So today (August 15) is an extremely special day. Not just because it is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. But this year marks the 10th anniversary of my First Communion! 

In posts past, I have promised to tell the full story of my conversion/reversion/reception into the Catholic Faith (see, even ten years later, I still can't describe what it actually is....). And I cannot find any other time more be-fitting than right now to do so. 

They were granted the dispensation and were married in a joint marriage ceremony in the Episcopalian church that my mother attended - I believe the actual marriage vows and a nuptial blessing were given by the Catholic priest while the rest of the ceremony was in the Episcopalian liturgy. In Catholic eyes, this is a rather....unusual procedure. Normally, there would be a Nuptial Mass in a Catholic Church, which then confers many graces to the couple and strengthens them in their marriage. While my parent's marriage has been declared valid by the Church, I believe that the full benefits of the sacrament were not obtained. 

I was born nearly two years later, and my parents both agreed that I needed to be baptized. The question was, which church? 

I was told that the decision was for me (and my subsequent siblings) were to be baptized into the Catholic Church. My parents recognized that being baptized in a Protestant rite created a potential impediment to conversion later. And indeed, it would have been - Catholics have a certain form for baptism and if all the conditions are not met, then the baptism is invalid. Since baptism can only be adminstered once, it creates a whole theological scrutiny that, in my parents eyes, could very easily be avoided. I learned later that part of the conditions of a dispensation for mixed marriage include baptizing and raising the children Catholic as well. 

Anyway, I was baptized in a Norvus Ordo baptism ceremony when I was about 5 months old. It is rather unusual for the baptism ceremony to be so delayed, but my father was finishing his graduate studies at the time. 

As a little girl, I remember my father coming to Episcopal services a couple of times, and my mother to Catholic services. But that soon stopped as my father was beginning to re-engage with his Faith. 

What emerged was a compromise, and the beginning of what seemed like a "spiritual divorce". My siblings and I would go the Norvus Ordo Catholic Mass the one week, and the Episcopalian liturgy the next week. Back and forth, we were shunted. In the Episcopal church, we were in Sunday School and learned about stories in the Bible. I remember only one Catholic 'kids session', and I remember very little of it. In the Norvus Ordo parishes, there is very little opportunity for catechesis for children - a fact that I heartily wish to be remedied as soon as possible. 

This pattern continued this way for several years. And then when I was around the age of six or seven, I was exposed to my first Traditional Latin Mass. 

I hated it. 

You see, Norvus Ordo Masses were very easy for me to understand. It was upbeat, it was rather fun. I still remember taking the Gifts up occasionally. 

In the Latin Mass, I couldn't understand what was going on, and I was bored. And a bored Catherine was a very dangerous thing. 

The second reason why is that I always equated the Traditional Latin Mass with my paternal grandfather. He and I had a very rocky relationship for many many years. He was a hard man in those days, stubborn too. 

Every time we would visit my grandparents and it was my week to go with Dad to church, there was a battle royale. My stubborn temper put up a good fight, though Daddy made me go anyway. 

Fast forward now to when I was about 11. 

My father had been watching my local NO parish really go left-field for several years. What I mean by that was having goofy music, and a lot more liturgical abuses (making up prayers, possible heresy being taught, etc.). My mother remembers him coming home mad as a hornet every single week. 

Then my father saw an announcement in his church bulletin about a Latin Mass up in a major city an hour away. The Fraternity of St Peter had just been welcomed to the Diocese, and they had been given use of the Cathedral's wedding chapel. He was unsure for a couple of months, but strangely, my mother encouraged him to to try it. 

He went by himself for a few weeks before he started taking my brother and I. 

I....still hated it. Remember, I was still dealing with all those unresolved issues from earlier years. Back then, our current parish didn't exist - it was just a small group of people that started attending Mass regularly every week. 

My father began to make friends and soon was engaging much more in his Faith. It was then he began to take on my long-neglected catechesis, starting with the Baltimore Catechism. 

I'm sorry to say that young Miss Catherine was not a very good student for him. In order to make me to engage, Daddy made me read the questions aloud and then he would read the answers. This was NOT how Catherine wished to be taught. Especially when she was in her pre-teens and about to enter the period known in my family as The Two Years from Hell (which in reality was more like four, but who's counting!).

Take in mind, I was still attending the Episcopal services and the Sunday school twice a month. And in my early teens, it was a bit more involved. I became part of a bell choir, which I loved, and.....I even served on the Episcopal altar as a torch-bearer! 

