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

Happy Anniversary to the Man Who Didn't Want Children From the Woman Who Didn't Want Them Either

Who knew? You turned into a heck of an Atticus, Mister. 

Atticus and Anne-with-an-e 

Atticus and Betsy

Atticus with Betsy, Anne-with-an-e, and newborn Ramona

I love you! 

Happy anniversary to my best friend, the best husband, and the most wonderful dad in the world.

Catholic and Married: Leaning Into Love (In Which Atticus and I Write a Foreword and You Discover His Real Name is Tom)

Awhile back, Atticus (okay, okay -- it's Tom) and I were asked to write a foreword for a new book that has just been published by Our Sunday Visitor: Catholic and Married: Leaning Into Love. We were delighted to write about mawwiage. Entering into that "bwessed event, that dweam within a dweam" is the best thing we've ever done. (Until we had kids. Now they're the best thing we've ever done, although Tom's homemade red sauce rivals the miracle of children. I'm not kidding. You have to come over.)

Edited (and with a chapter) by Art and Laraine Bennett, contributors include Simcha Fisher, Brandon McGinley, David and Amber Lapp, Jenny Uebbing, Meg T. McDonnell, Thomas Lickona, Joseph D. White, and Dan and Hallie Lord.

Here's more information about the book. Tom and I were delighted to be a small part of it.

But I'm still going to scribble Atticus on his cards and gifts and those cute little marital love notes.

How a Secular Christmas Song Became Our Song (for Atticus)

from the archives:

We hadn't been married very long and we didn't have much money. It was almost Christmas and although we weren't Christians we always gave each other gifts. The pickings would be slim this year, though, as the budget for presents was non-existent.

Atticus knew that I loved Nat King Cole's smoky voice crooning The Christmas Song. I had described it as "almost perfect." But this was in the days before digital music and mp3 players. I could hear my favorite song of the season only if it happened to come on the radio, as I didn't own the album. Atticus wanted to buy it for me, but our budget was so tight that even a new cassette tape (remember cassette tapes?) wasn't a possibility that year.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to work. Feeling a little disheartened that we didn't have much to give one another, I was nevertheless looking forward to the meal that Atticus would no doubt have ready when I got home.

When I reached our apartment, I put my key in the lock and thought, "It's awfully quiet in there." I opened the door and found a candlelit room, heard a click, and then Nat's smooth voice. Atticus took my hand and we danced.

My dear, sweet husband had scrounged around our apartment, found a blank tape, and then waited. He had vigilantly stationed himself by the radio all day long as he cooked, waiting to hear and capture that song. He waited and waited some more, and finally hit the "record" button when the coveted song made its appearance.

He captured it; he captured me again. And ever since, when Nat starts to sing, we dance.

Landline by Rainbow Rowell

I admit it: I would read Rainbow Rowell's grocery list.

(Actually, I'd read the grocery list and every other kind of list {To Do ... Book Ideas ... Top Five Ways to Get Benedict Cumberbatch to Nebraska} of all my favorite writers because what inquiring mind doesn't want to know what her favorite wordsmiths eat for breakfast and what they plan to do on Tuesday and how they will plot to get Sherlock to town? I realize I'm making an enormous assumption --  that all my favorite writers are list makers -- and I could be wrong. But I digress.)

So. I've been looking forward to Landline ever since ... well, I have no idea. Ever since I heard the words, "Rainbow Rowell is writing a new book and it's going to be called Landline." Because I adored Attachments, Eleanor and Park broke my heart in about eleven different ways (eleven different good ways) and I was rooting for Cath in Fangirl from the moment I heard the name of the book.

Landline did not disappoint. I will admit to having a little more trouble entering into it than I had with Rowell's past books. I'm not sure if that was due to the premise (a struggling marriage ... I just started out sad), the potential gimmick (a magic phone? Or is something else going on?) or the reader on the audio book. (The reader is a very good reader -- I am just a picky listener. My inner theater major comes out, and I huff and say {to myself ... I didn't bother Atticus or startle the jumpy lady sitting next to me in seat 25D} things like, "No! You're doing that line all wrong!") I was listening to the book while flying, then switching to the hard cover when nausea didn't threaten. (Said queasiness had nothing to do with the book or the audiobook reader, I feel compelled to say. Stupid genes. Stupid inner ear issues.) I was much happier, and entered more fully into the book, when I read rather than listened. Rowell's voice was alive on the page in a way it wasn't  -- for me, anyway -- on the audio book.

Anyway...back to the story itself. I am so averse to spoilers (I'm looking at you, Dad. I still haven't seen the third season of Homeland, so you have to stop talking about it) that I don't want to say anything more specific about the book. You can read a summary here.

What I will say is this:

1. The premise is a great one, a worthwhile one, and not a sad one. The "struggling marriage" isn't so much struggling as it is trying to figure out what marriage is and how we keep making it work in new ways, again and again, over time. (And out of time. But I'll get to the magic part in a minute.) I loved the very real illustration of the ways in which we fall in love with people who can be crazy-making (Georgie and Neal have their unique ways of driving each other crazy) but are still crazy in love.

2. The potential gimmick. Time travel? Magic? I had doubts about how that would be resolved, but I was won over. I loved the way this all came together. It worked. It works. It will work. All tenses covered.

