The next 60 days seemed to pass in a blur, like a fleeting moment that left me both relieved and unsettled. I found myself spending a lot of time with the LIHM sisters at their mission house in South Sioux, seeking solace in the warmth of their community. Yet, beneath the surface, I was grappling with a storm of turmoil and emotions that I struggled to process.
Looking back, it feels like my parents were caught between a rock and a hard place. I shut them out completely, emotionally barricading myself from their support. I was overwhelmed by anger, confusion, and a sense of brokenness that clouded my judgment. In those moments, I didn’t give them a chance to understand what I was going through or to help me heal.
Being with the sisters, engaging in prayer and participating in youth activities, provided a much-needed distraction. It was the only time I felt free from the incessant cycle of overthinking, allowing me to be truly present in the moment. The laughter and camaraderie offered a brief reprieve from the chaos in my mind.
Gradually, I began to distance myself from my friends. In high school, I had a large circle and was known for being outgoing. I always made an effort to ensure that everyone felt included, striving to treat others with kindness and respect. Attending a Catholic high school, I was well aware of the cliques that formed, yet I worked hard to transcend those barriers. I believed that everyone deserved a chance, which is why I cultivated a diverse group of friends.
One of my closest friends was Ashley. We shared countless memories, from playing softball together to spending countless nights at each other’s homes. We were inseparable, ride or die, always there for one another through thick and thin. However, as my struggles intensified, I began to pull away from her without offering much explanation. It was easier to retreat into my shell than to confront the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
I realize now that my teachers, coaches, and counselors likely noticed the change in me. My distraction was evident, affecting my performance in school, my participation in sports, and my relationships. Reflecting on those days, I can see how much people genuinely cared for me, especially my family. They wanted to help, but I remained locked away in my own world, too afraid to share what I was experiencing.
Instead of reaching out, I bottled everything inside, wrestling with feelings of isolation and confusion. Yet, amidst the chaos, I found fleeting moments of peace and refuge in the presence of the LIHM sisters. Their daily prayers, adoration, and community activities provided a calmness that soothed my restless soul. In those sacred moments, I felt a glimmer of hope, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in my struggles.
Before I knew it, Fr. John was back from Dover, DE, and the excitement in the air was palpable. That weekend was set aside for a youth retreat, a time when many of us would gather to connect, reflect, and seek guidance. I spent the entire weekend enveloped in the warmth and support of the LIHM Sisters, who always had a way of making me feel at home. Fr. John had coordinated with the mother superior to create a special opportunity for us—a manifestation.
A manifestation was a sacred time dedicated to openly sharing our struggles and aspirations with Fr. John. It was a moment to delve deep into the depths of our souls, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. Fr. John would then use his spiritual gifts to pray and help us discern what God was revealing in our lives—a truly transformative experience.
Fr. John was more than just a priest; he was the youth vocations director. He traveled the world, speaking to young people about their potential calling and guiding them toward their vocations. It was clear that he had a special connection with God and a profound understanding of the paths we were meant to take.
As I sat with him during the manifestation, I felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. After sharing my heart and my struggles, Fr. John emphasized my calling to religious life. He urged me to start detaching from people, places, and things that were holding me back from fully embracing this journey.
“What about softball?” I asked, my voice trembling. “What about my friends and family? I’m only 17; I can’t just leave everything behind!” I felt a wave of fear wash over me as I realized the magnitude of what he was suggesting.
But there was an urgency in Fr. John’s voice that I couldn’t ignore. He wanted me to pack my bags immediately, as a flight would be booked for me to join the other postulants in Dover, DE. The weight of his words pressed down on me, igniting a battle between my heart and my fears.
He spoke of the spiritual warfare I would face by saying yes to my vocation, preparing me for the backlash and resistance that would inevitably come. Yet, he encouraged me to fight for it, no matter the cost. Fr. John painted a picture of the great plan God had for me, a plan that would allow me to touch and heal countless souls.
Tears streamed down my face as I thought of my family—my grandparents, parents, siblings, friends and my coaches. “What about them?” I cried, feeling torn between my desire to follow my calling and the love I had for those I would leave behind.
“This is why you answer your call, Katie,” Fr. John replied gently. “It’s for them that you will give up your worldly life. Through this calling, you can save and heal your family.” His words struck a chord deep within me. I had witnessed their struggles, particularly the heartache of losing family members to alcoholism. The thought that God would choose me to offer my life for their healing was both humbling and daunting.
In that moment of pain and uncertainty, I found the courage to say yes. “Okay, Fr. I’ll leave. I’ll join the other postulants in Dover, DE.” It felt like a leap into the unknown, but there was a glimmer of hope that fueled my decision. He then told me that I needed to graduate early and leave immediately—my first order of obedience.
As I prepared for this monumental change, I knew that my journey was just beginning. It wouldn’t be easy, but I felt a stirring in my heart that I was on the right path, one that would lead me closer not only to God but also to the healing of my family.
The time had come for me to sit down with my parents and share my decision—a conversation I had been dreading but knew was necessary. As I revealed my intention to pursue a religious vocation, I was met with immediate resistance. My parents insisted they wouldn’t allow me to graduate early, and I could see the disbelief etched on their faces.
Looking back now, I can only imagine the whirlwind of emotions they must have felt. They were likely grappling with the fear of losing me entirely. After all, what happened to the Katie who had worked so hard to chase her dream of playing Division 1 softball? How could I just walk away from that opportunity, from the scholarship offers, from everything that had once been so important to me? They wanted me to finish high school, to experience my senior year, and to play out the final season of my softball career.
The pain, fear, and confusion were palpable in their expressions, and it broke my heart to see them like that. Yet, amidst their worries, Fr. John’s voice echoed in my mind: “Fight at all costs for your vocation.” I understood that by saying yes to this calling, I could offer them a gift of healing that they might not fully comprehend at that moment.
So, I fought for my decision. I agreed to finish out the school year and graduate with my class, but I made it clear that I wouldn’t be playing softball my senior year, and I would be turning down the scholarship offers. Instead, I would spend the next two months living with the sisters, preparing for the journey ahead.
After graduation, my parents threw a small party for me, which I shared with my cousin Colton, who was also graduating. It felt bittersweet, knowing it would be my final goodbye to the life I had known. I smiled and celebrated with them, but inside, I was a swirl of emotions, grappling with the enormity of what lay ahead.
With my bags packed, the following week came with a mix of excitement and fear as I boarded the plane at just 17 years old, leaving everything familiar behind. It was terrifying to think about the decision I had just made, still feeling broken and vulnerable. But deep down, I knew that this was my calling—a chance to save myself and my family, even if it meant offering my life to God through this religious path.
As the plane soared into the sky, I took a deep breath, ready to embrace the journey ahead, trusting that this leap of faith would lead me to something greater than I could ever imagine.
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Like any good author, your story forces the reader to read on.