“Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep” (Luke 15:6).
Long before I entered the Catholic Church, God had been knocking at my door. And when I did become Catholic, the knocking only increased. The Lord desired one thing:
My heart.
Not just part of it, but all of it. Would I leave the door to my heart open for Him to enter?
Looking back, I now realize how little I understood what it meant. Baptized, I became “a new creation.” But I did not live like a new creation. My heart was divided. Everything else in my life I had a heart for, but a relationship with God? Not so much.
What a big mistake.
The Good Shepherd lavished His sheep (me) with so many blessings. And yet, I took those blessings and went off to enjoy them for myself and with those closest to me.
I gave God the “bare minimum.” I would describe myself as an average, back-of-the-pew Mass-goer on Sundays. I got the sacraments and helped out at the parish. God’s sacred Word at the Masses did not penetrate my heart, mind, or soul, because habitual, unrepented sin prevented His beautiful grace from entering. His Word was like the “seed that fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it” (Matt. 13:7). My “thorns” were the temptations, distractions, and worldly allurements that prevented His Word from bearing fruit in my life.
In my times of waywardness as a very lost soul, there would be many moments where God’s Spirit would nudge my heart to act and respond to His grace. Recalling a memory of venerating the Cross at a Good Friday liturgy, I could not understand why I was crying so hard. Nor could I understand why I felt a sense of guilt for receiving Holy Communion despite having a bunch of unrepented sins lurking in my soul. Refusing to accept God’s invitation only increased my discontent with many areas of my life.
But God was not through with me. He was determined to get me back. At whatever cost.
On the road from Lost to Found, God put me through a series of trials over a course of several years in order to get me to pay attention to Him. These were the three heaviest:
The Call
Every new business venture meant long hours and feverish activity. My life’s work became my identity, my source of pride. Over time, a small clientele emerged, life was going great, and my entrepreneurial dreams were being realized.
One day, a phone call came and my world fell apart.
In 2013, I became a victim of a fraud ring. The same time, I started working with a celebrity client. Privately drowning in shock and disbelief, but professionally on cloud nine after landing such an important assignment. Even worse, I discovered my famous client also had psychiatric issues, temper outbursts, and demanding requests. I would spend hours listening about her struggles growing up in the public eye, absorbing every one of her toxic words like a sponge. Smacked in the head not once, but twice.
All it took was one wrong choice.
I hit rock bottom, spiraling into a sea of despair. The world suddenly did not feel safe anymore. I retreated to the only place I could feel safe: my family. There we were, huddled together, and all I needed was consolation as I repeatedly broke down many days in a pool of hot, shameful tears.
How could I not have listened to my conscience screaming at me to politely hang up the phone that fateful day? As a kid, my dad would often warn me about the wolves in sheep’s clothing. The memory of his warning hit me like a ton of bricks.
Not being able to give my family the kind of Christmas I wanted that year was especially heart-wrenching. A voice inside cried out, “you are a real failure.” And I started to believe those words with every fiber of my being.
However, I decided to tune out the angry voice and listen to the yearning in my soul. Praise God for that.
Wounded but not defeated, I slowly began to muster the strength to open up and embrace the help of others. This did not come easy initially; being self-reliant was my nature.
I will never forget the kind gesture of my friend, MaryRita, who, after providing me a ride home one day gently offered Christmas gifts for my daughter. Her offer to help at a time of vulnerability reduced me to tears. It dawned on me that good people and kindness were still plentiful in this cruel world. I did not quite know who or what at the time, but God’s Spirit clearly touched me.
Quietly thanking God for always sending angels to watch over me, I closed the book on this difficult period and moved on.
The Loss
Moved on, I did.
Soon enough, however, I was back to my old habits and set ways. Juggling the demands of work, family, and service commitments at the parish. I had my Catholic faith, too. At least, I thought I did. It was just not high up on the priority list.
Despite all the activity and constant running around, I felt unfulfilled. Life was chock-full of things to do but not the sort that brought me sustained happiness. I felt something was missing in my soul, but I just could not figure out what it was or what to do about it.
Since the heavy cross of 2013 did little to change my ways, God allowed another storm to come through to wake me up again.
In 2016, we walked into a burglary in progress. Inside my house. In broad daylight. And on a busy street.
All because of a crack of window I left open in the kitchen. As I had done for over a decade.
