This was my first contact with Catholicism. As a child with an active imagination, the Catholic nuns in their long, black habits were the witches from the fairy tales my mother read to me. Thank goodness these lovely ladies had a sense of humor!
THE WITCHES ARE COMING!
By Marjorie L. Garrett
"Mama! Mama! Some witches are coming!" I screamed, racing toward the house.
Mother immediately appeared on the front porch and glanced up the street. When she saw two nuns in their long black habits approaching, her face reddened. She realized they were close enough to hear my yelling.
She quickly explained to me that these women were Catholic nuns; not the witches in my favorite fairy tale book.
The women in black smiled and waved as they passed the house.
Later that evening, I plied my dad with questions about these women my mother had called nuns. He took me for a walk after supper and showed me the Catholic Church a few blocks from our house.
Each day after that first encounter, I ventured closer to the sidewalk, watching and waiting for these mysterious ladies to pass. Eventually, my curiosity won out and I waited at the sidewalk and spoke to them.
Throughout the summer, when the weather permitted, my new found friends would stop and talk with me and, sometimes, play catch with me.
However, the summer faded, the visits stopped, and we moved to another part of town. Memory of our conversations faded as I got older, but not a certain feeling...a longing I could not define.
One sunday, when I was 16, I arrived home from church confused and angry. I went to my dad and told him about some anti-Catholic statements I had heard in church that morning. The memory of the gentle ladies who had befriended me as a child had somehow been besmirched.
"Dad, the preacher was wrong this morning," I said. "I don't know how or why he's wrong, but he is."
"Maggie," my dad replied,"when you are grown, look for the truth...the truth you can accept."
I followed many paths in my search. I read. I questioned.
My believes now are an eclectic blend of my searching and questioning. However, now, many years later, I am a member of the Catholic church. During the Mass, I am more in touch with my spirituality than at any other time.
Was serendipity, or destiny, at work in my meeting with the two gentle ladies in the long, black habits? I think about them often and offer up a prayer...they brought me home.
Published: Catholic Digest, September 1984
Comments may be sent to me at granny@netsync.net
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