THE ROAD TO FAITH

The days passed slowly as I prepared for my first communion. At the tender age of 10, the church was a new and mysterious place for me. The catechist assigned to me was a lovely girl, several years older than me, and her very presence made my heart beat faster.

Every Sunday I attended mass with enthusiasm. The church stood majestically in front of me, with its tall stone columns and multicolored stained glass windows that let in the faint rays of light. The smell of incense permeated the air, creating a solemn and sacred atmosphere. I was in one of the first pews, anxious to witness my first communion.

The catechist, a beautiful and radiant girl, stood at the altar, dressed in a white robe and holding a small golden chalice. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of devotion and joy as she led us through the rituals of the mass. Every word that came from his lips seemed to have a magical power over me, drawing my attention and capturing my heart.

The moment of peace came, the moment I longed for with fervor. The melody of the choir filled the space as the priest urged us to exchange gestures of love and reconciliation. The sound of murmurs and whispers filled the church, creating a symphony of good intentions.

My heart was beating fast as I stood up from the pew and shyly approached the catechist. I felt a tingling in my stomach, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. I wanted to hug her, to feel her warmth and convey my affection, but there were also other companions seeking her attention.

With each step toward her, my determination grew stronger. My mind filled with thoughts and words I wanted to say to her, but my voice seemed to escape me at that moment. Finally, I reached her side, and our gazes met. A flash of complicity passed between us as we exchanged a smile.

I stretched out my arms, wrapping them around her in an embrace that seemed to last an eternity. I felt the warmth of her body and the beating of her heart, an ephemeral but intense connection. The act of peace became a magical encounter, an instant of closeness and love that I would engrave in my memory forever. In that embrace, I was filled with a renewed energy, a sense of belonging and acceptance.

The scene of the mass and the act of peace became intertwined in my mind as an indelible memory. It was a moment of encounter and transcendence, where faith and affection came together in a sacred instant. Although I did not fully understand the depth of that moment at the time, its meaning would resonate in my life long afterward, reminding me of the importance of seeking peace and love in every human encounter.

However, an obstacle appeared in my path to the catechist's attention. Max, a boy older than me, was also vying for her approval. He boasted of knowing more about religion, the history of Jesus and the people of Israel. I could not allow Max to surpass me, so I began to try even harder to learn and demonstrate all that I knew.

When I learned to pray, my heart fervently desired that Max would disappear from my path. In my prayers, I eagerly asked for his absence, believing that I could then have more attention and closeness with the catechist. I did not stop to consider the consequences of my words.

But fate, sometimes ironic, had other plans. Max suddenly became ill and was hospitalized. We learned that he was suffering from leukemia and would not be able to attend school or catechesis. A strange mix of emotions came over me. At first, I felt a strange joy, as if my wish had been granted, but that joy quickly turned into an overwhelming sense of guilt.

The guilt tormented me day and night - had I been the cause of Max's illness? Had my selfish desires had such terrible repercussions? My heart filled with hatred for the catechist, blaming her for leading me down that dark path of prayer that doomed Max.

Peace only returned to me when the day finally came for me to make communion. I was finally able to approach Max and talk to him.

-Hi, Max, how are you feeling today," I said.
-Hi, buddy. I'm a little weak, but happy to be here for communion. How about you," he said.
-I'm excited and nervous at the same time. It's an important day for all of us.
-Yes, it definitely is. Have you been practicing for this moment?
-Yes, I've been trying to learn as much as I can. I want to do well.
-You're very dedicated. I'm glad we're sharing this together.
-Yeah, me too. You know, Max, I've been thinking a lot about everything that's been going on between us. I feel bad about some things.
-What do you mean?" he asked with surprise.
-Well, when you got sick, there were times when I felt relieved. And that made me feel guilty. I don't want you to think that I wish you ill.
-Don't worry, I understand how you feel. Sometimes conflicting feelings confuse us. But I want you to know that you are not to blame for anything. Life just has its ups and downs.
-Thank you for understanding, Max. I don't know how to deal with all these emotions. It hurts me to see you suffer.
-I know, but I ask you not to blame yourself. Life presents us with difficult challenges, and it's how we respond to them that matters. We're here now, sharing this special moment together, and that's what matters.
-You're right, Max. We are here, and I want to take this moment to apologize to you. I'm sorry for wishing you away, when in fact, I should have wished you well.
-You don't have to apologize. What matters is that you have reflected and learned from the situation. Life teaches us lessons in unexpected ways.
-Thank you, Max. I appreciate your words very much. I want you to know that I value our friendship and will always be here for you.
-And I for you, my friend. Together we have been through difficult times, but we have also shared moments of joy. Let's continue to support each other, no matter what happens.

At that moment I wanted to cry and I didn't know if it was from joy or sadness. I think it was a mixture of both. Then, accompanied by my fellow catechists, including Max in his wheelchair, we knelt at the altar. The ceremony was moving, and I felt the burden of my guilt begin to ease. I prayed fervently for Max's recovery, for his health and happiness.

After we made communion together, time passed inexorably. I continued to pray fervently for Max's recovery, though my hopes were challenged by cruel reality. Max fought valiantly against the disease, but his frailty became more evident with each passing day.

But here, words seem to fade away, and the story sinks into a deep silence. Words cannot adequately describe the anguish, pain and sadness that invaded my heart. As time progressed, the days became more somber and melancholy. Max's weary gaze became more fragile, and his smile, though ever-present, became weaker. There were no words spoken between us in those last moments.

The last time I met Max was at his home, during the last birthday he would celebrate. I, glassy-eyed, stood beside Max, holding his hand tenderly. Our gazes met in a silent understanding, where words were unnecessary.