About the time many of you will be toasting in the new year, kissing your sweetie, and talking loftily of resolutions to come, I will be in a room of about 200 poker players that barely notice it's passing. I have no regret; I agreed to work this evening so others could enjoy the festive night with their friends/family.
Personally, I like to think I have more at stake than a few flighty resolutions for this upcoming year, however my goals do require more work. Seven more months to pay down the debt, 30 days to finish the autobiography and send it in, 4 months to finish everything else and wait to see what the Capuchins say. Indeed, 2008 will be a year to remember - and its still 11 hours away.
For this new year, I think there's a more appropriate song for me than Auld Lang Syne. I have nothing against it; I've stumbled drunkenly through the lyrics plenty of times before. I just happened to find a better Scottish song to ring in the new year.
I'll see everyone next year. Till then, I leave you all with The Ramblin' Rover by Silly Wizard:
There's sober men in plenty And drunkards barely twenty There are men of over ninety That have never yet kissed a girl But give me a Ramblin Rover Frae Orkney down to Dover We will roam the country over And together we'll face the world
I've roamed through all the nations Take delight in all creation And I've cried away sensation Where the company did prove kind When parting was no pleasure I've drunk another measure To the good friends that we treasure For they always are in our mind.
There's sober men in plenty And drunkards barely twenty There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl But give me a Ramblin Rover Frae Orkney down to Dover We will roam the country over And together we'll face the world.
There's many that feign enjoyment From merciless employment Their ambition was this deployment From the minute they left the school And they save and scrape and ponder While the rest go out and squander See the world in roving wonder And they're happier as a rule
Oh there's sober men in plenty And drunkards barely twenty There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl But give me a Ramblin Rover Frae Orkney down to Dover We will roam the country over And together we'll face the world
If you're bent with arthritis Your bowels have got colitis You've galloping bollockitis And you're thinking it's time you died If you've been a man of action Though you're lying there in traction You may gain some satisfaction Thinking: "Jesus, at least I tried."
There's sober men in plenty And drunkards barely twenty There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl But give me a Ramblin Rover Frae Orkney down to Dover We will roam the country over And together we'll face the world.
I didn't get to add an entry for last week's song, and adding this now seems after the fact. I knew well over a week ago this was the song I wanted to post, but now that I'm in a different state of mind it gives the feeling that I like to dwell on my mistakes.
Please don't think me a constant downer, as I do love to be inspirational and helpful. Just this evening, I spoke with a young man who still had issues with his mother being Protestant as he began RCIA. I like to think about myself in a positive light; there are just times when I need to not only remind myself of my sins, but to find that one song that embodies my feelings.
Maybe it's my unique form of closure: using music to contain my feelings. It's like a picture of a summer on the beach; each time you pick up the frame and stare at the image, you're taken back to that place. You can almost feel the sand under your feet, can faintly hear the cry of gulls flying overhead. If you think real hard, you'll remember the songs you listened to that year, who your best friends were, and where the focus was in your life. Perhaps Photograph by Nickelback would have been a better choice.
Regardless, I will leave the pictures and photo albums to those from the last generation. My memories are contained on my mp3 playlist.
This particular song, written by Brian Vander Ark (another native of Grand Rapids), alludes to many issues and problems in the search of a relationship. My search of the song's actual meaning has lead me to the story of an abortion, rape, a fling with a buddy's girlfriend, even a car accident. I've never seen an absolute truth to the meaning of this song. That may be Brian's ultimate gift: to allow people to interpret and identify with his music without parameters.
That's the type of songwriter I like.
For me, The Freshman represents our misguided attempts to find happiness with the opposite sex, as well as our mindsets about heartache. Not every object we chase is material. My life has shown that we chase ideas, self-created ideas, about what happiness and love should be. The "I was young and dumb" excuse will serve me well the rest of my days, but the important thing for me to remember, as well as to share, is that no matter what happens in our lives we will get through it. God does not give that which we cannot handle.
