When One Converts and the Other One is Atticus

Last month, when I talked with Haley and Christy on the Fountains of Carrots podcast, they asked a great question about when couples convert. Haley and Daniel came in to the Church at the same time; Atticus and I did not, so we talked a little more about that. What's it like when one spouse wants to leap and the other looks askance at the chasm?

I wish there were a definitive answer to the question, "What do I do when my husband/wife rejects the path I'm taking?" I'd love to say, "Do (insert wisdom here) and you, too, will have a converted spouse!" 

It's never that easy, of course. The only real advice -- like most advice -- sounds lame and ineffective at first: 

Pray. 

Be patient. 

Remain loving. 

Pray.

Talk. (Don't yell. Funny how yelling doesn't work.)  

Respect your spouse's choices. 

Pray. 

Follow God's promptings for yourself, but don't force anything on your spouse.

Pray. 

Atticus did not come into the Church until five years after I did. And when he finally made the decision to be received, it was just a few weeks before the Easter Vigil that year. I saw it coming and simultaneously was stunned that it was actually happening. But one thing I'd finally accepted: the decision had to be his. This converstion thing had to be between God and him, and I had no control over any of it. 

What follows is a shortened version of our Easter Vigil stories. 

~~~~~

When I was received into the Church, I was alone at the Easter Vigil. 

No, not entirely alone -- my sponsor, Carolyn, was there. Carolyn and I first met at RCIA, the night they told me she could sponsor me. A stranger as a sponsor? How weird is this? I thought. The whole class must feel sorry for me.

I'd wanted my friend, Jack, to sponsor, but a weekly two-hour drive for RCIA was impractical, so, Stranger Carolyn to the rescue!

For my reception and Confirmation, Jack came to the Vigil, and brought along a friend (to keep him company for the four hours he would be on the road that night.) Carolyn, Jack, and someone I barely knew. How weird is this? I thought. I am pathetic.

Atticus stayed home that night with 18-month old Anne-with-an-e. He didn't want to prevent my becoming Catholic, but he didn't want to be part of it, either.

That first Easter Vigil was an incandescent, frightening thing. Fear and awe mingled with an odd detachment, an observation of what was happening. At the last minute, I was tapped on the shoulder and asked to help to carry the gifts forward to the priest. I shook as I clung to the decanter of wine. This is going to become the Precious Blood of Jesus, I thought. And I will consume Him -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. And I am alone.

No, not alone! I scolded myself, battled with myself. Your friend is here, and all these people are here. And God is here.

And yet, in a specific way, because I am a married woman, I felt alone. My husband was not there.

When I received Holy Communion for the first time, I did not experience magic. I wasn't immediately transported to a new destination brimming with giddy joy. Something I desperately longed for (spiritual unity with my husband) was missing. And yet, I felt ... what? Grounded. Firm. Certain. I did not have a single regret about what I was doing.

I wasn't sure how I could feel quiet exultation and deep sadness at the same time, but I did. I knew this was right.

Because I knew, down to my bones, this: I was not alone.

I walked out of my first Easter Vigil knowing that despite my sadness over my husband's absence, I had a steadfast companion. Jesus would not let me down.

I became active with RCIA as a sponsor, team member, speaker, teacher. I was gone (at the church, without my husband) every year during the Triduum as I helped candidates and catechumens on their way into the Church. I really loved it -- so much that when I began to feel that God was calling me away, I didn't want to listen to Him. He couldn't possibly want me to stop doing this good work, could He?

But, that nagging whisper kept telling me to pull back from "church work" -- pull back from witnessing to others and witness in my own home. To my husband. It was as if God was saying, "Show Atticus that your love for him and your family is your calling, your vocation, and the most important thing in your world." 

With a heavy heart I resigned from the team. When Holy Week rolled around that year, it felt strange to be home on Holy Thursday night. Instead of the gorgeous Mass I'd come to love, I was at home with my two little girls, creating a "Holy Family meal," coloring pictures of the Last Supper, and watching five-year-old Anne build a crucifix out of blocks. Instead of absorption in frantic, last-minute, RCIA prep, I was home, calm. And present. Instead of being out late on Holy Saturday night with people Atticus didn't even know, I was home with him. That year we went to Mass as a family, on Easter Sunday morning (though he was still adamant that he wasn't considering conversion, he was merely being courteous to me.)

I was also expecting another baby. We lost that baby the month after Easter, and I asked our baby to begin interceding for his father.

Later that summer, something in Atticus shifted. We'd been having a lot of conversations about faith and Atticus said he'd been thinking about the nature of evil -- about how it really comes down to being separated from God. I will never forget the next moment: "And I don’t think I want to be separated anymore," he said. "I want to be where you and the girls are."

That took my breath away. 

He wasn't ready to become a Catholic -- he insisted on that -- but Atticus wanted to explore things a little. 

Hmm. I happened to know an RCIA team that could use another member. I rejoined the team that fall, and the director and our priest allowed Atticus to sit in, an unofficial participant, for as long as he liked. (Of course, I knew it didn't hurt that this priest was the one who'd suggested he and I pray to St. Therese for Atticus's conversion.)

Through the fall and winter, Mr. Unofficial Participant listened, talked, questioned, read, and thought. And prayed. (He'd started praying! I always say, "Once you start praying, you haven't got a prayer.")

One Saturday morning just before Lent, when we woke up, Atticus asked me the name of the man born blind, from the Gospel of John. He said that man’s name would be his Confirmation name. If he joined the Church, he added. Fr. Joe came to dinner that night, and asked the question Atticus must have been tired of: "So, where are you? What, if anything, is holding you back?"

Atticus replied, "Nothing. I’m ready. Can we schedule something?"

And at the Easter Vigil of 2000, Atticus came into the Church.

