"Hands, Touching Hands..."

Let me begin by giving credit where credit is due...The title of this post is from Neal Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," and the pictures are actually a scrapbook page put together by my awesomely talented sister, Karen...

For several months now I have been attending weekday Masses at our church whenever I can. I have discovered that this is a most pleasant way to begin my day. Mostly, I see the same small group of people there, and I know most of them by name. Daily Masses are said in the small chapel rather than in the sanctuary, so 25-30 people is a full house. There are usually about 15 people there. There is no music or singing, and everything moves along quickly. In fact, the entire Mass takes about 20 minutes. Afterwards, there are anywhere from five to ten regulars who stay and pray the Rosary together. If I'm there, I stay. I have come to look forward to this part of my routine simply because it is such a pleasure.

But I began going because of my dad. He and Betty attended daily Mass...well, daily. Betty recently told me that they also stayed for the Rosary unless they had appointments. I know that whenever Dad visited us, he liked to attend a weekday Mass. Sometimes I would go with him if I didn't have kids to watch that day. It was nice. I especially liked it when we would pray the "Our Father," and everyone would hold hands. It felt really good to hold Dad's hand. (Ahhhh, now you're starting to see the connection, right?)

The other day I got to Mass just in time to slip into an empty chair in the front row before Father came in. Not my favorite place to sit. I prefer anywhere but the front row, because the chapel is so small that the first row of seats feels like it's right up there with Father. I was late and the chapel was full, however, so I took what I could get. There were a couple of seats between me and the man who had been there when I came in. I recognized him, but do not know his name. He's older than I am, but not as old as my Dad. (He is not old enough to be in my "little old man" category, but he has a very kind face, so I like him.)

During the Lord's Prayer, he took my hand, and I immediately had a sense of my dad. I often feel Dad's presence when I'm at Mass, because that was such a natural part of who he was. (I dream about my mom, and I see Dad in church.) But this was different. I actually felt like it was my dad standing beside me holding my hand. I was overcome with emotion, and I could no longer say the words of the prayer. It was a moment I'd like to hold onto. So I just wrote about it. Thank you.