My heart's definition of encounter

Today is (in edition to the Nativity our Blessed Mother) the anniversary of my father's death. He died six years ago; I was an 18 year old atheist at the time. He and I were never close, so I was grieving more for "what could have been" than for him. I had a sense that the essence of my father still existed - that a part of him was very much alive - but I attributed this to a lack of closure or wishful thinking. These explanations felt incomplete and insincere, but as an atheist I had to accept them or risk allowing myself to contemplate the possibility of there being more to life than what I could see and touch in the world around me.

Three years later, I was a new Christian, and when September 8th rolled around I was unsure about how to remember my father's death in light of my eight month old faith. I was an Episcopalian at the time, and my parish was very "low church" so there were no candles to light or Masses to offer. I had come to believe in purgatory though, so I knew that my prayers could help my father if he was there - I just didn't know what to say. I went to our tiny church and prayed for God to be merciful and help my father in any way He could. It didn't feel like it was helping the way it sometimes does when I pray. I didn't know what to think about that. I decided to go up to Salt Lake City to the Roman Catholic Cathedral. I had been there once before on the Feast of the Assumption - my Episcopalian parish didn't celebrate Marian holidays the way some do - and I remembered how I had felt caught up in something powerful during that Mass. I wanted to feel that again and somehow make my father a part of it too.

I got to Salt Lake City with a lot of extra time to kill. I remembered a friend telling me to check out the downtown public library. After exploring for a while I rode the elevator to the rooftop terrace (my friend had told me not to miss this.) My head was down as I stepped outside, so the view hit me full force, all at once when I looked up. On the 5th floor, above the surrounding buildings and power lines, there was nothing to block my view of the mountains I had come to love since moving to Utah about a year before. They seemed so close - strong and comforting. As I stood there in awe I suddenly knew that God had foreseen this moment when He made those mountains. I don't think He made them just for me, but He did know that I'd be standing on that terrace on that day and those mountains would bring me peace. Since that day, whenever someone talks about an encounter with God, the memory of that moment immediately comes to my mind.

So I went to Mass with a grateful heart. I had experienced God's love and providence in a profound and personal way and knew that providence extended to my father as well. When the priest announced that we were celebrating the birth of the Virgin Mary, I was filled with joy. Almost from the moment of my conversion, I knew that our Blessed Mother had brought me to her Son. I was grateful to know that my father is linked to her in a special way. Our Lady's entire life is a sign that points to the promises of Christ. These promises give me hope for my father, myself, and all of humanity. It is a beautiful blessing to celebrate my Mother's birth on the day I remember my father's death.

Thy birth, O Virgin Mother of God, heralded joy to all the world. For from thou hast risen the Sun of justice, Christ our God.

Destroying the curse, He gave blessing; and damning death, He bestowed on us life everlasting.

Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb! For from thou hast risen the Sun of justice, Christ our God.