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 so impressed with the simple beauty of the church, and the welcoming kindness of the parishioners.
A short time later, my husband experienced a cardiac tamponade, and required emergency surgery. We were told that the fluid that surrounded his heart was probably caused by cancer.
A friend from work who attended St. Anthony’s suggested we go to Mass together to pray for my husband. Again, I felt the warmth and God’s presence there.
We were in limbo for three weeks before the follow-up visit with the surgeon, but the news was good. No cancer was found.
God had answered our prayers and given me another chance to prove to Him that there would be no future in my life without His being a part of every day from now on.