After a half-hour stroll a quick pace, I found myself in a country church. I went and sat in a rickety old bench before the tabernacle, in a small chapel.
The leg muscles were retreating, as always happens after an effort. The bench swayed because of the old wood floor and no longer perfectly flat.
My prayer was all there. I fixed the Eucharistic Jesus and felt the delicious sensation of being cradled. I felt slightly move, the muscles were, was the bench, but to me it seemed it was God who kept me in his loving arms and I did not think of anything else except that I feel comfortable, free, greeted by a father who totally cares about his son. Ahhh! What a beautiful feast of the saints!
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