YaYa saw my eyes welling up with tears. He scooted over, put his arm around me, and began to gently pat my back. It is so sweet of him to watch out for me like this. Still, I wonder if he takes on too much responsibility in doing so. In this case, his action was unnecessary.
My tears were tears of hope. As I listened to the Eucharistic Prayer being read, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Jesus loves me. He loves YaYa and BoBo too. All at once, my sins are forgiven and I am healed.
As I kneel to pray, my tongue worked the wafer free from the roof of my mouth. My heart felt full, and my cheeks moist. I wipe away the tears with the sleeve of my sweater before YaYa sees them. I appreciate his attentiveness, but he is only a boy. He should be allowed to be just that.
I look around me at the families. I watch the little ones squirm in the pews and listen to the high pitch squeals coming from the wee ones. Of the two Catholic Churches that we have visited, the families are what draws me to this one more than the other. YaYa likes that they have donuts (although we have yet to find where they are served).
YaYa has also noticed that the mass here is a bit longer. It seems that he is not the only one. I smile as a toddler boy tugs on his mother’s arm, pulling her towards the exit. Reluctantly, she leaves with him. I wonder if we will see them again today.