Lou Everett, Jr: Jehovah's Witnesses convert

Lou Everett was one of Jehovah's Witnesses for more than 14 years. During that time, he served as a full-time minister as well as other major roles within the congregation. Lou's journey to the Catholic Church was truly a rough road traveled.

From Jehovah's Witnesses to Catholicism: My Journey

In 2005, I find myself inside a Catholic church for midnight mass. My future wife, born and raised in the Catholic Church, by my side; silently showing me something that I never thought I'd see or feel. At the age of 31, a realization set in that I never would have expected to occur – thus begins another part of my journey to the Church, my home.

Peering back into my childhood, I realize that my journey actually began as a child. My father was in the military so our family traveled around quite a bit. I was born in San Francisco, California while my father was stationed there in the Army in 1974. Both of my parents are 'cradle' Catholics and had very different experiences with the Catholic Church. Throughout the various moves from place to place, my parents were contacted by Jehovah's Witnesses. Their message seemed to touch my parents enough to eventually become baptized in 1984 as Jehovah's Witnesses.

Growing up as one of Jehovah's Witnesses was difficult at times, however also very rewarding. As a child I felt a part of something much larger than myself, than the world, than my parents. I felt a part of an organization that seemed to truly care for me and my family, a part of an organization that was teaching me 'the truth'. Standing up for my beliefs as one of Jehovah's Witnesses made me feel good inside, knowing that I was being loyal to my God. At a very young age I began to give 'talks' (sermons) in front of the congregation – quickly learning scripture. My heart was drawn to go out publically from door-to-door preaching this 'good news' that I was learning. I just loved meeting new people and teaching them things that God was teaching me! Thus, in 1987, at the age of 13, I was baptized as an ordained minister in the Watchtower organization as one of Jehovah's Witnesses.

As we all know, the teenage years are a difficult time regardless of one's religious views. Mine were no exception, by any means. Inquisitive as most at my age, I began to question many of my beliefs and what I was taught up until then. Questions like, 'How do we know that the Watchtower Society, Jehovah's Witnesses, is the only true religion?', 'Why is it that the history of Jehovah's Witnesses only goes back so far, thus creating a huge gap in the connection to the apostles?'. These and many other questions began to truly eat away inside me at a very young age. The difficulty with having such questions as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, is that a person who begins to ask such questions is then 'marked' as 'bad association', or even reprimanded for questioning the 'Organization'. So I held all these questions, along with many more concerns I had, deep inside.

Feeling that I had nowhere to go, I turned to drugs and alcohol at the age of 15 – spinning my life out of control for a good year. I began to completely withdraw from the 'Organization', from my friends, and more importantly from God. I began to self-medicate, hoping all of the questions would be answered. Fortunately, I had a good enough relationship with my parents to be able to come to them with this drug issue I had created for myself. I truly desired to get back in the good graces of my God and my family. With that, it is common practice as one of Jehovah's Witnesses to confess things like this to the 'Elders' of the congregation. With the encouragement of my parents, I did so – resulting in what is called 'Private Reproof'. This disciplinary action limits my responsibilities in the congregation, including praying publically, reading scripture in front of the congregation, and giving 'talks' (sermons). While I understood the discipline, I was truly distraught knowing I could not serve my congregation. However, I took this time to try and strengthen my relationship with God and my family. Fortunately, I was able to overcome my battle with drug abuse and my responsibilities in the congregation were restored.

Over the next several years, I dedicated myself to the 'organization' by becoming a 'Full-time Pioneer' (minister) at the age of 18, was appointed a 'Ministerial Servant' (Deacon) in my 20's, and had many responsibilities in the congregation. Through it all, however, there seemed like something was missing – an emptiness of sorts. This feeling always concerned me, as I feared telling anyone about it, so I prayed about it constantly hoping for an answer.

In 1994, I married a sweet Jehovah's Witness woman whose desire to serve seemed to match mine. We both served the congregation as much as we could in the ministry. We met so many wonderful people and gained so much joy in service! A couple of years later, in 1996, we gave birth to a beautiful son who just lit up our world. However, that empty feeling, that hole, still existed within me – once again leaving me confused. So many questions were still in my heart that just didn't seem to have any plausible answers. It was the birth of my son that helped me to make a decision that changed my life forever.

Realization set in with me that I needed to do something with this feeling, with these questions that have haunted me for years. I decided to take a break from my responsibilities in the congregation for a while and focus on research-biblical and historical research. This is when I began to totally engulf myself in nothing but the Bible and its history. I stopped attending the meetings at the Kingdom Hall (church), and prayed harder than I have ever prayed – praying that God would guide me in the right direction and fill this emptiness inside of me. This break did not come welcome by the elders in my congregation.

One morning I received a call from an Elder of our congregation, a dear friend of mine. It also happens that he was serving at 'Bethel' (Watchtower headquarters in New York). He expressed his concern for me and my spirituality and offered to help me in any way he could, and offered to come visit my home. Of course, I understood his concern for my spirituality because I was concerned about it myself. I accepted his offer to come visit. This visit was a pivotal point in my journey.

The day came for my long-awaited visit from my friend! I was very excited to see him! Initially we sat and chatted about some lost time, drank some coffee, and just enjoyed the company of one another. The subject then switched to me and my spirituality. I expressed my feelings and my questions but also my fear of sharing those because I didn't want any negative recourse as a result. He seemed to understand and offered to be my sound-board and wanted to help answer any concerns I had, in hopes to strengthen me. This was a relief for me! I then began to let it all out and express every concern I had and explained that I had this empty feeling inside for years. We discussed scripture, and discussed apparent conflicts between scripture and the teachings of the Watchtower Society. He listened to everything I was feeling! This was a load of my shoulders! I thanked him for visiting, we hugged, and he left. This was the last time I spoke with or saw him again.

A week later I received a phone call from another Elder informing me that, because of my views, they have decided to 'disassociate' (ex-communicate) me from the organization. He stated that because of the questions, concerns, and views that I expressed to my Elder friend, that I made it clear that I no longer wanted to be one of Jehovah's Witnesses. This decision on the part of the Elders devastated me! By disassociating me from the organization, this would mean that my parents, brother, sister, and all of my friends (ones I have known since I was a child) were no longer allowed to speak to me nor visit with me at any time. That empty feeling, that hole, just got larger – so large I felt that I had no one. I was spiritually alone – desolate.

Over the next several years, I became angry at religion as a whole – in particular Jehovah's Witnesses and organized religion. I dabbled in paganism, Hinduism, Buddhism, agnosticism, and eventually just gave up and began feeling there was no God and began to study Atheism. Attempting to fill this hole, this empty feeling, just made it larger and larger.

