Courage to explore: From Ding-Dong-Ditch to a spiritual quest
In the sheltered haven of our garden, where palms stood tall and fragrant blooms swayed, a playful mischief known as ding-dong-ditch began to sprout.
“Let’s break out of this place,” proposed Sebastian, my newfound older friend. At eight, I looked up to his towering age of eleven with awe.
Intrigued and eager, I agreed.
Together, we darted to doorways, ringing bells, and swiftly taking refuge behind walls, our muffled giggles serving as the only trace of our presence. Little did I know, this innocent game would become the catalyst for my solo expeditions through the streets of Monaco.
Months earlier, donned in a pristine white dress, I had discreetly spat out sugar-coated almonds into a napkin during my first communion in the French Catholic Church. That solemn and austere ceremony culminated in months of learning the art of prayer.
Emboldened by the escapades with Sebastian, I found myself wandering Monaco's narrow and winding streets.
It was either serendipity or curiosity that guided me to the threshold of what I’d later recognize as an Anglican Church.
Nestled in the rear pew, with shadows weaving patterns around me, I listened to the pastor speak in English, a language I didn’t quite understand.
“The peace of the Lord be always with you,” he said.
“And always with you,” answered deep voices in unison.
What followed caught me off guard. Adults began exchanging handshakes—a practice I’d never seen before in church. Suddenly, their heads turned and their eyes converged on me. Heart pounding, I felt to be a conspicuous outsider who’d trespassed sacred grounds. They approached me, their expressions radiating warmth, not judgment or reproach.
“Oh, who do we have here? Welcome little one,” a kind voice uttered.
They extended their hands, and I extended mine. The handshakes felt both firm and compassionate—a contrast to the restraint I had grown used to.
Post service, I darted into the sunlit outdoors, half-expecting their congeniality to wane and questions to arise.
Back home, my heart buoyant, I recounted my day's adventure to my mother. Sidestepping any mention of my mischief with Sebastian, I eagerly recounted the surprising warmth of the Anglican Church.
Chuckling, she remarked, “It seems my daughter's gone church shopping!”
To this day, I cherish that day's memory. It was more than just an adventure—it was a revelation. My friendship with Sebastian had helped me to break free, to seek, to explore, leading me to uncover warmth.