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My church

It’s not my church, really. It belongs to whoever comes here as long as no stealing or any kind of blasphemy or wrong doing is involved.

Apart from The Basillica and the Cathdral in Valencia City, this little church is my favourite.

It’s small, it’s cozy and the priest is usually a bad tempered sweetie; but he’s got a right to be.

People put the church down or say they hate it but then when it comes to Christenings their babies, weddings or burrials, they come running to the priest. Hypocrites!

At least I’m not ashamed to wear a cross for everyone to see. I get funny looks when I tell people I go to church even if I’m not very good at remembering my prayers or if I don’t go often enough. (I’m busy looking for a boyfriend).

I have a jewish friend and I’ve been to his festivals. My friend told me it was rude to have my cross dangling from my neck at one of his festivals. I was told exactly the same thing when I visited King Salomon temple I Israel.

According to me I was showing respect and a wish to know more.

An Open mind.

Oh well…..

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