Faith, loss, and the transformative power of vulnerability.
ai-vy riniker
I am a cradle Catholic, but stepped away for many years. A lot of the politics and history of the church disillusioned me as a young adult. I have always considered myself to be liberal in my thoughts and actions - and young me pridefully considered myself more worldly than an archaic practice of religion.
Almost two decades later, married, and on the cusp of giving birth to our first child, my (then Methodist) husband decided he wanted to convert to Catholicism. I agreed to go with him to RCIA classes. In the midst of these sessions, we lost the baby at 32 weeks of pregnancy.
Understandably my faith and hopes were shattered. It felt like God was punishing us - or me - for not being faithful and for living my younger life in a reckless manner.
We went through our stages of grief - we still are even 10 years later and with the subsequent three living children we are blessed with.
Fast forward to 2025. We have been attending mass, and our kids are enrolled in St. Patrick’s School in Wentzville, MO. I felt like I was a good Catholic by going through the motions of a dutiful parent and being seen as a member of the parish.
A opportunity came to attend a women’s retreat and I chose to go. I not only felt called to attend, but I also considered it a last ditch effort to really try to find my faith connection since I was aware that I was feeling imposter syndrome.
I had no expectations for this event, but I did go with a smattering of skepticism. It would be a weekend of open sharing, emotional outpouring, and witnessing of God-moments. I live logically and scientifically. I would listen with love to these stories, but always wondered how much of these experiences were phenomena of brain tricks and lighting to show things that weren’t really there.
I hit a point that weekend of feeling helpless and hopeless. I pulled myself away from the group to sit in adoration with Jesus. The leadership team suggested that we envision Jesus just hanging out in front of us, listening like a friend.
I did that. I found myself verbally railing at Him, practically screaming. I did this for a couple of hours. I couldn’t stop crying. I was bitter about losing my baby. I was worked up about past stupidity and troubles. I was puzzled and frustrated about family issues. In the end I was exhausted and raw.
One of the leaders walked me back to my room and I poured out everything that just happened. I talked about how I screamed and yelled, and I left feeling empty and hopeless. I felt like I was yelling at thin air, and that I wasn’t getting a response. I felt in my weary soul that I lost my purpose in life, and my purpose at being there. She left and I sat in my room practically begging Jesus to give me some message or signal since I felt abandoned in that moment.
The first time I got to see my children and husband following that, I fell to my knees in tears. It was strikingly clear that my purpose was them: my chosen partner and the beautiful beings we created.
Jesus orchestrated an environment for me to share the torrent of emotions, laid bare without reservation, with Him. He gave me space to work through things I thought I had already resolved and accepted. I never knew how much anger and resentment I was holding onto. With that dedicated space and time, He helped me see the dark hole I had so that I could find the light to fill in it.
It wasn’t until I was able to sit with our pastor and associate pastor, respectively, to explore what I experienced and to really see the gift that it was. They both touched on the woman at the well (John 4) about Jesus’ awareness of all the beauty and ugliness in a person - and how Jesus accepts it and still wants us with Him.
It took me months after to understand that God’s loving grace is truly beyond my comprehension. It also opened my conscious to the fact that I struggled with the actions of humans that are associated with Catholicism, but those do not have bearing on my faith and the tenants and teachings of the Church.
Jesus showed me that what I have is a personal relationship. It is not one for show, and it is not an imposter. It is there in all of its ugly glory, and that He still loves me and wants me to be with Him. That humbles me to the very core.