Names in the News This Week: 4.28.24
1 day ago
Posted by
Mary
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On Thursday I wore my old crucifix. I couldn't find the cross Brandon gave me for Christmas and then remembered the crucifix my parents bought me when we were in Florence, Italy during Easter vacation 1989. I remember vividly the care I took in picking it out and that I wanted it to be very simple so the focus was on Jesus. We traveled from Florence to Rome and the Vatican City where I was able to have the crucifix blessed by Pope John Paul II. Even after I wandered from my faith, the crucifix remained special to me though I seldom wore it because it is made of yellow gold and I prefer white gold or silver.
As I was wearing the necklace, several memories surfaced of my time in Catholic school and Catholic church. Many people who have known me over the course of my life would be surprised to hear that I was a devout young girl. I am not even sure that my parents knew the extend of my love for Jesus and our Father. I guess that kind of love can develop when you attend mass literally six days a week at that age, but it had more to do with the Priest than the rituals, the kneeling, and standing in line for communion.
His name was Father Francis and he was from Kenya. His skin was like ebony, his voice sweet to the ears, and out of his eyes shone the light of God's love. He was hard to understand because of the accent and how quickly he spoke, but God's message was being delivered through his warmth -- you just felt that God had His hand on this man when you were around him. Even as a 6-9 year old girl it was obvious that he was close to God.
When I had my first confession, the nuns explained to the class that we had two options: we could enter the confessional booth and kneel in front of a screen that separated us from the listening priest or we could enter the other side of the booth where we would kneel in front of the priest face to face. I longed to come clean before God and from what I understood at that age, the priest had a direct line to Him so of course I chose the face to face option. I entered the confessional, quietly knelt behind him (he was facing the other way waiting for the next student to enter), and finally cleared my throat to alert him to my presence. By the surprised look on his face, and the fact that I seemed to have startled him, I think it is safe to say that not many people chose to divulge their sins eye to eye with their priest.
It was during this time of my life that I knew I wanted to devote my life to God. I decided I would become a nun which was to me the next best thing to a priest. A priest was able to preside over mass, bless the communion bread and cup, and most importantly, he could talk directly to God. But alas, I was a girl. Although I felt this highly unfair, I couldn't think of a better way of showing my love for God: to be the most devoted nun I could.
What happened? I don't know......boys? I certainly couldn't be a nun and get married and have babies. Also, we moved to Germany and stopped attending church regularly. My faith slipped quietly away and left a hole that I tried to fill with way too many different things. All the wrong things. Mom and Dad tried to have conversations with me and ignite the spark of faith within me again by inviting me (read: forcing me) out to church with them. I had made up my mind, not necessarily to what I would believe in, but what I would NOT believe in.
Praise God that isn't the end of my story!! My husband entered my life (with God's light of love shining out of his eyes just like Father Francis) and my slow journey back to faith began. My heart was stirred at Jennies Branch Baptist Church during one of his Uncle Robbie's sermons and I started listening to Southland Church out of Lexington, Kentucky on my iPod. I kept all of this private, this exploring of my lost faith, until I announced to Brandon that I wanted to find a church. We began attending Barefoot Church in December 2009 and then in January 2010 under the sound of Pastor Clay Nesmith's voice, I surrendered and gave my life to Christ. Not only is my life not the same, I am not the same.
Easter is tomorrow and I have been reflecting.
And I have a direct line to God.
I am grateful to God for the people He has placed in my life and for the seeds they have planted for Him within me. I do not know who all of them have been, but I can certainly thank God out loud for the ones I know have tilled the soil. I thank the Lord for:
On this Easter Saturday I am thankful that God grew those seeds into a faith I didn't know existed and that He chose me. He suffered on the cross for me.
Even before he made the world,
As I was wearing the necklace, several memories surfaced of my time in Catholic school and Catholic church. Many people who have known me over the course of my life would be surprised to hear that I was a devout young girl. I am not even sure that my parents knew the extend of my love for Jesus and our Father. I guess that kind of love can develop when you attend mass literally six days a week at that age, but it had more to do with the Priest than the rituals, the kneeling, and standing in line for communion.
His name was Father Francis and he was from Kenya. His skin was like ebony, his voice sweet to the ears, and out of his eyes shone the light of God's love. He was hard to understand because of the accent and how quickly he spoke, but God's message was being delivered through his warmth -- you just felt that God had His hand on this man when you were around him. Even as a 6-9 year old girl it was obvious that he was close to God.
When I had my first confession, the nuns explained to the class that we had two options: we could enter the confessional booth and kneel in front of a screen that separated us from the listening priest or we could enter the other side of the booth where we would kneel in front of the priest face to face. I longed to come clean before God and from what I understood at that age, the priest had a direct line to Him so of course I chose the face to face option. I entered the confessional, quietly knelt behind him (he was facing the other way waiting for the next student to enter), and finally cleared my throat to alert him to my presence. By the surprised look on his face, and the fact that I seemed to have startled him, I think it is safe to say that not many people chose to divulge their sins eye to eye with their priest.
It was during this time of my life that I knew I wanted to devote my life to God. I decided I would become a nun which was to me the next best thing to a priest. A priest was able to preside over mass, bless the communion bread and cup, and most importantly, he could talk directly to God. But alas, I was a girl. Although I felt this highly unfair, I couldn't think of a better way of showing my love for God: to be the most devoted nun I could.
What happened? I don't know......boys? I certainly couldn't be a nun and get married and have babies. Also, we moved to Germany and stopped attending church regularly. My faith slipped quietly away and left a hole that I tried to fill with way too many different things. All the wrong things. Mom and Dad tried to have conversations with me and ignite the spark of faith within me again by inviting me (read: forcing me) out to church with them. I had made up my mind, not necessarily to what I would believe in, but what I would NOT believe in.
Praise God that isn't the end of my story!! My husband entered my life (with God's light of love shining out of his eyes just like Father Francis) and my slow journey back to faith began. My heart was stirred at Jennies Branch Baptist Church during one of his Uncle Robbie's sermons and I started listening to Southland Church out of Lexington, Kentucky on my iPod. I kept all of this private, this exploring of my lost faith, until I announced to Brandon that I wanted to find a church. We began attending Barefoot Church in December 2009 and then in January 2010 under the sound of Pastor Clay Nesmith's voice, I surrendered and gave my life to Christ. Not only is my life not the same, I am not the same.
Easter is tomorrow and I have been reflecting.
I am a priest.
But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people.
You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession.
As a result, you can show others the goodness of God,
for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light..
1 Peter 2:9
And I have a direct line to God.
It was now about the
sixth hour,
and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour,
for
the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two.
Jesus
called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I
commit my spirit.”
When he had said this, he breathed his last.
Luke 23:44-46
I am grateful to God for the people He has placed in my life and for the seeds they have planted for Him within me. I do not know who all of them have been, but I can certainly thank God out loud for the ones I know have tilled the soil. I thank the Lord for:
Henry and Kathy Payne, my amazing parents,
Father Francis, wherever he is,
Brandon Stephens, my loving husband,
Uncle/Pastor Robbie Stephens,
and Pastor Clay Nesmith.
On this Easter Saturday I am thankful that God grew those seeds into a faith I didn't know existed and that He chose me. He suffered on the cross for me.
Even before he made the world,
God loved us and chose us in Christ
to be holy and without fault in his eyes.
Ephesians 1:4
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