Our story begins a few months before we met in a convent. I had converted to Catholicism in the Spring of l982 and felt lead to a vocation in the church. Now, for those of you who are not Catholic, let me explain that there are basically three vocations in the Catholic Church. The first, and most commonly thought of, is the call to the religious life--priest, brother or sister (nun). The second vocation is married life. And finally, the life of the single adult is also considered a vocation in the Catholic Church. In sort, I felt that I might have been called to be a nun. I was in formation to discern this possible calling. Since I was a new convert, I was going to have to wait three years before I could enter the novitiate, but I was working with a spiritual director in the meantime to try to discern God's will in this matter. Little did I know that there was an Ed out there who was making the same journey to determine if he was called to the priesthood. My spiritual director recommended that I attend a religious retreat with the prayer intention that God show me my vocation in the church. I decided to attend a Charismatic Retreat at the convent with this prayer intention in mind. Little did I know that there was an Ed out there whose spiritual director had given him the same advice. Ed had little money and the retreat was expensive by our standards at the time, but Ed claimed that conference in the name of Jesus. The nuns from the convent visited the base where Ed was stationed at the time and he met them. He told them that he wanted to attend the retreat. The nuns told him that the retreat was already full. "But, sister, I have claimed this retreat in the name of Jesus. He will show me the way. I know, I will sleep under the stars. I will bring my sleeping bag." The sisters told him that he would be able to sleep in the guesthouse if he brought his sleeping bag and was so determined to come. He became known in the convent as "The Sleeping Bag Man" and the sisters were NOT impressed with him at all.

I arrived at the convent on a Friday evening, December 3, 1982 and got checked in and registered. The retreat was, quite frankly, wonderful. If you have never been to a Charismatic Mass, they are something to see. Not for the traditionalists, though. There is singing, hand clapping, dancing, singing and praying in tongues, words of prophecy, and all within the structure of the traditional Mass. And John Paul II has proclaimed this a true movement within the church.

After mass on Friday, we were gathered for a social time in the dining hall. This rather strange looking young man walked past me and said, "Hello, Mary." "Hello, Ed." To which he responded, "Nametags," and promptly walked away. My best friend and roommate was there with me and we were neither one impressed with this "Ed" person. He looked, quite frankly, depressed. His hair was uncombed, his shirttail untucked and his clothes looked worn. And life goes on, you know?

The next day the retreat continued. The only thing I remember about the actual conference that day was the priest talking about contemplating the trees during the silent hour. The pines in the south grow very tall and very straight to the sky with branches only near the top. Fr. LaFranz talked about these trees all growing straight to the sun, but there was one tree that was bent and crooked. It did, finally, stand as tall as the others, but its path was not straight. Our spiritual lives are often like the crooked pine. It seems that all around us know the straight path, but we struggle on our way to the sun.

That evening after Mass and after dinner, I was sitting in the foyer. I heard the Lord say just as clearly as if He were sitting beside me, "Go into the chapel." Ha!!! "See your obedient servant, I'm sitting right here. Do you think I'm crazy, hearing voices?" And I sat right where I was. So a few minutes later I heard, "Go to the chapel." "Nope. I'm sitting right here." About that time, Ed walked past. In my great Christian charity, I thought to myself, "That is one strange guy." "He knows nothing of love. You are going to teach him love." "Yeah, right." "Go to the chapel." "Ok, ok, I'm not doing anything else anyway," and I went into the chapel. I figured I would sit in the back pew for a few minutes and leave. I tried to sit in the back, and was compelled to move forward. I tried to have a seat up front. "Nope, up on the altar." So, I went up on the altar and sat down. "Ok, I'm here. Now what?" "Wait." And I waited. I sat there for so long, I took my glasses off and was sitting with elbows on knees and resting my eyes in my palms. For a long time, too.

Shuffle, shuffle. "Ut-oh. I recognize that footstep. It can't be." I decided to sneak a peek and see if it really was that "Ed" person. "Oh God, you wouldn't do this to me." Well, yes, He would. Ed walked right up to me and said, "Cry." And I started to cry. I cried and cried and had no idea why. I couldn't stop crying for about 15 minutes. I told Ed I needed a tissue. He said he didn't have one and pulled out his shirttail for me to blow my nose on!!! Sweet, perhaps, but there was no way I was going to blow my nose on this man's shirt. He looked around the Sacristy, no tissues. He came back and held out his shirttail. I pointed at the Confessional. There are always tissues in there. Confessionals and psychologists' offices always have tissues. It's a constant.

With nose finally blown Ed said to me, "Why are you crying?" Why am I crying? Beats me. "Well, I don't know. I was sitting in the vestibule and God told me to come in here and wait and the next thing I know you tell me to cry and here I am. I thought I was supposed to be praying for you." "Well, as a matter of fact, I could use the prayer."

We sat at that altar for a couple of hours and talked. We moved out to the dining room and talked. We talked until well after the last of the retreatants was abed. The nuns came out and asked us to turn off the lights when we went to bed. During that evening, I learned that Ed was in the Army. He had just had a terrible divorce. He was a musician in the Army. He had traveled the world. And he was just too pathetic for words. Poor guy. He had been through a lot.

The next day, we didn't even talk until it was time to leave. We exchanged addresses for some reason. Certainly not because I was interested in him romantically. Maybe because I felt such intense pity for the poor guy. Ed assured me that he never writes the first letter and I might hear from him after Christmas some time. "Good. That's the last of him." And we went our separate ways.