As many of my clients strove to
overcome their addictions to drugs or alcohol, I always suggested they tap into
a powerful source for recovery–God. 
Sure, some people did it without him, but not most.  God could pick them up where they were at and
carry them through the pain and struggles all addicts must work through.    However, it became harder and harder to
send people to Narcotics and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings without feeling like
a hypocrite What of my own spiritual
recovery?

     Although I worked as an addiction
educator and counselor, my own lifestyle left me restless and seeking.  With a failed marriage behind me, I
unfortunately kept seeking love in all the wrong places while I lived life for
myself.
  Looking out for “number one” was
my mantra but my soul ultimately rebelled.
 
Happiness eluded me. I  Although I
had been raised in the Methodist and Presbyterian churches, by my late
twenties, I had turned completely away from God.
  I had even been married for a time but that
failed. Yet, I had seen so many of my clients move from pain to joy; from
emptiness to fullness through Christ.
 

Marcus Grodi
     It was my turn.  A friend gave me a verse that challenged
me:  “Delight in the Lord and he will
give you the desires of your heart.”   I
was tired of running from God, for that is what I was really doing by shutting
him out. I began praying everyday while I ran—a bit symbolic now that I was
running toward God and not away.   If I
woke up in the middle of the night, I prayed. 
I started going to the Presbyterian church where I was counseled to turn
my life completely over to God.  In
addition to attending Sunday services, I began teaching high school Sunday
school and volunteering in a variety of ways. 
I knew God was drawing me near, but still, it was hard sometimes.  For two years I struggled with
backsliding.  With one foot in both
worlds, I met a man by the name of Marcus Grodi who was the assistant minister
and single’s group coordinator.   My
heart led the way while my brain pulled in the other direction. Marry a minister?  No way, not me,  my brain scolded. But my heart would not
listen.
     In spite of my misgivings, love won
out and we became engaged.  I felt
unworthy as a “baby” Christian to be marrying such a man so firm in his own
faith.  Marcus would remind me, “You are
a new creation in the Lord.”  He did not
worry about my past, but looked to the future. 
We were married in August of 1985.
     Without so much as a workshop on
how to be a minister’s wife, I dove right in. 
I also  became the director of a
crisis pregnancy center.  Our first
child, John Marc, was born the day after our first anniversary. Life as a
mother and minister’s wife was an exciting roller coaster.  Marcus, always full of ideas, often kept me
on the edge of my seat.  Since I tend to
prefer the status quo, his creativity frequently challenged me. 
     When we moved from our small
country church in central Ohio to a large evangelical congregation in Northeast
Ohio, I thought,  This is it!  I had arrived
and was ready to put down roots.  I threw
myself into my job as a minister’s wife. 
I was free to do whatever I wanted; teach Sunday school, redecorate the
nursery, develop relationships with other like-minded people…whatever I was led
to do. 
     After only a year-and-a-half,
Marcus got another one of his ideas. This one would challenge me to the hilt.
He was restless about his ministry as well as issues in our Presbyterian
denomination. Falling back on his science background, Marcus decided to incorporate
ministry with the study of bioethics.  He
left his pastoral position to study full-time while we also began investigating
other denominations that might be a better fit. 
Both of us were unsatisfied at the way issues were dealt with at higher
levels of our church.  It seemed that
personal opinions and politics, not truth, drove church teachings. 
     Marcus was now driving to Cleveland
each day to Case Western Reserve University, while I cared for our preschooler
and newborn son, Peter.  I began to feel
isolated.  We continued to live in our
old neighborhood near the church where we had left friends who did not
understand what we were doing.  To be
honest, I did not understand what we were doing.  While Marcus was studying genetics, he was
also reading everything he could get his hands on about the Catholic
Church.  I was intrigued with all that
Marcus shared with me and we learned a lot together.   Since both of us had written the Catholic
Church off as being wrong, our minds were spinning with the beauty and
revelations we were discovering in this ancient institution.  But Catholic? 
No way, we both thought. Our prejudice against all things Catholic ran
too deep.  Yet, where were we to go? 
     We began attending Mass, just to
see first hand what it was all about.  I
hated it.  Where was the Sunday school
program or nurseries for the little ones? 
The worst part was during the Consecration of bread and wine into the
Body and Blood of Christ because I struggled to accept what was actually taking
place.  The reality was immense but I was
not there yet in my learning.  It was the
cornerstone difference between Catholics and Protestants.  Marcus was already blazing a trail to the Church
while I was not prepared to buy into all of it.
     “I don’t want you to feel like you
have to come,” Marcus assured me.  “You
and the kids can continue attending the Presbyterian services.  This is not something I want to push you
into.”
     The last thing I wanted was to
split our family up on Sundays.  I
thought becoming a Christian would solve all my problems.  I never envisioned that it would end up
tearing me apart inside.  “No, I will
keep going to Mass with you,” I determined. 
“I don’t want us going our separate ways.” 
     Fine! I thought. It’s just as
well because I don’t want to become Catholic
.

