Eleven years ago, I was almost a confirmed Catholic. I would be anointed in the Easter Vigil service the following day, in one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
I no longer routinely practice the Faith, but one thing I learned in the RCIA classes has held absolutely true: Once Catholic, Always Catholic.
Today, on Good Friday, while our mostly-Protestant town bustled with shoppers and leisurely lunchers, I fasted. I didn't really plan to--it just sort of happened. My heart felt heavy with a belief that, beyond my questions and skepticism and distance, still breathes. Despite today's sunshine, my Good Friday remained shrouded in darkness. I watched the clock and silently observed the Stations in my thoughts.
I envy believers whose journeys are straight and well-lit, while my road of spirituality is so foggy and winding that I've pulled over onto the shoulder more than a couple of times. But even in the darkness, I can make out some familiar landmarks, and for that I am thankful.