Member-only story
Jesus Keeps Seeking Me
We were raised lapsed Catholics.
My Boston Irish Maternal grandmother called us pagans and worried we didn’t understand the rosaries or the prayers.
I only was baptized and had 1st communion. My sister took the confirmation.
But Jesus has always sought me. In stories, in conversations, in random moments.
I don’t believe but am not an unbeliever either.
I have since younger occasionally gone into church services on my own or when the buildings were empty.
A few churches have stuck me as peaceful.
My mother’s St Gregory parish was a beautiful building.
There was a lone clapboard church on a rural route in Montana that I sought solace in.
The space was calm. There was a book for visiting notes — but it didn’t ring as true to me as the urban church of my mother’s family.
I am very tired and scared. More tests next week.
Today doing a spot of work for my boss — on talking with a service rep and bitching about the grind. I had him laughing.
At the end of the call — he said.
“Let me leave you with this. You know who he is and you can turn to him in your need and he will catch you.”
I almost burst into tears. But smiled and said “Thank you for that.”
Back into bed. Another day passes.
The assassins have failed again.
