that I ever came across in my Protestant circles, but what I was going through is a common stage in spiritual development and growth: After an initial period of zeal and sensible delight in the spiritual life, a period of dryness and seeming darkness is passed through as Our Lord draws souls closer to Him and away from self-seeking in pleasurable spiritual consolations. He leads them through this to teach them to rely more on faith alone, and not on good feelings. But I knew none of this at the time. I only felt like my Christianity was dismantling around me and that there was nothing I could do about it. My strength was as sand and I felt lost in barren darkness. No matter what I did, I could not find those familiar sensible indicators that I was close to God. He seemed very distant, even absent, and my cries out to Him seemed to be ignored.

New light did finally come to me after many months, oddly enough, through the writings of some medieval Catholics such as St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Avila. St. John’s “Dark Night of the Soul” and St. Teresa’s “Interior Castle,” provided me with new spiritual insights and made some sense of what I was going through; they gave me hope. Their writings also ignited in me a strange new sweetness of intimacy with Our Lord that was quite unlike anything I had experienced before: profound and deep, but simple, quiet, peaceful. I discovered that a relationship with God was not always a matter of me thinking about what to say in prayer, or even in always studying Biblical texts for some applicable truths. Those laudable activities are only the means to reach the ultimate goal, which is a real loving experience with the living God. I learned about something called “contemplation,” which was the name given to the simple serene loving intimacy with God that my soul had been craving but had been fighting against in trying to regain some past sensible devotion that I felt I had lost.

I began to embrace this new quietude and sweetness, but after a few months I was again plunged into a deep darkness of spirit, which frightened me greatly. A depressing weight seemed to descend upon me. I felt like I was suffocating and I was desperate to get out from under it. I felt like perhaps moving away from my hometown would be the sort of stimulating change of setting that I needed to expand my horizons and renew my outlook on life.

My foray into the wide world took me initially to New England. One night, I stayed at a Benedictine retreat house in Still River, Massachusetts. I still considered myself firmly Protestant despite the fact that my reading material was at that time mostly written by medieval Catholic saints. I also felt drawn to monastic settings for some reason, and had a handful of retreat houses picked out prior to my trip that were close to where I would be traveling. At St. Benedict Abbey, after a friendly dinnertime debate with some of the monks about Catholic beliefs, a fellow guest gave me a copy of “Born Fundamentalist, Born Again Catholic” by David Currie. She said that she would be praying that I would one day become Catholic. I thought to myself that she could pray all she wants, but I would never become Catholic. I tucked the book into my things and moved on the next morning.

I eventually settled in Louisville, Kentucky where I had friends from college. Over the months that followed, I continued to try to find a Protestant church to suit me, but I was unable to do so. I knew that I needed more than what I was being offered in the typical Baptist service. Occasionally, in my private time of prayer, I would still enter into moments of that certain deep contemplative peace, but I found upon entering a Baptist church service I would be pulled into something much more superficial, with all the songs and preaching and giddy exuberance. I recall on one occasion, I managed through the songs at the beginning of the service, trying unsuccessfully to get into the spirit of the singing, but when we sat down and the pastor got up to preach, I felt compelled to get up and bolt out of the door, which is exactly what I did. I decided that I could not sit there like that anymore and listen to another lengthy talk. Christian worship had to be more than that. But where would I go? I had experienced in years past the extremes of Pentecostalism and I knew that I did not want that. On the other side, the more “reverent” liturgical churches seemed to have, in recent decades, softened into a shapeless liberalism, so I steered clear of them as well. I looked objectively at all the different types of Christian groups, and I began to be very disenchanted with the fractured nature of Protestantism: So many competing groups, all claiming to be following the same Jesus and reading the same Bible. If the Bible was the authority, why did all these Christians disagree on so much regarding doctrine and practice?

I read more on the histories of various denominations and competing theologies and, in the process, my eyes were opened to the fundamental fallacy of the doctrine of Sola Scriptura, that the Bible alone is the sole authority for Christian belief. As I later discovered, this issue was the turning point for so many who end up becoming Catholic: The teaching that all Christian teachings must be taught in the Bible is not itself taught in the Bible. When the paradoxical truth of that statement settled into my heart and mind, I realized that I could not remain Protestant anymore. Protestantism was illogical at its very foundation. However, although I could not remain Protestant, I also felt that I could not become Catholic either, since I still felt that with doctrines like Transubstantiation, “worshipping” Mary, praying to saints, the infallibility of the Pope, Purgatory etc. it was a gravely misled religion.

