Through most of my third year in formation for ordination to the Permanent Diaconate of the Catholic Church, I visited one particular man in a nursing home. He was very elderly and in declining health. I spent a lot of time with him and got to know him and his family well. His daughter regularly came to visit him and our visits occasionally overlapped. The man had confided in me about his daughter. He was so proud of how she lived her Christian faith as an RN serving the needs of abused children. But he was troubled for the salvation of her soul because she had left the Catholic Church. He said he didn't know why she left the church and the one time he tried to talk to her about it, he just made it worse. This was a recurring theme in our conversations until I asked him if he really thought her church membership was more important than her relationship with Christ and the way she lived out the Gospel. He thought about it a long time before he smiled and decided that it wasn't. He never raised the topic again and seemed at peace. As the man's health declined and he could no longer speak, his daughter and I prayed together for her father. He died in November and I never saw her again. But I could not shake the feeling that I should share that conversation with her. After discussion with my Spiritual Director, I wrote her a letter and thanked her for the privilege of ministering to her father. I told her that we shared many conversations, including some that concerned her, and if she wanted to know more about them, she was welcome to contact me. I got a call in January and we talked a long time. She knew about her father's feelings about her leaving the church and she was grateful to learn that he had come to peace with her decision. And then she shared her reason for leaving the church. She told me that 30 years ago in Ohio, her sister was kidnapped, raped and murdered by a serial killer. Her family had reached out to their parish for support and could not even get their calls returned. They felt the church had abandoned them. She and her siblings were left with a view of the church as cold, monolithic and uncaring. Her opinion of the church did not change until she saw the church respond to her father in the last year of his life. She saw the love and faithfulness of the church, visiting her father and bringing him the Eucharist every week without fail. Her story sent chills down my spine. While I was so humbled and privileged that she would see Christ's church through my pastoral assignment, the greater miracle was that I could share with her that 35 years ago, also in Ohio, my own sister was kidnapped, raped, and murdered by a serial killer. Like her family, mine reached out to the church and was disappointed. My parents initially were even refused a funeral for my sister in their parish due to the publicity surrounding the case. Like her, most of my family left the church. We wept together over the phone because we knew the pain of the other, forgave a church made up of fallible human beings, and for the miracle of healing that God had arranged for us both. God, in his infinite wisdom, whose designs are too deep for me to comprehend, brought two families together to heal in a way that no human being could anticipate. It was the ultimate God Moment of my life thus far, and I will never forget it. I hope you are blessed by reading this, as much as I was blessed living it.