Even now, it’s hard to pinpoint the moment everything changed.
It wasn’t thunder or seminary or a crisis.
It was… YouTube.
One day, I came across a video.
Former Protestants were sharing how praying the Rosary had changed their lives.
I laughed.
After all, I had taught that the Rosary was unbiblical, that Catholics worshipped Mary,
and that repetitive prayers were empty and wrong.
Still, I hit play.
And instead of getting angry, something stirred in me.
A few days later, I tried praying the Rosary.
It wasn’t dramatic.
I didn’t cry.
Instead, I wrestled:
'Is this okay?'
'Am I sinning?'
'Is this vain repetition?'
But I kept praying it—quietly, secretly—for weeks.
And eventually, something changed:
The Rosary wasn’t drawing me to Mary.
It was Mary who was drawing me to her Son.
Later, I attended Palm Sunday Mass at a Catholic church in Daimyo, Fukuoka.
Clearly a newcomer, I stood out—a tall foreigner in a congregation mostly Filipino.
A woman approached me: 'Please carry this and walk behind the priest.'
'Um… it’s my first time.'
'No problem!'
'I don’t think I’m even Catholic.'
'Still no problem!'
So I joined the procession, palm branch in hand.
And then the song began:
♪ The Lord is present in the sanctuary, let’s just praise the Lord ♪
I knew that song.
But this time… it meant something else.
It wasn’t just a metaphor.
It was a confession: He is really here.
And in that moment, I felt it:
'I’ve come home here, too.'