Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

They'll Know We Are Christians by Our Love
Song by Jars of Clay ‧ 2005

 We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord
We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord
And we pray that our unity will one day be restored
And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love
Yeah they'll know we are Christians by our love
We will work with each other, we will work side by side
We will work with each other, we will work side by side
And we'll guard each man's dignity and save each man's pride
And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love
Yeah, they'll know we are Christians by our love.

I grew up Catholic. God was always a quiet, steady presence in my life—not loud, not showy. I never preached, never imposed. I just tried to live my values in silence, trusting that people would know me by my actions.

When our family began to grow, attending church became part of our rhythm. I wanted our children baptized and confirmed, surrounded by the same traditions I had grown up with. At first, it seemed meaningful to attend church with my husband’s family—until I realized the church wasn’t about faith for them. It was a stage.

They were treated like celebrities in that parish—smiles, nods, whispered admiration. My husband and his parents were constantly chatting through the homily, waving across pews, soaking in the attention. It felt less like worship and more like performance.

The priest, one chosen by my in-laws to marry us, quickly became part of the illusion. After a few meetings, he told us that my husband was “ready for marriage,” but that he had serious concerns about me. I was stunned. I had always been the responsible one. The mature one. The grounded one.

But it got worse. I later discovered this priest had shared his opinion with my in-laws before even speaking with us. It felt like a coordinated effort to diminish me, to frame me as the weak link in the relationship. My mother urged me to seek a second opinion, and the new priest expressed concern—not about me, but about my husband’s readiness.

That moment broke my trust. Not just in that priest, but in the version of faith I was being asked to swallow. Over time, I stayed quiet. Guarded. I sat in the pew beside my husband and his family, going through the motions while feeling completely alone.

Years later, during my annulment process, I found out my ex-husband had remarried in the Catholic church—before our marriage had been annulled. That same priest officiated the new wedding. The man who once judged me unworthy had broken the church’s own rules for the sake of social status.

It confirmed what I had feared all along: it was never about faith. It was about appearances. Control. And I was never really welcome in that world unless I played my role in silence.