For an unknown period of time, the thief (or thieves) turned our safe haven into a crime scene. With images of the Blessed Mother and Jesus in multiple places, I imagined their sorrow as they watched the evil unfold right before their eyes.
The trauma of that day hit me the hardest. Memories of the fraud ring came back. I was at times inconsolable, panic- and grief-stricken. The emotional roller coaster in the days ahead led to intense guilt, mistrust, anger, fear and more feelings of vulnerability.
Moments of grace emerged from those dark hours, however, such as being spared from physical harm and significant property loss. Still, the weight of responsibility and blame sat on my shoulders, remained there for an excruciatingly long time and ate away my peace.
An escape to New York City for a few days was just the respite I needed for the sake of my emotional health. My cousin, Danny, a retired police officer, was always like a protective big brother whenever I visited, quick with a goofy laugh and full of wisdom to share. His signature style was to always remind his listeners to live each day to its fullest and to not worry about anything.
Little did I know it would be the last time I would see him alive.
Two weeks later, the news of his sudden death hit me like a speeding train. Still trying to process the trauma from the burglary, I was paralyzed by overwhelming grief all over again.
In the weeks following the funeral, days would be spent in a state of stunned confusion, often wondering out loud why I felt so abandoned by God. Why did He allow all of this to happen? Of all the nondescript houses along my street, why was mine targeted? And why now? Why did He take Danny from us so suddenly?
God did not sit on my questions for very long. He responded as He always did, a tender whisper right into the core of my heart: “Come back to Me.”
In reflection, I realized God never abandoned me after all; He was at my side all along. I was blinded by my own sins to even notice: It was He who made it possible for me to see Danny one last time. It was He who etched Danny’s last words into my memory bank. And it was He who brought our families back closer together as a result of our shared loss.
It was comforting to know I was still loved in God’s eyes. However, I wrestled with my inner demons: feelings of mistrust and vulnerability followed me like an old friend.
The lingering effects of the trauma were especially felt when I chaperoned a group of youth to my second World Youth Day (WYD) pilgrimage, in Kraków, Poland. Large crowds and an intense fear of being separated from a group suddenly became terrifying realities. In 2016, it was the Jubilee Year of Mercy in the Catholic Church and the WYD pilgrimage experience followed the same mercy theme, just as Jesus had introduced in the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matt. 5:7).
How providential! I needed to be soaked in that message of mercy. There was an internal battle going on: trying to cling to God’s light and fighting back the lingering darkness that liked to follow me relentlessly.
It was the Holy Spirit that moved me to seek and receive His forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, which I had avoided for a long time, for all the anger and bitterness I harbored towards the individuals who hurt me so deeply, and equally important, forgiveness towards myself for carrying the weight of self-blame for so long. How great is His mercy!
The Surrender
Despite it all, I was still not a changed person. Nope. Stubborn as a mule, or worse.
Soon enough, the old habits and set ways came right back.
By 2018, life had resumed its same hectic pace, business was busier than ever, and family and social/recreational activities demanded an equal amount of time, if not more.
I was also giving more time helping at the parish but not in the true Christian steward sense. I was serving the Church for the sake of drawing attention to myself. Just another add-on to my weekend to-do list. My attitude was caring more about having an impressive church résumé than seeking holiness.
At the time, I did not realize it was the wrong Christian attitude. But God, in His infinite wisdom, just had to do what He needed to set me right.
One day, I woke up with intense muscle pain below the ribs. So excruciating that it felt like childbirth without the epidural. Like a muscle knot under the ribs that came out of nowhere.
Running to the hospital was a temptation, but something more powerful was drawing me away instead. The voice of the Lord deep within was calling me to a dialogue. It was an invitation I could not brush aside anymore. I had ignored Him long enough.
Almost keeling over, I powered through the routine morning walk with each painfully slow step and in my anguish, I tearfully peppered God with an onslaught of questions:
“My God, why this pain? Are You punishing me? What have I done to deserve this? I thought You were a God of infinite love, a God of mercy? Was I not faithful to You? I thought You knew I loved You?“
The Lord’s tender whispers in my heart spoke of something deeper:
“If you loved Me, then where is the trust? Do you not trust Me enough to take care of everything in your life, all of your needs, cares and worries? Everything you have, I gave you.”
How could I run away from the Truth? Who was I fooling? He knew all about me.