~~~~~

There were so many times when I had no idea what God would do next. I couldn't see through the dark tunnel to the light at the end. I had to walk in blindness until He led me to the next step. And that's what faith is -- a series of steps in the dark. Wholehearted trust that my Guide won't let me fall.

God was at work:

When I converted alone
When I lacked unity with my husband
When I left a ministry I loved
When I lost arguments
When I lost every sense of firm footing 

When I lost babies
When I thought my husband would never examine Catholicism
When I felt alone
When I knew I had to hold on with all my strength to this truth: I am not alone.

The Lord was there, with me, every stumbling step. Through quiet exultation and deep sadness, He was there. 

"I will lead the blind on their journey; by paths unknown I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them, and make crooked ways straight."  

~~ Isaiah 42:16

Not every story ends as mine did. (In truth, of course, our story was just beginning.) Sometimes one spouse converts and the other never does. Every life, every soul is a deep mystery, and I don't know why things happen in some lives and not in others. But the bottom line is the same. It might sound weak and ineffective at first, but, hey, it's all we've got this side of Heaven: Pray and trust. 

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, 

plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." 

~~ Jeremiah 29:11

Alone at My First Easter Vigil -- Part 2

Or, "In Which I Recount My History with the Easter Vigil"

Or, "In Which He Makes My Crooked Ways Straight"