In 1999, a beautiful baby girl was added to our family and she added so much joy to my life! So now I sat back and saw this picture: I had a nice home, married, I had two beautiful children, and I was alive. So why was I so unhappy? Why did I still have this empty hole inside? I couldn't understand it, and began to give up. This turned me angry and resentful. I began to drink alcohol heavily and dabble in marijuana. I joined a metal-rock band and became part of the music scene – all in hopes of filling this void. As happens many times due to behavior like this, my marriage fell apart, and in 2004 I found myself divorced, and living by myself and seeing my children every other weekend. It was all gone. I was empty and alone.

In March of 2005, I met a woman named Sherri who would change my life. It seemed as though her and I had similar interests, so we began dating. Very quickly one could see that she was deeply inclined toward God. While she didn't talk much about her religious beliefs, she showed it in almost everything she did. I couldn't help but start a discussion on religion with her, as she intrigued me. She told me that she was Catholic! I think to myself: "Of all religions, she HAD to be Catholic!" (This feeling coming from my roots as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, since they are extremely anti-Catholic.)

However, after getting to know Sherri, I fell in love and proposed marriage. Being that she is Catholic, I found myself going along with her through the Pre-Cana program to get married in the Catholic Church. Again, I wasn't too sure about this, but it made Sherri happy and that's what I wanted. But, I have to admit, I was extremely curious how this all works.

From the first meeting we had with our Priest, Father Toomey, I was truly impressed by him! He shared with me his journey to the priesthood and had extensive discussions with me on my views and my experiences with Jehovah's Witnesses. I couldn't believe that he didn't judge me for my questions, my concerns, and the expression of that empty hole I have inside! He just listened, smiled, and truly understood! At one of our discussions, Father Toomey said that he wanted to give me a gift because he thought I would enjoy it. He handed me a book entitled, The Teaching of Christ – A Catholic Catechism for Adults. He said, "You may not decide to read it right away, and that's okay. But I thought of you and wanted you to have it." I accepted this book as a kind gesture. When I got home, I placed it in my night stand and forgot about it – but only for a while.

With Christmas around the corner, I was getting excited to spend it with Sherri. Sherri mentioned to me that she wanted to go to midnight mass on Christmas Eve and would like for me to go with her. At first, I was taken back with hesitation because I had such a disdain for organized religion at this point. I didn't want to disappoint Sherri, so I accepted this invitation. While it was difficult for me at the time, I admitted to Sherri that this event was one of the most inspiring things I have ever encountered!

In December of 2006, Sherri and I were married at St. Matthews Catholic Church and it was an amazing day! Our journey brought us there that day and Father Toomey performed the ceremony just exquisitely. Little did I know that another part of my journey was about to begin.

One night, in 2009, while out with friends, I got so intoxicated with alcohol that I passed out while walking, fell and hit my head, causing me to have a Grade 3 concussion. The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive, as my blood alcohol level was 1.11 when they measured it the morning AFTER the accident! The weeks of recovery following my accident were very reflective. Under doctors' orders to stay put and not do too much moving around, I had a lot of time on my hands. I remember sitting on my couch wondering what I was going to do with this time. I began to ponder on my relationship with Sherri, and just how blessed I was to have such an amazing partner who was sticking by me, regardless of where I was going. I pondered on how much she trusted in her God, and how deeply she felt about her faith, and just how much I yearned for that. It was at that moment that I remembered the book that Father Toomey gave to me as a gift over three years earlier. I just had to find it! I just had to read it!

As I began to read this book, it was as if there was something inside of me beginning to sew up that empty space. The words turned into pictures, and pictures turned into feelings, and feelings turned into faith. Learning of this capital 'T' Tradition of the Church and the apostolic succession just completely overwhelmed me. I was drawn to learn more! I expressed to Sherri the desire to attend church with her because of what I was reading. I know just how happy she was for this! As I began to go to and observe the Mass, an indescribable feeling began to take hold of me. That empty feeling; that hollow hole began to be filled. Realization set in that, every single time I was at Mass, I was in the presence of something so much higher than me yet could feel the yearning for His want for me to be closer. There was no other place I would rather be!

In researching how to become part of the Church, I came across information on the RCIA program and just HAD to do it. What an amazing and insightful journey! I completed the RCIA program, and was welcomed into the Church on Easter Vigil 2010! Being able to take in the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ through the Eucharist is a moment that cannot be expressed into words. I just thank my God for guiding me along on this journey and helping me see His face through so many people and events throughout my life! I currently serve as a Eucharist Minister in our local parish, which amazes me every time I serve. Coming out of an organization that attempted to limit my access to God, and into His one true Church where He exists and is freely and readily available, fills that empty place I carried inside for years! Thanks be to God!

Lou is currently in the process of spreading his conversion story in hopes of reaching others with a similar background as Jehovah's Witnesses. Visit his website at www.ourcatholicconversion.com.

If you have found this story helpful in your spiritual journey we hope you will consider sharing it. Have feedback or would like to share your story? Email us at  info@whyimcatholic.com

Eric Sammons: Why I converted to Catholicism

Eric Sammons

Eric began his study of the Catholic faith in 1991 as an Methodist/Evangelical Protestant, converting to the Catholic Church in 1993. Eric is married and has six children.

From Ignorance to Bliss

My Journey to the Catholic Church

Introduction

Manicured lawns, kids playing in the streets, and dads barbequing in the summer: I grew up in the quintessential suburban American neighborhood. Each family was similar to the next, having the same values and outlook and each relatively the same size. One family on my street, however, broke the mold. Instead of the standard two or three children, this family had seven. I remember asking my mother why that family was so large, and her simple answer was, "Oh, they're Catholic." Knowing little of Catholicism and even less of how children were conceived, I figured that these "Catholics" must have a better relationship with the stork than the rest of us.

Though I'd learn soon enough how babies came to be, my ignorance of Catholicism persisted, mingled with some minor, usually stereotypical, details. I knew that Catholics took a different view of alcohol than the folks at my church, and I heard rumors that they had even added a few books to their bibles, but in general I was woefully ignorant of this church - it may have had over a billion members, but I personally knew very few of them.

My own religious upbringing was garden-variety American Midwest: membership in a conservative Methodist church with Evangelical leanings. In my sophomore year of high school I made a public decision to accept Jesus as my "personal Lord and Savior", and although this led me to abandon my nascent flirtation with partying, in general I grew in my Christian faith as most do: slowly and with a lot of missteps. But by the time I got to college I recognized the inadequacies of an immoral lifestyle, and a passion for the Bible had given me a deep, if narrow, appreciation for theological topics.

