St Jude and my Conversion of Trust
“Thy will be done” was easy to say back when I thought God’s will was for me to get my way. I was pious and kind. “Surely, God wants me to be happy.” I was a pampered cradle Catholic who thought she had it all together up until the day I didn’t get my way.
Science was never a mere interest; it was God’s calling. I dreamed of marveling at God’s creation for a living. The thought of making even a small contribution to our understanding of it can still bring me to tears.
School had been boring through college, but I was about to put in some serious work. My model: the parable of the talents; God had given me too much for me to be anything less than great. It turns out that talents aren’t an invitation to prideful self-reliance. But I was about to learn that for myself.
I drove across town all summer for physics classes as I waited to hear back from grad schools. I prayed daily rosaries in Mexico City traffic, convinced that hard work + diligent prayer = whatever I wanted—in appearance, building up my prayer life, in reality, stashing points to cash in for success.
My plans started to crumble as I repeatedly failed at the one thing that mattered. I had never prepared for anything this hard, yet here I was, scoring 13% on the grad admission physics test… again. I had spent my savings on application fees and now disappointed most of my family, who I would no longer force to endure my delusional ramblings about becoming a scientist. My hopes rolled out as rejection letters rolled in one after the next.
On my drive one morning, I pulled out a new Rosary from earlier that summer. Teal rose-scented beads and a medal of our Lady of Guadalupe. The back matched a prayer card the lady at the Basilica had insisted I take.
“Who’s that?” She looked at me incredulously. “St Jude Thaddeus! Patron of impossible, desperate causes?” “Sure, whatever.” I thought. Praying for the intercession of Saints seemed a superstitious practice I didn’t need or get.
But by the day I found it in my glovebox, life had gotten impossible and desperate.
“St. Jude, intercede for me for this desperate favor __. What favor? I have no idea. There is nothing of what I wanted that I can still get. My dreams were never possible. I had worked for nothing.” I sobbed. “Whatever God wants! Please! I just can’t drive the bus anymore.”
A “pious” woman in my 20s, yet I had never prayed a prayer of surrender before that day.
I was a few blocks away from campus and immediately had to wipe my tears as I saw tens of people crossing an intersection, many carrying the image of a saint. “Was that the saint I just prayed to? I don’t know; there are so many…”
“It’s June 28,” my friend told me, “the church of St Jude is packed every month on the 28th. It’s just a couple of blocks away.” God might not be answering, but perhaps He was listening.
Later that summer and after ten rejections, I had accepted my fate. One school never even responded, but I knew nothing about it anyway. I had applied way past their deadline and only to be polite to the suggestion of a friend. Still, calling them was the only way to put any delusional hopes to rest.
“Fernanda, we found your application. We’re sorry.” “I knew it…” I thought. Bad news, as expected. Why was I doing this to myself? “We think your acceptance and stipend offer got lost. We hope you can join us in the fall.”
I held my breath. Was I in? Had he said stipend?!
“Erm, the fall next year?” “No, we start in four weeks.”
I couldn’t even cry. I couldn’t even think.
But God had already said no! I knew I wasn’t good enough. “Lord, thank you, but why me?” God didn’t want me to cure my unworthiness with self-centered achievement. He wanted me to let him take the wheel.
I called my dad with the news and drove to class on autopilot, and right before arriving, there they were again—people carrying their saints. “Daddy, what’s the date?” “It’s the 28th, why?” “Erm… I gotta tell you about a prayer I said a month ago. This might sound strange.” Surprisingly, his response to my story was utterly unsurprised: “That’s Saint Jude for you. Makes perfect sense.”
God wasn’t calling me to be just any scientist but one with real trust in HIM. Humble enough to ask for intercession and certain that God-given talents are not gifts he holds over our heads. He knew my life was changing that day and that I would need to know how to let him guide my way.
“Here I go, Duluth, Minnesota. I should probably google where that is.” I didn’t know God’s plan was even better than my dreams and that my first home in America was a Catholic community on fire that would forever strengthen my love for Him.
Cradle Catholics often think we don’t have conversion stories. But our moments of conversion are when God calls us past the tipping point to change the slope of our faith.