After walking now for what felt like ages, I stopped to sit on a bench and catch my breath. I had the slight sensation of being disoriented because it was night now; I couldn’t picture exactly where I was but knew the general area. Another ten minutes and I would be home. Glancing around there was a clock on a short stand in the park across the road. It was around 11:30 p.m. now and I was beginning to get tired of wandering around aimlessly. Down the road, there was a tall steeple with a glowing white cross at the very top. It felt like I was having déjà-vu. Was this the church I’d passed by yesterday on the way back from the other girl’s house? I shook my head and sighed. Not what I wanted to think about now. As I started to begin my trek back home, I couldn’t shake this feeling of being drawn toward the ornate wooden doors.

Not being too deeply religious, my nerves went into overdrive as the door opened and I slipped inside. The last time I had set foot inside a church was with my grandmother on Christmas close to ten years ago. I took it as a positive sign that I hadn’t burst into flames or smote by lightning when sitting down in one of the pews. I drew in a slow breath and let out a heavy sigh. Of all the places to end up…? Are you truly so desperate? Pondering this, I heard hushed voices echoing from across the church. Stepping out of a small partition in the back half of the room was an older lady and a middle-aged man dressed in dark vestments with a violet-coloured tippet.

The older woman placed a hand on the man’s arm and spoke in a whisper to him, “Thank you for being here this late, and on such short notice Father.”

The priest smiled warmly and replied, “You’re quite welcome. Believe me, it’s no trouble to be doing God’s work, regardless of the time.”

Two women walked out of the selfsame room the other two had. They stopped just behind the other couple. Both were clad in black dresses and hats with dark, wispy veils. I could hear them sniffling and the sounds of small whispers back and forth between them and wondered what had happened. Just as I thought this, they turned around and pulled back the partition. Set upon a small mahogany stand was a gorgeous urn, very delicate looking and seemed to have been handmade. There was a picture of an older gentleman propped up on an easel. The priest picked up his Bible from the altar beside him. He gently and tenderly began to speak to the two women about how they imagined they would like the service to be.

The blood began to drain from my face. My palms began to sweat. In my own complacency I had wandered into a mid-night funeral. I started to become increasingly uncomfortable; not only because I hadn’t been noticed yet, and this was obviously something that was very private, but because the willpower to make my legs move was gone.

There was a small creak in the wood underneath me and there was something moving in of the corner of my peripheral vision. Instinctively, I turned my head to the right, letting out a silent breath and turned my sheepish gaze on the woman at the other end of the pew. I had been so fixated on not being noticed by the grieving family up front that I didn’t even notice this woman walk in. She, too, was dressed in black. Her greying hair was up in a tight bun, and she carried with her a scrunched-up handkerchief.

She gave me a weak smile, came and sat down beside me and spoke to me in a low whisper, “It’s so sad. The husband…” she paused briefly and pointed out to the members of group the of women, “…those two girls’ father, died just a day and a half ago. It’s bittersweet; they miss him, but they are also happy for him.”

“Oh, I see. My condolences ma’am. But…How? How could they be happy that he is gone so suddenly? Isn’t that a little…” I started to say, glancing back to the woman beside me.

She waved in a dismissing motion as she said, “Oh, dear, no they aren’t happy he’s gone. Lord, no!” She let out a small giggle and continued to say, “Church, for some, can be like a beacon that calls out when we are in need of a place to be alone with our thoughts. The wife, for example," the lady gestured, "She comes here often. Rarely missed a mass the past year. Now, her husband was fighting all sorts of awful cancer. Just as they heard news that he was through the worst of it and on the mend… the pneumonia took him in his sleep. He went in peace. And they’re satisfied he’s in a much better place, free of such suffering.”

I hesitated as I thought about that and replied, “Well, I guess they do say God works in mysterious ways.”

“Yes. Absolutely, pet.” The woman said, nodding deeply. “But, if I may pry, why are you here? Forgive me if I am wrong, but I don’t think I have seen you here before, and you clearly didn’t know the mister.”

I exhaled. Where to begin? I started with the only thing I knew for certain.

“I’m… well, I’m lost you could say. I know I haven’t made the best choices up until now. I know it, without a doubt. But I just can’t seem to help myself make the right decisions.” I said, ranting on almost without pausing for a breath, “It’s always on repeat in my head, ‘You can find love Randy, this time is the last time you sleep with a random stranger.’ In fact, just yesterday when I woke up, I even questioned why I continued to put myself in those situations.”

She rested her hand on my shoulder and spoke softly to me, “God finds a lot of people when they are lost. You should try to speak with Him. Perhaps you’ll be surprised with the way He answers back.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. I would find it hard to believe He was looking for me specifically though.” I leaned back dejectedly into the pew. I stared at the ceiling for a moment and closed my eyes and spoke, my voice trembling just the slightest, “And ma’am, it’s cheesy to say, but I’ve spent a long time looking for love tonight. Or what I thought I could turn into love. I feel like it was something—or someone—letting me know that I was looking in the wrong places.”

Feeling once again her hand on my shoulder, and this time reproving me, “You know, they also say that we don’t find love. Love finds us. If you know what needs to be done, then make the change you know you need to make and have some faith. Whether that faith is to be placed in your actions or to God Himself. I’m not trying to say you need to blindly believe in something, but it’s a direction to start in.”

“You’re right. I just need to find where that direction is pointing me. I’m sorry, I’m not a deeply religious guy. How would I go about asking God for faith? What about love? Is that even something you can ask Him for?” I asked.

She smiled at me, and deep understanding filled her eyes. She spoke candidly, “Well, faith is a tough concept for anyone to understand, and I’ve had a long enough life to figure it out. For me, it’s that purposeful act of trusting in and believing that God–someone, or something–with a higher purpose than yourself exists; to affirm this belief without needing to absolutely know if He is real or not."

She turned and faced me in the pew. Gently, she took hold of my hands and held them. “Faith is… much like a river; an ebb and flow that gently steers you in the direction you need to go. Although, truthfully, it may feel like you are fighting against a raging current at the time. In the end, it’s not where you end up, but what you hold onto for when you arrive. Will you grasp the paddle He extends to you, and steer it in your own way, or will you simply hold onto the mast and let the current take you with Him?” She gave me a soft wink as she said, “That’s a trick question. There’s no wrong answer there.”

I nodded in silence. I wanted to soak in what that could mean to me. As if knowing this, the lady continued, “In that same way, people are free choose to love. And love…can be hard to even fathom if you aren’t familiar with it. Some of us are fortunate to grow up with love in our lives, and unfortunately, some are not. So, no, dear, a person’s love is not something God can give to you. But just know that you are still worthy of love.”

Pausing for a moment, she looked at my eyes and said, “Now remember, love is a choice. You don’t have to have the answer to these questions, but just think hard about them: will you open your heart to love? And not just to love or be loved by others, but will you choose to love yourself?”