I'm reminded of the movie Evan Almighty where Morgan Freeman/God says: "Do you think God zaps us with courage, or does he give us opportunities to be courageous?"
Other than the words, this is quite simply a beautiful song. I hope you enjoy. As always, the song is on the playlist below.
When I was young I knew everything She a punk who rarely ever took advice Now I'm guilt stricken, sobbing, with my head on the floor Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice
I can't be held responsible She was touching her face I won't be held responsible She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise For the life of me I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins We were merely freshmen
My best friend took a week's vacation to forget her His girl took a week's worth of valium and slept And now he's guilt stricken, sobbing, with his head on the floor Thinks about her now and how he never really wept. He says:
I can't be held responsible She was touching her face I won't be held responsible She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise For the life of me I could not believe we'd ever die for these sins We were merely freshmen
We tried to wash our hands of all of this We never talk of our lack in relationships And how we're guilt stricken, sobbing, with our heads on the floor We fell through the ice when we tried not to slip
I can't be held responsible Cause she was touching her face And I won't be held responsible She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise For the life of me I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins We were merely freshmen
Today as I prepared for work at the Poker Room, I let my mind wonder free about thoughts of the Capuchins, what it will be like to be a Postulant, and even what my life will be like after ordination. I thought about something my boss always tells me: "I would feel more comfortable talking to someone like you as a priest than someone who went into seminary at the age of 14. You've lived life, Vito. You have something unique that you bring to the table that other priests may not."
My mind drifted from this conversation to my "gifts," and eventually to the idea of being in front of a parish administering Mass. One of my naughty little pipe-dreams is to take something from the Gospel and begin an Homily as if completely unplanned. I allow this thought to take over, imaging myself giving witness to a host of people. It doesn't have the true feeling of standing in front of a crowd of people, yet it gives me the change to speak what's on my mind. It's how my priest's sermons always sounded like. I take the time to imagine what I would say that could inspire or touch the lives of others.
It puts me in a better state of mind, being able to reflect on the Gospel in this way. But it also gives me a sense of purpose, knowing that the enjoyment I receive of contemplating the Word is part of what brought me this far in my journey.
Since these are always off the cuff, I'm not sure what kind of blog this will turn into. However I've thought about what it would be like to give my first Homily after being ordained, and what it would sound like. Perhaps it would be something like this:
About ten minutes before Mass started, as I was in the sacristy, it finally struck me that this would be the first time I stood up in front of a parish and actually delivered the Homily. I can remember being a boy sitting over there (pointing to where the alter servers were) and listening to my priest. He'd walk in front of the alter, he'd never stand behind the podium, and he liked to talk with his hands. He didn't read from a notecard or a prepared speech; he spoke to us...much like I'm speaking to you now.
And over the years, as my faith grew, I realized that being able to see him in that way, more as a person telling me about his life and his understanding of the day's Gospel reading, he was relating himself as a human being. He made the Gospel not as a lofty goal that we could never reach, but as the means by which we should live, and how we could incorporate it into our daily lives.
Today's reading from Matthew is a familiar one: the story of Jesus summoning his disciples. He tells them: "Come with me, and I will make you fishers of men."
"...fishers of men."
The part of the story that I always found fascinating, and something that stayed with me the entire time I considered this idea of becoming a Capuchin was how Peter and Andrew react.
"They immediately abandoned their nets."
Now you can look at almost any translation, and that adverb is still there: "Right away, At once, Straightaway they abandoned their nets and followed Him."
Right away. At once. Immediately.
The thought of that confuses me. Some 10 years ago, when I first heard that call to God, I didn't do anything immediately! When I first felt that pull towards the priesthood, I was scared. I was almost horrified! Here I was, content in my job, living the American Dream (air quotes); by my standards I was a success already. Why did I need to become a priest? Why did I have to give up all of this?
For me, it took years to truly understand what it meant to understand this calling. I had doubts, feelings of unworthiness, even the idea that I was trying to impress someone by becoming a priest. There was nothing I could do immediately, because I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do.
