Sharing With My Brothers and Sisters, What Christ desires us to share, our Faith - PART ONE

Sharing With My Brothers and Sisters,

What Christ desires us to share, our Faith                        First Part…to be continued

Eileen Renders

I have been blessed with a long and healthy life. For most of my life, I have been very close to Christ, and I have grown in my faith and my maturity. However, while my life has not been easy, I can say that my faith has been a gift from God. Although I have not shared with others for some sixty years what I am about to share with you now, I believe it is time, and God desires that we share our faith as we have been doing here on Catholic365. 

My Mother entered the Convent; however, before making her final vows, she decided that it was not compatible with her, as she felt too isolated. After leaving the Convent and Ireland behind, she traveled to England, where she studied nursing and earned a License. My Father left Ireland at seventeen and travelled

to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on invitation from an Irish family connected to his parents in Ireland.    

My parents (both Irish immigrants) met and married in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back in the early 1930s. We lived through the great depression, and like many others, we were suffering financially. The great depression began in 1929 and was considered to be ending by 1941-1942.

We were a family of seven siblings and our mother and father. I am the fifth of seven children, born in 1939. Mom and Dad became separated after about ten years of marriage. They attempted to get back together a few times, wanting to reconcile, but were never really successful. They never divorced. Mom used her Nursing skills when we were all in school and worked six days a week to take care of us and keep our home running as smoothly as possible. We never owned a home of our own.

At approximately six and a half years of age, my mother took me to School to see the doctor, register me for Classes, and receive my vaccines. I believe she could have registered me the previous year, but kept me home a bit longer. Mom felt I was young and small. 

In a period of a few days, the one vaccine given into my left upper thigh began to hurt and was festering.  It broke the skin, became infected, and expanded to the size of a half-dollar. I ran a high fever, could not eat, and was confined to bed for a couple of weeks. The family doctor arrived for a house visit once a week, but there was not much he could do, as this was in 1944-1945 and before penicillin became available to medical Doctors.

One day, our next-door neighbor, Anne, the mother of my playmate, Barbara, came over to see how I was doing. My mother brought her upstairs to the bedroom where I was to visit. It was a brief visit, and my Mom and Anne descended the staircase. I heard Anne say to my mother, “Kathleen, is she going to be alright?” My mother answered, saying, “I hope to God she will be alright.”

Mom kept rosary beads on every bedpost in the house. Meanwhile, as I lay in my bed and tried to make sense of their conversation as they went back downstairs, I felt some fear building up inside of me. I wondered what my mother meant when she said to our neighbor, “I hope to God she will be alright.” I thought, maybe my illness was serious; otherwise, why did mom’s voice sound so serious and concerned, and why was my neighbor concerned as well? Being the fifth of seven children in our family, I had learned one prayer from my mom and older siblings. If I remember right, I believe that prayer was the Our Father. Scared, I began to think that I should go to God because Mom believed He was in charge of all outcomes. I picked up the rosaries hanging on my bedpost and began to recite the prayer. I wanted God to hear me, to protect me.

Before I could pray two sentences, in the small corner of my bedroom next to a closet that created a small wall, about 3 feet off the floor, I saw an apparition. Immediately, I recognized it was Jesus. I knew this from my sister’s Catechism and other holy books in the house. His arms were extended toward me, and it reminded me of how parents often extend their arms to a small tot venturing their first steps, saying, “Come to me.”

In my mind, I believed Jesus was saying, “Come to Me.” The idea of leaving my home and family for somewhere unknown made me very sad, and I began to cry. My fever was high, and as the tears rolled down my cheeks, the salt in my tears burned my cheeks hot from the fever. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, Jesus was gone.

I questioned whether what I saw really happened. However, in the next few moments, I began to feel hungry, something I had not felt in a long time. I felt more energetic and wanted to go downstairs,

Yet I knew my mother would be alarmed. I thought, well, I will wait a while, and she may not be too surprised to see me downstairs. But in a six-year-old’s mind, ten minutes can feel like an hour when they are anxious to do something. Needless to say, I was up and downstairs fairly quickly. Mom was in the kitchen, and as I recall, when she saw me, she nearly dropped the pan she was holding while turning to see me.  I heard her say, “What are you doing out of bed?” I replied, “I wanted to know if you had something for me to eat.” Mom looked bewildered. It had been weeks since I had felt hungry, let alone been out of bed.  was out of bed. I tried as I could to be elusive, but I found myself saying things like, “Mom, did you know God has brown eyes, not blue?” And Mom, “Did you know God can speak with His eyes without talking?” My mother came across the floor and approached me, with the back of her hand to my forehead, she said, “Your fever is gone!” Mom sensed that something had occurred upstairs between Jesus and me. The hole in my leg began to close, and within a couple of weeks, it healed, no more infection, no more fever. It was then, as I began to heal and feel better, that I knew Jesus truly had visited me.  I kept thinking about Jesus, remembering His eyes, His expression, and the peace and love He exuded. To this day, it is as though it happened yesterday.  I was instantly healed; it was real. At six years old, we are pure and innocent, without sin. I felt how special that was and chose not to share it with others, and I also felt, “Who would believe me anyway?” My faith was a gift, and it carried me through many storms throughout my life.

·       This will continue in another article to follow            On Wednesday, February 11, 2026