The spire of the old Catholic Church pierced the cold bright skies and beside the magnificent church stands the statue of St. Michael trampling on a serpent, with his mighty sword grasped firmly as if to strike. The beautiful picture of the whole scenario has a way of convincing me how beautiful the minds of St. Patricks missionaries who first brought Christianity to my part of the world were.
Today, as part of my evening routine, I visited St. Michael. The nolstagia which accompanied my visit made tears dropped freely.
I remembered the faint voice of Fr. Peter asking me if I renounce Satan and all worldly possessions. Yes I do, I answered boldly. The cold water trickled down my head as he muttered these words "Kenneth, I baptize you in the name of God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Years have come and gone, I've wandered far and wide but here I still belong. It is sad missing home but that's what life has designed for most of us.
It tosses us and has a way of calming us again. It seperates our childhood friend whom we shared found memories and give us new strangers entirely. But whether we go East, West, North or South, no place can be comforting than home.
Congratulations, your post has been curated by @blurtlife.
To get more support please follow @blurtlife and share your life-related content by using #blurtlife tag.