And as I learned more and more about myself, I realized that I wasn't happy at that job. My life wasn't as fulfilling as I pretended it was. My gauge for success was this small scale of material items. And I would begin to wonder that maybe Peter and Andrew weren't too happy with where their lives were. Maybe the life of a fisherman was not who they were meant to be. Perhaps God had given them the desire, the wisdom, and the courage to do more with their lives...they needed simply to wait until they were called to do so. And immediately, they left their nets to follow Him.
Perhaps we're not so different from the Apostles. We all have in our hearts the desire to do something wonderful with our lives. We want to make people smile, we want to right that what is wrong...sometimes we just don't know how. Sometimes we just don't want to commit ourselves to doing too much. If there is a lesson to be learned, it is that we as Catholic Christians should make ourselves aware of that Calling that God has for each of us, and make ourselves available to do what is asked.
I'm not advocating that you should all give up your jobs and sell everything you own after you leave church. In fact some of you have already followed your call: being married, being a father, being an employer.
What I want you to understand is that we're all called to do more. Maybe not change the world, but to open our hearts to God and to those around us. I became a Capuchin because this is where God wants me. I'm not sure what I do next; God didn't give me timeline for the rest of my life. However these years later, I'm standing in front of all of you wonderful people, much like my parish priest stood in front of my parish, hoping that I was put here to affect the life of another as my parish priest touched mine.
eh, perhaps I'm not the greatest ad-lib speaker, but I like being able to let my mind wander and think.
The Christmas break has really allowed me to open up my mind and commit to writing this autobiography that the Capuchins are asking for. Worried about details or what stories to tell, it took a friend to realize that it's not about the "good or the bad" that really matters.
Over the past week, I've struggled with a way to begin this paper. Should I merely write a dry, timeline starting from birth and ending in the present? Should I write a frame story, centering everything around an important moment in my life? Several times I thought of just starting the paper like The Jerk: "I was born a poor black child."
The OFM Caps might get the joke, but it's probably not I don't think they asked for humor in the autobiography.
Tonight, in an attempt to finally get things moving, I decided to write my story in a way that chronicles the important times in my life, gives the factual history that they want to know, and allows me to reflect on my life and explain how these things have affected who I am and what I've gained.
Instead of writing one 3-5 page paper, I'm making 5 different one-page stories about an important time in my paste. The first I've composed centers around my graduation from high school, specifically when I performed at the commencement ceremony. The next is a story of when I was 9 and I watched my mother stand up to an abusive boyfriend. Other times in my life I'm contemplating are: the break-up with my last girlfriend, waking up from a seizure, spending Easter at a rest stop in Missouri (when I was working over the road), a day of working at the poker room, or hearing The Summons being played in church this past year.
Now that I've really gotten into writing this thing, there's not enough pages to cover everything I want to talk about. From initially thinking I had a dull life to trying to fit in as much as I can, I'm glad I took several days to really sit and consider my past. By telling my story in 5 short stories or chapters, I feel I am in touch with my true nature: a storyteller. While this type of autobiography may be unconventional for their purpose, perhaps it will show the Capuchins one of my greater gifts: to touch others with words and stories from my life.
Perhaps I'm just cheating and writing 5 self-reflective blog entries for this required paper. If that is the case, then let it be so. One thing that I've rediscovered during this discernment process is my love of writing, both fiction and non. Perhaps I will pick up my guitar again as well. Perhaps I'll rekindle that love of music I had before chasing more materialistic goals in life.
Either way, that is my story and I've finally find a way to start it. If God sees fit to inspire me in unusual ways, I'm not going to argue or try to fight it. Let's just hope it meets the requirements of what the Capuchins are looking for.
Enough of a break. Hope you all had a good Christmas. I have work and writing to do all weekend.
It's Christmas Eve, and I can't focus my mind around the holiday for any good purpose. Perhaps I'm working too hard, maybe I'm not spending enough time with my family, or maybe I'm just recalling the hardships of last Christmas: the precursor to the end of a year-long relationship.