Up the Exposure

In college I became involved in Christian groups like Campus Crusade for Christ which I figured had the same outlook on life and the faith as me. In my naivety I assumed that all "real" Christians had basically the same theology. I took for granted that what I had been taught growing up was the same faith held by the apostles and most Christians through the centuries, including such luminaries as Martin Luther and John Wesley. Instead of fitting comfortably into a homogenous group, however, I got to know a broader range of Christians than I had ever experienced. I met people who professed Christ but who held wide ranges of beliefs: traditional, progressive, "high church," "low church" and everything else imaginable. But my exposure to committed pro-life Christians impacted my life like nothing else. Until this time I had considered opposition to abortion simply another political issue, joining a list that included support for supply-side economics and the need for a missile-defense system (hey, this was the late 80's). Suddenly I realized that legalized abortion was absolutely antithetical to the Christian Gospel. The full implications of this truth would dawn on me slowly, but I dove headfirst into pro-life activities, determined to do my part to end the scourge of abortion. Political campaigns, prayer vigils, demonstrations and even Operation Rescue events - nothing was too much for me when it came to working against abortion.

My pro-life activities also exposed me to fellow Christians with intense prayer lives and deep theological knowledge. My Christian upbringing had had a bit of a social club feel: you join a church because that's what respectable people do to hang out with like-minded individuals. But now I met Christians for whom following Christ wasn't always comfortable (picture standing on a freezing sidewalk in front of an abortion clinic while people call you a fanatic or worse). Following Christ meant a radical reconfiguration of their lives. Yes, they were flawed and limited human beings, but they were not Christian to be respectable, they were Christian to be saints. And one thing I began to notice was that the majority of these people - and all of those with a deep prayer life - were Catholic. Thus began my education into the reality of the Catholic Faith.

Home Hunting

Over the course of two years I was going through a number of seemingly unrelated changes. First, my exposure to Catholics through the pro-life movement led me to a deeper knowledge of the Church's teachings and practices. This came in the form of witnessing Catholics in action as well as participating in serious (and often heated) arguments with friends on points of doctrine like purgatory or the perpetual virginity of Mary. Second, the reality of my own limited upbringing in the Faith was being laid bare. Engaging other types of Christians for the first time - Calvinists, Lutherans, Catholics - forced me to recognize the disunity that exists in Christendom. Because of my sheltered religious upbringing I had no idea, for example, that other Christians did not believe in "once saved, always saved" like I did. Finally, I came to recognize that I could no longer be a Methodist due to that denomination's official acceptance of legalized abortion. I was sure that no church could legitimately claim to be a church of Christ while also condoning the brutal murder of innocent children in the womb. This left me searching for a new church "home." I suspected that my search would lead me to a non-denominational church or a "low church" community like the Evangelical Free church - after seeing the capitulation to the culture that had occurred in the mainline Protestant denominations, I doubted that any of them would be my destination.

One thing however disturbed. Even if I found a church that still boldly proclaimed the Gospel without compromise, what assurance could I have that it would not later cave to cultural pressures? After all, the Methodist church had been faithful to basic Christian morality for centuries before it succumbed to society's prevalent mores; if I had lived fifty years earlier I would have never suspected what lay in store for my church. So if I chose to join the Evangelical Free church, for instance, what guarantee did I have that it would continue to preach the full Gospel? This fundamental problem nagged at me continually because I knew it spoke to the root of what it means to be a member of the Body of Christ. Did Christ leave us no way of being assured that the church to which we belong teaches the fullness of Christian Truth? Would Christ allow his followers to remain in such a precarious state, or did he intend for there to be one Church which he protected from error so that it could teach the fullness of the Gospel he had bequeathed to the apostles?

Baby Steps

As these questions began to press more and more on my mind, I found - and still assessed as an unrelated circumstance - that I was slowly coming over to the Catholic position on controversial issues. At first I granted that even a broken watch was right twice a day, but eventually I had to admit that the Catholic Church really did understand the Christian Gospel well - and unfortunately many Protestant denominations did not. But as surprising as it may sound, I still did not consider becoming Catholic myself. Although no one in my family or Methodist church had ever explicitly condemned Catholicism, a certain cultural anti-Catholicism was in the air I breathed. If I became a Presbyterian, a Baptist, or even an Episcopal, I knew that no one from my family or church would be upset or disappointed. But to become Catholic...well, that would be breaking an unwritten rule. Catholics were simply too different, not part of the Christian "family" as we understood it. So I was sure that Catholicism was never to be my home, and that the reasons were more cultural than theological was not a fact l spent time questioning.

Nevertheless the evolution in my thinking brought me to a place where intellectually I was Catholic: I accepted most of the Church's doctrines (even the "hard" ones like the teaching against contraception - now that I knew where babies came from I saw how integral they were to Christian marriage). Yet I had no desire to convert. I angrily denied any potential conversion to my sister, who saw the dangerous path I was on. And my denial was sincere. I really didn't want to convert and could not conceive of ever doing so. Agreeing with Catholic teaching is nothing like actually becoming a Catholic. A man might be an Anglophile but that doesn't mean he wants to renounce his American citizenship and become an Englishman.

"You Shouldn't Have Done That"

The unease about my lack of a church home grew heavy; I knew that Christ wished us to follow him in communion with others so my lone ranger status bothered me. One Sunday I made a decision I still do not understand: I decided to pray the Rosary every day for a week to see if I would receive any illumination in my struggle. I had never prayed a Rosary and was still uncomfortable with Marian devotion, even if intellectually I accepted that Mary had a pivotal role in salvation history. But I had seen many instances of Catholics praying the Rosary - usually in front of an abortion clinic - and there was a peace about them that I could sense, though not describe. I especially remember a night when a pro-abortion protester stood yelling obscenities at my fellow pro-lifer (who, incidentally, would later become my wife). In response she peacefully prayed a Rosary, while my insides were raging. This image still strikes me today. So one Sunday morning as I sat alone in my dorm room, I picked up a Rosary and a Rosary booklet (both of which my Catholic roommate had the suspicious habit of leaving out on his desk) and knelt at my bed reciting the words. I didn't feel any different after I was finished, but I had decided to give it a week, so that didn't bother me. That night, though, I told my roommate about praying the Rosary. His response shocked me. He'd been trying to convert me for two years but all he said was "you shouldn't have done that." I thought he must have been kidding but then he said, "You don't know what you just got yourself into." Prophetic words.

I prayed (read, actually) the Rosary the next day, and again the next. At the end of that third Rosary, my "week-long" prayer had been answered: I knew that I should become Catholic. After two years of arguments and struggle, it took Mary only three days to show me the path to her son: the Catholic Church.

"Eye has not seen..."

