From the time that I was a young child my mother faithfully took me to church on Sunday mornings. Once in a blue moon she left me home with my father who was not a Catholic and didn’t seem to belong to any organized religious sect. He read the funny papers to me on those occasions and that was always more interesting to me than those long services at our church. I would later learn more about my faith when I began attending Catholic school. I must admit that I recited the prayers rather mechanically and since mass was still in Latin it was a huge mystery to me. It was only when my family moved to San Jose, California when I was seven years old that I began a prayerful correspondence with God.
My prayers took the form of conversations. I talked with God the way I might have with my grandfather. I had a mixture of awe and respect along with a special fondness and belief that He would listen to me like no other. Back then God was my Santa Claus. I was always asking Him for favors, forgetting to praise Him and thank Him when He appeared to have heard my pleas. I mostly wanted to come back to Houston so that I might once again be among my friends and family. When my parents eventually announced that we were indeed heading back to Texas I was thrilled and actually believed as only a child would that God had helped me return home because I had promised to make some unknown sacrifice in return for His favor. Continue reading “God Will Fix This”