The Lord was reining in on the two things He knew that mattered to me more than anything in the world: my family and my work. In my selfishness, He knew I did not put Him on the priority list, as He deserved. He knew how much I wanted to control my own destiny, steer my own ship, and do things my way.
Acknowledging remorsefully my shortcomings and begging for His mercy and forgiveness from a place of brokenness and emptiness was deeply humbling. I was no longer fixated on the excruciating pain but on repairing the damage I had caused to our relationship.
I was tired of living this life only for myself.
I wanted my life to be His and only for Him.
That was the day I surrendered.
“Lord, I am deeply sorry for having offended You, for all the times I put everything else in my life above You. I surrender to You and give up all control of this life. Lord, if You must take me today, please do not let my family find me in the streets like this. But, if it is Your will, please take away this pain so that I may have the strength to take care of the family and the clients You gave me.”
God’s directive to me was immediate: “Then, serve My people.”
Words expressed from a heart of contrition held such immense power. With each step I took after this prayerful exchange, the muscle pain started to miraculously lessen.
What happened next could only be the work of His miraculous hands: returning home and reaching high up to put away something in a closet, I felt an electrical zap sensation through the rib area and the pain immediately disappeared!
Wow. Who could ever doubt God’s power!
I was overcome with emotion. Like never before, profound gratitude filled my heart. I was like the lone leper who returned to thank the Lord for His miraculous healing and tried not to let it go over my head. Indeed, I kept this healing to myself, never sharing it with anyone for a long time. GOD IS REAL! He is doing the miraculous everyday, everywhere.
No longer could I return to old habits and set ways.
I needed to change. I had to change. But with God’s help.
Today would be the beginning of the rest of my life: to put God first, to trust in His providence, to do His will.
The Transformation
Becoming transformed to the person God created me to be was a gradual process; it was not an instant changeover. Becoming a more intentional Catholic took time. My stubborn ways still needed some “purging and pruning work.”
I began working on a more frequent dialogue with God. Prayer did not come easy initially.
Does God care about eloquent words? The prompting of the Spirit was always inviting me to keep trying, to keep seeking, to keep asking. To focus on the intention, not perfection.
A transformed heart meant a newfound joy in giving back to the Church, in the way of service like never before. To imitate Jesus is to serve. It was about the joy of responding to God’s grace for my ongoing conversion in this faith journey. Although I was now filled with God’s light, I was still a work in progress.
The clergy and the laity at the parish had a role to play in my transformation and later ongoing conversion. However, by God’s grace, members of His ordained clergy, through their mentorship and wise counsel, aided my transformation the most. I am forever grateful to God for what He has done through one of His ordained ministers to impart His peace and grace to me.
I never thought, in a million years, that I could learn so much from a Catholic priest. I have met a Fr. Denis, Fr. Simon, Fr. Bruce, Fr. Kevin, Fr. Anselm, Fr. Hugh, Fr. Joe, Fr. Tom, Fr. Lucas, Fr. David, Fr. James, Fr. John, Fr. Phillip, Fr. Jin, and two Fr. Peters and two Fr. Stephens.
Then, there’s a Fr. Joseph. A one-of-a-kind.
Fr. Joseph arrived at my parish at a pivotal time in my transformation journey: our long-serving priest was being reassigned elsewhere and an abrupt change to the clergy assignment brought initial mixed feelings from me.
But God, as I had heard before, works in mysterious ways. He brings out the good in every situation, no matter what it is.
God was inviting me to trust. I began to discern the arrival of Fr. Joseph as a sign that He had my best interests in mind.
And it was. What grace!
Filled with apostolic zeal and armed with a giant sense of humor, this priest’s teachings and principles brought a profound effect on my spiritual growth and transformation. My sluggish mustard seed of faith would finally sprout and bear fruit.
The trajectory of my faith journey only blossomed further from here:
I started to crave more time alone with Jesus.
I started having a frequent dialogue with God that I often wondered, jokingly, if He would ask me to shush up.
I discovered an increased joy in teaching the faith, using these moments to also enter deeper into the faith myself.
I started to devour spiritual reading materials.
The work of the Church was becoming something I earnestly looked forward to. God was now at the top of the priority list, where He should have always been.
Hard to believe, but I am thankful that God brought those big storms into my life — they led me back to Him. I am still a work in progress and will always be. All glory to God for what He has done for an undeserving, miserable sinner like me. I cannot disappoint Him again. Praise be to God!
Photo credit: Kyle Johnson on Unsplash