During my elementary school years, being Catholic meant going to Church. My mom took us to weekly Mass and sent us to the local Catholic school. 

My oldest memories of the faith come from the Mass. I remember my elementary school friend and I excitedly lunging toward each other to exchange a sign of peace. I enjoyed the May processions. Our student body sang one Marian hymn so loudly that the Pastor told us, through our principal, to quiet down! I was an altar server, and I remember beautiful brides at weddings and holding a plate beneath the mouths of those receiving Communion on the tongue—which was just about everybody back then. 

Although teachers taught religion daily, I don’t have a single memory from those classes in elementary school. My first theology memories are from high school—and I only have two memories from those four years. 

The spiritual life is a battle against ourselves and the devil; it’s a battle to act according to the Spirit. During my college years, I had more losses than victories! I continued to profess my belief in God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I was rarely receiving the sacraments, however, so I cut myself off from the powers of Christ. I didn’t have enough of the divine weapons for the battle! 

Eventually, I started to question my faith. A while later, the moment came to its crisis, and two critical questions emerged: Is the faith I inherited also the one I chose? Do I believe what we believe?

The answer to those questions, yes, marked the next stage in my practice of faith in my mid-20s. I started to study Catholic doctrine seriously. I more frequently received the sacraments. That has grown into daily participation in the Mass. 

My primary faith experience has become the liturgy, so I am where I began.