I dipped my fingers into the small bowl of holy water and made the sign of the cross. I walked through the large wooden doors and was greeted by a church with high ceilings and large stained glass windows; each depicting one of the stations of the cross. My grandparents and I walked past many empty rows to take seats near the front. This was not their usual church but my Grandmother , a nurse , had volunteered to do checkups for those who couldn't afford to go to the doctor . Father Mary soon entered to the sound of organ music and began mass.
It seemed to be an ordinary mass. Then the music came. The loud powerful voices of the small choir touched each wall and filled the church. My hand was grasped and we began to sway. I let my hesitations go and began to sing.
I had sang Hallejuah in church many times but this was not the same. This was the kind of music you didn't just hear but you felt. Usually at church this would be the time I would look at my watch and begin calculating how much time was left. Today , I looked around at the large church still filled only by a handful of people and realized they were smiling. They were not simply worshipping , they were celebrating.
After the mass my grandmother stayed and took blood pressures. My grandfather talked to the other parishioners. Everyone addressed each other by name . This was not simply a church, but a family.
This is the day I learned what it meant to praise . This is the day I learned that faith cannot always be seen but it can always be felt .
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