S. Maisie Ng
Recently, I have been living with a sensitivity in my throat. It’s easily triggered by many things — temperature changes, crowded places, perfume, dust, or even stale air. In these environments, my throat reacts as if something is stuck there, and I begin to cough. The physical discomfort is tiring, but the fear that surrounds it is even more difficult. This fear becomes especially strong at Mass. Sitting among many people, I never know when a cough might suddenly come. I worry about disturbing others, and embarrassment rises even before anything happens. The more I worry, the more tense my body becomes, and the more likely it is that the cough will appear. My attention is divided, my heart unsettled, and I struggle to pray.
Then something unexpected happened. When I sit inside the small room for crying babies — separated from the main church by a glass panel — I relax. I am still participating in the same Mass, but the fear of coughing disappears. I feel safe. I feel free. And in that freedom, I can pray with a clearer mind and a more open heart. In that place of safety, I often do not cough.
This experience reveals how deeply fear affects humans. Fear tightens the body, narrows the heart, and scatters the mind. A small discomfort can grow into something that controls all my attention. But when I am given a space where I feel safe, my body softens, my breathing eases, and my spirit opens again. My throat sensitivity does not disappear, but it no longer rules me. This teaches me that freedom is not just a spiritual idea; it is within our bodies. My body carries fear, and my body also receives grace.
The Gospel Matt 10:31-32 speaks directly to this experience. Jesus says, “Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid.” These words reveal a God who pays attention to the smallest details of my life. If God notices something as tiny as a single strand of hair, then surely, He sees my coughing, my tension, my embarrassment, and the way fear rises in me during Mass. The Gospel does not promise that discomfort will vanish, but it does promise that I am seen, known, and held. Fear does not have to be my master because I belong to a God who watches over every part of me.
In this context, the little room behind the glass becomes more than a practical solution; it is the place where God teaches me how to submit myself to His care with all of myself – body, mind, and soul. It becomes the place where fear does not have a hold and grace is free to flourish. Maybe God invites me to understand that my own vulnerability does not separate me from my prayer but allows me to enter into more trust.