This last action is a source of regret to me now. Had I really realized what I was doing was an extremely heretical action, I would never have done it. To his credit, my father threw a hairy canary and made me stop doing it after a few times. My rebellious teenage self really resented him then, but now that I know the mystical understanding behind altar serving and how it is a preparation for the priesthood.....I get it now. 

So now at the age of 13, we're at odds. My father knew he was playing a dangerous game - my sentiments were lying with my mother's church at this point. So he made one last ditch effort to save my soul. 

He gave me another Catechism to read. It was My Catholic Faith, a large book meant for adults. And, more importantly, he left me alone to read it. 

Now at this point, I'm in middle school. I love to study - I was an academic by passion, even if I hated tests and grammar. And so....this book suited me a lot. 

Suddenly, things clicked! I suddenly had something to DO during Mass, rather than just sit there. I learned, truly, who God was, and all about the Church and the doctrines and dogmas. I even picked up the Baltimore Catechism again with a clearer understanding. In fact, I became known by this habit of reading my catechism during the Homilies and Canon of the Mass. I never approached the altar rail except for Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday and even then it felt weird. 

Now begins a really tumultuous time for my soul. Because with my studies, I was beginning to understand about heresy. I was beginning to understand why certain beliefs could not be true. I did indeed struggle with the traditional belief of "no salvation outside the Catholic Church" for several months. 

But, to highlight just how much influence that this studying had....there was one instance in my mother's Sunday School that we played Bible Baseball. It was a game in which the teachers asked questions and if we answered them right, we'd move onto a base (it was on paper, not in reality); it was my favorite game. One question asked what did St. Paul write or something along those lines. I shocked my teacher by saying the Catholic term - Epistles - instead of the more modern term Letters. It's stuck in my mind even to this day. 

Not too long afterwards, (I'm not sure what prompted it exactly anymore, probably to compare notes more than anything,) I started asking about the doctrines of the Episcopal church from my mother. At the time, she didn't have a copy of the 39 Articles, so I had to be contented with pamphlets and talking to the priests of that church. 

But then....someone started to use Her influence. 

I had become aware of Our Blessed Mother during a homily by my grandfather's priest, the good Monseigneur Moss (may he rest in peace). I don't remember the context of what he said, but I remember him pointing to a statue of Our Lady of Fatima that he kept near the pulpit and saying.....

"Her." 

Again, I don't remember the context. It was probably it was something along the lines of Her intercessory role and mediatrix of all graces, etc. But that action sent a shock wave of recognition to my soul. There was my Mother and She was to be respected and loved. 

From there, the relationship began to be personal. My father had also given me some Miraculous Medals around that time, all of which I still have. I never had any trouble believing in Mary, or Her role, or how the Church treated Her. I began to pick up the Rosary - my father was now saying it in the car with us and taught us how to say it. 

By now, I'm 14, and seriously considering entering the Catholic Church. I started off by announcing to my parents that I wished to go to the Catholic Church three weeks out of the four. I had been going to Latin Mass now for nearly 4 years and my attitude towards it was changing drastically. I was also given the grace to recognize Jesus in the Eucharist and His Presence. I was already veiling - I remember when I got my first veil when I was about 12, but don't remember when exactly I started wearing it. All I know is that I was seeing the good example of the women around me and wished to imitate them. 

But still, there were some doctrinal issues to work through. I remember having a few sessions in Father's office talking about some of them. 

Then, one day, I was forced to go to an Episcopalian service when I was visiting my maternal grandparents. I don't remember exactly why, I think my grandfather couldn't pick me up for Mass for some reason. 

One thing stuck out though. In one of the prayers that the Episcopalian priest said, he called Mary the God-bearer. 

Now, I know now that a Protestant service acknowledging Mary at all is a rare thing. But for some reason, this title given to Our Lady made me mad. 

I felt that Our Lady was disrespected. And maybe She was, maybe She wasn't. But whatever the case, I was fed up with Episcopalians right then and there. Besides the horrible catechesis I received from them, and not giving me good answers to my questions, they disrespect my Mother Mary too? Oh boy, that was the proverbial last straw! 

I made the decision soon after to start going to the Catholic Church exclusively. I remember my last day at the Episcopal church pretty vividly still. We played bible baseball during Sunday School, and everyone cried when I told them I was leaving them for good. It was the last time I would wear pants at a church service. I had begun my journey to modesty, and had made myself a rule that I would only wear skirts to Mass, following the example of the women there once again. 

