I knelt at the pew to pray, to have a conversation with God. I told Him with much anguish that I’m in a spiritual desert. I can’t see, hear, nor feel Him. And it’s during this period when it’s been most trying. I couldn’t make the correlation – Did I fall because i was far from Him? Or did I become far from God because I fell? I don’t know. Only He knows.

Before the Mass started, and while I was still talking to Him, I said repeatedly “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me.” I knew I needed a confessional, but I asked for His forgiveness anyway. I’ve been a monster to myself, to the body the Lord so lovingly gave me. To the body that is the temple of the Holy Spirit. I’ve trespassed myself so many times in periods of great distress, in great torment, in great anguish. In those moments, I knew not how to cope, except to do what I have always done in the last 5 years or so.

Forgive me, Lord.

I was very restless during Mass. I held tightly onto my holding cross. My heart felt funny. My head throbbed. I didn’t know what was up. In the middle of Mass I had to pop a painkiller with water borrowed from a brother in Christ. The restlessness didn’t go away, and I had to pop two anti-anxiety pills. I felt so guilty, so apologetic then. But I was very out of it. I can’t explain it – how I was fine before I entered the Church, how I haven’t had any anxiety for a good while. Though I recalled a friend telling me that I know the Holy Spirit is around when I feel it in my heart. I asked myself if that was it. I doubted it. I was such a wretched sinner. How could it be?

I knelt and received Communion, although I was not ready to receive Jesus. I decided to do so because of what Father E had told me, about receiving His body when one needs it most. As I knelt at the pew and prayed, I started to tear. Then I started to cry and sob, in an as much a controlled way as I can. I kept kneeling, grasping the holding cross, and asking our Lord for His grace. I also kept saying sorry to Him. My head was in my hands, looking to the floor. Was it undeserved grace that I was receiving? Or was it my wretchedness that I was feeling? I don’t know.

It has never happened before, that I broke down in the midst of Mass. I don’t know why. But I know for sure that our Lord was with me and beside me through it. I am not worthy, but His grace is as vast as the oceans; unfathomable.

Sometimes, I didn’t know what to tell Jesus, except “If it is Your will, Lord. thy will be done.” I trust that He will not give me more than what I can handle. And admittedly? This is still something I’m learning continually to accept.

S Yeo
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