Adoration

I walked into the Adoration chapel the other evening with every intention of spending some quality time with Jesus. About seven minutes, to be exact.

I was running late. I had somewhere else to be, something else to do, and apparently thought I could squeeze the Creator of the Universe into a small opening in my schedule. One decade of the Rosary, I told myself. Ten Hail Marys, a quick thank you, maybe a special intention or two, and I'd be on my way.

I visit this little chapel several times a week. It's become a refuge for me. A place where I can collect my thoughts, sit quietly, and occasionally remind God of all the things I think He should be doing differently. He has been remarkably patient with my suggestions.

There were only four other people there that evening. Two to my left and a couple sitting two rows in front of me. I noticed the couple almost immediately. They were sitting close together, holding hands, looking toward the Blessed Sacrament. Nothing particularly unusual. Except there was something about them I couldn't quite put my finger on.

They weren't especially old. But you could tell they'd been together a long time. Not by their age, but by how comfortable they seemed beside each other. No shifting around. No need to fill the silence. Their hands simply rested together, as though they'd been doing that very thing for years. There was something lovely about how ordinary it was.

For more than ten minutes, they barely moved. At one point, the woman reached for something, glanced at it, put it away, and took his hand again. That little movement got me. She didn't look for his hand. She knew exactly where it was.

I swear if I'd taken a photograph of those two, there would have been a glow around them. Something soft and warm that no camera could quite capture.

I felt a little strange watching them. Like I'd wandered into a private moment. Here I was, supposedly spending time with Jesus, and I kept looking at these two people. I caught myself thinking I should stop staring and get back to praying. Imagine that. Sitting in a chapel hoping to recognize God's presence in my life and nearly missing it because I was too busy trying to pray correctly.

I wondered what brought them there. Maybe something difficult. Maybe something wonderful. Or maybe they just wanted to be together with Jesus. I liked that possibility.

I stayed longer than I intended. My Rosary rested in my hands, but my attention kept returning to theirs. How many times had those hands reached for each other over the years? Through whatever life had handed them? I wondered if they had any idea how beautiful they looked just sitting there.

Probably not.

Most of us don't notice those things about ourselves. We're too busy worrying about bills, appointments, or why someone left exactly three drops of milk in the refrigerator instead of throwing away the carton.

As I got up to leave, I realized I actually knew the woman. We had worked together through the parish. I'd been sitting behind someone I knew the entire time and hadn't recognized her. So much for my spiritual gift of discernment. I smiled and slipped out without disturbing them.

But I kept thinking about that little chapel. I had gone there to adore Jesus, and somehow ended up admiring something else, too. Two people perfectly content to sit together in His presence.

I think there's something beautiful about becoming so familiar with another human being that their presence feels like a place you can rest. No performance. No need to say anything particularly profound. Just the comfort of knowing someone is there. They had each other. And they had God.

We sometimes make loving God and loving each other much more complicated than they need to be. Meanwhile, two rows ahead of me, a woman simply reached for her husband's hand. No grand gesture. No Hallmark card with a ridiculous amount of glitter. Just a hand finding another hand. And neither one seemed particularly interested in checking the time.

I'm getting better at slowing down. I really am. I notice more these days. I listen more. I've even learned to sit still occasionally without feeling the need to accomplish something, which, for me, is practically a medical breakthrough. But I still have a ways to go.

And those two people were a gentle reminder that I don't have to race through a life I'm finally learning to appreciate.

I went into that chapel thinking I didn't have much time for God. Turns out, He had plenty of time for me. And He used two people sitting quietly, holding hands, to remind me of something I keep forgetting.

I hope I remember that.

Especially the next time Erin reaches for mine.