Answered Prayers

Last night, my parents and Nelson and I served up our 5 course Italian meal starring our homemade ravioli. The winners of the meal donated it to the Senior class girls who had volunteered with the Missionaries of Charity for three weeks last summer, along with the women who had accompanied them.

As we worked in the kitchen, I could hear them all reminiscing about their time with the MC's. I felt like a part of the conversation since I have spent 10 summers working with these sisters in Kentucky, New York, and North Carolina.

My time with these holy women changed my life. Not that I wasn't already Catholic, but during my summers with them I made the faith my parents chose for me my own. It was eye-opening to me, especially that first summer when I turned 17 at their summer camp.

I never knew that it was possible to pray that much during the day. I never knew I could kneel so long on a hard wood floor in the middle of the summer with no AC. I never knew that people who were so holy could be so much fun. I never knew that life without TV, radio or boys could be so entertaining. I never knew that I could hear the voice of God so clearly.

I must admit that a lot of my prayer time in those chapels waffled between asking God to send me a husband and begging Him not to make me be a nun. Several summers were spent trying to imagine myself in one of those blue and white saris.

The last summer I was in Kentucky, I prayed a novena with very specific requests for God to present my husband to me by a certain date. Yes, I laid a fleece, but I figured that the worse that could happen was that God would say no. The way I looked at it, I had nothing to lose.

The following summer I was in North Carolina, praying that God would guide as I discerned whether or not Nelson was the one for me.

Four summers later, I was back in Charlotte with Mackenzie in tow. I specifically remember one afternoon during Adoration when Mackenzie was being extra distracting (she was 11 m. at the time). As we were saying the Rosary, she was playing with the toes of the sister in front of her. To distract her from that I gave her some juice which she proceeded to drizzle on the back of another sister's sari. When she began to get loud, another volunteer graciously offered to take her outside for awhile.

I had gone with visions of the peaceful prayer times I had experienced all through my single years. I asked God why this had to be so difficult. After all, I was here trying to be with Him. He gently reminded me that all those single years I had been praying for this exact situation. Hadn't I asked to be married? Didn't I yearn to be a mother?

I had to laugh at my own ignorance. God had answered my every prayer. When I went back to Charlotte the next summer with Mackenzie, I went with more realistic expectations and a more grateful heart. I can't wait until the boys are a little older and I can take all three with me.

My life is a witness to the power of prayer. Some days I have to remind myself that I asked God for this. But at the end of every day, I have a heart overflowing with love for my husband and children because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are the result of a lifetime of prayer. Isn't God good!