God meets us everywhere

One of my favourite moments in my childhood is when I started learning how to walk. As confident as I was back then, I could barely take a few steps before toppling over and needing help to get back on my feet. But what stands out most isn't the fall; it's what happened after. I didn't crawl back for help. I didn't have to. My mom was already there, reaching out before I could even ask.

That moment, small as it was, showed me something big: I didn't deserve anything to be helped as I was just a helpless one-year old, but because she loved me. She met me where I was, without condition.

And that kind of love just stays with you.

Now, why am I sharing a story from my childhood?

Recently, I spent three weeks in Southeast Asia for my brother's wedding (which went beautifully), and I also had the chance to reconnect with family and my soon-to-be in-laws. It was full, fast, and meaningful. But in the whirlwind of celebrations, travel, and jet lag, I found myself slipping out of rhythm with God. The quiet moments were rare as we always had something to do as a family, and unfortunately, I didn't make as much time for Him as I wanted to.

But thankfully that dryness didn't last. It began to lift when I reflected on something I hadn't fully noticed in the moment: I went to Mass in two different countries—Indonesia and Malaysia. I also received the Sacrament of Reconciliation during a layover in Singapore.

And somehow, those moments, scattered across airports and churches I had never been to, warmed my heart.

Something beautiful about the Catholic Church is that the Church is universal, just like the meaning of the word "Catholic". No matter where you go, despite small differences due to local cultures and languages it is still the same Mass, same readings, same liturgy, and most importantly, same sacrifice of the Eucharist. Not just a symbol, but truly Himself being made present.

Looking back, I realize that my soul was quietly longing for Jesus throughout my trip. And I'm grateful that He met me in Indonesia, in Malaysia, and even during a layover in Singapore. In unfamiliar parishes, among strangers who were also my brothers and sisters in faith, He was there fully present.

Now I understand what that warm, fuzzy feeling was: the joy of knowing that the Church truly exists worldwide. That wherever I am, I can receive His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. That even when I stumble, I can seek His mercy anywhere in the world. That I can feel at home no matter where I am, as the Church always exists, waiting to welcome me back.

Luke 15:20 says, "And he arose and came to his father. But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him."

The prodigal son didn't need to walk all the way to see his father. His father, instead, ran towards him and met him where he was.

Just like when I was one year old, stumbling through my first steps yet knowing my mom would help, I have full confidence that He is everywhere, ready to meet me even when I struggle to go all the way to Him. I don't merit His love, for His love is free.

That's the beautiful part of being Catholic: God meets us everywhere.