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Weird Night At Mass

I went at 5:30 with Mr. Ackerman and Cam. We sprung forward last night, so the light was high. It really is magical when you know spring is upon us, and it's balmy. The priest was passionate and memorable. I sort of ignored the music, because it didn't really help anything.

The readings were about reconciliation, and I realized that I needed it to be Laetare Sunday. I don't really think it's been much of a pious Lent for me, but the penitence of the season is wearing on me. We've been through a lot. There is no such thing as mere formality in the Church of Jesus Christ; the people who say this have never been truly Catholic in their lives. We are knitted together on every level, and I almost wish I was being sentimental.

I was fine until he said, "For these prayers--and the ones unspoken that well up in our minds and hearts..." That wasn't the only thing that was welling up. I have never felt such a yearning sadness in my whole life. It almost knocked me over. Don't let anyone ever tell you that time heals all wounds. I've never heard a worse lie. Grace does. Love does. But let's cut the crap. I'm not OK, and I can't even bother pretending.

"Give us this day our daily bread"--and that's all it was. I go on, because I have little choice.

I didn't want this to be so heavy; I'm sorry. I want to give you hope. If I had any extra, I'd share. The only thing I have to say is that there are two phrases that cannot be overused: "I love you" and "I'm sorry."

"All things," eh? I want that.

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