Going back to church after such a long absence felt like returning to a place I once knew deeply, yet had somehow drifted away from without fully realizing it. There was a time when church was simply not part of my life, when Sundays passed like any other day and faith sat quietly in the background, almost forgotten. Walking back in after all those years, I remember feeling unsure of myself, wondering if I still belonged, wondering if anything had changed. What I did not expect was how naturally everything would begin to fall back into place, and how that one step back would slowly shape the person I have become over the past ten years.
At the beginning, it was not about being a better Catholic or even fully understanding my faith. It was just about showing up. Some days I felt present, other days I was distracted, and there were moments when I questioned whether I was doing enough or even doing it right. But over time, something shifted. The repetition of weekly Mass, the rhythm of prayer, and the quiet moments of reflection began to settle into my life in a way that felt grounding. Without even realizing it, I was becoming more patient, more mindful, and more aware of how I treated others. My faith was no longer something distant or occasional. It became something lived, something that guided me in small, everyday ways.
Looking back now, I can honestly say that returning to church has made me a better Catholic. Not in a perfect sense, because I still have my struggles and shortcomings, but in a way that feels genuine and real. I am more intentional with my faith. I listen more closely during Mass, I reflect more deeply, and I carry those lessons with me beyond the walls of the church. Ten years ago, I do not think anyone would have imagined this version of me. I certainly would not have.
In recent weeks, I have come to realize just how much I have grown in my faith. It was not through something dramatic or obvious, but through the way I responded to life when things did not go as planned. Last month, something difficult happened, and I know that the old version of me would have immediately questioned God. I would have asked why this was happening to me when I had been doing all the right things, praying, going to church, trying my best to live faithfully. That used to be my instinct, to feel wronged and to look for answers in a way that came from frustration.
But this time was different. I did feel deflated, and I did feel the weight of it, but I did not question God. Not once. Instead, I held on to my faith. I accepted what was given to me, even though I did not fully understand it. There was a quiet strength in that acceptance, something that I had never experienced before. Even though it kept me awake most nights, I found myself turning those sleepless hours into moments of quiet prayer. In the stillness of the night, when everything else felt uncertain, prayer became my anchor. And in a way that I can only describe as God’s grace, I was later blessed with a project that came out of the blue. It felt like a gentle reminder that even in difficult moments, God is still working in ways I cannot always see.
One of the biggest areas of growth for me has been in how I have come to understand loss and pain. For years, I carried the grief of losing Matt. It was a kind of pain that does not simply go away with time. It stays with you, shaping parts of who you are. But over time, and especially now, I have come to see it differently. I no longer see it as something to question or to blame God for.
Instead, I have come to believe that God took Matt to protect him. That thought has brought me a sense of peace that I did not think was possible before. I no longer hold on to anger or confusion. I have chosen to thank God for taking Matt home, to be with Him and with Pete, Matt’s father. There is comfort in knowing that he is no longer in pain, that he is safe, and that he is where he is meant to be.
I have also come to understand that God knew something I did not. He knew that I still have people here on earth who are here to take care of me, to support me, and to walk this journey with me. Matt, on the other hand, had already lost his father and did not have the same kind of support system. I know in my heart that I would have done anything and everything for him, just as he and his father had done for me for so many years. But our situations were different, and God knew that. And in time, I have come to accept that.
Another part of my journey that tested my faith was losing my other best friend, not to death, but to circumstances about six years ago. That was a different kind of pain, one that came with unanswered questions and a sense of unfinished connection. I will admit that during that time, I did question God. I wondered why it seemed like the people I cared about the most, and who cared so deeply for me, were being removed from my life.
But as time passed, I began to understand that not everything is meant to be understood immediately. There are reasons that only God knows, and there is a timing that is not ours to control. Through the years, I have kept my faith. I have held on to the belief that if it is meant to be, in God’s time, that friendship will be restored.
Just last week, I experienced a moment that felt like a test of that belief. After exercising, I walked past a bus stop and saw my best friend there, about to get on a bus. I saw him, but he did not see me. In that moment, I did not feel anger or sadness. I felt happiness. I was simply glad to see that he was well, especially after everything he had been through. That alone was enough for me.
Of course, a small part of me thought about how things could have been different. I found myself thinking that if we had left the stadium just a few minutes earlier, we might have walked past at the right time. He might have seen me, and maybe we could have spoken, caught up, and bridged the gap that has been there for years. But even with that thought, I did not question God. I did not ask why it did not happen.
Instead, I accepted it. I accepted that if it is meant to happen, it will happen in God’s time. That moment was not one of missed opportunity, but one of quiet reassurance. It reminded me that healing and reconciliation do not always happen when we want them to, but when they are meant to.
One of the most meaningful parts of this entire journey has been sharing it with my mum and my granny. Going to weekly Mass together has become something I truly treasure. It is more than just a routine. It is time spent together in a space that brings us peace, a shared experience that connects us in a deeper way. Sitting beside them, hearing the familiar prayers, and knowing that we are all there for the same reason gives me a sense of comfort that is hard to put into words.
There is something especially beautiful about seeing the different generations of faith within my own family. My granny, with her quiet devotion and steady presence, is a constant reminder of what it means to remain faithful through all of life’s ups and downs. My mum, in her own way, carries that same strength and sincerity. And then there is me, someone who wandered for a while but found her way back. Being able to share Mass with them each week feels like a blessing, one that I do not take for granted.
I will never forget the moment when someone commented to my mum that she was a very holy person. It was said so simply, yet it carried so much meaning. My mum smiled, and then she turned to me and said that I was a better Catholic. I remember feeling surprised, almost taken aback. Of all the things she could have said, that was not what I expected. It stayed with me long after the moment passed.
What made it even more powerful was knowing that ten years ago, no one would have thought that about me. I think about who I was back then, how distant I felt from my faith, how disconnected I had become. To hear those words now, especially from my mum, felt like a quiet affirmation of the journey I have been on. It was not about comparison, but about growth, about how far I had come without even fully realizing it.
Another part of my journey that I have come to appreciate more deeply is the role of the priest. Over the years, I have found myself feeling an increasing sense of gratitude towards them. It is easy to see them simply as the person leading the Mass, but when you take a step back and really think about their life, it becomes something much more profound.
The priest has chosen a path that requires immense sacrifice. To dedicate their entire life to God, to serve a community day after day, to be present for people in both their happiest and most difficult moments, is something that I deeply admire. It is not an easy calling. It requires strength, patience, and a level of selflessness that is rare.
I have come to notice the small things they do, the way they speak with care, the effort they put into their homilies, and the way they make each Mass feel meaningful. There is a sincerity in their actions that cannot be faked. It comes from a place of true faith and commitment. Knowing that they have given up so much in order to live this life makes me appreciate their presence even more.
I feel a deep sense of gratitude for everything they do, often without recognition. They guide, they comfort, they teach, and they serve, all while carrying the weight of their responsibilities with quiet grace. Their sacrifice is not something that is always visible, but it is always there, woven into every part of their ministry.
Returning to church has not just been about attending Mass again. It has been a journey of rediscovery, healing, and growth. It has taught me how to trust, how to accept, and how to hold on to faith even when I do not fully understand what is happening. Sharing this journey with my mum and my granny has made it even more meaningful, turning something personal into something deeply shared.
As I look back on the past ten years, I feel a sense of gratitude that is hard to fully express. Gratitude for finding my way back, for the quiet transformation that has taken place within me, and for the strength to keep going even in moments of doubt and pain. I may not be perfect, and I still have so much to learn, but I know that I am walking this path with faith in my heart. And for that, I am truly thankful.
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