Stickers and Souls
What Catholic School Taught Me at Five That Still Shapes Me Today
I was five years old the first time I felt like I could change the world.
Not because I was told to “be the change.”
Not because someone asked me to explore my identity.
And certainly not because I was put in front of a whiteboard and asked whether I thought I was really a girl or might actually be a boy.
No—my mind was being formed to care.
I was in a Catholic school classroom with 51 other kids. We were still figuring out how to write our names and tie our shoes—but the Sisters had a bigger plan.
They wanted us to learn empathy, responsibility, and global awareness.
And they knew we didn’t have to wait until adulthood to do it.
So they gave us a mission.
The “Pagan Baby” Project
Now, before anyone gets twitchy about the language, let’s just say it was a different era. We called it “saving the pagan babies.” And as outdated as the phrasing might sound now, the intent was pure gold.
On the classroom wall was a giant sticker chart with all our names lined up.
For each donation—usually a nickel or a dime—we earned a sticker representing a baby we had “saved.” The babies were from all over the world—Africa, India, Europe—and each one symbolized a soul we were helping through Catholic missions.
But it wasn’t just about money.
To earn that sticker, we had to:
Give to fund the missionary,
Pray for the missionary, and
Pray that the baby would come to know and believe in Jesus.
I didn’t know much theology back then. I didn’t understand all the nuance of salvation.
But I understood this:
If babies died without baptism, they might go to limbo—a place of peace, but separated from God. Infant mortality was high. Poverty was everywhere.
But if we could keep those babies alive long enough, and help them receive the sacraments, they could know Jesus—and make it to heaven.
That was the mission.
And we were part of it.
Little Me, Big Vision
I was all in.
I wasn’t doing it for the stickers (though yes, they were cute). I truly believed those babies needed help—and that I could help them. I prayed for them. I gave my money freely. I thought about their faces. And I wanted them in heaven.
By halfway through the year, I had five times as many stickers as anyone else.
Not because I wanted to stand out. Actually—I got embarrassed by it and started slowing myself down.
I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
I just couldn’t not care.
Even now, I don’t know whether my parents gave me more money than other kids had, or whether I just held my money loosely. But I do believe this:
The Lord had already planted something in me.
And the Church—through her nuns, structure, and simple visuals—watered it.
What the Church Got Right
This was Catholic education at its finest.
It didn’t just teach us to read and write.
It taught us to reach and love.
We were trained to think globally, pray for strangers, and believe that our lives—even as kids—had purpose and power.
This is what the Catholic Church has done throughout history:
Built hospitals where there were none.
Opened schools for the poor and forgotten.
Sent missionaries not just to preach—but to feed, clothe, and baptize.
She’s made mistakes, yes. But she’s also shaped more cultures, healed more wounds, and educated more hearts than most people will ever realize.
And she shaped mine.
A Different Kind of Identity
Today, children are being handed heavy questions about their gender and identity before they’re even old enough to write in cursive.
But when I was five, my identity was clear:
I was a Catholic kid.
I believed Jesus died to open the gates of heaven for anyone who wanted to follow Him and do right.
And I had a responsibility to help my neighbors—
even if they were three continents away.
That’s what the nuns gave me.
That’s what the Church formed in me.
And that’s what I’ll never stop being grateful for.
Final Thought
That sticker chart is long gone.
But the mission still stands.
Jesus still wants the babies.
And the Church still has work to do.
And by the way?
The Catholic Church celebrates over 350,000 Masses every single day, all around the world.
Think about that.
While everything else spins wildly out of control,
350,000 altars are lifting up this planet in prayer every sunrise, every hour, every timezone.
And maybe—just maybe—that's a big part of why this world is still turning.
(Yes, intended soap opera pun. )
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