I spent many months in this odd limbo of being between worlds and with the frustrated feeling that I was at an impasse. After wrestling with it from all angles, I decided to “just live” and not drive myself crazy over it. At least I still believed in Jesus, even though He seemed so distant to me. He was real to me by faith and I would trust Him to sort all these things out for me in time. Since I did not know which group to associate with, I actually stopped going to church services for a while, but I did not stop reading the Bible and trying to pray. Praying, at least with words, was like trying to swim upstream, but I tried not to worry too much about it. I eventually gave up trying to pray words at all and would just allot a certain portion of time each day to kneel quietly before Our Lord.

I began making weekly day-trips to the nearby Abbey of Gethsemane in Bardstown, Kentucky (where Thomas Merton had lived) for more intense quiet time with God. These peaceful retreats were the most nourishing times to me during this period, and it was the closest that I felt to a spiritual home. I would often attend Compline, or Night Prayer, in the chapel. Being there with the monks chanting the Psalms was a very peaceful and prayerful experience and it caused my spirit to truly soar. There was a strong sense that my seeking after God had brought me there, and it matched so well with the longing of my spirit. I ceased to try to make everything fit together and make sense. I could gain nourishment from these Catholic resources and places without actually being Catholic. Besides, I was not Protestant anymore. I was not sure exactly what I was except a follower of Jesus, but I was neither a Protestant nor a Catholic. It was a strange time.

My apartment in Louisville was very close to Holy Spirit Catholic Church. I passed by it daily. As an act of reaching out for more avenues of spiritual nourishment, I decided to attend Mass one Sunday evening. I sat there alone, spiritually burdened, exhausted. But here was something new: A worship service that matched my current spiritual climate and answered that unnamed longing. Music and singing there were, but it was peaceful, worshipful, reverent, with a subdued and beautiful joy. There were non-embellished prayers and readings from Scripture, followed by a mini-sermon that touched on a couple good points and then was mercifully over.

This was followed by the Eucharist, and I was prepared then to endure through some strangeness, some glaring vestiges of ancient pagan rituals. However, I was pleasantly surprised: The Eucharistic prayers sounded scriptural, very Christ-centered, and quite rich and meaningful. There was no strangeness, no invoking of pagan deities. The priest, in normal language, was expounding on the Sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, which I wholeheartedly believed in. Above the altar in that particular church, there was a life-size, very life-like statue of Jesus hanging on the cross. I found myself gazing up throughout Mass at His outstretched arms. He seemed to be reaching out to embrace me, to draw me close to Him, there in that place. I did not quite understand everything, but I knew that I would return the following week.

I started to feel very much at home there at Mass. I still felt strongly that many of the underlying doctrines of the Catholic Church were wrong, but I was finding nourishment there, and as I had not found it elsewhere, I continued to come to Mass. I felt confident that I could glean spiritual nourishment by coming there and still not become Catholic.

Eventually, I was moved to begin reading “Born Fundamentalist, Born Again Catholic,” which had been given to me so many months before at St. Benedict Abbey. The book actually made me angry the first time through, as the author seemed to me to be somewhat arrogant in his absolute certainty of the truths of the Catholic Faith. How could he be so sure? I continued to make the weekly trips to the Abbey of Gethsemane. I read the book again. I read the writings of the Early Church. I came quietly kneeling before Our Lord daily, like a mute beggar.

Then, through continued prayer, reading, study, and attending Mass, a great miracle took place. Nothing else except a miracle could explain the melting away of so many barriers and long-held misconceptions I had about the Catholic Faith. The first doctrine I accepted was that of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. I saw then those scriptures like the 6^th Chapter of the Gospel of St. John in which Jesus speaks so clearly of the necessity of eating His Body and drinking His Blood. This was confirmed to me by the Early Church writings I was reading that spoke of the Eucharist in ways consistent with the Catholic teaching. The Lord’s Supper in the Baptist always seemed to be a bit lacking to me, and now I saw that it did not match up with either scripture or Early Church practice.

Papal authority and apostolic succession came early on and filled for me the authority gap that Protestants had unsuccessfully sought to fill with Sola Scriptura. Again I found confirmation in the Early Church writings of the authoritative role of the successors of the Apostles and that of the local bishops. After the authority question was settled, the other “problem” doctrines fell into place: Purgatory, Mary and the Saints, Indulgences and so on. Catholic doctrines and practices are so beautifully woven together that once someone begins to accept some of the Church’s teachings, the entire theological system eventually falls into place.

