Youth

Sometimes when a door opens the figure that stands on the threshold is so something that everyone stops to look at him.

Such was the case at Mass one day at a white church with a thin steeple off the map somewhere in California.

The man who walked in was troubled: his wrinkles showed that. He was exhausted: his sagging arms told the crowd. He was defeated: his eyes said it sadly.

The church had greeters. They put the cute kids there. Kinda like how they gave the little ones the basket to maximize the money flow.

One girl smiled at the man. She said her rehearsed line: "Welcome to our church."

His smile was so wide that I wasn't sure if I'd rather be him in that moment in his joy or her in her innocence.