Can you hear me?
When I die and I’m stopped in mid-air, able to look up at
the brightness, and down at the dark, will I be granted entry before the heat
rises and scorches my soul? Will I have to confess my sins one last time and
ask forgiveness or will I have to pray nonstop remaining halfway between the
gates with memories of everything I did playing over and over until it’s
determined I’m ready or I’m not to go either way? I won’t find peace of any
kind stuck between two worlds. I pray and ask forgiveness every day so I can be
heard well before my judgment day arrives along with my fate. I have sinned too
many times to count but I’ve also practiced what is right and tried to live my
life accordingly. I have been able to walk away from addictions even though a
couple will follow me to judgment. Their power over me can only be taken away
by a power much stronger than me. The devil has control even when I pray, he
lets go and allows me to rest in eternal peace. My faith has taught me many
things even though I don’t always understand the reasons some things are so
hard to accept. Those things bothered me for a long time until one day I felt a
kind of calm, realizing that everything has a reason, and some are not meant
for me to understand, but to just believe that my questions will all be answered
one day. I don’t know why I stopped going to church a long time ago maybe it
was the crowd, I don’t like crowds. Maybe it was the routine of standing,
sitting, kneeling, and repeating, that I didn’t like. Or maybe I didn’t believe
God was listening to me because he couldn’t hear me through all the other
voices speaking to him. I began to stop by the empty church where I could light
a candle and hear the silence as I spoke and prayed, and I confessed. I’d sit
in the very back of the church where my presence wasn’t known. I’d watch as a
priest would go about his duties, happy it seemed to be living his chosen lifestyle.
I mentioned him in my next prayer in case he was in need of forgiveness. I love
everything about the silent church, the smells of incense and wood polish, the
creaking of a kneeler as some other hopeful soul prayed for forgiveness for
themselves or someone they know. It was usually elderly women with scarves on
their heads and rosary beads in their hands that frequented the emptiness as I
do, alone with God. I often pray that one day I would join those who went
before me. That I'd be able to visit with grandparents and parents, friends and faces
without names. I pictured the beautiful meadows and mountains where the trees
were so tall you couldn’t see the tops, and crystal-clear lakes I could drink
from even though I doubted Id ever be thirsty. Millions of wildflowers all
around me and other magical things I could see then leave to see another in a
single blink of an eye. I feel like I’m getting close to my judgment day, and it
doesn’t scare me although it probably should. I can picture St. Peter waiting
for me at the gates of heaven, his arms crossed and not yet welcoming me. And
with that, I am in between the two gates waiting to be forgiven by one and condemned
by the other. I can’t cry any tears as I brought myself here and no one else.
My time on earth was mostly about myself although my children and grandchildren
kept me on the right path most of the time, or so it seemed to me. My love for
my family is real even if we didn’t always see eye to eye. I suppose I have
regrets, who doesn’t? but I will continue to step into the empty church and
speak to God. I will pray and I will talk then listen for the smallest sign I’m
being heard, and I will always believe I am being heard.
Mike 2023