And so, on the 18^th of February, 1999, after joining the RCIA program at Holy Spirit parish, at long last I was received into full communion with the Catholic Church. Words cannot express the fire that Christ ignited in me through union with His One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, truly a Treasure of Treasures. I could go on for pages and pages about the Eucharist alone, as well as the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Communion of Saints, the Rosary, the Divine Office, the feasts and liturgical cycle of seasons, the myriad of precious devotions, the vast 2000 years of Christ’s Church on earth, and the increased love for Our Lord that He has instilled within me! New vistas and vast oceans of boundless and unspeakable riches have opened up before my eyes as the clear and brilliant light of Truth – O Glorious Truth! – unmuddled, unchanging, shines brightly in the bosom of Holy Mother Church, in the Bride and Body of Christ dispersed yet One throughout the whole earth! I knew Jesus Christ before, yes, but the crumbs and morsels of Him that I tasted and cherished before, I now find laid out in fullness before me upon the richest and most glorious Banquet Table – the Catholic Church! Praised be God Forever!

You can read a more detailed episodic account of my journey at my blog: http://catholicsojourner.blogspot.com

May God bless you in your own journey.

Todd Meade

Below is an excerpt from a book in the making that deals with Jane’s spiritual journey back to the catholic faith.

INTRODUCTION

This little book is a series of vignettes describing the key events in my life, and those in my spiritual life. I am an artist who fell away from her faith and this is the story of my journey back to the Catholic Church, and to the Cross of Jesus. And also, the story of some of the things that happened along the Way.

I grew up in West Sussex, England, and moved to London aged 17 in 1982, in the middle of my A levels. I spent the next 16 years of my life living in London as a bit of a nomad, until I managed to buy a place in Ealing in 1998. I moved back down to Sussex in 2004 and now live with my mother in Horsham, West Sussex.

After studying fine art and textiles at Goldsmith’s College in the 1980’s, I spent a number of years developing a painting technique on glass. The effect of painting directly on to the glass is that the image changes with the movement of light upon its surface, with myriad effect.

I have had some success with this and commissions followed. These include a major series for Royal Caribbean International, The Saudi Royal Family; London’s Capital Hotel; Holiday Inn, Vienna; and others both here and abroad. I have been invited to exhibit at Wilkinson of Mayfair; Harrods Knightsbridge, The Royal Commonwealth Society; the London Buddhist Centre; South Bank’s Oxo Tower and Art in Action in Oxford.

My journey back to Jesus involved a journey through Yoga and I took initiation into Kriya Yoga in 1999. In 2004 I came under satanic attack, the devil was twisting the words to the Rosary in my ear. I was prayed over by an Exorcist to whom I had to renounce ‘all forms of occult practise’ – this meant Yoga – and felt free of a heavy bondage. I surrendered myself totally to Jesus. This was however, at a time that I had separated from a long-time boyfriend and started hearing voices the same day I split up with him (I was diagnosed with Schizophrenia the next year, in 2005). The voices ended the same day that I finished the first draft of this book, in 2011.

August 2011

Chapter 5

A few months later my car had broken down and I was on the train back to London from visiting my mother in Sussex. I had a vision of Jesus on the train. I had been crying out to Him from the depths of my heart for a husband. I had asked God for an ‘earthy’ love. I don’t know why. It seemed a long time since I’d had a boyfriend and I thought it was about time that I got married. I was looking at an article in a magazine about a beautiful garden in Belguim called Beloeil ‘Good Eye’ which was built on the principles of Sacred Geometry, when Jesus appeared out the vanishing point of the picture – an avenue of Beech trees at Dusk. He reached down into the earth and made a heart out of the earth, and without losing eye contact with me, put it inside His chest which He opened with a simple movement of His hands. He said ‘this is your loving’ when I fearfully questioned Him as to what the vision meant. I heard the words in my head. I did not understand.

He was wearing a luminous white robe (as he wears in the Divine Mercy image, but I didn’t realise that then,) and His eyes were ‘full of all the suffering in the world’ full of all the suffering in the world. I could not forget that. Yet they were also full of tenderness, humor and love. What did it mean? I asked myself. I don’t know how long the vision lasted, whether it was second or half a minute. I wondered, and felt afraid that I was not loving enough. (Now of course, I realise, He was saying His is the earthy love I was praying for!)….

