A rosary epiphany
I was only 15 years old during Christmas in 1956. My older sister left two years earlier to marry, and my other sister died that March at age 17. A truly sad holiday time. My parents were struggling financially with hospital bills, so there wouldn’t be many gifts under the tree.
One day I saw a most beautiful rosary in a bookstore, but knew it was too expensive to even ask for it. But to my heart’s surprise, it was mine that Christmas!
At the time, I was attending the all-girls Our Lady of Loretto High School (now Bishop Conaty-Our Lady of Loretto High School), which took three buses and an hour each way as tuition was only $50 a month.
School was a mixture of girls of different races, cultures, and backgrounds, and we were taught by religious women from seven communities. Though I was thinking of becoming a model for local department stores, I was attracted to these holy women.
One February afternoon during a silent day of prayer for us students, I heard clearly the Lord saying to me, “Come, follow me,” and knew then that God wanted me to enter the religious life. It was like an epiphany, so praying my rosary daily certainly had an influence.
Having been moved by reading the story of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, one of the sisters gave me a medal of the saint, which I attached to my rosary. Over time, for each decade of the rosary I added the Miraculous Medal, St. Joseph Medal, Holy Spirit Medal, and finally one of Catherine McAuley, founder of the Sisters of Mercy, which I later joined.
Sadly, however, a few years ago I left it in a pew in the church, which was gone when I went back for it. Heartbroken, I felt God was challenging me to “let go” and not be attached to anything but him alone. So I hold the memory of that Christmas rosary in my heart now forever instead. When my older sister found out about my loss, she gave me her beautiful rosary, which I cherish.
— Sister Yvette Perrault, RSM, Studio City, California
Etched in Advent
Each year at Christmastime I experience a vision. Memory is too weak of a word to describe the image manifest in my mind, a perfect clarity no photograph could ever convey.
Let me explain:
I was 11 years old. The 1950s were ending. Snow was falling on our Eastern Pennsylvania home. A large oval glass pane was enclosed in our front door. My mother handed me poster paints and suggested I provide a decoration there.
I suspected she thought that I would render a Christmas tree or Santa Claus.
I produced a simple Nativity scene: a stable, the manger, Mary in blue, Joseph in brown, and a white star with a long tale above the scene. A lamp was set behind the work for illumination, and we went outside to observe.
I saw it then as a child. I see it now as an old man.
My mother was pleased that I chose our Savior over Santa. Decades later I know this was the best Christmas present I ever gave her.
— William P. Noctor, Encino, California
Together in prayer
It was more than 40 years ago, but I still recall it every Christmas. My father left and there were five of us children who would not be getting presents that year. My single mother was a housewife with no college degree, no job experience, and no money. I was OK with not receiving anything from Santa, but how would we explain it to my little brothers and sisters? They had been good and expected Santa to come.
Miraculously, we did have a wonderful Christmas because of the good people at our church. Not only did “Santa” bring us presents, but we received a tree and a Christmas meal. Strangers made sure we knew that we were loved and remembered and valued.
Fast-forward 15 years later when I became the Christian Care Coordinator at the high school where I worked. I was in charge of the canned food and toy drive. We collected many items to be given to needy families at Christmas. As I gathered together with my students to assemble the care packages I couldn’t help but cry. It felt like a full circle moment to be able to give hope to people as it had been given to me.
Before we gave out the packages, our group held hands and joined together in prayer. The children on the street began peering through the gate on the patio to see what we were doing. As I stood there it occurred to me that we should be praying with the people and not for the people. I led the students out onto the sidewalk and we held our hands up in blessing over the families who had gathered.
It was so beautiful to see these humbled people bow their heads and receive our words of hope for them. I hoped these children would feel the love of Christ on this day like I did so many years ago.
— Krissy Smith, La Cañada Flintridge, California
No regrets
We are proud to say that 20 years ago our only son volunteered to the Marine Corps after graduating from Gonzaga University, and was thereafter deployed to Iraq in 2004.
With his strong faith in our Lord he was experiencing every aspect of the military in a positive, holy attitude with every opportunity to spread his love of God by example to the villagers or Iraqi translators. We did not have any contact or correspondence from him the entire month of November and December due to government security.
We later found out that on Christmas Eve he attended Mass. Prior to Mass, he confessed to the chaplain that he could not receive Communion due to missing Mass while in battle. The chaplain explained that he did have permission to receive Communion due to the circumstances of serving his country.
After Mass the entire platoon had Christmas dinner with the chaplain just as “O Holy Night” played and brought them to tears, while in California we were also crying tears of worry. Later, Navy chaplain Father Ron Camarda wrote in his novel “Tear In The Desert” about the example of discipline our son had of his abiding to the Church regulations of receiving Communion in sin.
In May, while we were attending Mass, our son left a message that his platoon was selected to attend fleet week in New York City. He was selected by the chaplain to be the cross-bearer at the military Mass on Memorial Day to represent the Marine Corps at St Patrick’s Cathedral. We were blessed to attend the Mass and be with our son.