Looking back over nearly twenty years since that decision, I can see how much God writes straight with crooked lines. I desired to join a church which had a perfect record in teaching the Gospel; He led me to His family. I wanted to be intellectually satisfied with my church; He opened up intellectual horizons I never dreamed possible while overwhelming me spiritually through the sacraments. My attempts to find a church home were small and inadequate - I didn't know what I was looking for and didn't know how to find it. Yet God understood my ignorance and intervened to direct me to the rich intellectual and sacramental life of the Catholic Church. He gently guided me along a path that led to so much more than I could have imagined. I realize now that, like my roommate warned me, I really didn't know what I got myself into that Sunday I first prayed the Rosary, but it far surpasses what I expected. After all my searching, I can say one thing for sure: I am home.

Eric is the Director of Evangelization for the Diocese of Venice in Florida and author of "Who is Jesus Christ? Unlocking the Mystery in the Gospel of Matthew." You can learn more about Eric's ongoing ministry and writing by visiting his website.

If you have found this story helpful in your spiritual journey we hope you will consider sharing it. Have feedback or would like to share your story? Email us at info@whyimcatholic.com

Tales of an Unlikely Convert

 By Mike Carlton

It was 11:45 p.m. and I couldn’t sleep. I was anxious about a phone conversation I overheard my wife, Laurie, was having with her mother about Catholicism, and my patience for this divisive topic had run out. My mother-in-law was asking my wife how she would feel about not receiving the Eucharist at her sister’s upcoming Catholic wedding now that she had no longer been attending the Catholic Church (we decided to join my Presbyterian church after a period of time “church shopping”). She was also concerned because my future brother-in-law’s best man was not Catholic and, combined with my wife, there would be no Catholic witnesses to validate the wedding. Why does religion have to be so difficult? Why can’t we just agree on the same God and live happily ever after? Why does my mother-in-law care about these matters?

I’m glad she did.

I grew up in a typical Protestant Christian home. With Scottish roots, my family is Presbyterian. My church background involved Youth Club retreats, Senior High Fellowship, and many fond memories of Orchard Park Presbyterian Church just outside Buffalo, New York. My parents raised us to respect everyone independently and in a neighborhood filled with Catholic families, religious difference rarely came up. The only difference I personally noticed was that Catholic families were larger, went to private schools, and followed Notre Dame football. There was a time, however, that I wondered about the word “Protestant” and why my church was associated with the word “protest.” I never imagined someday feeling challenged to wade through the vast theological distinctions that have sadly separated Christianity for almost over 500 years.

I still didn’t fully appreciate the differences between Christians until meeting my future wife, Laurie, in college. We were married in the summer of 1991 and I still remember how important it was to my wife’s family to have a “Catholic” wedding. I remember feeling offended when I was not being offered to participate in the Eucharist at her church, even though I had participated in the “Lord’s Supper” my whole life. So for our wedding, we chose not to celebrate the Eucharist because we thought it would highlight the spiritual divide between the families. How unfortunate to be united in marriage but divided in faith–even though we all professed Christ as our Lord and Savior.

Feeling like an outsider to the Catholic Church initiated a religious curiosity that burned in me. I used to resent holidays when my in-laws were in town because the “church thing” would come up. When at Mass with my wife’s family, I remember excusing myself before the Liturgy of the Eucharist to avoid feeling different. A few people told me to just not worry about it, but I knew in God’s eyes it had to matter. There couldn’t be two opposing views on a significant teaching within the same religion whereby both were true. I started to confide in fellow Protestants and became a magnet for anti-Catholic positions. My search for the truth was really an exercise in my bias, as I found myself reading anti-Catholic books. I fashioned myself as a “truth seeker” but, in retrospect, I was only seeking confirmation of my Protestant perspective. I started to resist many Catholic practices on Sunday. I attended a Protestant Bible study with a few people I respected and dug the theological trench even deeper.

Change in the Wind

We moved from Cincinnati to Atlanta, and found a home in the Presbyterian Church of Roswell, Georgia. We had the local minister baptize our first son and became involved in various ministries. I was happy and felt no call to Rome. In God’s sense of humor, this is where the detour happened. My wife, in our new southern “Bible Belt” neighborhood, actually met a large number of Catholic women who also relocated from the North. She joined a neighborhood rosary group and became reconnected with her Catholic roots. These seeds of Catholicism blossomed in her and she started to feel more comfortable going to Mass. From the time we met, she had always been very respectful of my church and never pressured me to convert. But one night, my Protestant world was shattered. While at the kitchen table, she shared her desire to have our son receive “First Communion” and be raised as a Catholic. I didn’t understand why our Presbyterian church, which she agreed was wonderful to us, didn’t fulfill her needs. Out of love and respect for the patience and understanding she showed, I agreed. But I qualified this with my famous statement, “I’ll raise the family Catholic, but I will never convert!” I wouldn’t let go of my roots and I actually maintained my membership at the Presbyterian church just out of deviance. Over time, I started to resent the Catholic Church again.

While vacationing in North Carolina that spring break, I went jogging at sunrise along the beach just to “sort things out.” Did any of this really matter to Christ? The answer I received was clear and unyielding. It was a whisper and I felt the Holy Spirit. I heard that seeking the truth was noble, but only if one was being objective. I was searching the truth with a bias. The fruits of the “Reformation” were leading me to justify someone else’s argument. Was it a reformation or a revolution? Is the central difference the Eucharist and why don’t Protestants believe in this sacrament? What should I teach my children? Why is Christianity so divided when Christ came to unite? I needed to search my own heart with an open mind and soft heart. If I did these things, the answer would reveal itself and become clear.

When we came back from vacation, a sign came. There was a flier advertising that a well-known, Catholic convert would be speaking at the library right across the street from my neighborhood. A scholar in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, he had found a home in the Catholic Church. What a shock to my system. I had to be there!

I had never heard the history of Christianity explained from the writings of the early Church Fathers. My research took me to 1517 when Martin Luther broke from Rome, but this convert took us back to the early centuries. I couldn’t believe that the modern Catholic Church still preserves these traditions taught in the years after Christ walked among us. Why is the burden of proof on the Catholic to justify the faith as opposed to the fellow believers who broke away? Why aren’t Protestant positions challenged? Could I honestly follow beliefs that were born out of a dispute? How could Protestants claim biblical authority for anti-Catholic beliefs when the Bible itself came from the Catholic Church? How could Protestants hold on to a Trinitarian understanding of God while denying the authority of the Catholic Church that first proclaimed the Trinity?

After driving home that night at 12:30 a.m., I could hardly wait to explore the early Christian faith into areas previously considered “out of bounds” for Protestants. At least I knew that wherever this journey would take me, it would not be without significant discernment and a desire to search for the truth.

