I was at church this morning. I decided to sit in the garden area at one of the tables as I waited for someone. My eyes were closed, taking in the breeze, meditating, just chilling. Or so I thought.

Then this lady, we had been on the same meeting but it was the first time I had seen her, came along — oh, Jesus — and decided to make herself at home right where I was sitting. Clearly, God was testing my patience. It is Lent, after all, and the devil was trying me. She wanted to converse. She came with a lot of sheets, and I… well, I didn’t.

She: “The air is so beautiful, calm and quiet.”
Me (eyes closed, quietly): “Yes.”
She: “I wonder if the seminarian is still here.”

I was thinking, *what in the fruit-loop world is she talking about?* I didn’t reply because I had no idea who she meant. Meanwhile, the priest walked by. She asked him and got her answer. I thought that settled it. We’re done. Let me be.

Nope. Not enough.

She kept going and going and going. I would vaguely reply, ignoring her as often as I could, but then…

She: “Are you praying?”
Me: “Yes.”
She: “Oh, I am sorry.”
Me: “That’s okay.”

Now, you would think we were squared away. Case closed, right? She would move to one of the other four empty tables.

Nope.

She stayed. She put her phone on speaker and started singing because she needed to call Patricia. Oh, Jesus.

Apparently, Patricia had invited her to the 11 o’clock mass so she could hear her singing, but then she realized Patricia had already called, left her a voicemail, so no call was needed. She would call her later.

We’re done now, right?

Nope.

She went on again like the Energizer Bunny, talking about baptism, Catholicism, and other things. And all I kept praying was, “Lord, give me the chalupas… grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” The devil was trying me hard.

I felt like screaming and telling her to shut the front door and go away — but I didn’t. I quiet the noise and patiently went along with the script.

I had options, though:

1. I could have easily moved to another table.
2. I didn’t want to make her feel bad, so I stayed.
3. I was there first and didn’t ask for company. My eyes were closed, lady. So technically, she could have left.

Next time, I’ll just run inside the church. Ciro, our pianist, was playing.

Yours in soft lighting,
Eloi Ahoy