The first time I entered a church I was carried in, fresh from my bath, wrapped in a white lace blanket. I can almost see my Mom with a bottle handy, just in case, and everyone, including the priest, wondering how I would react to the dousing I was about to get. A large part of our extended family would have piled out of roomy old Buicks to bear witness to my induction into the faith.
In my mind, Daddy has his arm around my two-year old sister, Catherine. She’s wearing a brand new dress with a matching hat.
Even in this brand new world of ever changing sights and sounds, I know this is a special place.
Of course I don’t remember any of it, but it’s there embedded in my memory. The cool draft of a lofty old building so hushed that every sound reverberates right into you. Magical lights cast shifting colors in sunlight streaming down from above and the scent of long burning candles weave a memory deep into my soul.
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