“Presbytera.”
I
turned around to see that it was P.B., a long time parishioner at the Greek
Orthodox Church where my husband is serving as a parish priest.
She assured me that although she had her aches and pains, she was physically “alright.” I asked other probing questions, in the hope that she would open up and tell me what was wrong. Suspiciously, she looked around to see if there were people who could hear our conversation. Seeing no one, she whispered that she was very concerned about her grandson who got himself into some problems. Coming from an ethnic background, P.B.
is very much involved with her children and grandchildren’ s lives. She went on to tell me how he is trying to get his life back in order. Still she felt so down and helpless.
“Good
morning, Presbytera,” another parishioner called.
Hurriedly,
P.B. told me to move on, “Let’s talk again later.”
Three months later, after church service, she came to me with a big
smile. She gave me a tight hug and a peck on each cheek.
“Thank
you, Presbytera. Our prayers were answered!
I did not do much, I told her. I simply listened to her.
I gave her my time and assured her that I was going to pray for them.
Now I clearly understand my role as a
Presbytera. P.B. and I... we felt that we connected.
True That!
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