I first encountered Opus Dei as a teenager and began a roller-coaster relationship. I loved the meditations, but I didn’t handle spiritual direction very well. Likewise, I knew I was learning a lot, but I disliked some of the people I thought belonged to Opus Dei. Not because I knew what they were like, but because I often perceived them as distant, unwelcoming, as if they lived in their world. When you don’t understand how things work, all you have to do is see a minivan with three children dressed the same way to assume they’re “from the Work”—and, in the process, jump to conclusions. So, between affection and disappointment, I created my own—and misguided—version of Opus Dei.

But three key moments made me want to be a part of it.

The most fundamental was my husband, Mr. Square: the most consistent person I’ve ever met. A man who brings us all to the altar every day. And it shows.

The second, my friend, Paz Echeverría. A classmate in life’s race, who loved me from the very beginning. Without judgment. Without looking down on me. Holding the door for me while, with her gaze, she said: “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you.” Without that affection, I don’t know if I would have dared to enter. And I emphasize this because sometimes we forget how important it is to welcome, to love, to wait.

And the third figure… was an indirect but decisive discovery. For work reasons, my husband spent 15 days at the university teaching a course. And the first thing that caught my attention was something as simple as hair. Yes, hair.

It turns out that when the list of those admitted to the University of Piura was published, many mothers cut their hair right there at the entrance. It’s a kind of local tradition: to start university well, with short, elegant hair.

I don’t know if they still do it, but that collective enthusiasm, that simple gesture, won my heart.

It was a scene that spoke to everything the university contributed to an impoverished society. Being a student at the University of Piura was equivalent to having the opportunity for a good future. At that university, they didn’t just give you fish; they taught you how to fish.

I listened attentively to the fact that 70% of the students were on scholarships. The blackboards, desks, chairs… everything had been inherited from the University of Navarra. And what I—and many others—believed to be the profits of the University of Pamplona were actually used to mortgage its holdings and create new projects, like the one in Piura. I understood that it was a project of dedication, not business.

That day, I truly understood Opus Dei. That day, I shared Saint Josemaría’s dream. That day I knew I had to—that I wanted to—be part of the Work. Want to get to know it better?

Why not?