Serendipity

Tuesday, May 27, 2014


The evening falls so fast and soon we’re inside the confession room, sitting in a one-seat-apart approach. The once mirthful ambiance among the participants has been replaced with complete silence.

The tranquility of the moment chills me to the bones as I am tethered on my white plastic seat. The calmness of the surrounding is swaying me like a babe, consoling my spirit in peace. The candlelit pieces of fad, half-covered by brown papers, complemented the serenity of the place. They remind me more of the vast green meadow at dawn, with morning dews sprinkled all over.

The place was sacred and at the same time, magical. It’s as if the entire heaven and earth conspire to bring us to this glorified place.

Suddenly, a hum started to play, and then songs of praises echoed around the room. I shut my eyes close and meditate on the lines. In a complete darkness, I imagined God’s angels forming in circles, gleefully surrounding us, speaking straight to our hearts, as we start to commune to the Almighty Father.

As I gingerly made my way out of the room to make my confession, I was enthralled upon seeing the entire thing set up before us. This time, the candlelit pieces of fad scattered on the ground in a manner that’s as if soon enough, they’re going to warily flutter above me, along with my emotions that I’ll be lifting up to God.

Momentarily, I felt a pang of nervousness. Am I ready to succumb into this whole spiritual thing? But I sat in front of Fr. Iking, anyway, awkwardly in silence. Something between a sigh and a huff of exasperation leaves my mouth as I scoot my list from my pocket. As I was reading the first line, I fall-short of the dimness. I can hardly read them! I’m afraid to be preoccupied furrowing and squinting between the lines and be completely lost, instead of establishing a connection to pour out my sentiments smoothly. “Father, di ko kaklaro sako gisulat”, I said dryly.

With a crooked smile, he fumbled upon his Iphone and flashed it straight to the paper to offer a faint glow. “Here”, he replied, with a thin line drawn on his lips—suppressing his chuckle I guess. “Thanks goodness”, I winced, and continued reading.

I find it comfortable eventually to express myself. Although at times, I stammer between the lines and trail off in every appalling word. Inevitably, although how hard do my eyelids take hold of them, tears raced down my cheeks. I sobbed like a child being reprimanded. I wept like an innocent chap telling the whole truth. I cocked my head on one side as I sashay my fingers to wipe them off secretly.

Then my whole world stopped. I was lost in the feeling of guilt, shame, and fear. All I can hear is Fr. Iking muttering prayers, while I kept myself in place, with my head still bowed down. “It takes an effort to change”, he said pressingly and with might. That very line moved me into my senses. In fact, it left a mark in my heart. Very appropriate, just perfectly said—just what I long to hear.

I was overwhelmed. I felt magnified at an instant. It gave me a feeling of relief, knowing that I still have a chance to swerve and be back to the path that God has paved for me. My purpose is clear now.

1 thoughtfulness:

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