For 20 years, I had been away from the church.
When I was young, I attended Mass every Sunday. But after entering university and joining the workforce, I gradually drifted away. I used busyness as an excuse, but perhaps the truth was that I was angry at God. Why is there so much suffering in this world? Why does nothing change even when we pray?
Twenty years passed like that. My career was going well, but there was always an emptiness in my heart. Something was missing — though I could not name what it was.
One rainy day, I ducked into an old cathedral to escape a sudden downpour. I meant to enter as a tourist. But the moment the pipe organ filled the sanctuary with its sound, I could not move.
That music awakened memories of attending Mass with my mother as a child. Her warm hand in mine. The voices singing hymns. The scent of incense. It all came rushing back in an instant, and I could not stop the tears.
"Welcome home" — I felt someone say those words. I turned around, but no one was there. Yet in my heart, I heard that voice clearly. God had been waiting for me all 20 years.
From that day, I began attending church again. I felt ashamed of my 20-year absence, but the parish community welcomed me warmly. When I received the Sacrament of Reconciliation, it felt as though 20 years of burden were lifted in a single moment.
God's patience far exceeds our imagination. No matter how far we wander, no matter how much time passes, God never gives up. The door is always open.