3. I still own one of these, so, yeah:

4. Loved the nod (she's done this in past books) to a Nebraska town via a character name. McCool Junction, anyone? (We were actually driving past McCool Junction while I was listening to this book -- we visited my sister in Oklahoma before we took off for Austin.) That was McCool. 

5. The Easter egg! So fun.

Next up from my TBR pile? Michelangelo's grocery list. 

Five Things God Has Done For Me

Say to God, “How tremendous are your deeds!” ~~ Psalm 66:3

Our pastor's homily yesterday got me thinking -- yet again, because I think about it pretty much every day -- about all the things God has done for me. They are stunning and humbling things. He's kind of amazing that way.

God, that is. Though my pastor's pretty great, too.

Here are just a few of those things:

1. He gave me a beautiful marriage.
When I look back to the days when I thought I would never, ever want to get married, I am so grateful that God knew better than I did. I didn't have a clue about what a marriage could be, should be, or would be, but God went ahead and gave me a loyal, patient, devoted, loving, incredible man to be my husband. I didn't deserve Atticus, but I'm unspeakably happy I got him. Thank you, God.

2. He gave me motherhood.
When I look back on the days when I thought I'd never, ever want to be a mother, I'm gobsmacked by what I didn't know. I didn't know that my children would be some of the most amazing, enjoyable, fun, interesting, lovable people who ever walked the earth. (No, that's not just a mother talking! What's wrong with you?! I am completely objective!) I didn't deserve my children, but I'm endlessly grateful for the gifts that they are. Thank you, God.

3. He gave me faith laced with intelligence.
The Catholic Church is the only place on earth I've found a satisfactory mix of faith and reason. The doctrines are sound and sensible. Compassionate and beautiful. Sane and human. Divine and down to earth. Thank you, God.

4. He gave me joy.
Despite the difficulties of traveling through this earthly life, despite the struggles, the constant disappointments, the inevitable suffering, there is joy. It's a joy that's bigger than and different than happiness. It's the firm belief, the stubborn holding-on to, the reason-defying knowing, that there's something more out there, and that it is all meant for my good. Thank you, God.

5. He gave me hope.
I once lived a life that screamed, "All hope is gone!" That life has been extinguished. I am now the grateful recipient and liver of a life that says, "To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul, my God, in you I trust." (Psalm 25: 1-2) Everything points to and returns to that.  Hope. Trust.

Thank you, God.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank you again. How tremendous are Your deeds.

Today is the day that I celebrate 29 years with the man I love.

Happy anniversary, Atticus! 

(photo courtesy of Stock.xchng)

Here we are, in Paris!

Except, oh, wait.

We've never been to Paris.

But that's okay. Because even though what we're really doing in our real life is strolling through the grocery store together, or curling up on the couch for Downton Abbey, or asking one another about the van and does-it-need-gas-and-why-is-it-making-that-noise, or listening to each other vent after a bad day, or talking about our children and their futures and the cost of college, or thanking each other for all the breadwinning, cooking, cleaning, teaching, snow-shoveling, yardwork, laundry, petcare, oil changes, trash-hauling, and toilet unclogging that goes on in the everyday lives of our very everyday selves ... even though it's all that, and not all that, well, I have to tell you, it feels like that swoony, black-and-white photo of a romantic walk in Paris.

So thanks for making my life feel that way, Atticus. Happy anniversary. I love you.

Happy Anniversary, Atticus!

(Atticus filling the girls in on the history of Falling Water.)

Tomorrow is the 26th anniversary of my marriage to Atticus. I love this man.

He* is the father of my many children, a teacher, a scholar, a literary critic, a poetry know-it-all (in a good way, Honey), a walking history encyclopedia (he amazes and humbles me ... he should really be the one homeschooling these kids) ...

a romantic, a cook, a bathroom and oven cleaner, a gardener, a reader, a runner, a bringer-of-flowers, a listener, a sympathizer ...

a man with a fierce sense of what is just and right, a faithful man, a kind man, an unselfish man, a great provider (and a man who knows when to provide coffee, chocolate or dry red wine) ...

a maker of scrumptious fudge and Betsy's favorite coconut cream pie and Anne's favorite key lime and Ramona's favorite chocolate cream and the best spaghetti sauce you've ever had ...

a family man, a Yankees fan, a lover of classical music, chant, and opera (who also listens to Stevie Ray Vaughan and Asleep at the Wheel and Smash Mouth and George Thorogood and Warren Zevon) ...

a Civil War encyclopedia (yes, I know I'm repeating the encyclopedia thing ... it's just that, well, he is one) ...

a Catholic man, a praying man, a devoted daddy, a laugh-out-loud witty man, a lifelong, we're-in-this-together-until-we-die-and-even-after-that friend of mine.

He's the quintessential Renaissance man. And, without even knowing he's done it (because he's humble enough that he'd never take credit for any such thing) he has made me a better woman, wife, mother, teacher, thinker and friend.

I love you, Atticus.

Happy 26th Anniversary!

~~~~~

*(Here's a past post with lots of marvelously mushy marriage and Atticus links.)

Heart-shaped bird photo courtesy of Stock.xchng