Catholic Upbringing

I guess one can say that I grew up Catholic. I had godparents who did not fulfill their duties in keeping me faithful to God. I supposed that’s the purpose, right? They were nice people and the were my neighbors- devout Catholics themselves. They went to church on Sundays and I believe during week as well. Maybe they didn’t understand the duties of godparents?

However, I do have fond memories of going to church with them. I remember two particular services where there was a huge thunderstorm. This was, by the way, in a city near Bell Gardens- my hometown. In the middle of service, I had a bathroom emergency, but I was terrified of thunderstorms. Their oldest son and a dear friend at the time graciously walked me to the bathroom located outside the main sanctuary. We survived. The second service I recall had the congregation exuberantly worshiping. The band was hoppin’! Even I found myself participating in the choreographed moves that my neighbor seemed to know so well. She was thunderstorm hero’s little sister. I felt happy to be there.

When the sermon started the pastor mentioned that God had blessed the entire congregation that day. My ears perked up. He said, “Raise your hand if you felt something in your stomach while we were worshipping.” I distinctly remember feeling a rumbling in my stomach! Sort of like when you’re hungry. It wasn’t painful. It was just a sensation. I raised my hand. That was probably one of my first experiences with divine interaction in a gathering of believers. Not the most awe inspiring experience, but one that left me wondering about the nature of our Lord. Maybe he was gently letting me know that he was there. That brings me joy as I type this. Thank you, God, for always being there.