A Catholic Drifter
In my younger years, I received all my sacraments and went to Mass every Sunday with my parents and three siblings. Faith was simply part of the road my family traveled together.
But after the births of my children between 1996 and 2003, I slowly began to drift from my Catholic roots. Somewhere along the way, the direction of my spiritual life veered off course without me fully noticing. Life was busy, and the wider culture had grown increasingly cynical about Christianity in general and Catholicism and the Church in particular.
For many years I was content to keep faith somewhere in the background while focusing on raising my family and navigating the demands of everyday life.
For many years I resembled Goldilocks, searching for a “just right” bowl of life for my family—nothing too hot, nothing too cold. Everything comfortable and manageable.
By around 2012, I had become what some people call a “Catholic in name only.” Catholicism seemed out of step with the modern world. The clergy abuse scandal and its fallout made it easy to distance myself from the Church. When critics questioned Catholic teachings or mocked the idea of papal authority, I didn’t have answers—and I didn’t feel much need to defend it.
Instead, I fell in with the crowd that identified as being “spiritual but not religious.”
In that wide spiritual parking lot, it didn’t matter whether you embraced Jesus, God, Buddha, the universe, or some other personal version of a higher power. What mattered most was simply being kind and loving.
Well, I followed the Golden Rule. I loved Jesus, and He loved me. All good, right?
The Rubber Meets the Road
In those years I joke that I was “going to church in a Chevy,” like the country song says. In reality it was usually our Honda Odyssey, packed with our busy family, coolers, sports gear, and the occasional pile of fast-food wrappers.
Weekends were short and full. Between Costco runs, beach trips, sports fields, and family outings, life moved fast. We got our “hallelujahs” in as we sang along with other country tunes.
I believed God was present in those moments—and in many ways He was.
But something essential was missing.
In 2018, a series of personal trials began to shake the foundations of my comfortable faith. Midlife anxieties, the sudden death of my father, and a medical emergency with one of our sons pushed me into a place of deep vulnerability.
By God’s grace, it was in that place that the Holy Spirit began drawing me back.
I returned to Mass at my local parish, St. John Vianney. Each Sunday I found myself eager to go. Encountering Christ in the Eucharist stirred something in my heart that had long been dormant. Slowly, quietly, my love for Jesus began to grow again.
A Wake-Up Call
Around that same time, I was also exploring spiritual practices that I didn’t understand to be idolatrous—things like tarot cards, psychics, and spirit guides. I thought they were harmless ways of seeking insight and guidance.
Looking back now, I will promise you there are spiritual dangers inherent in them.
In early 2020, I experienced a moment that shook me awake spiritually. In the quiet of one early morning, I had an encounter that forced me to confront the reality of heaven, the darkness of separation from God, and the direction my life could be heading if I didn’t course-correct.
I was held between the light and the darkness. And what struck me most was the simultaneous joy and pain I felt caught there. I was filled with the all-encompassing love that seemed to radiate from the light of God, and at the same time penetrated with a deep sorrow for the many souls I sensed caught in darkness—struggling as if trapped in something they could not free themselves from.
What I felt for them was not judgment, but a profound pity and longing for them to be free of the darkness that held them down.
I cannot fully explain the experience, and even now I don’t claim to understand it completely. But in that moment I knew with startling clarity that I could no longer live drifting between faith and indifference. I felt great fear for my soul.
Days later, while searching the Scriptures for understanding, these words from Revelation pierced my heart:
I know your works; you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spit you out of my mouth.”
— Revelation 3:15-16
For the first time, I realized how long I had been living a lukewarm faith—shaping religion around my own comfort instead of allowing God to reshape my life.
Back to Life in the Church
Only weeks later, the COVID pandemic closed churches across the country. After finally rediscovering the Eucharist, being separated from the Church felt like being cut off from my life line.
During that time I turned more deeply to Scripture and prayer. God’s Word began nourishing me in ways it never had before.
When our parish finally reopened, I walked through those doors with an immense sense of gratitude and purpose. I wanted to live my faith more intentionally—to grow in Christ and to help build up His Church in whatever small ways I could.
Keeping the Faith
Faith is a lifelong journey, and I am still learning every day.
Through Spinning for Jesus, I share reflections from that ongoing journey—moments where Scripture, the life of the Church, and ordinary experiences intersect and illuminate one another.
If your faith sometimes feels comfortable but incomplete, you are not alone. Many of us spend years living somewhere in between. But God is always inviting us deeper.
You can explore reflections throughout the blog, or stay connected through Mirasol Magazine, my seasonal offering of Scriptural reflections and encouragement for the journey.
Wherever you are on the road of faith, my prayer is that we keep our eyes fixed on Christ:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
— 2 Timothy 4:7
