My parents took my family to Mass fairly regularly when I was a child. We didn't talk much about it, but we did make it a priority. No one else in my extended family went to church every Sunday, so I know my parents' presence at Mass was a sacrifice. However, when I was 10 and asked if I could start receiving Communion we discovered I had never been baptized. After months of RCIA classes I became Catholic. I was 11 years old with one practicing Catholic family member (my dad.) Time went on and I slowly lost interest in Catholicism and became intrigued by the faith of my Protestant friends. I planned to leave the Church after graduating high school, but after my only Catholic friend passed away and I encountered the Lord truly present in the Church, I decided to stay. God confirmed my decision by crossing my path with FOCUS missionaries and giving me the friends I needed to build up my understanding and love of the Lord.
It is clear that that chain of events brought me back to my Catholic roots in a beautiful way but, the mystery still remained. Why was I Catholic in the first place? My housemate Katherine asked me recently if there was a strong figure in my life who had been praying or fasting for me and I really couldn't think of anyone. I knew my great Grandma Genevieve was Catholic and feisty to boot, so it wouldn't have surprised me if she pleaded with God to grant me a love of Him and His Church, but I didn't have enough information to say that for sure. No one else came to mind so I began to wonder if a neighbor or the parents of my future spouse had prayed for me or something.
There were no leads until this very night.
Today around noon my dad called to let me know that my great uncle Bud was in town tonight only and that he would be having dinner at my cousin Faunia's at 6. I was invited, of course, and knew that I should do everything in my power to be there. My, I am certainly glad I made it.
For four hours I sat across the table from a 79 year old man who was the spitting image of my grandma June. He had the same large nose with a rounded tip. The same crinkly, smiley eyes. Even the same whispey, white hair. He told numerous stories about life, our family, and his faith. He talked of politics, music, and books. His disposition was remarkable. I knew he was tired, but he maintained a cool composure, even as the night wore on. He never missed an opportunity to compliment anyone and he took genuine interest in everyone who was speaking.
During a small lull in conversation someone started speaking of my dad's father, Larry. Larry and his brother Ron, married two Haney sisters- June and Nona. The Haneys were an anti Catholic family so when June and Nona married Larry and Ron and became Catholic, you can imagine the uproar. For a time June and Nona's mother wouldn't speak to them and they were completely disowned from their Protestant-Irish family. I believed that Bud was still in the same boat, but I was wrong.
The quality about Bud that permeates the whole of him is his faith in God. You can tell that he is hard working, knowledgeable, and raised a good family, but all of those things take a back seat when compared to his faith. He plays the 12 string, sings, and leads retreats at his parish. He writes songs for our Lord and loves to invite other people to Him. I believe he knows what it means to be Catholic.
I had no idea that Uncle Bud was a faithful Catholic, but what he said about my Great Grandpa Chuck baffled me even further. Great Grandpa Chuck, my Great Grandma Genevieve's husband, hadn't come up in conversation until the very end of the night. We had discussed every other family member, living and dead, but somehow Grandpa Chuck didn't make the list. I mistakenly said his name when trying to talk about Grandpa Larry and the first words out of Uncle Bud's mouth were, "Now. your Grandpa Chuck, he was a real Catholic." He went on to say that while Great Grandpa Chuck was not a man who spoke often of his faith, he lived it in every last detail. When he was convicted by something or Scripture revealed something to him he acted. I felt as though the final twist had been made an the rubix cube now aligned.
My Grandpa Chuck and I only had a few months together on this planet. I was on my way in and he was on his way out. My mom only knew him for a year or two, but she tells stories of him, an old cowboy, sitting in his hospital bed and weeping during his final days. She says they weren't tears of sadness, rather tears of joy. Not everyone has such sweet memories of Grandpa, though. Chuck Loser grew up on a ranch and loved to ride horses. As a young family man, necessity drove him into the construction business and he was hard working and driven the remainder of his life. He had a hot temper and jealous spirit, but his last years revealed the kindness that he had possessed all along. The only documentation of Grandpa Chuck and I meeting are a couple of pictures of me and him with our oxygen tubes on. I was a delicate newborn and he was weathered and tattered by time and the elements.
I imagine during those few exchanges between my Great Grandpa and me, my truly Catholic, Great Grandpa, I was given the opportunity to touch his heart. There he was at the end of his life, encountering the beginning of mine. While he held me, perhaps he was also wrapping me in Mary's mantle and asking her to take care of me.
Whoever it is who prayed for me I am grateful to God for continuing to bless me through the mystical body of Christ. In His goodness he has chosen members of my own family to draw me into His.
