Pilgrims of Hope: A Journey of Faith, Story, and Digital Witness

Introduction: The Road to Belonging

Next month, I'll be heading to Rome to attend the Jubilee of Digital Missionaries and Catholic Influencers. This pilgrimage offers the rare grace of passing through the Holy Door (Porta Sancta) at St. Peter's Basilica - opened only once every 25 years in a Jubilee year. The theme of the 2025 Jubilee, as declared by Pope Francis, is "Pilgrims of Hope."

Every Jubilee is a sacred call to spiritual renewal, reconciliation, and pilgrimage - a timely invitation to re-center my life, place God first, and surrender everything into His hands.

When I registered for the Digital Missionaries conference, I was asked to respond to several questions - not simple yes-or-no inquiries, but ones that prompted deep reflection.

In this post, I'd like to share how I became a Roman Catholic - spiritually, culturally, and personally.

A Search for Home: Why I Became Catholic

Let me begin with my personal background. Although I was raised in an unreligious family, my father - who attended a Catholic boys' school - naturally became my first Catholic influencer, even though he himself was never baptized. Of all the movies he brought my brother and me to see, the one I most vividly remember watching as a little girl was Jesus of Nazareth. Strange, isn't it?

My parents enrolled me in a Catholic girls' school for two years in Malaysia. It was there that my curiosity about Catholicism was first sparked - by angels and saints, and of course, by Jesus. I would often slip away into the school chapel. No one taught me to pray, but I instinctively knew I could speak to God. What troubles did I carry as a 7- or 8-year-old? I was a lazy student ~ I simply disliked studying. As exams approached, I feared failure. So, I went to the chapel to pray. Of course, I failed. But that never discouraged me from praying. I always knew I could talk to God. And even when my prayers weren't answered, somehow, that was okay.

Years later, after moving to Singapore, a woman approached me on the bus and started talking about church. I took her contact details and promised to join her that Sunday. When my father found out, he wouldn't let me - a minor - go out with a stranger. Instead, he personally brought me to a Catholic church. From then on, we occasionally attended Mass together, though we remained unbaptized. I remember standing in the back during Communion, watching as others lined up, wishing I could join them. But Dad said I couldn't. And so we waited quietly until Mass ended. 

Over time, I began attending Mass on my own or with friends. Gradually, I came to know the rhythm of the Catholic liturgy - its rituals, prayers, and silences - even though I was still uninitiated.

Looking back, I realize how often Roman Catholics gently surrounded me. In junior college in Singapore, a close friend and I attended novenas every Saturday after our half-day classes, followed by lunch at a food court - our two-year routine. In college in the U.S., two Korean friends took me to Mass at the Newman Center in Lexington, Kentucky. I wouldn't have gone otherwise. At work, I grew close with my Singaporean manager, also Catholic - he even gifted me a Bible. During a season of personal struggle, I joined the Catholic Community at Stanford and found positive influences and comfort in the people there. Later, in the Netherlands during my MBA studies, a Colombian friend and I attended the only English Vigil Mass held in the crypt of the Onze Lieve Vrouwe Basiliek.

At every one of those Masses, I observed but never partook of the Eucharist. Eventually, I discovered that I could approach the priest for a blessing by crossing my arms across my chest. I tried this once on Easter Island, but the priest didn't recognize the gesture. We stood awkwardly for a moment until I stepped aside. I suppose that form of blessing wasn't practiced there.

Because of my itinerant nature, my fear of commitment, or perhaps my own pride, I kept postponing baptism. I knew I could find peace in church, yet I didn't feel ready to dedicate myself fully.

That changed in the summer of 2010. I had settled in Boston and, after all my moving, felt it was time to stop wandering. I began RCIA (the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) in Boston and later transferred to St. Clare Parish in Santa Clara, California, in the Diocese of San Jose. There, at the Easter Vigil on April 23, 2011, I was baptized into the Roman Catholic Church by Father George Aranha.

At the Altar of the World: RCIA and The Eucharist

My RCIA formation lasted about eight months. A group of eight of us gathered nearly every Tuesday evening in the rectory at St. Clare Church. Some of us were preparing for Confirmation; others, like me, for baptism. The program was lovingly led by Diane and Cathy, who guided us with patience and wisdom.

Above: Diane (left) and Cathy (right)

We learned about the mystery of the Holy Trinity - God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit - and explored the Church's seven sacraments: Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist, Penance (or Reconciliation), Anointing of the Sick, Holy Orders, and Matrimony. These sacraments are not just rites; they are channels of grace that draw us deeper into intimacy with the Lord.