Scandal Rocks My Journey

After a few months of study and on a path toward Rome, the sex abuse scandal broke out and dominated the news. Catholicism was getting a “black eye” in the press. I sat in my car one night before driving home from Nashville, and listened to the radio about what was occurring around the country. Was this a sign? I remember hearing an ex-priest on the radio claiming the priesthood itself was in question now. How could this happen to the Church I was growing to embrace as the fullness of Christianity?

As fate would have it, a thick fog set in and a 50-car accident blocked the entire highway on I-75 back to Atlanta. The alternative route to Atlanta was going to take me through northern Alabama. This would take me way out of my path, but it was the only way home. With the radio off, I drove as I was thinking about these scandals. I thought of Father Patrick from our new Catholic church back home and how he seemed like such a good priest. I began to pray about the priesthood and the Catholic Church. Why was this happening? Why now?

My sign

I noticed my tank was empty so I pulled over and started to fuel up. As I looked around I noticed how rural the area was in northern Alabama. Just then I noticed a partially covered sign in a wooded area that read, “Shrine of the Blessed Sacrament.” It sounded Catholic but seemed odd for this area–Baptist churches were everywhere! Curious, I decided to explore. I pulled my car down that small dusty road and began to drive. After a few minutes, I started thinking about turning around, as I was making a long trip longer. Then the road connected to another with little white crosses placed on either side. Now this captured my attention and I followed these crosses until I came up a hill to a massive gate revealing a beautiful church. I felt as if I were on the yellow brick road, beholding the Emerald Palace! It appeared as if the church had dropped out of the heavens onto this rural hillside. Why here? I pulled through the gates, parked and got out of my car. As I was standing there gazing in awe, a monk approached my car. He asked if he could help since the monastery was closing for the day. “What is this?” I asked. “The Shrine of the Blessed Sacrament founded by Mother Angelica,” he replied. I shared with him my growing interest in the Catholic Church and how I had struggled with faith for 8 years. After hearing this, he smiled and said, “I’m Mother’s tour guide, come inside and I’ll show you around.”

He keyed into the bookstore and loaded me up with books, tapes, and resources. We spent two hours talking and before long I found myself in the chapel for the Liturgy of the Hours, praying with the nuns! There I knelt, a Protestant, praying among the sisters of the convent, in front of the most beautifully decorated altar I had ever seen.

Time to become Catholic

On the way home, I couldn’t wait to tell my wife what happened. She was excited for me and we both thanked God for answering our prayers. I immediately enrolled in RCIA and started to formalize the conversion. The RCIA process was rewarding and I found myself helping others in class who occasionally wavered on certain teachings. I remember my first confession, experiencing tears of repentance, and seeing the eyes of Christ in Father Pat. I decided to fast for three days before Easter Vigil to better celebrate the Triduum. This ritual felt cleansing and prepared me for my encounter with Christ in the Eucharist.

“What a journey” I pondered, holding a Christ candle in hand at the 2002 Easter Vigil Mass. I was being welcomed into the Catholic Church. I thought of St. Paul and his conversion at Damascus. I’m thankful for my wife Laurie who supported me throughout this journey. Our family is now in the Church Jesus Himself initiated almost 2000 years ago, thanks be to God.


Mike is a former Scottish Presbyterian and his wife, Laurie, is a cradle Catholic. Mike joined the Catholic Church in 2002 and he and his wife now live in Georgia with their 6 children. In 2003, he started an apologetics ministry called “Why Catholic” at his parish. In addition, Mike and Laurie founded Marriages Are Covenants, a ministry outreach program of The Integrated Catholic Life for married couples, at their parish. He teaches RCIA classes, leads small faith groups and has been interviewed on Sacred Heart Radio (EWTN affiliate). A popular apologetics speaker, Mike has given his conversion talk around the Archdiocese of Atlanta.

Evangelical blogger reflects on becoming Catholic

 Daughter of Glory:

I had been looking into Catholicism for a while when suddenly I realized something:

To accept the Bible was to accept the Church.

All of this time I had been comparing whatever Catholic theology I read with what I understood the Bible to say. The Bible was the only standard for all Christian truth. Right?

But somehow in the course of studying Catholicism, of looking into church history, I realized that the Bible was a product of the Church. True, the Bible is technically a product of the Holy Spirit, but the Church was the vehicle used by the Holy Spirit. The Church had existed for decades before one page of the New Testament was written. Furthermore, even after the Epistles and the Gospels had been written, there was debate for hundreds of years about exactly which writings were inspired. It was the leaders of the Church—the Bishops—who made the authoritative decision about which books the universal Church should consider were actually the Word of God. Without the Church, we wouldn’t have the Bible.

One Christian scholar told me it wasn’t a question of the leaders of the Church declaring which books were inspired by the Holy Spirit, but rather of them recognizing which books were inspired. In other words, the Church didn’t—and doesn’t—give the Bible its authority; the Bible has authority of its own. I agreed, but my question went further. How do we know that the Church recognized the right books? Couldn’t they have made a mistake about which books were really Scripture? Obviously we attribute the inspiration of the Church in this matter to the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is the One who guided the Church to recognize truly which writings were actually inspired by God.

But once I admitted that (which seemed obvious), suddenly I had another question. Why did I not believe that the Holy Spirit didn’t guide the Church in other decisions that were reached in the same manner? The canon of Scripture was discerned and decided on at different councils at which the bishops were present. This is also how doctrines such as the Trinity, the two natures of Christ, and naming Mary as the Mother of God were formulated. If I believed that the Holy Spirit guided the Church in recognizing which books belonged in the Bible, why did I not believe He would also guide them in correctly interpreting those books?

As far as I could see it, I either had to believe that I was really reading the Word of God, and therefore accept the authority of the Church that handed on the Word of God to me, or else I had to reject the authority of the Church and also reject any confidence in the inspiration of the canon of Scripture. But if I chose the latter route, I no longer had any reason to reject the Catholic Church.

At least, I couldn’t use the Bible to argue against it.

Former Mormon missionary/Protestant minister converts

Thomas Smith

Thomas was a former Mormon missionary turned Protestant minister who was received into the Catholic Church in 1996. Thomas lives on his family ranch in southeastern Idaho.

Born a 6th generation Mormon (LDS), I was convinced I was part of the "only true Church on the face of the earth" (Doctors & Covenants 1:30). As we believed that only Mormons had the gift of the Holy Spirit and that the rest of the world was groping in the darkness for truth, I was equally convinced I was responsible to share our faith at every opportunity. Like many 19-year-old men, I was called by the Mormon prophet to be a missionary for two years in the southern United States, the buckle of the Bible belt, and was excited about winning converts to my faith. In the end, my missionary experience, led me to the conclusion that the Mormon claims could not stand the scrutiny of reason and Divine Revelation.


