The post concluded with this intriguing prose and photo:
When I walk into a Catholic church, whether it’s in Pawhuska, Oklahoma or Dallas, Texas, a lump immediately forms in my throat and I have to swallow hard to keep the tears from flowing. The lump doesn’t disappear until I walk out of the church.
I’ve thought about it a lot, trying to figure out the reason for this response, over which I’ve found I have absolutely no control.
I don’t know if it’s because of my Episcopalian upbringing; maybe being in a Catholic church takes me back to my childhood.
Or maybe it’s the history of the church itself, that it’s survived through the ages and is always, always the same.
It could be that I feel the presence of the saints, whose images can be seen in the stained glass windows.
Or, more likely, it’s something more mysterious…something I’ll never exactly understand.
And I’m okay with that.
But one thing I discovered yesterday: throw a gummy-mouthed, beautiful, smiling baby into the mix, and the lump very quickly gives way to tears.
Copious, salty, dripping tears.
Yes, I’m a mess.
But I’m okay with that, too.