Mary Margaret struggled with her backpack and umbrella, her glasses sliding down her nose. She was trying to make it to St. Catherine’s to meet Father Xavier before the storm hit full force. The sky was a deep green; she’d seen tornado skies before and was certain that the fierce swirling winds were bearing down on her as she ran. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and deep chills ran down her spine. She shook it off the unsettled feeling. The lightning was close. It was simply static electricity making her hair bush out and stand on end.
A huge gust of wind caught the umbrella and tore it out of her hands. “Damn it!” she screamed, watching it fly away. It was the worst curse she allowed herself to say aloud, but the guilt of losing her temper hit her immediately. Another Hail Mary from Father Xavier. There was no way she was going to be on time for their scheduled meeting. She thought longingly of the warm fragrant tea he would be brewing in his cozy office. She never ran late for their sessions. She hoped he wasn’t worrying about her.
Mary Margaret loved her theology classes at Aquinas College. It was a relief for her to be in the company of so many young students who shared her beliefs. When she found her way back to the Church, the doors swung wide and welcoming for a young woman in search of herself. There was no judgment, no dirty looks. Of course, no one knew her background. Mary Margaret had only confided in one person about her past.
She’d met Father Francis Xavier a few months back. He was new to Nashville, too, a young, principled and compassionate priest. She felt an immediate connection with him and started going to mass at his home church, St. Catherine’s. He was a stranger in town, a little lonely, and always willing to discuss the mysteries of theology with his new friend. One night, she asked him to take her confession. It was the only way she could think of to share her pain and humiliation with another person without repercussion.
Mary Margaret’s family lived in Atlanta and had left the Catholic Church before she hit her early teens. Her grandmother, a full-blown, off-the-boat Italian Catholic, had converted to Baptist for an unknown reason and harangued the family until they switched as well. The main force of her argument was her fear that if they were not saved, she would never see them in heaven.
Mary Margaret had never been terribly religious. As she entered her teens she found many more exciting things to do than going to church four nights a week and spending weekends in revivals. She fell into a group of misfits who got her drinking, then using drugs. Ultimately, she began having sex with the boys in the group. Atlanta provided many excitements for a rebellious teenage girl, but she soon grew bored of her life and wanted to strike out on her own. With one hundred dollars in her pocket, she left town.
She made her way across the country, hitching rides with strangers, working for cash in small town cafés, trading herself if she got too low on cash to purchase drugs. She made calls home to her parents, but they were so upset with her that they wouldn’t talk to her. She wasn’t happy living on the edge. She was lonely, run down and a little sick of herself and her behavior. She began having thoughts of returning home. And then it had all caught up with her.
Somewhere in the backwoods of Colorado, she’d hitched a ride with the wrong man. He’d beaten her and raped her, then dumped her in a campground. A church group on a day hike found her bloodied and bruised, but alive. They’d taken her to the nearest hospital, a small community endeavor run by the Catholic Church.
It was the words of succor from the nuns that had brought her back to life a changed woman. One of the nuns told her of a college in Nashville, Aquinas College. It was a perfect place for her to start over. The nuns allowed her to live with them for a time, helped her study for and acquire her GED. They celebrated her triumph when she was offered a small scholarship to Aquinas. With their meager savings, they got her on a plane to Nashville and paid her first year’s rent on a small apartment across the street from the school. This set up made it simple for her to walk to class and placate her caffeine addiction at the local Starbucks. She took jobs on campus to pay the rent and worked as hard as she could to begin a new life. Her faith in her newfound religion had become the cornerstone to a whole new world.
When she’d finished her confession, Father Xavier found he had even more respect for his young friend. He convinced her it was time to let her parents know where she was. They didn’t welcome her back with open arms, but their relationship began to mend. She had been to Atlanta a few times to visit, and was calling dutifully once a week.
She was healing.