Testimony of faith. The love of my life

I immediately spotted him in the classroom with his “France 98” t-shirt, his light eyes and his protruding ears. Anthony is the love of my life. In high school, he was “Mr. Catholic”. I can still see him surrounded by his metalhead friends* who ask him questions about God, life and death. Between us, the subject of religion is a thorny one.

I remember telling him in a provocative tone: “But how can you believe that Jesus is coming back?” After his baccalaureate, he decided to spend a year with the Franciscans in Cholet (Maine-et-Loire). I was angry: not only was he leaving three hours away from our corner of Finistère, but the only means of communication we would have were handwritten letters. A nightmare for the child of generation Y that I am.

I listen to Edith Piaf on repeat: “My God, my God, leave him with me a little longer, my lover!” Lying on the bed in my student room, I stare at the ceiling. And I start to speak to God. After all, if Anthony believes in it, I have nothing to lose. “Hello, I don’t really know if you exist but I would like him to be happy and healthy.” Time passes and my prayers become daily. I feel a presence. Without being able to explain it, I have the impression of being heard. At the end of the year, Anthony calls me, finally! He asks me to join him. What will happen? I am not at the end of my troubles: he now wants to do a year of vocational discernment. That evening, we separate. I burst into tears, but I do not blame God: he knows better than I do what will make Anthony happy. The following year, I fully experienced my conversion, I was involved with the student chaplaincy. I built my faith independently of him…

A year passes. His decision is made: he will not be a priest or a religious. In the years that follow, our relationship experiences ups and downs, we separate several times. I leave to live in the United States to study religion: I am passionate. Some time after my return, we cut ties. But I believe that God has more than one trick up his sleeve.

The day after the fire at Notre-Dame de Paris, I rushed to the bedside of this great lady. A few meters away from me, on the banks of the Seine, I saw him. It was him, I was not dreaming! A real scene from a movie. Since then, we have never left each other. We got married two years ago. Before God, of course.

* Metal music lovers, a musical genre derived from rock.