After everyone slowly made their way out, in silence, I sat alone in the reconciliation chapel of the Cathedral unable to move. Sitting in that uncomfortable wooden chair, the back of my head leaning against the thick cement wall, I felt isolated and removed from all existence.
If you’ve read my reversion story you know I was searching everywhere for meaning in my life. Searching for myself. I finally succumbed to the longing in my heart and made a concerted effort to attend Mass on a regular basis and would ask myself the same question over and over. “There has got to be something more to this (Mass) than just this (what I am seeing).”
I was visiting my father in Florida a few years ago, and one afternoon we were having lunch. Our conversation touched on many subjects and then turned to religion. He said, “I’m not sure if I ever told you,” and he began relating a story back when I was about seven years old.
My father has worked in various aspects of the car business for most of his life. One day he was under the hood of a car, working on the engine when it backfired and shot flames out of the carburetor and he caught fire.