From the time of my first Communion in 1964 to the turbulent 1970s of my adolescence, the Catholic family values I learned as a child had been all but replaced with an attractive new ideology of “free love” and contraception. It wasn’t long before I followed the popular wisdom of the sexual revolution into personal disaster: My involvement with an older man ended with a pregnancy and a secret abortion. After that life-shattering event, I found myself on a path of self-destruction that ultimately led to a second abortion.

Some years later, I settled in with the man who would become my husband. When we started to think about having children, we finally decided to marry, a second marriage for him. Within the next three years, our daughter and son were born.

Witnessing the miracle of my children’s births brought tremendous joy, but also awoke buried sorrow and regret for my abortions.

With a silent prayer for forgiveness, I stuffed those feelings back down, keeping busy with my little ones. As my children grew, I wanted to share my faith with them. Never having reconciled with the Catholic Church, yet wanting the guidance of a Christian community, I visited various churches, but there was always something missing. Finally, I was drawn back to the Catholic Church through nothing less than a series of minor miracles.  It took a few more miracles before I found the courage to confess my dark past. When I finally did, God’s mercy flowing through the sacrament of penance washed away all my fears, together with all of my sins. That “something” I was missing was finally restored when, at last, I received Jesus in the holy Eucharist. I felt closer to the Lord than ever before.

My faith journey prompted my husband to ask about becoming Catholic. A call to the pastor to inquire about how to proceed revealed the problem with our marriage: My husband’s previous marriage would have to be annulled and our marriage convalidated (to be recognized or blessed by the Church). Unfamiliar with Church teachings, I was surprised by this, since it was my first marriage, and his previous marriage was not Catholic. I felt exiled again, so soon after my return.

During the year that followed, I began attending daily Mass and discovered Eucharistic adoration. I spent more time in prayer, began studying Church teachings and delved into the writings of the saints. Finally, I decided to consult an elderly priest in our parish. He advised that even if we don’t understand the teachings of the Church, like a loving mother, the Church disciplines and guides us for our good. I took his advice and finally asked my husband to start the annulment process. A questionnaire soon arrived from the diocesan tribunal. My husband and I talked over his responses, discussing his failed marriage in depth for the first time. His ex-wife was invited to respond, and we also talked with other family members, who served as witnesses. The process gradually revealed a picture of two young people who were totally unprepared for marriage. I came to appreciate the great respect the Church shows for the sacrament of matrimony and the care with which she examines each case. The paperwork was submitted, and we awaited the decision.

My hunger for the Eucharist increased. At Mass, I hid tears of longing. Recalling that Jesus had waited more than 20 years for my return, I resolved to also wait patiently for him. Finally, my husband received the declaration of nullity. Contrary to my initial misconception, this did not state that the civil marriage did not exist, but that elements necessary for a valid marriage, according to the Church’s teaching, were missing from the beginning. Our long wait was over. Our marriage was blessed the very next Sunday, on the feast of the Assumption.

Nancy Murray writes from

Richland, Washington.