I went to my local parish, to visit the historic chapel to sit in prayer quietly. I had two hours free to myself before I picked up my daughter, and within those two hours, I had to: 1. pick up salt at the grocery market 2. pray. 3. Meet P, my angel sent from God and from Steven Ministry.

It’s amazing how much you can accomplish in two hours.

I not only fulfilled all of my three lists to do, but also managed to get a few more items I needed for the long Thanksgiving weekend and some free extra minutes to cry to my heart’s desire at the quiet and empty chapel.

Any other day except Thursday (on which the Eucharistic Adoration happens) at my local parish, the chapel is open for anyone who just wants to come in to pray. The numbers are small on these days and people show up more sporadically. When I walked in, there were only three other ladies. One by one, they left in the next thirty minutes that I spent in there. One moment, I realized that I was alone in the chapel and I started having visions of a random shooter popping into the chapel and starting his shooting rampage. I thought, “what is this world coming to??” 

And I sat there at the quiet, empty chapel, wondering- “What is my world coming to?”

Confusion. Hatred. Frustration. Agitation. Uncertainty. Anger.

All those familiar emotions came to my mind. My heart was a turbulent sea, brooding something magnificent, and I knew my emotional tsunami was very eminent. And that was why I was here at the chapel to quiet my raging ocean.

Back in those days when Jesus was walking on earth in flesh, desperate people flocked to see him, neared him to touch even his cloak. They climbed trees and roofs and knelt to touch his cloth. Just to have a look at him. To receive healing.

I find myself coming back here, to this place of healing, time and time again. Today, as I sat on the church pew looking up at the cross, I felt myself one with the blind man, the leper, the paralytic, Mary Magdalene, Lazarus, and many others that Jesus healed while he walked on earth. I marvel at the healing miracles still occurring, in my own life and in the lives of those around me.

I took a walk with P, my church counselor, around the chapel. During our conversation, I realized that it had been a little over nine years since I have thrown out my half-full bottle of Celexa. I tried to manage my mental illness without medication for almost a decade. It was not an easy decade. Of the few accomplishments of my short life, I am most proud of making this far with my personal war against mental illness. I have touched the cloak of Jesus and He has healed me. I have screamed out to Him to have pity on me and He looked upon my poverty and poured out His abundant blessing. I was once a dead soul but He raised me up and gave me a breath of life that will ever end.

Thanks be to my living God who sent His only Son to this world for the redemption of all. Thanks be to Jesus who is still here walking with us in the most real way.