They don't teach you in seminary what to do when the prayer stops working. When the scripture feels like sandpaper against a wound that won't close. You spend years begging God for a sign, for silence, for anything ... and then one day, a woman walks into the nave at midnight, reeking of gin and bad decisions, and she doesn't ask for forgiveness.

She asks if you've ever been truly touched.

Now the altar is cold. The congregation is gone. And I'm on my knees for a different kind of worship. Not for God. Not for salvation.