It's been almost a full year now, and while I've done my best to forget about my ex-girlfriend, I realize there's a part of me that still doesn't feel right about it. I've written about the situation extensively (3 part blog), and have said a lot of my feelings about it already. One thing that I haven't said, and something I have to be honest with myself about: I really don't miss her, and I feel like an heartless prick because of it.
There are still unresolved issues of anger surrounding last Christmas. As I tried to understand what this "calling" was all about, I accepted the fact that my relationship was heading towards the end. While the holidays are neither a time of depression or resentment, it brings back a collection of thoughts that I try to push away.
Starting in my twenties, I found myself attracted to women with low self-esteem. During the next ten years, I'd find myself involved with numerous women who were either abused (physically or emotionally), leaving bad relationships, or picking up the pieces of a broken heart. There were some women so depressed that they couldn't keep their affairs in order. It may sound heartless, but I was attracted to women with "baggage."
Admittedly, most were not actually close to being called a relationship. Yet my heart went out to these women. I remember each of their faces, both smiling and sad. I offered my shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear to listen to. I honestly wanted to make them feel better about themselves, life, and their future - but I also wanted them to see that Iwas not that kind of person.
Three women I met by giving roses on Valentine's Day. Three I met selling cars. I was the proverbial nice guy throughout my life, and while being the nice guy doesn't get your as far as being a bad guy, it was how I felt women ought to be treated. It felt at ease being the sensitive guy, making it easier for women to talk to me.
Thinking about that autobiography makes me ponder my own personal relationships, where they went wrong, and what I would have done better. I think that by entering a relationship as myself, rather than some mechanic trying to fix another person's problems, I would have made both of us happier. I gauged the success of the relationship not by how happy we were, but by how much better her life was now that she was with me.
Perhaps I need another 17 years between this incident before I can truly look back and be reflective on my actions. For now, I only see a guy who tried to change another person, for his benefit and for hers, and managed to alienate another person from his life. For all my anger, all my disdain, all my feelings that I keep in the back of my mind, there is that part of me that misses hearing: "I love you."
Tonight, as I assist the Bishop as a Eucharistic Minister for Midnight Mass, I'll remember that where I'm headed isn't to hide myself from who I am or what I've been. Just watching the news this morning, it's horrible to see all the death and violence happening on Christmas Eve. But this is our world, these are our lives. And while we can't change the world, we can learn from our past and face others with a better understanding of life, love, and friendship.
I'm not trying to hide from who I was; merely learn more about this person I have become.
Merry Christmas, and may you enjoy this holiday season with your loved ones.
Whether you're a professional Air Guitarist or you just can't put those leather pants and pink scarves in the closet, ther's no letting go of rock from the 1980's. Long permed hair, heavy make-up, spandex...and that was just what the guys wore!
It's okay to admit it: you know who the real guitar heros in history are. Did you save that denim jacket with all the band patches on it, or all those pairs of ripped jeans? Whether you dressed the part or not, the hard rock of the late 80's showed us how to rock out and look good at the same time. I don't care what anyone says, hair bands will always have a special place in my heart.
No power ballads on this list; we're here to bang our heads and rock all night. Let's take a look back at my 10 favorite rock songs of the late 1980's.
Once Bitten, Twice Shy by Great White - Awesome song by a great band. It's unfortunate that the only thing they'll be remembered by is the pyrotechnic fire in Rhode Island.
Kickstart My Heart by Mötley Crüe - Interesting thing about this song: when I play it in the car while driving on the freeway, the spedometer mysteriously creeps up to 95+ MPH! It wasn't till they laid off all the drugs that their music got really good.
Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard - One of the cornerstones of 80's hard rock, this song alone catapulted the sales of the Hysteria album to over 4 million copies. And it is one of the greatest strip club songs of all time (so I've been told).
Livin' On A Prayer by Bon Jovi - It might not be cool to like Jon Bon Jovi, but he's proven his worth by not wasting his fame and money on boose, drugs, and loose women. A staunch Democrat, it almost seems ironic how the song reflects his stance on social justice and charitable works. 100,000,000 Bon Jovi fans might be wrong, but how many rock stars own an arena football league like Jon?