Jane

I am collecting a list of famous Catholics and plan on elaborating on some of their stories. Check back soon for the first of a series of posts on famous Catholics.

Catholic Musicians
Bono – lead singer for Irish rock band U2; humanitarian (father was a lapsed Catholic)
Arlo Guthrie – American folk singer (convert)
Aaron Neville

Catholic Artists
Salvador Dali – Surrealist painter (convert)
Pablo Picasso – (1881-1973) famous painter
Michelangelo  – Michelangelo di Lodovico
Henri Matisse – famous French painter
Pierre-Auguste Renoir – influential French Impressionist painter
Raphael – famous Italian painter
Paul Gauguin – celebrated French painter known for his warm paintings of Polynesian people and scenes (raised Catholic, convert to Theosophy)
Edgar Degas – famous French painter
Francisco De Goya – famous Spanish painter
Leonardo da Vinci – artist, scientist, inventor

Catholic Writers / Film
William Shakespeare – playwright
J.R.R. Tolkien – fantasy writer
Anne Rice – gothic vampire novelist
Jack Kerouac – author (lapsed)
Martin Scorsese – film director
Federico Fellini – influential Italian film director

Catholic Actors / Actresses
Jack Nicholson – actor
Dan Aykroyd – comedian, actor (lapsed)
Nicolas Cage – Oscar-winning actor, Leaving Las Vegas (1995)
Al Pacino  – Oscar-winning actor, Scent of a Woman (1992)
Nicole Kidman – actress
Mel Gibson – actor, film director (traditionalist Catholic)
Bing Crosby – actor, singer, movie star
Sean Connery – movie star
Robert De Niro – actor, movie star (non-practicing)

Other Catholics
John F. Kennedy Jr. – 35th U.S. President
Galileo Galilei – influential scientist, astronomer
Rene Descartes – influential philosopher and mathematician
Nicholas Copernicus – astronomer
Augustine – influential Christian philosopher
Lawrence Kudlow – economist-commentator (convert)
Buffalo Bill

What do Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Saint Francis, Saint Augustine and Mother Theresa have in common?

Resources
Post on Famous Catholics:
adherents.com/largecom/fam_catholic.html
Underlying themes of the beat generation:
sfmission.com/famous/lipstick_traces.htm

Another series will be on famous Christians

Famous Christian Musicians
Jerry Garcia – Co-founder of the Grateful Dead

The Divine Mercy Chaplet

What is the Chaplet of Divine Mercy?
Saint Faustina was born Helena Kowalska in the village of Glogowiec west of Lodz, Poland, on August 25, 1905. She was the third of ten children. When she was almost twenty, she entered the Congregation of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy, whose members devote themselves to the care and education of troubled young women.

The following year she received her religious habit and was given the name Sister Maria Faustina, to which she added “of the Most Blessed Sacrament,” as was permitted by her Congregation’s custom.

In the 1930s, Sister Faustina received from the Lord a message of mercy that she was told to spread throughout the world. She was asked to become the apostle and secretary of God’s mercy, a model of how to be merciful to others, and an instrument for reemphasizing God’s plan of mercy for the world.

The message of mercy that Sister Faustina received is now being spread throughout the world; she has been recognized by the Church as a “Saint”; and her diary, Divine Mercy in My Soul, has become the handbook for devotion to The Divine Mercy. She would not have been surprised, for she had been told that the message of God’s mercy would spread through her writings for the great benefit of souls.

Through Saint Faustina, Jesus also revealed special ways to live out the response to His mercy–one of which is the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, as both a novena and a prayer for the three o’clock hour–the hour of His death.

How to Recite the Chaplet of Divine Mercy
The Chaplet of Mercy is recited using ordinary rosary beads of five decades. At the National Shrine of Divine Mercy in Stockbridge, Massachusetts the Chaplet is preceded by two opening prayers from the Diary of Saint Faustina and followed by a closing prayer.

Optional Opening Prayers
You expired, Jesus, but the source of life gushed forth for souls, and the ocean of mercy opened up for the whole world. O Fount of Life, unfathomable Divine Mercy, envelop the whole world and empty Yourself out upon us.

O Blood and Water, which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a fountain of Mercy for us, I trust in You!

Begin with the Our Father, the Hail Mary and the Apostle’s Creed:

Our Father
Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, Amen.

Hail Mary
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.

