Claire Cepla ’17 M.Div.

Though I was born and raised Catholic, and went to a Catholic grade school and Catholic high school, I was never exceptionally faithful. As a result, when I started college, I fell into the lifestyle society had prepared for me: killing it in classes during the week and killing it at parties on the weekends.

I had a 4.0 GPA, impressive internships, an exceptional alcohol tolerance, and I was in the best shape of my life. Altogether I had everything that was supposed to make a college girl happy—and yet I was miserable. I was a robot going through the motions of a life I was told I was supposed to live. And it wasn’t satisfying me.

Then one day, I met a random guy on my floor who asked me to go to Mass with him that Sunday. I had not gone to Mass since starting college and was feeling continuously guilty about it, so I accepted. Upon entering the Catholic student center, I realized right away there was something in that place I wanted. There was a joy and lightness there not present anywhere else on campus.

I quickly threw myself into the Catholic student center. I did as much as I could there Sunday through Thursday—but kept my Thursday nights through Saturday reserved for parties. I was living a double life, unwilling to let go of either, increasingly torn in two.

One night, in the middle of the second semester of my sophomore year, I found myself sitting in a dark crypt on the first night of a weekend-long retreat, listening to a gentleman only a year older than me tell his conversion story. And as I listened, I couldn’t help but be struck by how many similarities existed between his story and my own.

After his talk was done, we entered the church where team members enacted a very realistic Stations of the Cross. Contrition came swiftly and completely to me—but so did fear. When we were then invited into adoration and Confession, I sat in my pew paralyzed. It felt like the devil and Jesus were battling over my soul. I had never wanted to go to Confession more—or less.

I so desperately needed forgiveness, and yet after all I had done the past two years I thought that was impossible. By the very grace of God, I did end up in a confessional. I sobbed my way through a sloppy list of my sins and then I waited in silence to hear my fate.

And without hesitation the words came: “Go in peace, your sins are forgiven.” Everything changed for me in that moment.

I returned to my seat, fell down on my knees, and promised my life to Jesus. If he who was crucified could find it in his heart to forgive me, I could easily give my whole life to him in thanksgiving. I have never looked back.

I can see, of course, all of the many stepping stones God put in place to make that moment possible. And I can also see all of the ways I still turn away from God in fear, doubt, or sin—I need continuous conversion to reorient my life. But that one night marks a complete about-face in the trajectory of my life. And for that I am daily grateful.