I left my research with conviction that reason, history, and Scripture all pointed to Catholicism and the Church. I needed to convert, but I knew I couldn’t do that while living at home, so I continued attending church with my grandparents, prayed, and waited for a miracle.
I had followed Alice down the rabbit hole. I only wanted to understand, to know what this Catholicism was. It was if there was a force behind it, a nameless something I had to understand. Armed with the power of the internet, I jumped in with both feet. Continue reading
My journey to the Catholic Church began in the 11th grade. My incredible, now retired English teacher, whose “disappointed face” still inspires me to double-check the grammar in everything I write, assigned us our yearly research paper. That year, she decided we would each write on a famous English poet of her choosing. By choosing, she meant, “I’m drawing names out of a hat, and no, you can’t trade.” You can almost hear the collective groan, but not from me. Finally, a topic I liked! (Last year we’d written on careers. Boring.) I went home with the name of an old dead British guy I knew nothing about—Gerard Manley Hopkins. Continue reading