It's impossible to communicate all the mounting evidence and experiences that led me to abandon the faith of my fathers, but let me relate a few examples. One day, while knocking on doors in a very poor area of Alabama, my companion and I came upon a sagging shack badly in need of repairs. We knocked on the door and were greeted by the bright eyes of an older African-American woman in her 70s or 80s. We told her we had a message about Jesus that we would like to share with her. As someone who loved Christ, she welcomed us into her humble home. As was our practice, we asked if she would like us to begin with prayer or if she may like to pray. As you can imagine, 99% of the time, people would agree to let us offer that prayer. This time it was different. She quietly bowed her head and began to pray.

I remember distinctly, as I heard her praying to God, I thought if I looked up I would see Him sitting next to her on her worn couch. This was not just her God, but also her best friend. Her dearest companion who had seen her through a lifetime of suffering and prejudice. As her intimate conversation continued, I grew afraid, because I knew when she finished, I was expected to share with her a message about Jesus, but I knew that she really "knew" him, while I may only know about him. I wanted that kind of intimacy she shared with her Creator, but for me God was distant and demanding.

This simple experience didn't square with what I had been taught. Here was a non-Mormon who knew God in a way I could only imagine. It opened the door for me to begin a conscious and careful re-examination of my faith. In other equally important moments, Christians shared with me how Jesus Christ has changed their lives, healed their marriages, and delivered them from drug addictions. I could have argued how to interpret a particular New Testament verse for hours, but I could never argue with them about how the Lord had touched and transformed their lives. Thirdly, Christians took the time to point out verses in the Bible that seemed to clearly contradict Mormon teaching.

For example, Mormons believe in the existence of many gods in the universe, the god of this world being one among many. But the Word of God clearly proclaims there are no gods but the God revealed in Divine Revelation, He is the first and the last (Isa 44:6, 24; 45:5, 18). I heard the scriptural maneuverings that fellow Mormons used to deny the meaning of these verses, but for me they were clearly confirming monotheism.

I remember now these and dozens of moments culminated in me falling to my knees one night in our little missionary apartment and crying out to God, "Heavenly Father, all I want is the truth. If the truth is in Mormonism, I will serve you until my dying day here. If the truth is somewhere else, give me the courage to face what that will mean for me." That prayer fundamentally changed the trajectory of my life. I was ready to accept wherever truth would lead me.

Ultimately, I left the Mormon Church, but like many fellow Mormons who have ceased to believe the claims of the LDS Church, I floundered. Was there a God at all? Is there an objective truth or is it all subjective? When you have been deceived for so many years, it is hard to trust anyone. Again, I prayed that God would help me find someone to talk to about my crisis of faith.

I was in Provo, Utah (one of the most densely populated Mormon cities in the U.S.), and opened the paper that day to find a little ad about a Christian bookstore. I felt God's peace and decided to visit it that day. It was staffed by a smiling bearded little man behind the counter. I wandered around for a few minutes, and then promptly vomited my story on this unsuspecting little store manager. It felt like such a burdened lifted to tell someone of my journey. His response was unexpected. He practically did cartwheels across the bookstore. You see, he was a missionary too. A missionary to Mormons.

He had left a lucrative job in New York to answer God's call on his life to staff a Christian bookstore in the heart of Mormonism and provide a "safe place" for them to come and explore their doubts, and the truth about God. He was there for someone just like me. Tony led me to the Christ of Sacred Scripture, discipled me in Christian growth, and baptized me a Christian in a little lake south of town. I eventually became very involved as a new Christian, and to make a long story short was ordained a minister in the Missionary Baptist denomination, a largely African-American sect.

It was that same community in the south, that had so faithfully witnessed Christ to me, and I was welcomed with open arms into several faith families. As you can imagine, as a former Mormon, I had a heart to help other Mormons, especially missionaries, to share in my discoveries. I began to actively seek them out, and would simply engage them in respectful dialogues that encouraged them to use their reason and explore the Word of God. I knew the Sacred Scriptures were a living reality, and had the power, along with clear Christian witness, to lead them to the truth if they were disposed to God's grace.

Many of these discussions led to often-heated discussions about the doctrine of the Trinity, a teaching as I mentioned above, is rejected by Mormons. They have what I call a "Dan Brown approach" to Church History that believes that Catholics "invented" the Trinity at the Council of Nicaea in AD 325. I wanted to show them that not only was the Trinity revealed in Sacred Scripture but believed and taught by the earliest Christians from the very beginning up to that fourth century council. To do that, I scoured libraries and electronic sources for early Christian writings, and discovered as so many Catholic converts before and after me, the Church Fathers. Not only did I find a clear and constant witness to the central truth of the Trinity, but a whole series of eye-opening teachings: Marian devotion, prayers to saints, the reservation of relics, a Church hierarchy of bishops, priests and deacons, and most importantly, the doctrine of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

I was overwhelmed, always believing that these distinctly Catholic teachings were medieval developments. Now I stood at another crossroad. I questioned whether I had the courage and resolve to follow through on what I was learning. By God's grace, I committed myself to that prayer for truth I had prayed while a Mormon missionary.

I worked with a Catholic man who lived his faith openly, a person of virtue and infectious joy, so I began to pepper him with questions and concerns. Kelly didn't always have the answers for me, but he always found them and returned to me with a book, brochure or cassette tape. He told me about RCIA, a way of systematically learning about the Catholic faith, and invited me to my first Mass.

Again, like many converts, I was struck in my first Mass how I was being transported to the banks of the Jordan and confessing with John the Baptist, "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world," I was joining the triple-cry of God's holiness from Isaiah 6, I was confessing with the centurion the Lord's power to heal me if he would only speak the word. I was ushered into the heavenly liturgy of Revelation chapters 4, 5 and 8.

In a word, I was home.

I remember on the night of Easter Vigil, 1996 standing in my white robe, candle in hand by the Vigil fire in joyful anticipation of what would soon occur, my full welcoming into a new spiritual home and the reception of Christ in the Eucharist. God carried my heart and mind back to that little missionary apartment so many years before where I had prayed that desperate prayer. I would have never imagined that my cry for Truth would have led me to this moment. But God also whispered to my soul that ultimately Truth was not just correct theology, Truth was a Person (John 14:6). And if that's true, there is no place to experience Truth more profoundly and intimately that when we receive the Eucharist.

In a burst of love, on altars all over the world, Truth steps out of heaven's courts, humbles himself in a host and chalice. He displays his love for us, not simply in inviting us to a meal, but becoming our food, so that he might enter us and change us from the inside out. I can't begin to thank God for his faithfulness to me in my journey, but I can express my gratitude by telling everyone I can about this Gift, and being ready always to give an answer to anyone who asks me of the Hope that is within me! (1 Peter 3:15).

