Yesterday I went to church.
And there, among music, words and closed eyes, I realized that each one had their own prayer open in their chest.
It was one of those moments when faith makes more silence than noise —
because what is heard does not come from the altar, it comes from the bowels.
I saw people praying with wet eyes.
I saw hands clasped together, asking for some cure that the world has not yet given.
But it was when I saw that woman with a scarf on her head, crying a lot,
that something inside me broke — and at the same time mended itself.
There was no need to know anything.
The handkerchief said a lot.
Crying, even more so.
image shared from Pinterest - Simone Soares serafim
In that moment, my problems became smaller.
Not because they stopped hurting, but because I remembered that pain, when looked at from the outside, teaches us to see with more compassion.
And we understand that carrying our own burden is a kind of privilege too.
Sometimes the presence of someone broken inside wakes us up.
It makes us realize that we are here, breathing, walking, feeling,
and that this alone is living prayer.
I don't know that woman's name,
but perhaps her tear was the most sincere prayer I heard yesterday.
Maybe that was the answer I needed.
May your journey be light and blessed,
Danielle Parada Official.