Part 1 is here.

~~~~~

I left my first Easter Vigil knowing that despite my sadness over my husband's refusal to consider Catholicism, I had a steadfast companion. Jesus had not let me down, and the quiet exultation I felt while in His presence continued.

I attended my second Easter Vigil as a sponsor. Actually, as a neophyte, I had no business sponsoring someone else so soon, but no one knew better, and I was eager to help. My family was not really a part of Holy Week that year. Atticus stayed home with two-year-old Anne. I was very pregnant with Betsy, but otherwise, it was just Me and My Candidate. I reveled in sharing Holy Week with someone who was excited about it and full of questions.

The next year, I was on the RCIA team. Holy Week was again a time to share my excitement and joy with others -- candidates and catechumens. Still, no Atticus. He stayed home with our two very little girls.

I continued to be a part of the RCIA team the following year. I loved it. Really loved it -- listening to others' stories, teaching, answering questions, learning more all the time ... I loved it so much that when I began to feel that God was calling me away from it, I didn't want to listen to Him. He couldn't possibly want me to stop, could He?

But, the whisper I kept hearing was that I needed to pull back from "church work" ... pull back from witnessing to others, and witness in a different way -- in my own home. To my husband. I felt God nudging me to show Atticus that my love for him and for the family God had given us was my overriding call, my vocation, and the most important thing in our world.

And so, with a heavy heart I resigned from the team, at least temporarily. And when Holy Week rolled around that year, it felt very strange to me to be home on Holy Thursday night. Instead of the gorgeous Mass I had come to love, I was at home with my little girls, creating a "Holy Family meal" and coloring pictures of the Last Supper, and watching five-year-old Anne-with-an-e build a crucifix out of blocks. Instead of being absorbed in behind-the-scenes RCIA prep and busy-ness in those final days before the Easter Vigil, I was home, calm, present. Instead of being out late on Holy Saturday night with people Atticus didn't even know, I was at home with him. That year we went to Mass on Easter Sunday morning, as a family (though he was adamant that he was still not considering the Catholic Church; he was merely being courteous to me.)

I was also expecting another baby, though we lost the baby the month after Easter. I asked our baby to intercede for his father.

Then, later that summer, something changed.

Atticus and I had been having a lot of conversations about faith. He had been thinking, he said, about the nature of evil -- about how evil really comes down to being separated from God. I will never forget the moment when he said to me, "And I don’t think I want to be separated anymore. I want to be where you and the girls are."

I remember where I was sitting. I remember the tears that welled up in my eyes. I remember my disbelief ("I can't believe he believes!" I thought.) And, I remember cautiously imagining that we would become a Catholic family.

But, not so fast, Missy. Atticus assured me that what he meant was simply that he wanted to further explore things.

Hmm. I happened to know an RCIA team that could use another member. I grabbed the chance to rejoin the team and to let my husband "tag along" and listen in. The priest and the RCIA director were entirely open to allowing Atticus as an unofficial participant for as long as he liked. (It didn't hurt that the priest was the one who had suggested the year before that we both pray to St. Therese for Atticus's conversion.)

I've written before about the journey of that year.

The Easter Vigil of 2000 brought a joy into our lives that, at one time, I thought I'd never see. Five years after the Vigil in which I'd been received, Atticus came into the Church.

For the next few years, we sacrificed experiencing the majesty of the Vigil for the things that worked best for our little family. Our young daughters handled Mass on Easter Sunday morning better than a late Saturday night, so that was our tradition for awhile.

When Ramona was two years old, I decided to take the older girls to the Easter Vigil while Atticus stayed home with Ramona. Anne-with-an-e and Betsy were excited to attend, as I'd been preparing them for it, and teaching them about what they would see.

The following year, when Ramona was three, we tried the Vigil with the whole family. It worked fairly well, except that Ramona slept through the whole thing, and then was up for hours after we got home. (Not so good if the Easter Bunny needs to come to your house that night.) The next year, when she was four, all the pieces fell into place.

Our whole family now attends the Vigil together, no one falls asleep, we all look forward to the baptisms, my daughters try to predict when I'll start crying, Atticus and I reminisce, and then we head home and celebrate with delectable food and drink.

~~~~~

There were so many times when I had no idea what God would do next -- times I couldn't see through the dark tunnel to the light at the end. I had to walk in blindness until He would lead me to the next step.

That's what faith is -- a series of steps in the dark, with wholehearted trust that my Guide is leading and won't let me fall.

When I converted alone and lost unity with my husband, when I left a ministry I loved, when I lost babies and arguments and every sense of firm footing ... God was at work.

I just had to trust.

And to hold on, with all my strength, to the knowledge that I was not, am not, alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I will lead the blind on their journey; by paths unknown I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them, and make crooked ways straight. These things I do for them, and I will not forsake them."

~~ Isaiah 42:16

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."


~~ Jeremiah 29:11

Alone at My First Easter Vigil

The nice thing about being in your late forties and having a blog is that the blog can step up to the plate and pinch hit for your brain. When I can't remember something, I turn to the always-reliable search feature.

Last night, we were trying to remember how old Ramona was when we first took her to the Easter Vigil. I couldn't access the memory so I turned to the Search box and found out she was three. This will be our fourth year to attend the Easter Vigil as a family. And that has me thinking back to what Easter used to be like around here.

My history of attending the Vigil is a history of growing up and growing into my life as a Catholic and as a Catholic wife and mother.

*****

The year I was received into the Church, I attended the Vigil alone. Well, no, not entirely alone -- my lovely sponsor was with me, of course. Her name was Carolyn. We had first met the night they told me she would sponsor me. I felt so alone that night, so pitiful. A stranger as a sponsor? How weird is this, I remember thinking. The whole class must feel sorry for me.

I had wanted my friend, Jack, to be my sponsor, but a weekly two-hour drive for RCIA classes was impractical, so Carolyn was assigned to me and slowly we got to know each other.

So, I had Carolyn at the Vigil, and Jack came, too. And he brought along a friend, just to keep him company on the two-hour drive to the Church (and for the two hours he would drive home that night.)

Carolyn, Jack, and someone I barely knew. Atticus stayed home with Anne-with-an-e, who was about 18 months old. He didn't want to stop me from becoming a Catholic, but he didn't particularly want to be a part of it, either.

