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become part of. We have always been taught, at school and at church, that there is only one truth and that is Catholicism. I know really I should pray she will see the light. However, my sister used to be really unconfident and shy and now she is a mature young woman with a joyful and carefree spirit. She is so enthusiastic about Jesus and her church that I am puzzled why everyone is so perturbed by it. But that is what it’s like, being a Catholic.

      I had never been to a different type of church. But off we went to the evening service on Bonfire Night and, as we huddled together around a large bonfire, Pastor Tony told us we can know God through Jesus and be reborn into a new life. Suddenly it all seemed to make sense. At the end he asked those who wished to know Jesus to go forward. This time I got up straight away and Tony smiled at me warmly as I went towards him to make my prayer. I asked the Lord to forgive my past sins and to come in and be a part of my life and that was when Jesus became a real person to me. At last I had found the way to God.

      But, as I stood with Tony and he prayed with me, I remember becoming aware of an intense and throbbing pain in my left knee. The pain has not really gone away since but life has been so good I have hardly noticed it. Compared to the joy of becoming a committed Christian, it seemed insignificant. I felt as if my life was complete.

      After I got converted in this way, I decided to move in from the fringes and mix more with members of the God Squad. Recently my life has revolved around folk group practices, going to chapel and other Christian youth events.

      There is a sense of euphoria within the God Squad. We all feel that our lives have changed radically since we came to know Jesus personally. It is all about warmth and acceptance towards each other but, outside the group, we keep very much to ourselves. All the God Squad have been spending huge amounts of time singing and praying together and hanging out in chapel. It has begun to affect our work and everything. For the first time ever, I have got behind with my essays and homework. The thing is, it is meant to be all our lives we give to Jesus, not just a part of them. A lot of the girls try really hard and compete with each other by their attendance at Mass and folk group practices. Some of them are now praying in tongues. It basically means that they speak in this funny language. I suppose it sounds like gibberish and anyone listening would think that was what it was. They say it makes you feel all warm and peaceful. In fact, some of the girls have fallen over while praying. I mean, can you imagine? If Sister Maureen came in she would have a fit! She is our headmistress, and very prim and proper.

      In all honesty, I have to admit to being a little confused by the fact that being a Christian does not make life trouble-free. Although I am filled with a tremendous love for Jesus, I do feel disappointed that I have lost a boyfriend and my marks at school are suffering because of doing all this religious stuff.

      Just before Christmas, I decided to be more serious about keeping my body as a ‘temple of the Holy Spirit’ as it tells us to do in the Bible. So I worked out a strict regime of exercise, which means jogging two or three times a day. I am dieting now and I don’t eat anything unhealthy. All my breaks and lunchtimes are spent in chapel and I have friendships only within the God Squad. I go to Mass daily and I have also started reading scripture. I have not yet received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. By that I mean that I don’t yet pray in tongues or fall over or anything like that. I guess it is only a matter of time. I am so excited at the prospect; then I will be able to win back my brother and sister for the Catholic Church. That will really impress the God Squad. I have read in the gospels about the apostles receiving the Holy Spirit, performing miracles and converting thousands. We heard about another God Squad which converted the whole of their school and this is our mission now. Over Christmas we set ourselves the task of trying hard to convert our friends and families.

      When the holidays started I was filled with a sense of well-being and contentment. My work picked up, my body seemed healthy and strong and I had this new faith, too. Then, on Christmas Eve, I had a conversation with my older brother, Martin. As usual we were arguing about Christianity and I was trying to convert him back.

      ‘Christianity is just a crutch for the weak,’ he said disparagingly. ‘And what about earthquakes and tidal waves and famine?’

      I defended my corner as I have been taught in the God Squad: all things have a purpose and good comes out of anything, even bad stuff.

      ‘I bet you wouldn’t say that if it was you!’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘If you were suffering. Say you had cancer or something. You wouldn’t be so keen then.’

      ‘Yes I would! But, anyway, that won’t happen, I won’t get cancer. Now I am a Christian, God will look after me. He won’t let bad things happen to me.’

      My brother laughed at me and walked off with that annoying ‘big brother’ air of superiority. Actually, I felt he had won that round. I tidied away my books, looking forward to the enjoyable Christmas break I had promised myself. But I was disturbed by my brother’s comments. I pondered the whole question of suffering for a few minutes.

      ‘No, bad things won’t happen to me,’ I decided. ‘Not now, not ever.’ And I ran out of the room, filled with joyful anticipation. I thought that this would be the best Christmas ever!

      A little later, Martin sought me out. It was late and icy cold. ‘Do you fancy a jog?’ he asked.

      We often run together when he is home from university. I think he is quite proud of the fact that he has a sister who can almost outrun him and he takes my training as seriously as his own. He knows I have a big competition ahead. I have already represented my school and now I have a trial for the town cross-country team.

      I groaned at the thought of leaving the warmth of home but sprinted up the stairs two at a time to put my running gear on. We fell into step together. The only sound I could hear was the rhythmic pounding of our training shoes as the frozen grass crunched beneath our feet. My heart soon slotted into the rhythm and I felt vibrant and alive. I tingled with the exertion of exercise and the euphoria of working my muscles.

      When we got home, the heat inside the house made our faces glow. I became aware of the pain in my knee again while dressing after a hot soapy bath. I ran a hand over the smooth line of my muscles. I prodded around where the pain was and noticed the skin felt different. Even after the bath, I could still feel that my left knee was hotter than the other one and it seemed swollen.

      Franny was curled up on the bed reading a textbook in preparation for her physiotherapy exams.

      ‘Franny, could you have a look at my knee?’

      ‘Is it still hurting you?’

      ‘Yes. I think the muscle is in spasm or something. My knee feels swollen. It feels like a lump.’

      ‘Yes, you’re right. It feels hot, too. The skin is red, look. You’d better show Dad.’

      I expected him to say it was growing pains – all adults seem to use that cover-all excuse these days – but Dad spent a long time examining my leg. He even got out a tape measure and measured round my leg to see how swollen it was. He seemed distracted.

      ‘Mmm, it is definitely inflamed,’ and he checked the measurement again. ‘Is it very painful?’

      ‘Well, it does hurt. It’s hurt a couple of times over the last few months but I just thought that it was too much running.’

      ‘I see. We will need to get it checked out after Christmas,’ he said quietly as he left the room.

      I looked at my watch. It was almost time for Midnight Mass, the high spot of Christmas. I pushed worries about the pain in my knee to the back of my mind and concentrated on getting ready for church.

      Midnight Mass is a compulsory tradition in our family. We fill an entire church bench. My brother Adrian, at the organ, struck the chord of the first carol and I heard my mother’s beautiful voice leading the choir. We three sisters sat next to my dad while Martin switched off and looked bored. The church was decked festively with holly and red candles and a huge tree, the crib laid at the foot of the altar as it has been for every Christmas I can remember.

      A

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