From there, I began to be formally catechized by my future Confirmation sponsor, so I could pass the tests required before First Holy Communion. 

Little did I know that one of the worst times of my conversion was about to take place. 

My mother had become aware that I was leaning Catholic and it caused a slight rift between us. My father was also starting to slowly introduce Catholic practices, including Friday abstinence, into the home. There was a lot of pain, a lot of angst, and a lot of self-doubt. I considered whether I would apostatize after I received the Sacraments if I discovered that I didn't like being a Catholic. I actually delayed fully committing to the Catholic Church twice - I'm sure that I caused my poor priest a lot of pain and worry because of it. 

But something else came into my life. And that was the Junior Sodality. 

It had been formed the January of my 15th year and I became involved with it pretty soon afterwards. This provided to be a Godsend. Not only did I make friends (and consider them the sisters I never had), but I deepened my relationship with Our Lady. 

My biggest struggle at that time was the fact that my mother couldn't be there for me spiritually. She couldn't come to my First Communion and because she was Protestant, I couldn't really follow her example in the spiritual sense. What saved me though, was a bunch of church ladies that took me under their wings, and a couple of them became almost like second mothers to me. 

Now, we're at the time when I was about ready for First Sacraments. I had passed the tests which had been required, and now it was time to set a date. 

Father told me that the first date that it could be done was August 15. I knew that was a feast of Our Lady and so I jumped at it. And while I had initially demurred getting Confirmation so soon, Father ended up scheduling me to have Confirmation a month later. It was September 12, which turns out is a minor feast of Our Lady as well! (So yeah, couple that with the fact that I was baptized in May....and later when I graduated college on May 13....and had my first ever date three years to the date after that....yeah, no, there's no coincidence here. Not at all. I'm already planning on my future wedding to be on October 11, which is the feast of the Motherhood of Mary) 

I remember being really mad that I couldn't wear a fully white dress for my First Communion. My mother was making me one, but it couldn't be finished in time, though it could be ready for my Confirmation. So, I ended wearing a white sleeveless dress with blue flowers all over it, and a light blue bolero. In the end, it was much more befitting - blue for Our Lady and white for purity! 

On the morning of August 15, I made my First Confession before Mass began. I was given a pass to go ahead of everyone else, it was weird. 

What was also weird was seeing my paternal grandmother enter into the church with my grandfather. My grandmother had stopped going to Mass years ago and I had never seen her attend Mass. It sent chills. 

I was the only First Communicant that day, and so there was of course the usual fuss along with it (annoucements, etc.). Mass went on, and then came the fateful moment. 

Satan, however, made one more last ditch to stop me. Throughout this whole journey, I had been experiencing spiritual attacks, mostly in the guise of doubts and fears. 

This attack was much worse. I was scared, not gonna lie. I could hear Satan whispering nasty stuff. 

I stepped out of the pew and approached the middle of the altar rail, while Father was giving the servers Communion. I kept my eyes to the floor to and prayed for strength. 

Then my eye caught the white hem of a surplice and the gold fringe of Father's vestment approaching and I knew it was time. 

I shut my eyes and stuck out my tongue. 

For one awful second as Father was saying the "Corpus Domini" I sensed an agonized devilish scream of terror. 

Then Jesus came to me. 

And my soul experienced the most overwhelming sense of peace. A peace that never has been repeated ever since. 

From there, I knew there was no going back. I was to be His for life. And only through the Church could I receive Him. 

I wish I could say that my spiritual troubles were over after this. But that would be a lie. There was a very dangerous period soon afterwards in which I developed vices of impurity, pride, and anger. It took me years to break them and some of them I'm still breaking to this day. 

But I know that my salvation has been given to me in baptism, and my salvation is being attained through my prayers, works and reception of the sacraments, and my salvation will be attained when I pass through purgatory to the gates of Heaven. Thank the Lord that my life has been preserved thus far so that I may have the chance to save my soul before I die! 

I have learned much about my soul in these past 10 years. I've learned that I'm not invincible, that I'm not as strong in my faith as I should be. I know that I have much work to do on myself before I can ever achieve any level of sainthood. 

But even steeped in the worst sins....I knew I could never leave Jesus or His Church. Even if the Church's leaders betrayed her principles, I could never leave it. 

When I said my personal Fiat, I meant it. May God give me the strength to keep that Fiat until I die, and may my Mother help me to keep that resolution! 

Old-fashionably yours, 

Catherine