Chapter 1:
The Sin
I had to figure something out, why were bad things happening to me? Was I being punished? I did something; something in my past, that I whole-heartedly regret. Could my current circumstances be happening because of my own doing? Was Karma unleashing her bitchy rash on me as payback?
I am headed to confess my unholiness to the new visiting priest at the Catholic church I attend. He has been at the church for a few months; he gave me his phone number and has frequently prayed with me. When I first shook his hand, something seemed off about him energywise. I sensed uncertainty and had an uneasy feeling. He hypnotically gazed into my eyes and smiled. I'm not in my right mind, it's me, not him, trying to convince myself otherwise. He told me to arrive at confession at 2 p.m. in the afternoon. I'm not sure if I'm the only one or if there will be others? I have to trust him, maybe he can settle my mind and put my soul at ease? He's a man of God, he wears the cloth, I hope he isn't too shocked at what he hears. He's probably heard a lot of confessions, mine cannot be the worst. Maybe, I'll have to do a lot of Hail Mary's and Our Father prayers? I'm expecting to recite them. Deep in my soul, I want to be forgiven, to be in God's favor again. I want all the mental pain that has manifested into physical pain to leave my body.
At the church, the sky looks sullen, dark, eerie. Under my breath, a prayer is whispered as I walk into the Chapel ten minutes early. My eyes water from the strong bleach smell as I look at the shiny mopped floor. The chapel is immaculately clean, all done for the good people of the faith, not for sinners; like me. My fingers unconsciously dip themselves into holy water and I make the sign of the cross a second nature gesture. The church is dimly lit and briskly cool, my hands are cold, yet damp because I'm nervous. It's mid-December, imagining in my head that this is what the final day on death row feels like. I walk into a partially lit hallway and pace back and forth in front of a pew. My mouth is dry, panic creeps in, as I struggle to swallow. My mind tells me this is a huge mistake. There is a water fountain in the foyer, I gulp down water, and I'm able to swallow again. My body wants to run outside to my car and drive to the comfort and safety of my home. I feel shame, despair, dread. I force myself to go back into the chapel and wait for Father. I'll die here, if need be, I'm tired of running away from my struggles.
There is the sound of rustling footsteps behind a gated white door. Father Gustavo appears from behind the enclosed gate, he opens it and welcomes me in with a faint smile.The gate slams behind us and it startles me! The death row thought enters my head again. He leads me to the confession booth which is dark inside, the chair is comfortable. I sit down and hear him seat himself from behind the curtain. The directions are on a piece of paper in front of me.
"You may begin," he says in his heavy Spanish accent.
I make the sign of the cross.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, my last confession was two years ago. Father, please forgive me." My voice breaks. "Father, I committed a sin, I....I once had an abortion." I meekly admit.
I hear a loud thud of a bible, being slammed on the other side of the booth, it makes me jump!
"You committed a mortal grave sin!" he yells from behind the curtain.
I fear for my life and rush briskly out of the confession booth, I fling open the white pearly gate which loudly clanks behind me. I keep glancing behind me, expecting him to burst through the doors at any minute. My heart is racing, my mind is confused, guilt ridden and fearful I fumble to open my car door, I am trembling as I start the car. I feel like I'm trying to escape from an axe murderer, expecting him to come out running after me with a weapon, like being chased by a grim reaper. I keep expecting him to pop out of the doors all dressed in black, but he doesn't. Luckily the drive back to my house is eight minutes away. I make it home without wrecking in a stunned state of mind, as I open the door of my house, the phone pings.
It's a text message from Father Gustavo.
It reads, "YOUR GOING TO HELL! YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!" Written over and over again in bold text.
YOU ARE READING
Finding My Sacred
Non-FictionWe all have that desire for others to see us as we really are, deep down to our core. Yet do we know who that is? I thought I did... That was until I lost a pillar of my life, my father. From that point on, I struggled with crippling anxiety, dia...
