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Snow flutters around me as I make my way to the side entrance of the massive stone church. It is after eight and the evening air is cold and still. I nestle further into my coat as I crunch through the glistening snow.
Looking down, I see the footprints of the many who have already trudged this curvy path today. Some have limped with canes, while others have pushed strollers or come with toddlers. One set of prints suggests the long strides of a young man stopping in to pay his Lord a visit on his lunch hour. So many have come to clear the clutter from their restless minds. So many, from all areas of life, have humbly made their way to church. I am only walking in their footsteps.
Distractions, distractions. The automated door swings shuts behind me, and I am immediately aware of a silence so loud that I feel I should tiptoe to my seat. Only one other parishioner is at prayer. Trying not to disturb her, I creep to a pew, genuflect, sniffle, remove my coat, put…
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