![]() It strikes me how every day the father would go out to look for his son, hoping for his return, and when that day finally arrived, he noticed him coming from a far way off, rushed out to meet him, and filled with compassion, embraced him with great joy. That story jumped to my mind as I sat down to pen this little reflection on the prodigal son, a parable we are all familiar with. We ended up having a delightful conversation, her sitting down and me awkwardly standing up, and today she is enrolled in the RCIA class. She was walking by the church and felt a calling to come in. ![]() From there I learned she was not but had wanted to be for a long time, ever since her parents had brought her once to visit a Catholic church when she was very young. She looked up at me with a huge smile and said, “Hello!” At which point I offered a hello of my own, followed with the question if she was Catholic. I stood up and peered down, and sure enough, there she was sitting on the kneeler Indian style. Now, the church is not well lit, but my eye site is still 20/20, and so I thought, “She’s got to be still in there somewhere.” ![]() Yes, the artist in me couldn’t resist snapping this picture while I was waiting.Īt one point a young lady entered on the other side and I slid the door shut, hoping she wouldn’t be offended, and when it was her turn, I slid the door open again, and, to my surprise, nobody was there.
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