Getting on the Right Path
by Linda Frandsen
The day of my confirmation was the happiest day of my life. As the priest anointed my forehead with chrism and pronounced those beautiful words, “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit,” I thought I was in heaven. My heart was filled with love for Jesus, my Savior.
But it wasn’t always this way. For so many years, my life was filled with turmoil. As a child I found it extremely difficult to keep my mind on my studies. I took to daydreaming and was in the principal’s office more often than not.
Like any good parents, Mom and Dad always wanted the best for us. They had us baptized in the Anglican Church and they had very high expectations for us. I frequently found myself not able to please them. Perhaps I didn’t try hard enough, or maybe I tried too hard. Whatever the case, I began to head in the wrong direction. This became vividly clear during my teen years. I ran with the wrong crowds, experimented with drugs, never completed high school, got myself into all kinds of difficulty, and then met and married John, my first husband--all by the time I was eighteen years old!
A Ray of Light in One Long Nightmare. My marriage to John was one long nightmare. I was regularly subjected to physical and verbal abuse. Shortly after our son David was born, I became very ill and spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals. And then, just as John and I were going through a painful divorce, my father died of heart problems. It was all too much for me to handle. I became deeply depressed and quickly developed an addiction to tranquilizers and sleeping pills.
Seeing how bad off I had become, my sister Nancy invited me to attend the prayer group in her parish and meet with one of the elders of the church. At first I was reluctant, but she insisted. So, I began to attend the “Little Flock” prayer group and met with an elder named Roger.
When Roger asked me to describe my situation, I broke into tears and began telling him everything. He took my hand in his and began to pray. As soon as we closed our eyes in prayer, I had a powerful vision of Jesus. He was radiant in white, shining like the sun, and brilliant beyond anything imaginable. I saw him descend from heaven and stand beside my father. He reached out and placed his hand on Dad’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke a word, but I was certain that Dad was in heaven. This was a turning point in my life, the beginning of my spiritual journey with Jesus, although I didn’t realize it until much later.
As time progressed, I met and married Gene, my second husband, but I quickly learned that he was not the loving person I had thought him to be. He was verbally abusive, and nothing I did seemed right. I was sick both in spirit and in body for most of our married life. I should be clear, however, that it wasn’t entirely Gene’s fault. Some-where along the way, I lost heart and gave up trying. Eventually, we separated.
Then, only a few months after our separation, Gene died suddenly of a heart attack. I felt guilty and worthless. I was cast into a nightmare of depression. The world for me was like a black hole from which there was no escape. Despair was my constant companion. My family, bless them, couldn’t understand the darkness that surrounded me and filled my days and nights. I was alone. Everything that had ever meant anything to me was gone.
“God, Please Help Me!” I entered into a mental health facility seeking the help I so desperately needed. But after three months of counseling by clergy, nurses, and doctors, nothing seemed to penetrate the wall I had built around myself. One day, tears streaming down my cheeks, I ran into the field surrounding the facility and dropped to my knees in prayer, something I had not done in many, many years. I cried out in a voice I didn’t even recognize as my own and prayed, “O God, if you’re out there, please, please help me!”
I don’t remember how long I remained there, but something deep within me began to stir. God heard my cry for mercy and answered my prayer in the form of two caring people who opened their home to poor lost souls such as myself. Their names were Bill and Flo, and they were Catholic.
When I went to meet them, I was surprised to find out that Bill had been best friends with my husband Gene right from boyhood. On the wall in their living room hung a large crucifix, something I had not been able to look at because of the suffering and pain it stood for. It only reminded me of the heavy cross I myself was bearing. The one thing that stopped me from moving in at once was the sight of Jesus tortured and beaten on the cross. But after much persuasion, I gave in, and things began to change for the better. There was a ray of hope!
Safe in Jesus’ Arms At Last. Not long after I moved in, Flo told me that her parish was holding a mission and invited me to attend. From the moment I entered the doors of the church, I felt a profound love that I had never known before. I realized that it was the love of Jesus. It was as though he were saying, “Welcome, my little one. You are here safe in my arms at last.”
At the mission, a priest named Fr. Michael spoke about God’s transforming love, about accepting Jesus as Lord and Savior, and about sin, repentance, and conversion. The whole message of the mission spoke directly to my troubled heart: Jesus died on the cross for my sins. On the first night, I walked up to the sanctuary to receive prayer, and as Fr. Michael laid his hands on my head and began to pray, I knew that God had touched me in a very special and powerful way. Night after night, I kept coming back, wanting to hear more.
That week changed my life. Like St. Paul on the road to Damascus, my conversion was to become deep and lasting. Everything I suffered in the past is vanishing away in the light of God’s love. Now, when I look upon the cross of Jesus, I don’t just see the pain he endured for me. I also see the love with which he gave his life so that I might live. Now, I look to each new day with thanksgiving and hope in my heart, knowing that I am on the right path, the path that leads to heaven, my eternal home.
Linda Frandsen, who lives in Midland, Ontario, would like to thank Fr. Jeff Masterson for his guidance in putting this article together.
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