Memories of a Cathoilic Childhood

I remember the cinnamon smell of incense rising thick from the heavy thurible slow pendulum and the thurifer head bowed circling the altar dark flickering candles casting shadows on rough stone walls and dust drifting through columns of blue and amber light streaming through pastel stained glass windows coloring Mary’s gentle gaze spilling across the gray granite altar and silence filling the immense vaulted arches and the soft murmur of  prayers while Nuns finger rosary beads moving their pale lips the  taste of the air like paper melting on my tongue and Christ hangs impaled on the cross head bowed offering God’s  peace to the world

I wanted to share something different here. I hope you enjoyed it.

11 thoughts on “Memories of a Cathoilic Childhood

  1. everyone has a past. a tree cannot grow without its roots. jesus has also never for once ever claimed to be a son of nobody and he always identify, acknowledges and accepts himself as the son of joseph eventhough his father was only a carpenter. he is proud of it in fact so should you and i be. and its when the roots are strong and sturdy that the branches may spread far and wide. blessings to you for his sharing!

    • Absolutely. And I am sometimes surprised at how strong and important these early experiences remain. Thanks for taking hte time to read and comment. I appreciate what you have to say. – Bill

  2. Wow! This really brought me back to my childhood, too. Very vividly, I can almost smell that cinnamon scent.. Thanks for sharing this.

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