Later, we learned about the saints and their role in the Church. Saints were holy men and women who lived exemplary Christian lives and serve as models of faith and intercessors in heaven - though we do not pray to them as we pray to the Triune God. As part of our RCIA journey, we were invited to choose a Confirmation saint - someone we admired and felt a spiritual affinity with. I chose St. Francis of Assisi, whose humility, love for nature, and surrender to God resonated deeply with me.

Above left: Rite of Sending at St. Clare Church - I inscribed my name in the Book of the Elect; Above right: Rite of Election at the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Joseph in San Jose, California, with Monsignor Francis Cilia (March 14, 2011)

Even now, 14 years later, I find myself moved when witnessing the Sacrament of Confirmation. Recently, at a Confirmation Mass in Phnom Penh, I saw a young boy choose Blessed Carlo Acutis as his Confirmation saint. Knowing that Blessed Carlo Acutis will be canonized on September 7, 2025, as the first millennial saint, filled me with joy and hope for the next generation.

Of all the sacraments, it is the Eucharist that anchors my spiritual life. I can still remember the overwhelming emotion of receiving the Holy Communion for the first time following my baptism. Tears welled up in my eyes as I knelt, mindful of Christ's sacrifice on the Cross and His abiding presence in the consecrated host. My soul had been ransomed by our Good Shepherd, and I was now fed by His grace.

To this day, every time I receive the Eucharist, I feel that same sacred trembling. It is a gift too profound to articulate fully - a quiet miracle that continues to nourish, sustain, and sanctify.

Sacred Symbols, Shared Peace

What I love most about the Roman Catholic Church is her universality, fraternity, and solidarity. Everywhere I've traveled, I've found the same Mass ritual - a shared language of prayer that transcends geography. The only variation might be the local vernacular during the liturgy or homily, but the structure remains deeply familiar.

Whether in French, Spanish, Italian, Croatian, Portuguese, or even Pascuan, the Mass always unfolds in these sacred movements:

• The Introductory Rites with the penitential act, Kyrie, and Gloria
• The Liturgy of the Word with Scripture readings, homily, Creed, and prayers of the faithful
• The Liturgy of the Eucharist, including the presentation of gifts, the Eucharistic Prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, the sign of peace, the Agnus Dei (Lamb of God), Communion, and finally,
• The Concluding Rites with the final blessing and dismissal

This rhythmic flow of communal worship remains unchanged, no matter the country or continent. It’s as if I am never far from home.

Among the most poignant moment in the Mass is the sign of peace. From a warm hug in Texas to two pecks on the cheeks in Fátima, Portugal, to simple handshakes paired with "Peace be with you" in countless tongues, the gesture always feels authentic. In that moment, strangers dissolve into siblings, united in Christ. Language holds no barrier; love needs no translation.

Culturally, the Roman Catholic Church speaks through her architecture. Her cathedrals across Europe are monumental testaments to faith and imagination. Their grandeur proclaims the beauty of divine mystery - each stone and spire a silent witness to centuries of belief.

Above: On the Camino de Santiago, with Burgos Cathedral in the background - a silent sermon of stone, light, and centuries of faith.

Here’s an excerpt from my book, “Raised with Him: A Journey of Grace from Valley to Heavenly Perspectives and Realities,” that reflects this reverence:

"These beautiful yet complex cathedrals, whether they are Gothic, Renaissance, or Baroque, portray a window to the transcendent: the cruciform plan of a nave and transepts reminding us of Jesus Christ's death on the cross to redeem humanity, the towering spires stretching and reaching for the celestial city, the glorious stained glass windows illumining church members with Bible stories, the ornate sculptures of Christ, saints, seraphin, and cherubim standing by the columned interior walls as imageries of faith, the rib vault ceiling (in Gothic architecture) protecting and supporting the long church nave leading to the altar, the thick round pillars buttressing the basilica, the candles' flame burning for believers' prayers, hopes, and thanksgivings, the old air permeating the holy space and sacred ground, the adjacent peristyle cloister and manicured green lawn (sometimes with a Cypress tree growing tall and upright as a reminder to stand up for truth and righteousness) offering an ode to God's creation in nature, and the arched hall and doorways lifting our vision and spirit to a higher plane. These cathedrals were carefully and piously built with not just stones but virtuosos' heart of noble faith." (p. 99)

In these sacred spaces, I find not only beauty - but belonging.