Paradise City by Guns n' Roses - Admit it: the first time you saw Slash playing guitar and wearing that top hat, you wanted one as well. The last two minutes or so of this song make you wanna go crazy. FYI: head-banging requires practice...use caution when rocking out.~
Still Of The Night by Whitesnake - The video to this song always stuck in my mind, because during the interlude, Vivian Campbell was using a violin bow to play the guitar, reminiscent of Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin. If you were a guitar player like me, you'll remember that Whitesnake went through a handful of great guitarists, including Steve Vai, John Sykes, Adrian Vendeburg, and most recently Reb Beach.
Youth Gone Wild by Skid Row - Before their career was destined to the memory of their Power Ballad I Remember You, Skid Row was slated to be one of the harder bands to come out in 1989. Sometimes our success is also our downfall.
Cold Blood by Kix - You have to be an aficianato to remember this one. Here's a hint: its the band that wrote the anti-suicide song: Don't Close Your Eyes. This was their second good hit before being lost to obscurity. I found it wonderful how I sang along to the music video, remembering all the words.
Talk Dirty To Me by Poison - The beginning of it all: the hair, the make-up, the jewelry. Before we'd ever think of calling it glam rock, Poison represented the guy parents never wanted their daughter to bring home. Yesterday I saw a guy with pink/blue hair, eyeliner, black fingernails, and several piercing. If I had a daughter and she brought him home, I'd throw him head-first out of the house. Funny how time catches up with us.
One by Metallica - Before any fans get upset, I realize Metallica had a different sound and persona than the other nine bands I listed. Kirk Hammet never wore make-up that I saw. However Metallica's And Justice For All album broke them into the mainstream with this track. Most people have heard this song at least once, exposing an entire new audience to their intense sound.
Almost all of these songs can be found at projectplaylist.com, the site where I pull all my music for my weekly song blog. If you've not heard a song on my list, stop and visit. Warning: excessive listening may cause spontaneous headbanging!
Consider thineselves tagged.
I haven't spent much time blogging, as I am straining my brain to figure out how to begin this autobiography that the Capuchins are asking for. Part of it stems from a lack of direction: where do I start? What do I highlight in my life? Is this small event important enough to add, or am I leaving out something that should be told?
Those excuses have served me well, as they've covered up a greater truth about this autobiography: there's times in my life I don't like reflecting on. In grade school I was a quiet kid and was often teased for being Mexican, for being poor, for not having a dad. I thought about the one and only time I cheated on a girlfriend. I thought about situations where I completely lied to get out of. For every good moment in my life, there was a time for me to be shameful, to be guilty, and even to forget about.
What I've noticed is most of these times center around relationships with women - a part of my life that has been surprisingly hard to manage. They are hard for me to discuss because the topic evokes emotions that I'm not comfortable with. It's easier to forget pain than to face it. It's easier to pass the blame than to accept being wrong. Sometimes the lie we tell ourselves is more pleasing than the reality we wish to face.
As I attempt to accept the mistakes and the quirks of my personality, I've tried hard to sit in contemplation of different aspects of my life: my spirituality, my relationship with Jesus, my discernment, even my "worth" in living up to the expectations of religious life. One thing I've conveniently side-stepped is my attitude towards relationships and women.
This is a big topic, and I'm not sure how long this will be, so I'll start with my "first" and end with my most recent relationship of a year ago.
I had a girlfriend when I was 15, right before my mom and I moved to Michigan from Iowa. She was a very pretty "Iowan farm girl:" straight blond hair, blue eyes, and a wonderful smile. What I failed to see at the time was her intellect, her passion for social issues, and her interest in anything besides me. The easy answer is always: "Hey, I was 15! I was dumb." But if that were the case, why do I feel guilt and even shame about treating her as a trophy...a plaything to satisfy the stirrings of an adolescent kid?
