When I was 10 years old, my happy childhood took a big hit. My dad, who loved my mum, my siblings, and me dearly, had always been my constant mentor. Then he became ill and was hospitalised. One night, I overheard my mother explaining quietly to a close relative that his illness was terminal. I kept this painful truth to myself, but the sorrow I felt was inescapable.

Mum told the hospital staff that she did not want Dad to know how little time he had left. From that moment on, I prayed constantly that Dad would not die. He received treatment, and I stayed as close to him as I could. Mum nursed him around the clock during those months. When he was hospitalised for the last six months of his life, she sat by his bedside day and night.

I was devastated when a close family member finally came to break the news we were dreading: Dad had passed away. My heart shattered. I sobbed for hours. But after the tears, I made a decision—I would leave my childhood behind. I felt I had to take Dad’s place as the head of our little family. I wanted—and needed—to support Mum (who, at just 35, was now a seriously depressed widow) and my younger sisters.

I continued to pray, though it became difficult. I was angry with God. Why would a loving God take our father from us? But somewhere within, I made the decision to give God another chance.

I had been a keen reader from an early age, already reading adult books by the time Dad died. I had read nearly every book in our state school library and used to beg the librarian to let me know when new ones arrived.

When I was 15, we moved from the farm to the city. I began visiting the Christchurch Public Library regularly after school, looking for answers. I vividly remember the authors I read in those days: François Mauriac, John of the Cross, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Michael de la Bedoyère, John Henry Newman, and Thomas Merton.

Mum enrolled us in Catholic schools in Christchurch. I attended Sacred Heart College for my Form 5 year and studied hard for the school certificate examinations. I had already decided by November that I would leave school after the exams and find a job to support the family financially. Tertiary education would have to wait. My Religious Education and Mathematics teacher took an interest in me. Knowing I was a book lover, she lent me books by Irish Catholic authors. God bless her.

Later that year, it was announced that a retreat would be held for the senior students. In the first week of December, I had the gift of silence and contemplation during that retreat. I began to understand that I needed to make a shift—from trying to reason everything out intellectually to developing a mature faith and trust in God.

After Mass one afternoon, I decided to seek spiritual direction from the retreat priest. I waited until the last student came out of the confessional, and then I stepped in. That wonderful priest was incredibly patient. He spent an hour with me. When I came out, I knelt at the front pew of the cathedral. I felt a deep peace. My anger had melted away.

After several minutes, I opened my eyes and saw what appeared to be a bright light before the altar. God spoke to me gently, telling me it was time to consider His purpose for my life. He showed me two straight lines intersecting. The long road would lead to heaven; the shorter one would take me through the highways and byways of life. He made it clear I was free to choose.

That day, I chose the long road—trusting completely in His plan.

Jesus has walked with me all these years. The Holy Spirit has always been there to guide and encourage me. Looking back now, I recognise the many gifts and charisms the Spirit has blessed me with. Through me, Jesus has reached out to people seeking comfort, love, and compassion in times of pain—and to those searching for answers to life’s big questions.

I continue to journey through life as God’s willing and humble servant.

– Trish Batchelor

(Trish Batchelor is an active member of Holy Family Parish, Timaru and also serves on the parish’s Alpha Team)