When I first read stories by Flannery O’Connor in college, I was thoroughly horrified by the violence. The classic story most college courses include is “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” which features an entire family being massacred at the roadside by an escaped convict. 

Decades later, I revisited Flannery O’Connor and came away with a new perspective. I had recently returned to Catholicism after more than 20 years as an atheist. Following a cancer diagnosis, I sought spiritual direction from a priest, who graciously gave me his time to explain Catholic teachings. One day, he mentioned Flannery O’Connor and asked whether I had read “The Habit of Being.” That question piqued my curiosity and before long, I was poring over this cache of her letters, spanning the years from 1948 to her death in 1964.  

Flannery did not think her life was extraordinary and no doubt would be astonished to know fans worldwide will be celebrating her 100th birthday on March 25. Born in Savannah in 1925, she was the only child of a Catholic couple, Regina Cline O’Connor and Edward O’Connor Jr. Tragedy hit the family when Flannery was 15 and her beloved father died from lupus. The family was living in Milledgeville, where Flannery eventually graduated from Georgia State College for Women, now known as Georgia College and State University.  

After attending a writer’s workshop in Iowa, she moved to a garage apartment in Connecticut behind a house owned by friends, and there began working on her first novel, “Wise Blood.” In 1950, her dreams of living independently were shattered when her health began failing. At age 25, she returned to Milledgeville, where she was diagnosed with the same disease that had taken her father’s life. She lived the rest of her life with her mother on a dairy farm called Andalusia. Her creativity flourished, and she wrote a second novel, “The Violent Bear It Away,” plus two collections of stories.  

Reading her letters, I realized the violence in her stories was certainly not gratuitous. As a faithful Catholic, she didn’t shy away from the sins that plague our world, which she described as “territory largely inhabited by the devil.” She didn’t believe God’s grace comes to us with angels singing and harps playing, but sometimes through catastrophes.  

For example, the grandmother in “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” is portrayed early on as selfish and vain. She inadvertently sets in motion the series of events that lead to the deaths of her son, his wife and their three children. Moments before her own death at the hands of the escaped convict, the old lady receives a moment of rare spiritual insight. Although she dies, she is spared a fate worse than death, which is eternal estrangement from God.  

The letters also helped me see how Flannery dealt with the suffering associated with lupus. She was on crutches by the time she was 30 but still could make light of it: “I shall henceforth be a flying buttress.” Her acceptance of suffering as God’s will colored her whole world. She even said, “I can with one eye squinted take it all as a blessing.” Her words underscored that our crosses in life are opportunities to offer our suffering to God as prayers. We are given the grace to endure whatever comes our way, and in my case, that was cancer.  

Flannery was only 39 when she died, but in her short life she shaped unforgettable characters who jump lifelike from the pages of her stories. As I was reading her letters, I began taking notes on a legal pad. Before long, I had the start of a book about her Catholic journey. At times, the work was so stressful, I was tempted to give up, but I could almost feel Flannery cheering me on.  

In many ways, she helped me through the cancer diagnosis and changed my perspective on suffering forever. I will always see her as a woman who was a brilliant writer and also a true follower of Christ. Happy 100th birthday, Flannery!