Growing up, I was very involved at church. My abuelo is a Deacon and I went to Catholic school, so I was constantly surrounded by religion. I went to church every Friday with my class and Sunday with my family. I would alter serve at mass and often stay late to help my abuelo with baptisms. Looking back on it my religion was a huge part of my life when I was a kid.
When we moved from Alabama to Virginia for my mom's new job is when we began to disconnect from the church as a family. We would often go to different churches on Sundays and none of them felt home. Although we would still attend almost every Sunday we weren't happy anywhere we went. I never liked being forced to wake up for church on Sundays but knowing my family and friends would be there made it more bearable.
I always kind of hated going to church and didn't feel like I belonged there. Although I knew what gestures to make, words to recite and psalms to sing, I felt... fake. It didn't feel authentic and after years of begging my parents not to force me to go anymore they finally gave in when I started working and my schedule was unpredictable.
It wasn't until moving to Lubbock that I thought about going back on my own. A friend of mine was going on Sundays and encouraged me to go with him. He'd pick me up every Sunday morning so I felt obligated to be there even if I'd stayed out too late the night before or just wanted to sleep in.
Although sometimes it still felt like work, I knew it was good for me and I felt better throughout the week knowing I had gone. I felt a sense of peace that I'd never really had before.
The second semester of junior year was difficult for me. I was no longer going to church on the weekends and my head wasn't in any of my school work. I couldn't seem to focus. I knew that I needed to find my way back to mass, but somehow sleeping in and spending Sundays with my boyfriend was easier.
One day when I was studying for midterms with a some of my friends, I felt a strange wave come over me. It was peaceful, but strong. I was being called to pray and I wasn't sure why. It was about 11 pm and we were in the library basement. We ended up leaving and driving around trying to find an open church but it was late and we were exhausted from studying.
I went home and opened the prayer books my mom gave me when I moved into my dorm. She used them when she was in college and she knew they wold help me too. My favorite of the two has a short meaningful prayer for anything you can think of. I sat on the floor and began reciting the prayers I felt meant something to me. I did this for half an hour when I realized that I was crying.
To this day I don't know why I cried or why I spontaneously want to cry when sitting in church, but I think it's because I'm overwhelmed with emotion. It feels like I'm coming back home but I'm ready this time. I know in my heart that God wants me there.
It's a personal goal of mine to become more involved in my church over the next year and begin going to mass religiously. I never thought I would feel called to come back to my faith, but I'm so glad I listened.