Each Sunday, I tearfully rode past
our old church as we headed for Mass.  We
actually discovered a parish across town that had some of the Protestant
customs that made us more comfortable. 
Coffee and donuts, an outgoing and friendly congregation and having CCD
on Sunday mornings for children which felt like Sunday school, helped me relax
a little. Once my guard came down, Marcus and I decided to begin taking the
Rite of Catholic Initiation classes but discovered a road block that could
impede our becoming Catholic. Since I had been married before, unless it was
deemed that it had not been a Christian, sacramental marriage, the Catholic
Church could not recognize my current marriage with Marcus.  When I learned this fact, anger rose up
within me.  We could have been murders or
thieves, but just because I had been married before, the Catholic Church was
rejecting us. 

     But we had come too far to just
stop there.  Marcus and I pondered our
situation and put it to prayer.  Slowly,
we came to understand the wisdom of the Church’s teaching.  The requirement of obtaining an annulment was
actually a reason to seek this traditional Church.  Her teachings held that marriage was a sacred
and permanent union blessed by God.  If
the first marriage met the criteria for being sacramental, then the Church
stood by Christ’s teaching that “What God has joined together, let no man put
asunder.” Our initial attraction to the Catholic Church was because it seemed
to be the only one which held fast to those things that strengthen and preserve
families.  The other denominations had
swayed from the historical teachings on abortion, contraception and marriage,
among many others.  So, I swallowed my
pride and took my first big submissive step. 
I bowed to the awesome power and majesty of the authority of the
Church.  The annulment process turned out
not to be so daunting but rather a blessing to our marriage.  Nine months later, we moved to Steubenville,
Ohio, and continued learning about the Catholic faith.  A month later, on December 20, 1992,  with our five and one-and-a-half-year old
looking on, we were received in the Church at St. Peter’s.  At that same time, we also had our marriage
blessed with a re-exchanging of vows and rings.
Marcus is no longer known as
Reverend and I don’t decorate church nurseries or teach Sunday school
anymore.  It was fun for a time, but I am
eterernally thankful that my family and I ended up where we never dreamed we
would tread—in the Catholic Church.
Marilyn Grodi
Marcus and Marilyn Grodi
Marilyn
is married to Marcus, host of EWTN’s “The Journey Home” program.  She earned bachelors and  masters
degrees from Ohio State University and has read enough to have earned a
PhD in homeschooling the special needs child.  

This story was originally published in the  collection of survivor stories in Amazing Grace for Survivors.

~~~~~~~~

For more inspiration check out Patti’s latest bookHoly Hacks: Everyday Ways to Live Your Faith & Get to HeavenOther books include:  Big Hearted: Inspiring Stories from Everyday Families and the best-selling Amazing Grace Series. 
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