Eleven years ago, I made a decision that has changed my life in so many, many ways. Okay, I did not make the decision wholly on my own, but I am so grateful for it now.
I was a churched kid, from Sunday school to Confirmation. I liked going to Sunday school and singing in the Junior Choir, going to Sunday service and even Confirmation. I learned the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, all about the Holy Sacraments and this guy named Jesus who could do some pretty amazing things. Yet, it wasn’t enough, at least not then anyway.
I don’t recall exactly when I took an interest in witchcraft, but I did, somewhere around fifteen or sixteen years old. There was no movie or book or any real outside influence that caused me to stray that way. It was something that was inside of me, a longing or need to know more about the how-comes of the bizarre things that would happen to myself or others – dreams that would come to pass, or déjà vu and we mustn’t forget ghosts.
Once, when I was about five and half, and I was having open-heart surgery, I had a vision of what I knew was an angel. She just sort of hung out with me in the “other-world” until it was over, and then sent me home. By the time I was sixteen, she was long forgotten – sort of.
The more I started to investigate the ideology behind witches and all their “powerfulness”, the more I was pulled into the life of a witch. I decided in all my youthful wisdom that the witches were right and everyone else was wrong. Each day the knowledge I had gained as a youth became buried further and further in my brain, overtaken by the idea that I could control not only my own life, but the lives of others in a sense. It was a rocky, unbelievably weird time in my life. Lies became truth and truth was just not. At the end, I was a 2nd degree High Priestess.
Fast-forward to fifteen years ago. The Holy Mother Mary kept appearing in my life, not as a ghost or even a person, just her image. She was everywhere and it seemed like all the time. Beings that I was already in the mindset that there were higher beings than myself, I concluded that Mary was someone who could fit that logic, and perhaps she wanted to tell me something. So, I asked. I got crickets. Not a single peep from her. Yet, everywhere I went, there she was in a painting or a book, or on-line. I kid you not; this went on for an entire year. Interestingly enough, every time I would try to do something “witchy”, there she was intervening. I wasn’t all that thrilled about it either. I’m not going to lie.
When the year was coming to a close, I just knew that something was up, and shortly after the New Year, I lost my job. Five months later, I lost my home. Three months later, everything – well most everything – I owned was stolen from the storage unit where I had moved our belongings. (Interestingly enough, all my important stuff was left untouched.) One month later, I sent my kids to live with my mother. They lived with her for four months, while I was getting my behind kicked some more by the Almighty. It was not a fun year. The Good Lord had stripped me of everything. I was as homeless as a person could get.
Here’s where the story gets interesting, I had to choose. I was beaten to a bloody pulp by God himself, and he did it on purpose. You see, I was at the point in my witchdom, where I was less than a year away of having my own coven, leading others down the same treacherous road. Now, don’t think for a second that I gave up so easily, no, I had to do things the hard way. I was going to “fix” my life, using all the tricks of the trade. The more I tried, the worse it got.
One night, I got in my car, and I screamed at God at the top of my lungs, “What the hell do you want from me!?” Then I cried for a long time. I knew what He wanted. I’d known all along what He wanted. I was just being too stubborn to give it to Him. I still didn’t surrender.
I was not going to be anything either way – a witch or a Christian. I was mad at God for dragging me to my knees, and honestly, to this day I couldn’t say that I knew why, although I do now.
The next couple of years were years lived in limbo. Things didn’t get worse, but they didn’t get much better. As I said, my kids came back from my mother’s within four months. I had an apartment and a job. We just sort of coasted for a couple of years. Then one day, I started to talk to Mary. I don’t know exactly why, but I did. I remember saying to her, if God is real and God hears me and even knows I exist then prove it. Give me an unmistakable sign. I was nice about it, and had asked with sincerity. I got in my car to go to work, and the song on the radio was (dun dun dun) Willie Nelson singing, You Were Always on My Mind. It was at that moment, I knew that I had made my choice, and I haven’t looked back since. I struggled with surrendering, but that’s a whole different story. However, since that day, my life has become so amazing I can’t even begin to tell you. Most of the friends that I had when I was practicing are either dead or dying. But, not me; I’m living – in every sense of the word.