Thomas is a repeat guest on EWTN and Catholic radio as well as a sought after parish mission and conference speaker. He is the co-author of "Adventures in Revelation: The Kingdom Yet to Come" and an international presenter for the Great Adventure Bible Timeline. He has taught as an adjunct professor at the St. Francis School of Theology in Denver, and is the former Director of the Denver Catholic Biblical School and the Denver Catechetical School. You can learn more about Thomas and his apostolate at www.gen215.org.

Baptist Convert: Stacy Trasancos

By Stacy Trasancos

Stacy is a Catholic convert from the Baptist tradition. A former chemist, Stacy is now a stay at home mom pursueing a MA in Theology at Holy Apostle's College and Seminary.

I am Catholic, simply, because I am alive. I began conversion in 2004 and entered into Communion with the Catholic Church in 2006. That I know of, I have a full decade of children to remember when I pray the Rosary, seven whom I am raising and three whom I never held in my arms. My life these 42 years has been full of self-induced pain. Today I know deep joy and peace because I am accepting the abundances of Truth and Love. I'm telling my story because as shameful as it is, it is real and needs to be told so others will know the dangers of life without a moral compass.


I grew up as the oldest of three in Texas with a loving family and wonderful parents. Some people say that babies are born atheists because they can't believe in God, but my first memories were naturally of God, of being awed by the world and my ability to do new things, and of loving my family with all my heart. I spent a lot of time outdoors and on my paternal grandparents' farm with their young daughter who was like a big sister to me. There was never any doubt that I was loved and that I could make people happy. Those are my first memories.

I was a naturally shy child. The first time I remember fear is not from a dangerous or physically painful situation, but at my second birthday party surrounded by so many people. I didn't know what they expected of me, and I remember hiding in my room with my maternal grandmother. She is the one who later taught me to read my Bible daily and write down my prayers. I still have them because my mother saved them for me.

My shyness made me anxious in grade school, and I was medically treated for it in Kindergarten. I didn't understand people. I liked being alone but I wanted to please others too, and to do the right thing. I often felt misunderstood. When my overzealous hand came down from my heart after the Pledge of Allegiance in Kindergarten and broke a leaf on a nearby plant, I was shamed in front of others. When I accidentally fell on a slide I was spanked for bad behavior. When I was told not to talk on the bus, I was ridiculed by other kids for very literally obeying.

There was an undercurrent of racism where I grew up in the 1970's, and I do not ever remember hearing of the Catholic Church as a young child. There is so much I did not understand. I remember a single mother who brought her mixed-race child to our Baptist church one Sunday. She sat in the back and during the invitation when the preacher called for anyone to come forward who wanted to be "saved," she held her daughter's hand and walked down the aisle in humility before the small congregation.

She requested membership in the church and, as was customary, the congregation voted with a verbal "Aye" or "Nay." People were of course always voted in with lots of affirmative votes, and I never heard that last word used even once, until that day. The same people who taught me to follow the Bible and to "Love thy neighbor as thyself" rejected and humiliated a woman who was broken.

I remember watching the mother leave with her daughter, in tears, and wanting to run after them, to leave that church and never go back, to scream that it was all so wrong. But I was a child and I didn't know what to do. Thus began my doubting of religion. That is not the God I read about in the Bible. It seemed that everywhere there was hypocrisy and contradiction.

The Baptists taught me to follow the Bible, but they condemned drinking alcohol and dancing –however gymnastics were applauded and being asked to prom was a high honor. Alcohol was so forbidden that we wondered if cooking with it was sinful. I was told that sex outside of marriage was wrong, but beautiful people on TV disobeyed that rule religiously. People gossiped and I was constantly worried about what others were saying. Sunday seemed to be more about wearing the right dress and worrying about who was going to perform what song. It seemed all a performance.

Over the years I learned to perform well, as that seemed to be when people were most loved. I, like all children, wanted to be loved. I was in beauty pageants, and I was so loved. I won talent shows, dancing and doing gymnastics, and I was so loved. I was a cheerleader, and I was loved. I became a feature twirler, and I was loved. I learned to play the piano and the violin and the clarinet and every time I was on stage, I was so loved. I was addicted to that feeling and I excelled at whatever I did that would put me on a stage – so I could feel loved.

I know now that God gives us the desire to be loved so we will seek Him. If we seek love without seeking God we will be desperate because that desire will never be satisfied. Performing was stressful because I was shy, but the love I felt when I was on stage was wonderful so I kept performing. I learned to tell people what they wanted to hear and to behave as people wanted me to behave. God gives us the desire to learn so we will know Him and know ourselves, but without seeking Him that love of learning turns to sinful pride.

In this confusion, anxiety, and stress I formed private compulsive behaviors in my early teens, my secret physical pains. I pulled out my eyelashes and eyebrows and bit my nails until they bled. The compulsion caused me to feel ugly and ashamed, and that made me more stressed and anxious. To perform well I had to be pretty and without eyelashes, eyebrows or fingernails I thought I was very ugly and doomed to be unloved. I grew angry and more confused.

Pagan convert: Christie Martin

Why I'm Catholic by Christie Martin:

Christie is a convert to Catholicism from the New Age and Neopaganism. She is a homeschooling former schoolteacher and an adoptive, foster, and birth mom of five (and counting).

My conversion to the Catholic Church took about three seconds. I was an arrogant fool sitting in on my very first Mass and watching it like I'd watch a National Geographic nature film. I was analyzing away, "Those pews are so phallic, who are they kidding that this isn't all about a patriarchy?" when I heard something Jewish. A cantor sang the Psalm. It caught my attention and stopped the haughty drift of my thoughts. I began to be interested. What else might they have stolen from the Jews?

This led to other discoveries, like the parading of the Gospels. "Well, if Jesus does claim to be the Jewish Messiah, I guess there should be Jewish elements in the worship," I thought dismissively until it occurred to me I'd never seen Jewish elements in the Protestant churches I'd attended as a girl. Why not? I puzzled that one out for awhile. I'm not the kind of dog to drop a bone, so I puzzled awhile.

About the time for the consecration (I had no idea what it was called at the time), I had come all the way around to the skeptical thought, actually accompanied by a quiet sarcasm-laden snort, "What if all this were true?"

Then I was hit repeatedly in the head with a 2 x 4. That process took all of three seconds.

I say that comically, but the wave upon wave of revelation breaking over my stunned mind was actually very painful. And beautiful and exquisite and utterly horrifying. I saw things, felt things, all in quick succession with the complete clarity of the words, "It is all true," ringing me like a bell.

