![]() ![]() ![]() There were a thousand things I should say, but I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt whatever moment this was. I felt every kiss of air across my skin as I walked closer to her, heard her every exhale, and when I reached her, I saw how goose bumps peppered her arms, how tears ran silently down her cheeks. God was here, and He was talking to Poppy. I stopped, the greeting on my lips stalled by the stillness, by the heavy weight of the quiet. I didn’t know that her shoulders would be shaking ever so slightly, as if she were crying, and I didn’t know that all the doors and windows would be closed, trapping the lush, incense-scented air inside. ![]() What I didn’t know was that she’d be standing directly in front of the altar, staring at the cross, the late-dusk light pouring through the windows and staining her in dark jewel tones, sapphire and crimson and emerald. After men’s group, I stopped by my office to grab a rosary and a small pamphlet containing some basic prayers and walked into the sanctuary, knowing that Poppy would probably be there early. ![]()
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