Before I give the wrong impression, let me say that we never had sex; never even came close. She was too smart for such a thing, and I was too nervous about such a thing, despite my machismo attitude. Rather, she satisfied a personal need of mine beyond the carnal.
When we are depressed, we sometimes buy things to make us feel better. If we feel insecure or low in the self-esteem department, we buy superficious things to improve the way we look or appear. In this way I felt I used her. Rather than being in tune with another soul, I flaunted her like a college kid with an iPhone. Instead of being a friend to someone I was dating, I worked on my status at school. While I never said a mean thing to her or ever fought with her, I treated her like garbage without even knowing it.
Eventually she had enough and one night we broke up. Rather, she broke up with me, citing that it would be easier since I was going to be moving Michigan that summer of 1990. It was hard for me to handle because I realized at that moment that I was losing more than a trophy; someone I cared about no longer wanted to be with me. I'd never done a good job of showing my true feelings, and now it was too late.
I soon realized that having a broken heart will make you act like a moron. She said the reason we were breaking up was because I would soon leave. In some last ditch effort to win her back, I started telling people that I was in fact not moving. I told this lie to friends, teachers, everyone I could. Perhaps it was an extension of what I wanted my reality to be. I didn't want to move and leave my friends. I'd finally established an identity, I had a girlfriend, I was a somebody! Why give it all up?
When that didn't work, I became cold. I feel she really want to be friends, but I figured my heart had been broken already. I wasn't going to toy with emotions I could neither understand nor control. While I pretended to have closure, I spent the rest of my time in Iowa lying to everyone, including myself. Quite frankly, I became one of those "crazy ex's" you hear stories about.
That part of my life stuck with me well into my high school years in Michigan. One of the first songs performed by my band was entitled "Allison's Song" - an attempt to put my soul on the line and say everything that I've been typing for the past half hour. At some point I had her address and sent her a letter with the song lyrics. I don't remember getting a letter back.
Even now as my fingers write this entry, I stop every 5 minutes to clench my fists and think: "Why were you such an asshole, Vito?!" Usually when the memories flood in, I shake my head to clear my thoughts. But tonight I kept thinking about her and what exactly that feeling was that I kept hiding from. As I kept thinking and remembering, my stomach began to clench up, my head started to hurt, and I could feel tears welling up inside. There wasn't just guilt hiding there. It was a sense of loss; something was missing from within me and I could feel it. These 17 years later, I realized my heart still had the scar from where it was broken.
The deeper I delve, the harder it is to sit with these thoughts, but I continue...trying to reach some sort of closure. Instead of remembering the past, I think about contacting her or meeting her in a coffee shop; maybe a coincidental meeting in an Applebee's or something. There's part of me that wants that, a small voice that tells me I should look her up and try to start a conversation. But that voice has always scared me, because I don't like the road it leads down. Will I turn into some weird stalker? Am I going to break my heart again? I happened to find her via Google, and she's not married. Dare I say anything at all?
It's painful to keep thinking this way, but I have to ask myself: "What do I want?"
I take off the blinders, let loose the id, and allow my mind to roam free. I envision meeting her somewhere. We talk. She smiles. We even share a laugh or two. I cringe as my thoughts wander, scared to see what kind of obsessive fantasy springs forth. But as the daydream ends, there is no second meeting. There's no twisted sexual desires or even far fetched ideas of getting back together. There is balance. There is peace. There is a man and a woman talking and smiling about the foolish ideals of youth, and when it's over they walk away happy for the opportunity to see someone from their childhood years.
Perhaps that's all I want: a chance to tell her I was young and dumb, and that I know what I was doing and that I'm sorry. The daydream is nice, it gives me a feeling of warmth. I realize I'm not looking for a lost trophy. A trophy can be replaced; fancy items can be rebought. When we lose a friend, we lose part of ourselves. Only now, many years later, can I understand that.
Just so I don't end on a depressing note: When I was done feeling sad and lonesome about being 15, I cranked up the hair-band rock and played some air guitar until I could laugh at myself again.
