When I met the Pope,
In a horrified moment, I realized I'd accidentally knocked over this giant candle as the Pope was approaching the Church exit. Weren't these candles supposed to be practically bolted to the fucking floor? I picked it up, blushing (thankfully the carpet hadn't caught fire), and the Pope literally smiled at me and grabbed my arm and asked me to walk with him. He ignored the whole meet-and-greet-the-flock that deacons and priests and bishops and archbishops and monsignors and cardinals and popes typically do after mass. I'm Spencer, I said. And he said, I'm Pope Francis. I told him that it was nice to meet him and he told me to cut the shit. Was he some sort of Padre Pio? I'm not Catholic anymore. No shit, he said. That moment kind of opened me up and I explained my whole history and why I'd left. I felt a certain sting of a poor-me attitude. But Mr. Pope didn't judge me that way. I even told him that thought, blushing more than at the candle incident and ...