Lent

Conversion requires a change in us

By Phillip Schmitt

	A Lenten series on Reconciliation

My mom died in the fall of the year I turned five years old. She had been divorced from my father since shortly after I was born and I can only recall seeing him once before she passed away. There were custody hearings and when the dust settled, my mother's sister and her husband were my legal guardians.

As a five-year-old child, the placement seemed pretty good, considering the circumstances. I didn't know my dad, and my aunt had three children, all near my age. I moved into a ready-made family complete with mom, dad, a brother, two sisters and even a dog. Reflecting on that time now I realize that I didn't just leave the courthouse with my new family, I had also begun to acquire independence.

I think the next few years were typical of any kid growing up in a small Midwestern city. Then, when I had reached the fourth grade, I experienced an event that still amazes me. I can't remember all the details but the "highlights" remain vivid in my memory.

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We were studying some sort of math and the teacher had asked the class a question. I gave my answer but the teacher told me I was not correct. I was terribly confused because, based upon the logic he was teaching, my answer was right.

The teacher did give another answer, but I could not let this get away. I insisted that I had also given the right answer and I worked through the process that I had used to reach that conclusion. He acknowledged that the answer I had given was appropriate and as a reward he sent me out of the school to do some errands for him. He sent me to the post office, which was several blocks away. (What would happen if a teacher did that today?)

Nevertheless, that had a huge influence on me. I was beginning to recognize that I could confidently rely upon my own understanding and abilities.

Continuing through my childhood, my parents and teachers continued to help me mature, to become more independent. I had been successful as a student under their supervision and guidance. It's ironic that the nurturing that I needed from them so that I could survive and grow was the same nurturing that was preparing me to leave it all behind and venture out on my own.

As I became a young adult and moved away from home, the authority that had protected me throughout my youth began to fade away. I still wanted the success that I was accustomed to, but I didn't see the connection between that success and those who cared for me - my parents as well as extended family and teachers. I began to "climb the ladder" with my own power.

Again I was successful. I excelled at work and advanced. I was respected by my peers. I met a lovely young woman and we were married. I even purchased a good amount of real estate. I was building a "castle," an "empire." And then ...

It was all gone. Everything that I had worked for, everything that I thought was important, gone. My marriage had failed. I had been in jail and then bankruptcy. There were times when I even contemplated suicide. This was definitely a low point in my life, or at least I thought it was a low point. What I could only see as humiliation was, in fact, God humbling me. Some how it became clear that all the pain and sorrow I was feeling was my way of mourning the man who I thought I was supposed to be, the man in control.

I cherish that time now, but I can most certainly admit that I did not enjoy it at the time. But it was then that I began to realize the reason, as a fourth grade student, why I was sent to the post office. It wasn't because of my ability or anything that I had done. It was because, as a child, I was resting in my Teacher's authority.

(Schmitt works with Catholic Charities facilitating treatment programs for abusive men.)