There’s sometimes a story that sticks with you and as I sat there listening to the priest delivering his tale, it made me think how well it was written. The hesitation. The hurt. The pain. And I just wanted to share it.

We’ve never really discussed who we used to be… before we came here.
There was this young boy in my congregation. He was quiet, sensitive. He used to get so excited when his mother let him put a dollar in the collection plate.
One day, after mass, I found him lingering outside the rectory and it was unusual.

You know, he wasn’t really the type of kid to stray too far from his parents.
They were very, um… strict… rigid.
And I get it. Parents, they worry about their kids, and sometimes you have…

Anyway, the point is… the boy was upset.
He asked if he could stay a while.
But I had to prepare for evening mass and I didn’t want the parents to worry.
So I, uh…
I went to my drawer and I pulled out a candy bar.
I, uh I always keep a stash for the neighborhood kids.
I could see he didn’t want to go. But I handed it to him and I sent him on his way.
Later that evening, I, uh I went by the house. It was a bit unorthodox. You know, I’m not really in the habit of making house calls, but something was nagging me and I just…
As I walked up the driveway, the mother, she came running out, hysterical… inconsolable.
She was…
And I could smell the alcohol the moment I stepped through the door.
The father was just… standing there with this panicked, dumbfounded look on his face.

“Get up! Get up!” he said.

I walked over and I stepped in the room, and there he was.
This sweet, innocent boy, just laying there, broken.
His neck was bulging in a way it was… And I could see, in his pocket… the candy bar.

“He’ll be fine.” That’s what the father said. “He’ll be fine.”

It was the way he said it. Sounded indignant.
The next thing I knew, I was on top of him, smashing his face as hard as I could.
I couldn’t stop. I just kept hitting him over and over again. I couldn’t stop.
Even when I felt the bones in my hand start to break,
I couldn’t stop.
I was the one who was supposed to listen.
I was the one who was supposed to defend the defenseless.

That sweet little boy came to me begging for help, and all I could do was give him a candy bar.
A fucking candy bar!

The next thing I remember, I was standing on a bridge, holding that bottle in my hand.

And it was the first time in my life that I heard the voice of God.
He told me to get back in the car, that there was another path for me to follow.
So I did.

I got back in the car and I drove, and two hours later, I was here.