Driving home from work after a stressful day, I heard the beat of Alicia Keys' new song No One coming through the speakers of the car. I've heard it many times before, but it was only after a good conversation with my spiritual director that a deeper meaning resonated from this track.
Earlier today, I had a wonderful lunch with my quirky yet contemplative S.D. We talked about vacations, my trip to Chicago, the Spiral of Life (I'll delve into this on another blog), and inevitably about my job. I explained how each day more and more people were learning about my vocation - poker players, charitable organizations I worked with, and fellow employees each learned about my desire to join the Capuchins in a new way. I talked about how their reactions were never against me, but usually something like: "Wow!" "Dude, that's crazy." "No way! Do you not like women anymore?" "I could never do something like that. That's pretty awesome to actually attempt something like that."
The thing she said afterwards resonated through my mind for the rest of the day: "No matter how hard you try, no matter how long you've known them, no matter how close you are, there are some people that will never see you as this type of person...and you should be at peace with that."
In this year plus that I've been discerning, there are those that see me differently because of my vocation. There are those that treat me just the same, and there are those that no longer talk to me. What she had told me made complete sense, and I realized that's still something I'm working on. I, like anyone else, seek validation for things via my friends and counterparts. When this "priest thing" first started, I told close friends because I wanted that affirmation - that response of: "Yeah, I think you'd make a great priest."
Unfortunately for men and women in my situation, that isn't always the case. Religious life is an esoteric calling. We are all called to be Christ-like, but not all are called to be sisters, monks, priests, or nuns. For those that neither understand nor agree with the role of religious life, we find it hard to get the same encouragement one might receive if discussing marriage or a career change.
All day, I thought about the responses I'd heard from co-workers, friends, and the like. While most were supportive, very few were able to bridge the gap of Vito the Guy and the Iconoclastic Ideal of A Priest. I realize I may never fit that perfect image, and I've done my best no say otherwise. Yet despite my attempts to "keep it real," the fact that some of my friends may never accept my decision is disheartening. For if others are not convinced of my vocation, how can I ever convince myself that this is not another crazy idea?
I spent the day with these thoughts, keeping them in the back of my mind. On my drive home, they creeped out of the locked box of my subconscious. There will be those that can never understand my call. There will be those that will never picture me as a friar, even if I wore the habit and the rosary hung from the twine cord. They were lonely thoughts, and I felt very depressed.
As the song began on the radio, I asked myself the key question that really matters with regards to discernment: "What is my motive?"
If indeed this was another crazy idea of mine, what is the motive behind my idea? If it were merely a backlash because of my bad relationship, would I worked as hard to pay off the debt and secure living arrangements for my mother and I? If this were some way to make my mom or my family happy, would I have included them more in my spiritual journey? I rarely go to the same Mass as my mom, and if I really wanted to make her happy, I'd just do the laundry or leave the toilet seat up.~
The thing that keeps me going is that I continue my journey out of a genuine love for God and happiness with my life. I don't plan on entering the Postulancy to impress my friends, to prove to anyone that I am a good person, or to show how apostolic I can be by working with the poor. My overwhelming love for God and his Eternal Grace is what lights my fire and drives me to live my life these days, and while I'm sad that not everyone can experience that kind of love, I know that no one, despite their words or actions, can ever steer me away from that source of power.
Perhaps her song was originally intended as a love song from woman to man, but as I hear it now, Alicia Keys' song: No One sounds like a triumphant praise of the Almighty, and how she will never be separated from His Grace. Needless to say, after hearing the song in this new light, I could not hold back that wavering tear.
Simply writing the lyrics does not convey the message of what I felt. So having read this, I give you the song again, and maybe some of you who find it hard for a guy like me to find a Calling towards the Capuchins can see, through my eyes, what it means to love God so much, you'd dedicate the rest of your life to serve Him....
If you happened to look at the post time, it is not a trick: it's almost 5:30 AM when I'm writing this entry. I got back into Grand Rapids an half hour ago, eager to leave the city because of bad weather.
