February Flash Fiction Month: The Profession of Faith in Future Tense

Vigil Mass of St John the Baptist's Nativity
Vigil Mass of St John the Baptist’s Nativity (Photo credit: Lawrence OP)

Here is the second flash fiction story I wrote for my book of short stories, Destined for Greatness and Other Stories. I thought this would be appropriate for this time of year (given that it’s Valentines’s day on Tuesday).

The Profession of Faith in Future Tense

I believe in the future we’ll still be in love, and it’ll be official. Weekday mornings, we’ll say goodbye with a kiss outside our home. By lunch, I’ll send you the joke of the day from a child at the parish school. And you’ll send me the menu for dinner. I’ll get groceries but, as always, leave the cooking to you.

We’ll still read side by side in our home on Saturday mornings. You’ll read  Nietzsche. I’ll read poetry. Later, I’ll write a homily, and you’ll make lunch. In the afternoon, we’ll attend a parish soccer game or conduct a Pre-Cana meeting. Perhaps we’ll use our relationship as an example.

We’ll still keep our responsibilities. You’ll say daily Mass in the mornings because you’re an early riser. And I’ll work with the children at the parish school and say Mass for them. Or if we have children, I’ll stay at home part-time. You know I love kids.

We’ll save money by sharing clericals and collars. Unless one of us gains weight. This sometimes happens.

We’ll still volunteer at hospitals and prepare the dying for the next life. Sometimes they’ll call us late at night. Perhaps one night I’ll leave our bed and drive alone to the hospital. The road will be empty. And the hospital will be quiet. With full concentration I’ll listen to the final confession of a dedicated parishioner. For the patient, I’ll recite the Lord’s Prayer. My fingers will break off a small piece of the Host for the one dying. After the life expires, I’ll comfort the family and friends. Then I’ll leave alone in the dark for home. After I arrive, I’ll pause. Like I do now. To pray for the departed. To pray for their souls. That they’ll find love and peace in heaven like we have on earth.

Then I’ll exit the car as the sky becomes lighter. When I open the front door, you’ll be in the kitchen making breakfast. Waiting for me to return. Such a comfort, a soul for a soul.

You’ll say, “We can eat breakfast and watch the sun rise,” as you flip the pancake with the spatula in your hand.

That hand that I’ll take and would take again and again. That hand with that finger that’ll wear my ring. I’ll take it with mine with that finger that’ll wear yours. Yes, someday it’ll happen, and even the pope won’t mind. I have faith in love.


About L.M. Gil

L.M. Gil, a writer and English teacher, worked closely with Roman Catholic seminarians for several years. Born and raised in Upstate New York, she has lived in Europe, the Middle East, and the Southwest of the United States. She lives with her family in the Baltimore area.
This entry was posted in Fiction, flash fiction, giving voice, Priesthood, Self publishing, short stories, Writing fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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