I tried to escape my thoughts and the heat as best I could, particularly in the summer time---with an evening walk.
The church stands in front of me, almost smiling, for it always seems to be a happy place to me, with its friendly and lovely facade, and it's bell, available for anyone to ring.
I walk up the dirt pathway as fervently as I can in stretchy workout pants and sweat-wicking athletic top. Taking in the church, with its beautiful glass and iron work, its arched door closed for the night, I peak into the dark silence of the hallowed space through one of its narrow slat windows.
I place my hand on her waist, looking up into her downcast eyes. She bears the cross upon her back, and I imagine that it must irritate the crests of her wings. I also wonder if its sacrilegious; isn't Jesus the only one depicted carrying the cross? "It's rarely silent enough for you and I to talk anymore," I say. But she does not reply. Her eyes aren't sad although she bears a weight and forever looks at the ground. The truth is, it's been many a year since I stood in her presence, and I can't recall that I ever wanted to talk to her. A few short years ago, I was so vehemently against the idea of religion and faith. And I almost laugh at how much of a 180 I've made, something I swore I'd never do.
Every once in a while he'll say "the catholics really got to you." And while I protest, I guess it's true. But I'm not ashamed of it.
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I have recently met a man who is as strong as he is emotionally vulnerable. As open and loving as the best of them. He has the sorts of qualities I was afraid no man could possess. His openness, willingness to listen to anything (even the harsh things) I have to say amazes me and humbles me altogether. In the end he awes me, and shows that there are men out there who are kind, compassionate, and good listeners. For this, I thank him sincerely.
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Dedicated to G. I think you know who you are and you thoroughly deserve this post.
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