Sacred Music and Spiritual Intellect

One of the many things that strikes me about the Roman Catholic Church is its music. I love listening to "Pange lingua gloriosi corporis mysterium," which translates to "Sing, my tongue, the mystery of the glorious body," a medieval Latin hymn composed by St. Thomas Aquinas for the Feast of Corpus Christi. Its solemn beauty reflects the reverence due to the Eucharist, drawing the soul into contemplation.

I'm also deeply drawn to Gregorian chant, especially from the monks of Santo Domingo de Silos. I was blessed to hear their sacred voices firsthand during my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in 2014, when I detoured to Santo Domingo de Silos for a couple of nights. It was an otherworldly experience to immerse myself in their prayer services at the Church of San Sebastián de Silos.

Here's an excerpt from my book that captures that moment:

"The monastery's gentle, godly, and graceful monks clad in plain black robes were a great influence on me. I admired their holy lives of sacred devotion, discipline, and divine singing of Gregorian chant in their daily prayer services, a tradition they have kept since the 11th century.... their a cappella choral music bears witness to God and brings relief, healing, and blessings to many stressed-out people in the world. As I listened to the monks' pure, heavenly vocals echoing soft, prayerful melodies around the church's dim sanctuary, I felt blessed to be a part of their ethereal worship of our benevolent God. My internal world felt rightly ordered in Santo Domingo de Silos. Not only did I gain peace of heart and breadth, depth, and clarity of mind, but I also felt closer to God as I detoxed from stimulants on the Camino and in life." (p. 127)

Music, for me, is not just artistic expression - it’s a form of prayer that transcends words.

Equally transformative are the intellectual treasures of the Church. I've long admired the writings of the early doctors of the Church like St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Augustine of Hippo, St. John Henry Newman, and St. Catherine of Siena. Their teachings enlighten my mind and deepen my faith. St. Catherine of Siena spoke of discernment through intense self-awareness (of our sinfulness and nothingness), contrasted with the knowledge of God's grace and fullness. But even earlier, it was St. Augustine who urged us to turn inward through what he called "textured interiority." But spiritual maturity isn’t only an inward journey - it also involves cultivating the mind. As St. John Henry Newman wrote, "There is beauty in a cultivated mind."

That balance between inner growth and intellectual depth continues to shape my journey. I try to stay attuned to both ancient and modern voices. One recent piece that stirred my thoughts was “Paradox, Seeming Inconsistency, and Tension” by Fr. Ron Rolheiser - a reflection on the mystery and richness of faith that defies easy answers.

In truth, much of my spiritual and emotional growth has come from a blend of experiences:

1. Travel, which broadened my empathy and perspective
2. 12-step meetings I attended in the U.S., where I learned to take personal responsibility and examine my motives
3. And above all, Scripture, which continues to renew my heart, mind, and soul

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1). That verse continues to reveal new dimensions each time I read it. When I began journaling meaningful passages, I found myself softening... transforming. Scripture is mysterious, yet honest, real, and deeply powerful.

Recent developments in the life of the Church have stirred a new kind of curiosity in me. The election of an American Pope - Pope Leo XIV on May 8, 2025 - has revived my interest in the Vatican and its inner workings. Pope Leo XIV struck me as introspective, wise, humble, and serene. Since his election, I've found myself drawn to Roma and Vatican news, something I had never paid much attention to before. As I read about the cardinals' backgrounds, I've been inspired by their multilingual abilities, rich education, and the breadth of pastoral and cultural experiences they bring to the Church.

Digital Mission, Ancient Faith

So we come to the heart of this post.

When I first created this blog, I never envisioned it as a form of mission work. Back then, terms like "digital missionary" or "content creator" weren't part of the conversation. I simply saw blogging as a hobby - a space to document my travels. But as time went on and my faith in Christ deepened, this blog became something more: a quiet outpouring of gratitude - a platform to proclaim that the Good Lord is my unfailing hope.

I’ve always enjoyed writing, photography, and travel, so this platform became a natural expression of all three. Now it feels like something sacred: a way to bring good news and publish peace (Nahum 1:15). I’ve been humbled by the kind words from readers around the world:

"Your blog is full of inspirations to travel. Congratulations."

"I love the thoroughness of your photoessays."

"THANK YOU for the beautiful pictures Janet"

"I found your blog while following my brother and sister in law's journey in Portugal. Very exciting to see so much of the world. Gives one a unique perspective. Bless you."

