The Blog
It has been seven years since the first story was published on this Blog — an idea that came to me during Advent. This dream was never abandoned, and through much prayer and the movement of the Holy Spirit, it came to fruition. There was a strong calling to share life experiences and describe them through a Blog.
The desire to start a Blog was present from the beginning, but knowing how to begin was another matter entirely. After much prayer, in December of 2015, a dream came from the Lord with a clear instruction: name the Blog “My Catholic Roots Are Showing.” Along with that dream came a vision of what the logo should look like. It was vivid and unmistakable.
After journaling the experience, the response to God was honest — and perhaps a little reluctant: “But I don’t really want to use the word Catholic, because this ministry reaches Protestants as well.” The Lord was reminded that many relatives were non-Catholic, including a son and his family. But God knows everything. Once the questioning and complaining about His directions gave way to trust, everything fell into place.
Lauren
Lauren, a family friend, was between jobs when she decided to join the weekly Bible study group. After hearing about the dream, she graciously volunteered to help — and she was truly an answer to prayer. Thanks to Lauren’s hard work and perseverance, the new Blog was up and running within three days.
The vision the Lord had given for the logo was a face with hair extensions designed to look like roots. When Lauren brought that vision to life, she added a creative touch — using the face as the “O” in Catholic.
The Vision
One thing is certain: when God gives a vision, He will see it through. This Blog exists to bring light to non-Catholics by illuminating the roots of the Catholic faith, and to gently guide wayward Catholics back home. The approach is never to pound anyone over the head with Catholic doctrine, but rather to witness through lived faith — sharing what God is doing every step of the way. The Catholic faith does not waver; it is a faith that has made serving God richer and fuller. It took a great trial to reach this point, but God was faithful through all of it.
The Exit
My history with the Catholic Church began in 1983, when my eldest brother died of cancer. Shortly after his death, a priest at our local parish questioned me about the funeral arrangements and asked whether our family attended Mass regularly. None of my siblings were practicing the faith at the time. Beyond Christmas and Easter, none of us attended Mass with any consistency. When I explained that my brother had been too ill to attend services, the priest’s manner left me feeling interrogated rather than consoled.
That encounter ignited a fire of frustration and anger that I could not contain. In the grief of losing my brother and the sting of that exchange, I walked away from the Catholic Church entirely. Disappointment hardened quickly into resentment toward the faith I had grown up in. Emotionally wounded and spiritually adrift, I spent the next fifteen years moving from one Protestant church to another.
The Valley Vineyard
Eventually, I found my way to the Valley Vineyard, and it was there that my young family put down roots. Something came alive in me — a renewed love for the Word of God. That community became my spiritual home, and we formed a genuine friendship with the pastor and his wife. Sadly, when my husband Mike’s job required us to relocate to Orange County, we had to leave it behind.
Over the next fifteen years, I attended Anaheim Vineyard, Calvary Church, Calvary Chapel, and several other congregations in between. Each of these was a meaningful season of growth. Yet one church in particular consistently stoked the embers of my bitterness toward the Catholic Church. Hearing critical words spoken from the pulpit about my former faith did not bring healing — it only deepened my contempt.
The Journey
My husband and children were all cradle Catholics, yet over time, my newfound Protestant faith became theirs as well. It was during this season that I was drawn into a prayer group led by a woman named Michelle. Her knowledge of Scripture was deep, her wisdom evident, and her preaching carried a fire that stirred something in my spirit — a hunger for more of God. I was so moved by her that I wanted to introduce her to my Catholic friends, convinced she might be the one to bring them to a living faith.
When I mentioned Michelle to other members at Anaheim Vineyard, I was stopped short: she was Catholic. The revelation hit me like a wave. How can this be? How can a Catholic have the fire of God like this? Michelle’s gift for building bridges across denominational lines allowed her to minister alongside well-known pastors and influential voices throughout the Protestant world — all while remaining firmly rooted in her Catholic faith.
Through Michelle’s teaching, I was introduced to her mother, Joanne — also Catholic, and equally on fire. In 1994, I became a member of Christ In You, attending two services each week and committing myself fully to serving that ministry. It was also during this time that I began attending daily Mass. These were the stepping stones God used to lead me home.
Coming Home
The Sunday I returned to Catholic Mass is one I will never forget — not because it was triumphant, but because it was disorienting in the best possible way. My husband walked in beside me as the sound of solemn music settled over the sanctuary. The worship was structured, ordered, quiet. My heart wrestled: What am I doing here? Lord, is this really from You?
I had grown accustomed to lifted hands, swaying bodies, and the rush of loud praise music. The stillness of the Mass felt foreign. Yet as the weeks passed, something long-buried began to surface. The reverence of the faithful, the genuflection before the Eucharist, the rhythmic cadence of kneeling and standing — these were not empty rituals. They were the body doing what the soul already knew: that the God of the universe was truly present, and He deserved more than applause. He deserved awe.
The Manna
The rituals of the Mass are unchanging and enriching, but it was the Eucharist that brought everything to completion. The first time I received Him again, something settled deep within my soul — a quiet, unmistakable sense of wholeness that I had been searching for without knowing it. It took several more Masses before the full weight of that reality broke through: this was where God had called me. This had always been where God had called me.
The Eucharist is not a symbol, not a memory, not a gesture — it is the true Body of Christ, the real manna come down from heaven. Just as Israel could not survive the wilderness without the manna God provided each morning, the soul cannot long endure on memory and emotion alone. It requires sustenance that only He can give. Attending daily Mass is not a discipline — it is a lifeline. Nothing can replace what is received there, because nothing else is Him.
Susanna and Helen
Throughout this entire journey, my dear friend Susanna was quietly, faithfully praying for my return to the Catholic Church. Her approach was gentle yet firm — never forceful, never impatient — because she was well-catechized and knew how to defend her faith with both conviction and love. My best friend Helen, also Catholic, listened to years of my Protestant preaching without ever wavering in her own beliefs. She never argued, never pressured — she simply remained. Flanked by these two steadfast Catholic women, the restlessness that had churned in me for so long finally grew still.
My Prayer
Dear Lord,
Grant me continued insight and direction for this blog. May Your Holy Spirit pour out wisdom — wisdom to choose words that reach the hearts of those who are searching, hurting, or lost on the road to You. May this first week of Advent be a lamp for their feet and a light for their path.
May what is written here bring enlightenment, moments of laughter, and above all, a deep and lasting hunger to seek Your face.
Amen.
