A Greater Work

My conversion was long and slow and then somewhere in the middle of RCIA classes it just took off. The thing was, my husband couldn't buy it. He wasn't/isn't ready to convert and I respect that, but when the oil was dry and my guests were gone I couldn't help wondering if I'd missed a step or screwed something up. How did I end up alone?
My thoughts and feelings since conversion have ranged from anxiety to fear with the occasional moments of certitude that even if I'm alone I'm doing the right thing. I was asking God about it, and there was an inner turning that brought to mind the powerful healing I've been experiencing sitting there alone in the pew. My sister says that I'm the kind of person who would allow an elephant to stand on my toes without saying anything because I'd be sure he didn't mean to and I didn't want to embarrass him. It's true. Sometimes I wonder if I have any toes left. The evangelical world I grew up in was tightly knit and gossip spread like fire. From a very early age I was aware that my behavior and our family's imperfections were dangerous and had to be guarded. I learned from fighting bullies that the best way to keep from being hurt was to be the scariest person in the room. It's funny that I used to trip over "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" because that's exactly what I most needed to do. But I had no place to do it, until St. Mary's.
For those who've read Tales of the Kingdom, entering the church is like crossing the Circle of Sacred Flames, who I really am--good, bad, and ugly comes forward. I've begun to be comfortable with that. All those imperfections that were dangerous are simply the ordinary stuff of living. I'm free to admit I'm a sinner, my family isn't perfect, there are things in my life you don't want to know. In the quiet of St. Mary's, far from the maelstrom of painful people and memories I can listen to God and God only.
I'm beginning to see this quiet time as a special retreat--a much needed retreat. I'd come to the end of my usefulness. There was/is so much that is too broken to do anyone any good. All those painful days and nights when my world was torn apart for reasons that still just seem stupid to me. Everywhere I went before now all of that went with me. But at St. Mary's no one knows anything about me or my family or all those tiresome ins and outs. They just know me, and they know I like to sit quietly, third row from the back, chapel side. I wish I could show them how much that grace is purchasing in my soul. I used to be afraid to be alone, but now I see that time alone is preparing me for greater work.