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The man approaches me in the rain and sits down next to me. He doesn’t seem to mind it pouring down on him, either.
We sit in silence.
Time moves on to when, eventually, the harsh rain turns light, and the sky becomes just another gloomy, cloudy Boston day.
“My child, what troubles you?”
“I can’t share what happened. Not with you, not with anyone,” I answer with resolve.
It’s a matter of fact.
We both keep looking straight ahead, sitting on the wet stairs of this large Catholic church. I hadn’t realized where I had come in my darkest hour until I faced the man earlier. If this isn’t the Irish Catholic guilt in me coming to life, I don’t know how else to explain it.
“I see,” the man replies.
Time continues to pass. I couldn’t tell you how much.
Looking around now, I notice renovations happening to the church. That must be why there aren’t any other people trying to get up these steps. Or, more probable, because a strung-out twenty-something-looking man has been sitting in the rain for hours on them and is making this church unapproachable.
It’s a fair assumption. I look like a mess because I am one.
“No Mass today, Father?”
“No Mass today. One of the rare days when one isn’t happening at our church. But all are still welcome in the house of God. The doors are open to anyone in need.”
I hum in response.
Finally, he speaks again.
“When talking about God, people often use words such as ‘all-powerful’ and ‘merciful’ or even talk about ‘forgiveness.’ But do you know what I think, my boy?”
I sit up a bit straighter at that sentiment.
“What’s that?”
“God is all of those things, of course, but the teachings of the Lord mean nothing if you can’t accept your truth.”
“And what’s my truth?”
Turning to face him for the first time since we’ve been sitting together on these steps, I don’t see a weathered old man but someone kind and decent.
“That’s for you to figure out. The truth of yourself is not something anyone else can tell you. But I will give you a hint. God gives you the strength you need to find it, the hope that your sins are redeemable, and most importantly, the love to keep you moving on.”
The man stands up and attempts to pat dry some parts of his still-wet, black clothing. He turns away from me and begins going up the steps toward the church.
He pauses before looking back toward me.
“My boy, interested in some shepherd’s pie? I’m heading toward the parish office now to join some of our staff for just the right rainy-day treat if you ask me.”
For the first time in almost a day, I let the hint of a small smile show on my face.
Chapter 1
And puts a new song in my mouth, a hymn to our God. Many shall look on in fear and they shall trust in the Lord.
Psalms 40:4
My husband is cheating on me.
