May 17, 2025 
by M. Regina Cram
From time to time, someone asks if I’m the lady who writes stories. Whether the person likes my work or considers it worthless drivel, I’m humbled to be invited into their lives.
Since I write about faith, however, people often assume I’m some stained-glass saint. Nothing could be further from the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask my kids.
Let me share a little about myself.
I grew up the middle of three girls in Swampscott, Massachusetts. My sisters and I share similar names, and my mother made it worse by dressing us alike. No amount of whining could convince her it was a horrible idea, guaranteed to scar us forever, or worse, make us unpopular. There was great rejoicing when my older sister outgrew children’s clothing, forcing my mother to abandon the dreadful practice.
When I was 13, my family moved to a larger town. I was scrawny, socially awkward, and looked like a nine-year-old, and I was the youngest kid in a high school of 1,500 students. It was awful. However, it did set the stage for a born-again experience that continues to impact my life today.
In college, I met an athletic stud named Peter Cram. He was handsome, charming, and funny, and I knew immediately that I never, ever wanted to date him because he had a horrible last name. Besides, he thought he was God’s gift to college women. My friends said he was bad news and urged me to steer clear of him.
Three years later, we married, and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. We promptly immersed ourselves in the life of a large, born-again church. In my spare time, I worked for IBM. We’ve been blessed with four great kids. Delivering our youngest, I suffered a rare, lethal complication that led to oxygen deprivation and brain damage.
After 25 years of born-again life, Peter and I made the difficult decision to become Catholic. I’m awed by the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the Sacrament of Reconciliation. They’re amazing.
My life is pretty mundane: weeding, elderly parents, adorable grandchildren. Saturday night is date night. When the kids were growing up, we attended Mass as a family. Those who were well-behaved got a donut afterwards. I didn’t always qualify.
I’ve known hardship. My parents divorced when I was a teen. My younger sister died of AIDS following 20 years of addiction. My husband and I lost a twin, and I battle autoimmune arthritis, bipolar disorder, memory loss, and cognitive functioning. These hardships certainly underscore my need for God.
Lastly, some useless tidbits. I can sing my ABCs backwards. I’m a mediocre housekeeper, and that’s on a good day. I have the artistic talent of a popsicle, love teenagers, and would have loved more children.
More than anything, I want to be holy – the kind of holiness that’s woven into everyday life. I’m not a stained-glass saint; just a wannabe saint, trudging the same road to eternity as everyone else.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
