Catholic Upbringing

I was raised Roman Catholic.  I was taught to pray to God, to Jesus, to Virgin Mary.  One night when I was having a sleepover at my Granna’s, I pretended to be asleep, and from my bed, I watched my Granna kneel down beside her bed and pray, the traditional way.  The palms of her hands in prayer beside her heart, her head bent down in reverence. I can’t recall hearing what she murmured to God that night, perhaps her whispers were too muffled or my memory has faded.

I prayed every day, usually at bed but often during the day.  I lived on a farm, so I found areas that were secluded and I would pray, mostly through tears.  The image of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane probably planted a seed in my psyche back then.

I prayed for forgiveness.  I went to confession and the priest gave me penance.  Something like reciting ten ‘Hail Mary’s’ and one ‘Our Father’ would be my penance for the sin of disobeying my parents or fights with my brothers and sisters.  This sort of thing.

As I got older, in conjunction with the difficulties I was facing outwardly, the inward critic became tougher and harder to bear.

It wasn’t that catholicism didn’t help me but I think ‘God’ answered my prayers by introducing me to Buddhism, the beloved Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh and a plethora of spiritual teachers, alive and well today, that could hold my hand as I [walked] through the valley of the shadow of death. (Psalm 23 The Lord is my Shepherd)

So to my family, who may have their fears, discovering Truth and following the teachings of the Spiritual Masters has made me a better Catholic I think, there is only one Truth, and we are all One beyond all the many masks we wear.  Do not be Afraid.