When I first met Cathy, I have to admit—I wasn’t immediately impressed. She wasn’t what I had envisioned at all. At that point in my life, my focus was entirely on ministry, traveling, and preaching the gospel. I wasn’t searching for anything beyond that.
However, Cathy stood out. She had an undeniable energy that was contagious. She was outgoing, self-assured, and unafraid to express her opinions. I wasn’t quite sure how to react to her at first. Most people I met in my travels were either deeply reverent or quietly reserved, drawn to the word of God with a hushed kind of devotion. But Cathy was different. She was bold. She asked questions that others might hesitate to voice, challenging my viewpoints in ways that left me unsettled yet intrigued.
I remember our first real conversation vividly. I had just finished delivering a sermon in a small town church, and as I stepped down from the pulpit, shaking hands and offering blessings, she approached me with a smile that was equal parts mischief and warmth.
“You talk a lot about faith,” she said, tilting her head. “But have you ever doubted? Even for a moment?”
Her question caught me off guard. I was used to people seeking reassurance, asking me to strengthen their belief, not to admit to my own vulnerabilities. But Cathy didn’t shy away from the deeper questions.
“Of course,” I admitted after a moment. “Faith isn’t the absence of doubt. It’s choosing to believe even when doubt creeps in.”
She smiled, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Good. Because I think people need to hear that more often.”
Over time, Cathy and I found ourselves in more conversations like that one. She had an uncanny ability to make me think, to push me beyond the comfortable phrases I had grown used to saying. She made me reflect on my own journey in ways I hadn’t before. Her enthusiasm for life, for people, and for uncovering deeper truths was something I found both exhilarating and, at times, exhausting.
Despite my initial reluctance, I began to look forward to our debates and discussions. Cathy had a way of weaving joy into even the most serious of topics. She would challenge a statement one moment and crack a joke the next, making me laugh in a way I hadn’t in a long time. She reminded me that while faith was a solemn commitment, it was also meant to be lived with joy and authenticity.
One evening, after a particularly long day of travel, I found myself sitting beside her on the steps of the church, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the faint smoke of a distant bonfire. Cathy was uncharacteristically quiet, and I found myself studying her in a way I never had before.
“Why do you care so much about what I say?” I asked.
She turned to me, her expression thoughtful. “Because words matter. And so do people who speak them.”
Her words settled deep in my chest, stirring something within me that I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge before. It wasn’t just admiration I felt for Cathy. It was something more profound, something that scared me as much as it intrigued me.
Looking back, I realize that meeting Cathy was a turning point. She challenged me in ways that no one else ever had, making me a better preacher, a better thinker, and, ultimately, a better man. I wasn’t searching for anything beyond my ministry when I met her, but sometimes, the best things in life are the ones we aren’t looking for.
Cathy was that for me. A surprise, a challenge, and a blessing all at once. And in the end, she became the person I couldn’t imagine my journey without.
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