The Apostle’s Creed
I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord, Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified; died, and was buried. He descended into Hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into Heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

Then, on the large bead before each decade:
Eternal Father, I offer you the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of Your Dearly Beloved Son, Our Lord, Jesus Christ,
in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.

On the ten small beads of each decade, say:
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

Conclude with (Say 3 Times):
Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

Optional Closing Prayer
Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will, which is Love and Mercy itself.

Our Lord said to Saint Faustina:
Encourage souls to say the Chaplet which I have given you … Whoever will recite it will receive great mercy at the hour of death … When they say this chaplet in the presence of the dying, I will stand between my Father and the dying person, not as the Just Judge but as the Merciful Savior … Priests will recommend it to sinners as their last hope of salvation. Even if there were a sinner most hardened, if he were to recite this chaplet only once, he would receive grace from my infinite mercy. I desire to grant unimaginable graces to those souls who trust in My mercy … Through the Chaplet you will obtain everything, if what you ask for is compatible with My will.

The above taken from catholicity.com/prayer/divinemercy.html

From: st-bart.org/pictures/DivineMercy%20image.jpg

Star House

By Linda Carden
Beverly, Massachusetts

Formerly published in Angels on Earth Magazine, August 30, 2006

Brightly colored oil sticks lay ready on my desk next to a big blank sheet of paper. I hadn’t painted since I was a child. I never expected to be doing it in graduate school—until I signed up for a class called Art Therapy and Dreams. I was studying at Lesley University to become an expressive therapist for kids who had a hard time talking about their feelings, usually kids who had been emotionally or physically abused. The different art forms—drawing and painting, dance and drama—gave them ways to communicate and process their experiences. In order to really un-derstand how this therapy worked, I had to try it myself. I stared at the blank paper. Drawing didn’t come naturally to me.

“Don’t judge yourself,” the instructor said. “Just start scribbling!”

I picked up a green oil stick and streaked it across the paper. I made loops and circles with green and red. I grabbed a new sheet and started again. Bright green and purple covered the page, and I added a little blue house up in the corner. I stopped drawing. Where had I seen a blue house like that before?

In a dream! The memory came back in a rush. I was five. My mother had just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She told me not to worry, but I did. Was Mom going to die?

Then one night I had a dream. I was walking down our driveway. An angel waited for me at the end. He scooped me up in his enormous wings. He was glorious! He cradled me in his strong arms as we flew into the sky. Up, up, past the moon and the clouds until we came to a little blue house amid the stars. Suddenly I was inside it! And I was no longer afraid. The walls protected me just like the strong arms of the angel. Inside my star house I felt loved and cared for, completely and forever. I felt strong.

That dream became my refuge. No matter how I worried during the day, at night I found comfort in my star house. Finally, I could see that Mom was going to be okay; her disease was under control. I forgot all about my star house—until that day in my art therapy class when it popped out in my painting. I felt a rush of comfort and strength, just like in my dreams as a child.

“Now you can see the power of art and dreams,” the instructor said when I explained my picture.

The star house became an important part of my master’s thesis. Now that it was back in my life, I didn’t want to let go of the feeling it gave me—even after all these years. I hoped it would help me teach other children how to find such strength within themselves.

After graduating I had a chance to put my skills to work with children on psychiatric wards. We celebrated when a child healed enough to leave the hospital. We also knew the harsh reality. For too many the struggle was far from over. It was a big step going from a safe, structured environment into an unpredictable world.

“It’s so frustrating,” I said to another therapist one day. “These kids need a place where they can transition at their own pace.” The words had barely left my mouth when a thought came to me: Why don’t you make a place for them?

That night I lay in bed thinking about my star house. Every child deserved what it had given me: a feeling of being loved and protected. But I had had an angel to carry me there on his wings. I didn’t have wings. Could I help other children anyway?

God, I thought, I felt your loving protection in my dream. I want these children to know that feeling too. Help me find a way.

The next day I called a friend who was the director of a group home in Beverly, Mass., which was not far from where I lived. “That’s quite an undertaking,” he said when I told him the idea.

“But if you do it here in Beverly, I could introduce you to locals who could help.”

My friend made good on his promise. We formed a dedicated board of directors, wrote a mission statement with program policies, and developed a business plan. Star House became a non-profit corporation.

Then the Office of Community Development gave us a grant to buy ourselves a house. I began hunting with a real estate agent. Months went by. I saw house after house with no luck. The few times we did bid, we lost. “It’s hopeless,” I told the agent after another afternoon of searching.

