After six weeks of attending Sunday Mass, and a few noon Masses, I went to my first Feast Day. Santa Lucia had always been celebrated in my house growing up, as my mother’s best friend was Swedish.
I sang the Santa Lucia song all the way home from church and declared to my “Godfather” that I should have been Catholic, because that which some found dreary, I rejoiced in… the ritual, the repetition, the utter sameness, the simplicity. He texted back and said “Convert.”
I was struck. You don’t convert unless you are getting married. Attend, sure. I enjoyed Mass. But there was no need for me to make a commitment. Why should I pledge to this new world. That was ridiculous.
I told my pseudo-Monk friend that I was considering converting. He said to tell no one. And live for a year as a Catholic. And when it was right, I would know and I should tell other people then.
So, I secretly told God that I wanted to know His plan for me. That I would be listening and watching to know the truth.