"You are indeed a (pretty) citizen of the world. I apreciate [sic] the detailed report you made about Porto, Portugal. You are a very sensitive and well instructed person. Next time you come to Portugal, send me an email. I will be glad to invite you for a dinner with my wife. I will show you a little more about Portuguese food. Now, I am going to look at your blog with more detail. Have a good life!"

"Sandra, I've read many a blog and "travel log" over the years and here's what I've noticed:

1. You are religious in heart, mind and soul

2. You say what's on your mind...warts and all

3. Living life in God's light is your focus.

4. You have a great sense of humor

Saludos,

Arn"

"Hello, I have just finished reading all your blog entries from Bayonne. It has taken me all afternoon. I came across your blog by google search as I still love all things Camino. Your photos are wonderful and you came across so positively, with a great philosophy and spirit. That El Acebo incident reminded me of a couple of horror nights too when I walked the Camino in the summer of 2013. Thank you so much for sharing this with the world and not keeping it private....I took a peek too at your other trips and am amazed you have managed to do so much on a modest budget. Very inspirational. Thank you again and God bless :)"

"Hi Sandra: nice to read something from you again. I am deeply touched by your sharing. You are such a practical and down to earth lady. "

"que lindas fotos...yo vivo en chile en santiago , pero vivi muchos años en Valparaiso cerro Alegre...

Saludos.Gracias por vivitar mi pais."

These comments remind me that the effort is worth it - not for recognition, but for connection.

In 2024, I began nurturing a second platform: my YouTube channel. Initially, it was just a personal archive. But as I experimented with editing and filming, I discovered how visual storytelling adds another layer of depth. From cat videos to lifestyle vlogs, I gradually invested in tools like a gimbal and a new phone to sharpen my footage and stabilize my hand. 

The learning curve has been steep - editing takes time, focus, and energy I can’t always afford. Digital mission is not my full-time work. Still, every new video posted, every new subscriber gained, feels like a quiet affirmation to keep going.

While my channel doesn’t follow a single theme, I’ve curated playlists for topics I love - my cat, the Camino, Cambodia, etc. - and soon, a new one: Christianity. I know people aren’t always comfortable with religious content. But I believe it can be offered gently and authentically through glimpses of Scripture, the quiet presence of a cross, the simple joy of a life lived well in worship. Christianity isn’t boring; it’s vibrant, deep, and alive. In my own way, I hope to show that.

Authenticity matters to me, but so does reverence. I want my content to reflect beauty, dignity, and truth. I’m not here to pander to trends, but to reflect a life that glorifies God in the ordinary.

Many of my viewers are young: Gen Z and Millennials. Each group brings its own rhythms, its own spiritual hunger. It isn’t easy to reach everyone, but it’s encouraging to hear that more Millennials, especially men, are exploring traditional faiths like Catholicism. I hold hope for them, and for us.

Some of the themes closest to my heart - surrender, reconciliation, courage, stillness, gratitude, and growth - are deeply Catholic, yet universally human. If I can express those truths through a lens of beauty and faith, perhaps that’s mission enough.

May this blog and my YouTube channel be a light to reveal our Lord Jesus Christ to the young and old. And may whatever fruit comes from them be pleasing to the eyes of God.

The Jubilee in Rome: A Modern Pilgrimage

This will be my first Jubilee, though not my first pilgrimage. Like those before it, I hope this sacred journey will draw me closer to Jesus Christ and to my fellow spiritual brothers and sisters. I'm also excited to engage with other digital missionaries - sharing insights, learning new creative tools, and exploring meaningful collaborations.

This trip marks a return to Rome, but it feels entirely different from my visit in 2007. Then, I checked off the must-see tourist sites like the Colosseum, the Forum, Pantheon, and Trevi Fountain. Now my eyes are set not so much on marble and monuments, but on mercy and meaning.

I hope to walk through the Holy Door, to attend a public appearance by Pope Leo XIV, and to experience the Eternal City through the lens of devotion. I’ve mapped out a more intentional itinerary: all seven pilgrim churches of Rome, including the four major papal basilicas, each a beacon of faith through the centuries. I also plan to visit Saint Mary Major, where I will offer prayers in remembrance of Pope Francis.

This time, I come not only as a traveler, but as a witness; not only to see, but to seek. This pilgrimage is no longer just about place; it is about presence - of God, of others, and of my own reawakened purpose.

I look forward to it.