Dominic never regretted fighting in the battle of Fallujah as a proud Marine. With God’s grace he is happily married with a successful career.
— Grace Rosa, Hacienda Heights, California
A godfather’s legacy
I remember distinctly the red, thick envelope that my godfather, Uncle Tim, handed to me on Christmas Eve. I was 8 years old and had just been baptized and received my first holy Communion the year before.
My Catholic faith was brand new to me, as my parents had returned to Catholicism while grappling with my godfather’s diagnosis of a terminal disease.
Although Uncle Tim was suffering from various ailments due to his disease, still his smile radiated joy as he watched me open the envelope. Inside was a Christmas card holding about a dozen holy cards. “I picked these out for you when I visited the California missions recently,” he explained.
I thanked my godfather for the special gift as I looked with wonder at the various cards with saints and devotional prayers. The beautiful artwork and poetic prayers fascinated me and spoke to my soul.
Less than a year later, my godfather’s body succumbed to the disease and his soul was taken to our Lord. His example of suffering with resignation to God’s will and his reliance on Christ still inspire me today as an adult.
Additionally, that Christmas gift contained in the red envelope started my collection of holy cards. As my collection grew over the years, I began to give holy cards away to others; my children especially enjoy looking through my holy cards and using them in their own prayer life.
The role of a godparent is to help the godchild grow in faith and live a Christian life. My godfather did not know how special his gift would be to me and how his example and the prayers on those cards would deepen my faith. Even though my godfather died when I was young, I can say confidently that he did his job.
— Jamie Pilloni Graebner, Atlanta, Georgia
A heart opened
At the midnight Christmas Mass, walking into the church I noticed a box of books with a sign that read “FREE.” No, I won’t read it, so I went to sit down. I was not a very active Catholic at the time.
Upon leaving I had this strange feeling come over me; I felt I had to get that book. So I picked the book up, which was titled “Rediscovery Catholicism.” For some reason I started reading it right away, and my heart just opened up.
While reading the book I remembered that I knew a deacon, and I contacted him after New Year’s. I asked him how to go about receiving confession, since it had been more than 30 years of not going to confession. The deacon invited me to meet him after the next Sunday Mass. So, as I was leaving Mass, I noticed the church bulletin, and thought should I get it? No, but then for some reason I did. The deacon told me I should talk to the priest about hearing my confession.
As God would have it, literally seconds after the deacon mentioned it, the priest approached. The deacon introduced me to him, and I asked the priest about meeting to hear my confession. He noticed the bulletin in my hand, said his number was in there, and told me to call him the next day. I did, and was surprised he said to come in that same day for confession.
After that confession, I went from being a barely present Catholic to a very active and stronger Catholic. Opening my heart to God made life wonderful.
—Manuel Ruiz, Rancho Cascades, California
To live in, through, and for him
Rejoicing in the Spirit, I am delighted to share that recently I walked into the sanctuary of Our Lord and took my private vow as a consecrated virgin. It was the best moment and most beautiful birthday of my life! The best Christmas gift to our Savior! I experienced God’s peace, which exceeds all understanding. And all the more I am secured of God’s mission for me; truly, immense joy, and no one can ever take away that joy from me.
His peace guards my heart and mind as I continue to live in him, through him, and for him. In God’s divine plan for me, nothing happens by chance — everything comes from love of God at the right time. Everything in our lives is ordained for salvation.
— Marney Austria Villanueva, Granada Hills, Los Angeles, California
Strength in numbers
Christmas had always been my dad’s favorite holiday, but it had never been the same since he died. My mom had to work long hours to keep us fed and housed, and she seldom did anything for herself. So, this year, we wanted to make something special for her.
That morning, I got my siblings into the act: Brenda, Tawnia, and Jorge. Me and Tawnia were in charge of decorating the living room while Brenda and Jorge worked in the kitchen preparing tamales.
By lunchtime, the house began to change. The aroma of tamales was coming from the oven along with the sweet smell of cooling arroz con leche on the counter. Brenda had strung the soft lights around the tree, illuminating glass ornaments we unpacked from dusty boxes. Jorge and Tawnia were excited to uncover the school-made ornaments they made for our parents.
By evening, the table was set with five plates, each reflecting the family that remained. A small framed photo of my dad was placed by the tree reminding us that love, though absent, was never gone.
As mom walked in from work, the fatigue in her eyes melted away. The warmth of the home enveloped the soft glow of the lights, the aroma of the food, and the sight of her children working together to create something beautiful.
Not one word was spoken, but the happiness in her eyes told it all.
I knew my dad was proud that we had brought warmth back to our house again. Christmas was about rediscovering love, the resilience of the spirit that family gives, and the strength it has when working together. We were more than four siblings trying to fill a void; we were a team discovering what it meant to hold one another up.
— Jasholine Flores, Los Angeles, California