That first Easter Vigil was a frightening, incandescent event. Fear and awe mingled with an odd detachment, an observation of all that I was doing, of what was happening. At the last minute, I was tapped on the shoulder and asked to be one of the candidates who would help to carry the gifts up to the priest. I remember shaking a little as I carried the decanter of wine. This is going to become the Precious Blood of Jesus, I thought. And I will consume Him -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. And I am here alone.

No, not alone! I scolded myself. Your friend is here, and all these people are here. And God is here.

And yet, in a specific way, because I am a married woman, I felt alone. My husband was not there.

When I received Holy Communion for the first time that night, I did not experience magic. I didn't instantly change, nor did my feelings. I was not suddenly transported to a new place of giddy joy. Something I wished for (spiritual unity in my marriage) was still missing. And yet, I felt ... what? Grounded. Firm. Certain. I did not have a single regret about what I was doing.

I wasn't sure how I could feel quiet exultation and deep sadness at the same time, but I did. I knew this was the right thing.

Perhaps it's because I knew, down to my bones, this:

I was not alone.

(To be continued later today, I hope ....)

~~~~~

Updated: Part II is here. 

Ramona (and the rest of us) at the Easter Vigil

I was holding Ramona (who is getting too big for me to hold through Mass, but I'll take as much of it as I can get before it's gone) and,
just after the "Alleluia," she leaned in close to me and sighed, "It's good to sing the Alleluia again. I've missed it!"

**********

Four years ago, for the first time, I took Anne-with-an-e and Betsy to the Vigil. Atticus stayed home with Ramona, who was not quite two (and we all went to Mass together again in the morning.) I wanted to take just the older girls, for their first experience with the Vigil, so that I could talk, point, and explain. And, it "worked." The girls were awed by the Vigil's beauty. They did fidget a bit (they were 10 and 7 at the time) and occasionally asked, "How much longer?" But they were happy they went, and they've asked to go every year since then.

This was the third year our whole family has attended the Vigil together. The first time we tried it, Ramona was three years old, and she slept through most of it. That was good/bad: good, because we made it through. Bad because it took a loooong time to get her to sleep that night, thus delaying the Easter Bunny's arrival and making for a very tired Mommy Bunny in the morning.

Last year, it went much better because she stayed awake, and this year went well, too. We arrived about 45 minutes early to get a pew (we like to sit close, so the kids can see everything), and that meant planning to keep a little one in her seat for about three hours.

My strategy was to bring along a variety of books: picture books of saints, Treasure Box books, and a coloring or activity book. And, I always tuck something new into her bag. It doesn't have to be expensive, just novel. This year, it wasn't even from me: friends recently sent Ramona a mini sticker album, and she hadn't cracked it open yet. She didn't know it was in her church bag, so when she started fidgeting (we were somewhere into the readings by that time), I pulled it out and it occupied her for quite awhile. Sparkly hearts and stars, foil purses and shoes may not have the Christian significance of her earlier distractions, but they worked.

The other strategy is to really involve kids as much as possible. We ended up in a front row this year, so we had "great seats" for viewing the baptisms. I sometimes talk, point, and explain all through the Easter Vigil. Ramona remembered the "holy fire" from last year, and was disappointed that we didn't have it outside this year (too windy and cold) but she couldn't wait to have her candle lit.

I dearly love the Easter Vigil. It holds sublime memories, of the night I was received into the Church, of course, and when Atticus was as well.

But, it also reminds me of the other Easter Vigils I participated in as part of the RCIA team, preparing and welcoming new members into our Faith. A friend once teased me that I looked like a little mother hen at confessions the day before the Vigil, shuffling my babes to and fro, making sure everyone knew what to do and where to go ... I have to admit that I came to feel a maternal love for each and every catechumen and candidate coming into the Church.

This year was no different. The Vigil moved me.

After what had felt like a fairly "level" and "comfortable" Lent (no huge, new revelations ... no enormous spiritual growth to speak of) I was thinking that, some years, my relationship with God feels like a settled, comfortable phase of marriage. Life proceeds pleasantly, predictably. Without the thrills of the early chase, perhaps, but with the comforting assurance of deep love and complete commitment.

And, I was thinking, "Comfortable is good. Pleasant is good. An 'even' Lent is good."

And then, without warning, they hit me. Tears. Lots of them. Blissful tears, tears of gratitude, of holy exhilaration and indebtedness for the mercy of a God who alters lives. I fell in love all over again.

And, quite suddenly, there seems to have been nothing ordinary or predictable about this Lent at all.

**********

Alleluia, alleluia!
He is risen!

**********