The more time that passes, the more difficult it is to remember where the story began. It wasn’t that long ago—or was it? Do I begin the story at my first conversation with a priest? Or that fateful Palm Sunday of my first Mass? Or do we go all the way back to when I was saved in the Baptist Church?
(I know, I know. Fr. B votes the conversation. It’ll look good for your canonization.)
A year ago, I considered recording the journey in novel form. Naturally, I didn’t write anything down. Besides, there are so many conversion stories. Do we really need another one? Why would mine be any different?
It’s not that much different, but it’s still a story people want to hear. Because with every event I attend, and each new person I meet, they want to know how I got to this point. And that’s not something I can explain in two sentences at a social event.
But the more time passes, the more difficult it is to think about all that happened. I’d have to go back, through not only this blog but several journals. Several journals that will be very hard for me to read. Last year wasn’t an easy one, and sometimes the wounds are still raw. But.. the story needs to be told. I can’t ignore the hard parts just because they made me feel bad. If anything, I have to remember them. It reminds me from where I came. And I have to share that with others.
Because I’m not the only one who’s gone through this search for God. We like conversion stories. We like to see where people came from, and the joy of finding a place to call home. I read so many of them when I was searching myself. It doesn’t matter that they had the same conclusion—there was a comfort in that, too. These people underwent the same questioning I did, and they found answers. Perhaps I would find answers as well.
I don’t remember the chronology. I don’t remember the conversations, or the exact questions thrown at my sponsor or my priest, or even the moment I decided to convert (I’ve been known to reference three separate events). But I know it happened, and people want to hear about it. And the best way for me to share it—me, the one blessed with the gift of language—is to write it down.
Maybe it’s time to start thinking about that.
