Its odd how many weird feels i get from the Catholic Church considering I never actually WAS Catholic. But I’m sure if the attitude of my husband had been different I would’ve joined the church.
Even now, when I was in outside Quebec in the Basilica of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré, with his family so united in their dipping, crossing, genuflecting and prayers — I still want that, sometimes. As I looked up at the crutches lining the pillars across from an image of St. Therese of Lisieux I even began to think — maybe there’s something to it. Maybe I could still…
Then we walked through the aisles, up past a boy in a wheelchair being pushed past the altar by his mother. I heard a clinking noise that felt too loud for the reverence around me and turned to see two men emptying the offering. My stomach coiled and everything came back into my heart and I feel now like I can never go back to that simple faith in the Church I had previously held.
Because even if I wasn’t a member, I did fall in love with that church to some degree and it just gives me odd feelings to be back in that place, and to feel like I could slip back into love with something that I know isn’t quite what it sells.