When I was fifteen-years-old, I walked one Sunday morning to St. Bartholomew’s Catholic Church to meet my friend Loretta for Mass.
It was, I think, the first time I had been to church without an adult and I made the most of it by sitting up in the choir loft, a place that had previously been forbidden, but thanks to Loretta being part of the choir, was now open.
What a view it was from up there.
I smiled the whole service.
It was my first time sitting in the choir loft, my first time in church without an adult.
It was the first time I went to church because I wanted to and not because I was told to.
It was the first time that I let go and allowed myself to truly feel the presence of God.
What a journey it has been since that Sunday.
In less than a week, I’ll be confirmed in the Episcopal Church. This past Sunday, Pastor Debbie’s sermon moved me to tears because her words, to me, epitomized just what Confirmation is.
It’s when I get to announce to the world that I am His.
That I belong to God.
It is something that I’ve known my whole life.
But God planned this time, this place for me, surrounded by my family—and you are all family—to commit myself to Him.
And I am so blessed.
It has been a summer of healing for me.
And as Pastor Debbie reminds me, the healing never stops.
The other day I was at the hospital sitting next to a little boy who had a fishhook lodged in the palm of his hand. He had his hand curled into a fist and when the triage nurse came out to look at it, he started screaming.
“I’m not going to touch it,” she assured him. “I just need to see it.” She tucked her hands behind her back to show him she was just there to look.
But he was having none of that.
For many years, I was like that little boy, so hurt and so afraid, I wouldn’t let anyone in, I wouldn’t let anyone see. My fists were clenched tight.
This church, though, Hope Episcopal, is a healing church. God is doing something special with the people here because I haven’t met one person that He isn’t working through. I'm not even sure that they realize just how special they are.
Each time someone at Hope says my name, shakes my hand, shares a hug—each time I walk through those doors, another little part of me is healed.
And I find myself opening up in ways I never could have imagined.
God is so good.
He is so … good.
This Sunday is not the end of any journey. It’s just the beginning and I cannot wait to see where God takes me from here.
