Despite all this, I refused to accept there was anything wrong with me. In terms of religion, I used to read a chapter or so of the Bible every night just to say I had read through the whole thing; I did it. But at the same time, I didn’t really understand what I read, didn’t believe anymore and stopped going to church. I was starved for love but refused to open to others or admit my need.
Then it happened. One night in my room I dropped to my knees sobbing and I finally ‘admitted I was powerless’ like they say in AA. “God”, I prayed, “I don’t even know if you’re there, but if you are, please help me.” I took out a Rosary; I hadn’t prayed one since I was little, but I managed a couple of decades.
The NEXT DAY in the library some of us were having a discussion with a kid who had made up his own religion (!) and we were all talking about what it all means. After the others left, this girl, Kathy, told me, “You know, I think I know what could really help you”. A silent voice in my head said, “See, Mark, I’m answering you”. “They’re having a charismatic family retreat Christmas Eve at St. Paul’s Center; you ought to go.” That little ‘voice’ said, “THAT’S IT!” [By the way, I recently heard from Kathy after 30 or more years and I was so happy!]