Regina’s Writings: Alone With My (Other) True Love

My first visit to the tabernacle was born of desperation. As new Catholics, we didn’t know much, but we knew Jesus was inside the tabernacle, which made the nearby pew a good place to pray. That’s the only part I got right.

I’d never been good at prayer. Actually, I was pathetic. My mind would wander, I’d get antsy, and my feet would tap. Before long, I’d be daydreaming about summer vacation. I knew the importance of prayer. It’s just that I’d been bad at it for so long that I didn’t think I’d ever get it right. To me, prayer was like gymnastics: I could spend my whole life practicing, but I’d still never master a decent cartwheel. It just wasn’t going to happen.

There was one thing I hadn’t counted on, however – God. At the time, my husband and I considered transferring our middle school kids to Catholic school. We wanted to be sure it was the right move.

One day, I drove to the church to pick up the kids after CCD. Arriving a minute early, I stepped into the church. “What school should the kids attend next year?” I asked silently in prayer. What do You want us to do?”

The following week, I intentionally arrived early, and again, I knelt in prayer. “Please, Lord, give us wisdom. We don’t know what to do.”

I began visiting the tabernacle whenever I was downtown. It never lasted more than a minute or two before my mind wandered, but even brief visits helped unscramble the confusion as if God was cutting me slack since my prayer muscles were so weak.

We received our answer.

When I joined a parish music group the following year, I got in the habit of lingering to pray after evening rehearsals. At first, it was five minutes. Then fifteen. Sometimes, I just sat in silence, simply enjoying the pleasure of Jesus’s company. I knew I could pray anywhere, but I was too easily distracted everywhere else.

Eventually, I was given a church key. Once a week after people go home, I lock the doors, turn out lights, and then settle in for an unhurried visit, just Jesus and me. It is glorious.

It’s been many years, and I still spend my weekly evening in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I wouldn’t dream of missing it. The funny thing is that staying for hours no longer seems overwhelming. It’s more like spending a leisurely evening with a lover – precisely what I’m doing.

Sometimes, I sit quietly, straining to hear God’s still, small voice. I try to listen more than I talk. I still daydream a lot, but I also pour out my heart to God with thanksgiving, uncertainty, and pain. And I still stop by the church when I’m downtown, even if I have only a minute or two. That’s what lovers do, just to say hello.