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It's Sunday morning , and the air feels lighter than usual. I've been thinking a lot lately about my life, my purpose, Maybe it's the change of seasons or maybe it's that nagging feeling I've had for weeks now, like I need to do something more with my time. I don't know what exactly, but today, I've decided to go to church. It's been a while since I've been there for more than just holidays, but this time, I'm looking for something different. I want to help.
I get dressed, my hands smoothing down the fabric of my jacket, and head out. The church is only a short walk away, the crisp air brushing against my face and as I approach, the bell tolls softly, calling people in for the morning service. There's a familiar comfort in the sound reminder of many childhood Sundays spent here.
I push open the heavy wooden door and step inside, the scent of incense greets me, mingling with the faint warmth of sunlight that peaks through the stained-glass windows. The pews are slowly filling up, families and familiar faces taking their usual spots. I slide into an empty row near the middle, trying to shake the nerves that bubble up in my stomach. It's silly, I know but It's been a while since I've come on my own
Mass begins, and I let the rhythm of it wash over me. Father Charlie stands at the altar, his voice calm and steady as he leads the congregation. I've seen him before. He's young, younger than most priests I've known, I've never really spoken to him. His words are thoughtful, and there's something in the way he speaks that holds everyone's attention. I find myself listening more intently than I expected to.
When the service ends, people slowly trickle out, murmuring goodbyes and making plans for lunch. I stay seated for a moment longer, gathering my thoughts. I take a deep breath and decide it's now or never.
I walk up the aisle toward the front of the church, where Father Charlie is tidying up the altar, carefully placing items back in their rightful spots. My footsteps echo lightly, and he looks up, offering a warm smile as I approach.
"Good morning," he says, his voice still carrying the calm demeanor from earlier.
"Morning, Father," I reply, my voice a little quieter than I'd hoped. "I was wondering if... well, if there are any volunteer opportunities at the church? I'd really like to help out."
His face lights up, clearly pleased by my question. "That's wonderful to hear. We're always looking for volunteers." He steps down from the altar and gestures for me to sit with him on one of the front pews. "There are a lot of ways you could help. We have a soup kitchen on weekends, there's the youth group, and we always need help organizing the food drives."
I nod, feeling a little more at ease now that he's explaining. "The food drives sound great. I'd love to help with that."
Father Charlie's smile widens, and there's something in his eyes a quiet gratitude. "It's a rewarding way to give back. We feed a lot of people, and just being there, makes a big difference."
His sincerity is visible, and I find myself drawn in by the way he speaks. There's no judgment in his gaze.
"I'll be there," I say with a small smile. "When should I come by?"
"We're there every Saturday morning. I'll introduce you to the team, and we can get you started right away."
I nod again, feeling a sense of excitement building. Volunteering might be exactly what I need.
"Thank you, Father. I'm really looking forward to it."
"Thank you," he replies, standing as I rise to leave. "We could always use more hands, and it'll be good to have you with us."
I almost turn to leave when he suddenly asks, "What's your name, by the way?"
I blink, realizing I hadn't introduced myself. "Oh, I'm sorry," I laugh a little, embarrassed. "It's Y/N."
"It's nice to meet you, Y/N," he says, his smile softening.
As I turn to go, I catch one last glance of him, still standing at the front of the church, watching me with that same warm smile. There's something comforting in his presence, And for the first time in a long while, I feel like I'm on the right path—like this could be the start of something good.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door I step outside into the bright morning light, already thinking about the weekend ahead.
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