You know, I am not fond of the Catholic church. I have my own personal difficulties with a lot of the doctrines that they adhere to. However, when my father was dying I saw more of the Holy Spirit at work through the sweet nun who came to sit with him ( voluntarily )than through anyone I knew at that time. At first, I immediately dismissed her because she was Catholic. I thought such horrible thoughts about her because of the teachings of her faith. As my father grew weaker and closer to death, that little woman ministered to his and my family's spirit so selflessly. She had such love and compassion for him and us. She would read the word and pray. Oh how that little woman prayed. That little woman exuded the love of Christ. She would sing sweet hymns to comfort him when he was in agonizing pain. I was so convicted of my ill feelings towards her that I confessed my feelings to her and asked for her forgiveness. She would have never known that I felt this way unless I had told her but God knew. She was the epitome of servitude. She bore a lot of my family's burdens that she did not have to. It was this little woman who was with me as I said goodbye to the man I loved the most in this world. She prayed with me through the hurt and pain of doing so. As my dad was taken from our home the morning he died, I was really in a pathetic state. The undertaker came to get his body and I literally stood in front of the door, blocking it, begging them to not take him. I was begging anyone who would or could to bring him back. This was my daddy. This little woman arrived ( at 5:05 AM )and helped me through what, to this very moment, I deem the worst experience I have ever had. She ministered to my soul through her words of wisdom, prayer and simply her being willing to allow me to unleash my pain on her. When my father's memorial service came around she was there. All I wanted to do was take sedatives to get me through it. I didn't care about God and I didn't want to lean on Him. I hurt too bad. Besides, I felt that He had let me down by letting my daddy die. This woman bore the brunt of my hostility towards God and anyone I came into contact with. Yet, she loved me enough to tell me that what I was feeling was natural, that God understood and He still loved me. I thank God for that little Catholic woman everyday. Maybe to you this isn't important but I was at the point in my own anger and grief that I told God I no longer wanted anything to do with Him. That I couldn't trust Him to answer my prayers. Basically, I wanted to reject Him. Thank God for this woman's ministry to the hurting. Why do I use this example? Because I learned NOT to categorize people by their denominational affiliations.