Then an actual bell rang signaling the consecration. Jesus himself was upon that altar, and I was done for. I had a choice to make and it was my very last chance. It was true. I could never again deny the truth of it, but I could still deny Him. A yes would cost me every friend I had, the community I'd built, my reputation. Everything. Was I willing to give it all up?

Oh, God, yes.

Then I came back from that heady place to reality where the Mass continued before me. I was Catholic now, but that priest up there on the dais was the first one I had ever been in the same room with. I was Catholic now, but my husband wasn't. What now? I was Catholic, but I had no idea what that meant. I decided to start with the little pamphlet my husband had given me on a whim as we walked past a display on the way into the church. It was on the Rosary. As I read through the mysteries all I remembered of the life of Jesus came back to me. Then I came upon the Assumption.

"The Assumption?" I thought, "What the hell is that?" (The conversion of my heart was won; my conversion of behavior was incremental) I was a dog with a bone again.

The Mass ended. It was a daily Mass, so there wasn't a crowd. The priest was at the back of the church talking with a woman. They both greeted my husband and I warmly, the priest asking a few questions of the new people. He quickly discovered my husband was an ex-Catholic and I wasn't anything I was willing to own up to publicly yet. I said I wanted to join the Catholic Church and shot a guilty look at my husband. I knew it wasn't nice to tell him like this, but I didn't have the guts to face him all at once. Maybe he could get over the initial reaction and be polite by the time we got to the car.

Then I blurted out my question before I lost my nerve and before the polite chit chat wound down, "What's an Assumption?"

"The Assumption?" the priest looked surprised. He gave an answer too small to satisfy my hunger, "It was when Our Lady was taken to heaven to reign as Queen Mother."

I pressed for more information and he asked me to make an appointment. I was there the next day and in RCIA by the end of the week. I was a thorn in that program's side. I read book after book, and completely ignorant, each question generated more questions. I took to carrying a notebook to jot them in. People would actually groan when at the end of the RCIA class my hand would go up when they asked, "Are there any questions?" I had pages full.

Somebody in Heaven took pity on my classmates and drew my attention to a bumper sticker with the local Catholic Radio station on it. I tuned in my dial and there I found the depth and breadth I craved.

My husband was kinder than I knew. He had been uncomfortable with the direction our spiritual life had taken us and was relieved to come home to the faith. He joined a Landings Group and began his own Catechesis. Meanwhile, my conversion was a big secret from my family and friends. There were two reasons for this: my family and my friends.

My family was Church of Christ. While it was never spoken of from the pulpit growing up, the handouts available on the tables in the vestibule often held tracts that spouted things like the Catholic Church was the whore of Babylon and the Pope was the Anti-Christ. A few people in the church had family members convert to Catholicism. This news was greeted in the same manner as people whose family members had come down with cancer: with condolences, disbelief, and shocked horror. Although my mother and father made it clear they did not approve of the tracts, neither did they approve of Catholics and their beliefs. I grew up with the impression that they were a strange cult, like the Moonies.

My friends were another matter entirely. They loathed Christians, Catholics especially. One had told the story of her son accompanying her to visit her mother at a senior facility. Some little old ladies in the lobby had made semi-rude gossipy comments about them as they walked past. The little boy got on the elevator, rolled his eyes and said, "Probably Christians." His mother laughed as she told that story, so did everyone present. I didn't. As far from Christian as I was, I thought she was training up a bigot. That's never funny.

I told one friend what was happening with me. She was pretty neutral except that she was worried how it would change the dynamics of our relationship. We still keep in touch loosely. The others were a different story. I announced it finally and endured tears and anger and finally a scathing acceptance of "my truth." I had lost all credibility and, in their eyes, any claim to intelligence. After a few abortive attempts, all contact with that group of friends was lost. No one would return my calls or even my Seasons Greetings Cards. Finally, after a few years I just started sending Christmas Cards thinking what could I loose? One responded and now we exchange biannual letters. The others dumped me because they couldn't be friends with someone like me, an intolerant Catholic.

Hard to believe an average bunch of gals could be so anti-Catholic in this day and age? Not in the New Age. We were actually a group of goddess worshiping pagans and I was a priestess. I was a leader in the community. I taught classes, wrote songs, led rituals, the whole shebang. And for those of you who don't believe in these sorts of things, I was able to do all sorts of unbelievable things, like mild prognostication and other creepy stuff. The allure of these "gifts" is such that I will not go into details. Suffice it to say, my group was astonished that anyone would be willing to give up such power.

Now that I am free, it amazes me how enslaved I was to it all. I didn't see myself as worshiping the devil or demons, I just thought I had found a legitimate power source. I was amazed at the "miracles" I could perform. I was heady with it. The power is the bait. It hooks you and then turns on you. The people involved stagnate and become trapped into cycling through personal issues over and over. It's similar to the stagnation of the personality caused by alcohol and drug abuse, and the experience is very much like an addiction. With this much personal dysfunction, the groups can get ugly. One of the most chilling comments during my "confession" to my group was from the group leader, "There's a reason we used to kill oath breakers." She didn't mean our group in particular but the groups in the largely recreated neopagan past. Her reference was historically dubious, but I was never so glad to dust myself off and move on in my life.

I found myself filling my days not with the chatter of friends, but the chatter of Catholic Radio. It was a lonely but a wonderful time. I was discovering things and growing as a person in ways I never could have imagined. My husband was also undergoing a transformation. Our marriage had never been better. Incrementally, I was learning just how self centered and sinful I was, and I was learning how much I was loved. I had, all my life, yearned for something, unknowing. Now I knew, and I had that something.

In the midst of this, I told my parents. They were not pleased, but they were not condemning either. They said they would tell the rest of the family for me, meaning aunts and uncles. It was their way to spare everyone any unkindness or awkwardness stemming from the initial shock. Then my parents said something that surprised me, "This will be good for your family."

That they found some good in my conversion was an incredible surprise at the time. Of the two groups, family vs. friends, I had expected the opposite reactions. I had feared that my family would disown me and expected my friends to work out a new relationship with me. Exactly the opposite occurred. I was disowned by my friends, but my family and I have worked things out.

Why did I visit that church that day? Like any convert I was looking for something and found more than I bargained for. I was considering attending the Catholic Church because I wanted a community large enough to hide myself in. I wanted respectability without having to actually be respectable. In a sense, Cafeteria Catholics evangelized me. I walked in that door thinking I might go to the cafeteria to pick and choose what I wanted from table. I would remain unchanged.

God had other plans.

To learn more about Christie and her ongoing journey in the Catholic Church vist her blog "Garden of Holiness".