When Grace Opens the Page: A Testimony of Faith, Family, and Mercy

There are days when God speaks to us through whispers—a stirring in the heart, a gentle nudge, a sudden peace. But there are also days when He speaks unmistakably, when the veil between heaven and earth feels thinner, and your spirit knows, beyond doubt, that the Holy Spirit is moving.

Today was one of those days.

An Amazon package arrived—a book I had long waited for: The Ethiopian Bible. With 88 books, many not included in the canon of the Catholic Bible, I had ordered it for research, for curiosity, and most importantly, for deepening my understanding of the faith I have recently returned to with all my heart. Alongside this sacred text sits my treasured Catechism of the Catholic Church, which I have come to embrace as a compass, grounding me in truth while I explore the richness of our Christian history.

As I eagerly showed my new books to my devout Catholic mother, I recalled a video I had watched where a priest was asked about suicide and whether those who take their own lives are condemned to hell. The priest, with pastoral wisdom, quoted Catechism paragraphs 2282–2283, which speak of God's mercy and the unknown workings of the heart in those final moments. He reminded us that it is God alone who sees and judges the soul, and that the Church does not condemn, but rather prays for these souls.

Moved, I reached for my Catechism to show her—and to our astonishment, it opened exactly to that page. The very section on suicide. Goosebumps. Silence. A sacred pause. I knew then that the Holy Spirit was speaking—not just to my mother, but to me.

Because this wasn’t just about theology.

Nine years ago, my then-fiancé—now my husband—faced the unimaginable. His father, once a vibrant and dignified man, was now suffering intensely from terminal cancer. Knowing the end was near, he called my husband back to Liechtenstein. He wanted to see his son one last time—not in weakness, but in strength and honor. A man of the wild, a respectful hunter who valued life even in death, he spent those final moments passing on pieces of himself. To my husband, he entrusted his beloved gun collection. To me, he gave a gold necklace adorned with a crucifix designed with a deer tooth from one of his hunts, along with a small pendant of the patron saints of hunters. I still wear it to this day.

Just two days after my husband returned back to the Philippines, the devastating news came—his father had taken his own life. The grief was heavy. The pain, unspeakable.

When my husband shared the tragic news, my mother—tactlessly, though without ill intent—remarked that his father had committed a grave sin. My husband was overcome with anger and grief, feeling as though his father had been unfairly judged in death. It was a painful moment—one that cut deeply and lingered. But grace has a way of softening even the hardest wounds. In time, healing came. My mother and husband reconciled. Today, she still lives with us, and they share a bond marked not by the past, but by forgiveness and quiet love.

Until today.

Until a page opened—not just in a book, but in our family’s story.

Today, I saw light on my husband’s face as I shared what happened. He isn’t an active Catholic like I am, but I know the faith runs deep in him. And in that moment, I believe healing flowed—quiet, gentle, and holy. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It was grace. Perhaps, too, it was a cry from his father’s soul, reaching across eternity, seeking prayer, seeking remembrance.

And so, I will pray. For him. For all the forgotten. For all the misunderstood. For all the souls who died with sorrow, illness, or silence in their hearts. God’s mercy is greater than our judgment. His love, deeper than our shame. His reach, farther than our despair.

Today, I am in awe of this mercy. Of how God untangles what we’ve locked away. Of how He gently reveals truth—not to shame, but to set free.

May this testimony be a small light for anyone carrying quiet grief, unspoken guilt, or unanswered questions.

May you know: God sees, God heals, God loves.

A Prayer for the Forgotten

Heavenly Father, In Your mercy, You know the heart of every soul. You see our pain, our weakness, and even the silent cries no one else hears. Today, I lift up to You all those who have died in despair—especially my father-in-law, whose pain was great, but whose dignity and love for his family remains in our hearts. Have mercy on him, Lord. If he cried out to You in his final moments, receive him with compassion. If he wandered, call him home with tenderness. I also pray for all families left behind, for those who grieve in silence, and for those who carry shame or anger. May Your Holy Spirit bring healing, peace, and reconciliation to their hearts. Teach us, Lord, to pray for the dead, to love with deeper understanding, and to trust in Your divine mercy. Jesus, I trust in You. Amen.