Power Story

The culminating assignment in Storytelling is to tell our power story, a story about something that has had a major impact on our lives. Here's mine:

My Faith Journey
When I think of power, I think of strength. The strength that I have comes from my faith. This is the story of my faith journey.

I grew up in rural southern Minnesota with two younger brothers and two younger sisters. When I was little, every Sunday we would attend the tiny country church that my mother had always attended then we would go to grandma's house along with all of the aunts and uncles and cousins for the afternoon. When I was eight, that church closed. After that, we never attended church on a regular basis. We did go to Sunday School and were given the option of being confirmed which I did. For the next 8 years, I rarely attended church though.

About 8 years later, I have earned an associate degree, I have a good job with an insurance company, and my husband of three months and I have moved to our home. I thought it would be nice to have a church home too so I called a neighbor and asked her about the local churches. She is Catholic and there was absolutely no way I would attend that church. I had been told so many negative things about the Catholic church growing up. I attended other churches, but nothing ever felt like "home."

Three years later, there are more changes. I have stopped resisting that persistant little voice who has been telling me for the last 12 years that I should be a teacher and started taking classes toward that goal. My in-laws who highly value education have been bothering me to quit my job and go to school full time offering to pay for my education. I didn't feel that I should take up such a generous offer, but I finally did. I still want a job though and end up falling into a job at a neighboring dairy farm. The four kids there often chat with me while I am milking. It comes out that I am working toward being a teacher and they express interest in me being their teacher. They attended a small Catholic school nearby. I told them that the school would not want me. Not only am I not a Sister, I'm not even Catholic! Misconception time.

I graduated the winter semester of 1996. Not many teaching jobs are available at that time of the school year so I subbed at many, if not all, of the little area towns, and of course, I sub at that little Catholic school. Turns out you don't have to be a Sister, or even Catholic, to work there. My first time subbing there was quite an experience. They attend daily Mass. I had not attended Mass. I don't know what is going on, but I stand when they do and sit when they do. After lunch, they pray the rosary. Again, no clue. I don't know that I had even heard of the rosary at that time. I tell them to go ahead and do what they do. After school, the principal, a sweet little old Sister, checks with me to see how the day went. I told her honestly that the kids were great and that I had enjoyed it, but I didn't understand any of the religious stuff. She patiently explained the rosary to me, probably more than I wanted to know at the time.

A job opens up in that little Catholic school that spring and I apply. I go in for my interview and find that it is a job offer. I had already had my interview. The pay isn't good at all, but I had enjoyed my experience there and decided to take the job. I started teaching that fall and got a real education. Fr. teaches the religion class every morning after Mass. Since it is only 1/2 hour, I usually just stay in the room and correct papers, plan, etc., but a little of what he is saying is being absorbed and I start asking questions. Eventually he tells me that he is starting an RCIA class and invites me to join. No pressure to join, just a way for my questions to be answered. Needless to say, I joined.

Little did I know how much I would come to rely on that faith. 2002 was a rough year. My dad suddenly developed heart problems that spring, but the worst was yet to come in the fall. I will never forget the morning of Aug. 22 when I received that phone call. My little one was napping and I was working at my data entry job and laughing as I listened to an interview of Phil Vischer on NPR. I even called a friend to tell her to listen to is. Then the phone rang again and I thought it was her, but it was my dad. My youngest brother had been killed in a motorcycle accident. And I had to tell my sister who was closest to him and working in Lincoln. The faith that had grown brought me through that difficult time.

Even though my faith waxes and wanes, but it is always there when I need it. It is my source of strength.