“We’ll find your house,” the agent said. “Don’t worry.” I remembered trying not to worry when my mom first got sick. When I was only five and didn’t know how to keep my worries at bay, God had given me my dream. But now I was all grown up. I would be strong and put all my worries about finding a house in his hands. Perhaps he would give me this dream too. “Okay,” I told the agent. “We’ll just keep on looking.”

A few days later we were driving up a narrow driveway. I looked out the car window at a cheerful blue colonial house, much like the one I had drawn with my oil stick. I opened the car door and got out slowly. Could this be the house for us? I stepped onto the sidewalk. An in-viting path led from the front door right to my feet—and what was that on the ground where I stood? A bright blue star drawn in colored chalk.

The homeowner came out and introduced himself. “My daughter drew that star today,” he explained. “She’s been practicing, and that’s the very first star she got just right!”

Not only just right. More like just perfect. Could there be any doubt we had found our house? After a quick tour inside, we sealed the deal.

Today Star House has six children in residence, aged five to 12. They go to school, play games, have picnics, make friends and get the intensive therapy they need. When they’re strong enough they will move on to live with families of their own.

But even after they move on, I hope they carry Star House with them, just as I have for so many years. Star House isn’t four walls and a roof, or the furniture or toys donated by the community. The real Star House is a safe place where everyone feels God’s love and protection. I thought my angel had built it just for me, but God made the house. All children are welcome there.

Formerly published in Angels on Earth Magazine,  August 30, 2006, now at www.guideposts.com/angels

More information on Starhouse is at www.starhouseonline.org

I was a cradle Catholic and grew up in the faith of my parents, went to Religious Education classes but the faith really didn’t belong to me until June 25, 1998.  Our family faced many difficult times, we nearly lost our first born son but a brand new doctor showed up at the last minute with a cure the more experienced doctors didn’t think know about.  We were told he would be retarded and physically handicapped if we tried the treatment.  He graduated with a double major and a BA from a well known university.  Our daughter didn’t have any problems at all.  Little did we think that nineteen years latter on April 26, 1991 our second son would be killed by a drunk driver and the only reason my wife is here is that a high school student that just finished a CPR class gave her life back to us.  Stress was high in the family; we all seemed to go our separate ways in search of meaning.

My wife Betty came home the next year with this crazy idea about a modern day Fatima happening Bosnia.  Anyway my attitude was wonderful.  So what’s for dinner?  My attitude then was if I couldn’t feel it, touch it, smell it, and see it live, then it’s probably not real.

The next year Betty dragged me off to an annual Medjugorje Peace Conference that’s held at UC Irvine, CA.  I was board but felt compelled to stay because of Betty and the fact that we went in one car.

The Sunday morning speaker was Mary Lou Mc Call somebody that worked for I think CNN or NBC.  Anyway she went to Medjugorje to do a story.  You would have to hear the talk.  She was great.  She assumed like any of the better news media people that you knew nothing of Medjugorje and she explained everything in detail; She went as a skeptic and returned as a believer.  She explained the whole experience step by step.  Mary Lou got me interested.

I read every one of Wayne’s books, then another and I decided it was time for a trip.  I had things pretty much set up before talking to Betty about it; you really had to see the look on her face.  “You, Medjugorje?”

A couple of months later we were staying with Ivan’s cousin just two houses down the street from his.  Ivan is one of the visionaries.  We were also right next door to Jakov, another visionary.  Marianna lived across the street.  We had the chance to meet or at least hear each one of the five visionaries speak.  I am still at the “Ya, so prove it to me stage.”

An interesting aside is that Ivan, one of the visionaries (a person that speaks with the Blessed Mother), married a girl from the Back Bay in Boston.  He met her in the states at one of the Medjugorje conferences.

Ivan is very nice to be around.  He invited our tour group to his house so that we could be present for an apparitions (coming of the Blessed Mother) for her daily talk with him.  She appears to him not to anyone else in the room.  There was a pregnant lady with us.  You had to see her unborn baby going wild when the apparition was going on.  When the apparition stopped so did the unborn child.  My first thought was when Mary visited Elizabeth and the baby stirred in her womb.

As part of the trip we took a bus ride to another town to meet Fr. Jozo.  He was the pastor when the children, now 25 years older, began having apparitions.  The church didn’t believe the visionaries, there was a communist government in power, so Fr. Jozo was removed as the pastor of Medjugorje because he did believed and supported the children.

