A woman learns the joy and relief of God's grace.

To the outsider, Patty Ferrante has it all—a loving husband, two respectful children, and a beautiful home in an upscale neighborhood. "I try to teach my kids that no matter where we are in life—good, bad, or ugly—God is in control," she says. "Yeah, life is good right now, but it might not always be this way, and it's important that we just trust him."

But Ferrante's biggest blessing is less visible. This confirmed member of Eternal Love, Appleton, Wis., says her greatest joy is the "relief" of knowing her salvation is a gift from God, not something she must earn. "Jesus died on the cross for us," she says. "I can knock myself out all day giving and doing—and it's still not going to compare with that." Ferrante says "a light bulb went off in my brain" when she came to that understanding.

GROWING UP CATHOLIC

Ferrante's understanding of salvation today is a far cry from what she learned growing up. The older of two girls in her family, she was raised in New Jersey as what she calls a strict "East Coast Catholic." To her that meant attending mass every Sunday, enrolling in catechism classes, praying to the saints, and never eating meat on Friday. "I swore I was going to be a nun," she says.

Perhaps most disconcerting were the lessons taught her by Dominican nuns, who she describes as "really mean, strict, and cranky." She remembers, "One nun told me, when you die, follow the whitest, brightest light—don't follow red roses because that's the devil tricking you." And they offered other warnings. "I truly did feel like I was going to be in purgatory," she recalls. "It was always a fear or guilt thing." Was she certain of heaven? "I did feel because God was a loving God I had a chance," she says. "But I was scared."

But growing up, she also remembers there were voices encouraging her to question these traditional Catholic beliefs. One was her own mother—ironically, the one who made sure she attended mass every Sunday. "As we grew and were taught things, she would also say, 'Now remember, they're not God. They're priests; they're nuns. They're not God, and they make mistakes too.' "

And then there was her grandfather, a man Ferrante describes as an "off-the-boat" Italian. His advice to her each time she would go to the confession booth didn't fully click with her until years later when she became a confirmed Lutheran. "He said to me, 'Now you remember, young lady, that is another human being that you are going to. You need to get on your knees and pray to God for your sins. I don't care what they're teaching you.' "