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Rosemary Childress
I wanted to be a saint when I was eleven years old. I would go to the church during recess to pray. I carried good deed beads in my pocket. My dad even built me an altar for my bedroom to pray before every day. And then life happened. I had not been attending Mass regularly for a while. I had been struggling in my marriage and had abandoned my dependence on God for my comfort and strength. I attended a funeral at St. Anthony’s for a friend and was …