He had a nice talk.  I’m still at the ya, so show me stage.  Fr. Jozo blessed the priests with the power of the Holy Spirit

And then were sent into the crowd to pass on the blessing.  I decided to go to the restroom early so I left the church.  When I returned Betty still hadn’t come out, so I went back in.  What the heck everyone is getting blessed and so I decided to join the line.  One priest came to me, places a cross on my forehead and repeated the blessing.  The power of the Holy Sprit came into me then.  I had this warm and overwhelming feeling of peace and security.  It’s hard to explain.  I had to grab on to the pew to stop myself from falling backward.  I wasn’t the only one that it happened to.

We returned to Medjugorje it was June 25^th, our wedding anniversary and the anniversary of the beginning of the apperations.  People started to share, what had happened to them since arriving.  They were bringing out pictures.  I didn’t have much to say because I was still trying to explain away what had happened to me at Fr. Jozo’s.  You know it must have been group hysteria, weak at the knee because of lack of food but I simply couldn’t find a logical explanation for what happened.  Betty was getting a little upset with me because she wanted to talk but I didn’t want to, I wanted to think.

The English Mass is held each day about noon.  On this particular day because it was the anniversary of the apparitions, there was an additional Mass being held outside for about 30,000 people.  This Mass was said in I don’t know how many languages and the homilies went on forever.  Because there was so many people our group we couldn’t sit together.  As it turned out it was a good thing.

At the consecration of the Mass, the sun divided into two distinct suns and they began spinning in opposite directions.

Suddenly the crowd started making ouing and ahhing sounds and turned to look at the sun, so did I.  As you know looking at the sun is not something humans can do for very long.  I this case you could look at it until the two suns rejoined.  Well, that did it for me.  First Fr. Jozo and now two suns, what else do you need?

We went back to the house and shortly after that our group came together for what we affectionately called group therapy.  Nearly everyone in the group saw what I just described.  Guess you can see why I don’t share this with people unless they ask.  You really had to see my daughter Kathleen’s face when I told her about it.  It was the look of what have you been drinking on the plane.

Our local church sent a group and one lady had been having trouble with her knees for sometime.  Her knee problems stopped and have not restarted since the trip.  Another lady had her rosary turn into gold.  There are many more stories about people in our group.

The thing to remember is that you shouldn’t go to Medjugorje looking for a miracle.  You should go looking for inner peace.  Life is much easier for me now.  People that were a pain in the neck have now drifted away from my life.  The new people have come into my life are truly a joy to be around.

My wife of 44 years will tell you I experienced a true conversion in Medjugorje and I would have to agree with her.  It seems God nudges you little by little until you travel the narrow path. I now have a doctorate in divinity and operate the www.SaintPaulMinistries.net website.  All of the materials offered on the site are free and we average 20,000 downloads per month.  Many times people will ask questions, sometimes people will try and attack myself or the faith but it always seems the Holy Spirit is there to give me the patience and the right thing to say.

Dan Mayne
www.SaintPaulMinistries.net

“Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ”
St. Jerome

When I was at Fatima at the breakfast table, I told my friends how beautiful I thought the nuns singing was in the middle of the night. They replied that clearly the nuns are not up at night singing and that I must have heard angels singing. I’d like to hear it again.

Check out the 2009 Novenas for life at:

http://www.priestsforlife.org/novenas/index.htm

www.prayercampaign.org

Down in the basement of the mall
On the old wooden pews
Of the Carmelite chapel I sit
Waiting for the red light to turn white
For my turn to unload my sins
Like sacks of potatoes
Wound up like a children’s toy against the wall
I push off on the candlelight
And breathe fire
It smells like an old person’s closet
Yet is sweeter than sunrise

William Frederick “Buffalo Bill” Cody (February 26, 1846 – January 10, 1917) was a soldier, bison hunter and showman. He was born in the Iowa and was one of the most colorful characters of the American Old West, and was largely famous for the shows he put on with cowboy themes.

“And it’s in my old age I have found God – And realize how easy it is to abandon sin and serve him. When one stops to think how little they have to give up – to serve God. It’s a wonder so many more don’t do it. A person only has to do right. Through this knowledge I have quit drinking entirely. And quit doing rash things simply by controlling my passions and temper when I find myself getting angry.”

Read more on Buffalo Bill’s Conversion Story