After a long day of visiting different ministries in Wisconsin, we got back to St. Clare's Friary around 10:30 CST. The thought was to take a long siesta, wake up Tuesday morning, and have a leisurely drive back to Michigan. Unfortunately, I learned about the ice storm headed right for Chicago, threatening to make any driving treacherous.
I have a meeting in 2 hours with the other pitbosses of the poker room. I was hoping to tele-commute this morning on my drive back, however I was told "...it is very important that I attend the meeting." After saying my goodbyes, I hopped in my car around midnight local time and drove back to Michigan. Oddly enough, I don't feel tired at all.
The inclement weather was also an excuse: I needed time to think about the past few days, my interview, and where the next step was for my life. Not only did I have a host of paperwork to hand in, but I began to outline my autobiography, a requirement from everyone applying for Postulancy.
Yet just like leaving a job interview, I became frustrated at the memory of that three hour discussion. We talked about my history, my faith, my family, my medical condition, all the while the vocation director was furiously scribbling down notes while I talked. Maybe I should have said less? Perhaps I should have said less about my mother?
It was a rough ride home.
Next to me lies the packet of material I must also turn in for my application: transcripts of all my schools, doctor/dentist/optometrist exams reports, an affidavit notarized that lists any debt I may have, numerous release forms for personal background checks, updated baptismal and confirmation records, and a disclaimer page, stating I've never pretended to be a priest, had sexual relations with a minor, or participated in a murder or abortion. There's more here, but you get the idea. After taking a humbling look at the past mistakes of my life, I must gather more information than any college would ever ask for.
I can't help but sound cynical. I've had nothing but encouragement to apply and see what this call towards religious life might really be. Yet when I actually take the first step, it was like taking a pie in the face in front of a crowd of people. Humility didn't explain the experience; I felt shame. I'm no good to call these guys brothers.
I know I should trust in God. I know there are men with far worse sins that have gone on to do greater things. I know that God forgives, and I should accept his forgiveness. Yet I still feel as if I'm not the person they're looking for; now that they really know me they'll toss me aside for sure.
On the way back, I started thinking about my prayer life, my confessional life, and perhaps I haven't been living up to my obligation as a Catholic. Perhaps my worries aren't about the Capuchins, but my critical view of myself not doing everything I can to improve my relationship with God.
So this week, besides working on the first term paper I've had to write in 13 years, I'll be working on me. Besides just writing an autobiography, I can start to better build my spiritual life in the right now and prepare myself to be an instrument of Christ.
Maybe the bad weather wasn't such a bad thing. It seems I do my best introspective thinking behind the wheel.
My mind has been completely focused on this upcoming weekend with the Capuchins, as it is slated to be my initial interview regarding Postulancy. Try as I might to write about something other than this pivotal moment, I can't pull myself away.
Each day closer, my gut clenches tighter, I feel the tension in my back, and I reflect how the outcome of this weekend is another one of those momentous times in my life. In my great metaphor, I can only move forward, hoping the green light doesn't change to red.
Despite my obvious anxiety, I've been rather quiet in my personal life. I've only spoken of this concern with one other, and my spiritual director is on vacation until I return. Perhaps I have no one to bounce my fears off of, except for God. But if God is the one the called me, what fear should I have?
It reminds me of the fear I had last January, driving to my mother's house at 2AM. I'd broken up with my live-in girlfriend after she refused to believe I had a calling. "If Catholics take people like you to be priests, I'm glad I'm not Catholic!" still echos in my sub-conscious, as I remember being yelled at. Leaving with only the important things of my life, I knew I'd lived through one of the toughest parts of my discernment.
And during that drive home, with snowflakes gently falling onto the windshield as I heard the snow crunch under the tires of the car, the occasion was marked with a song, softly playing on the radio. As always, the song spoke not only about why I'd done what I'd done, but of the mountainous task yet to come.
Almost a year later, I stand as a better person, yet I hold onto the fears like on my first step. Will they think I'm good enough to join? Do they think I have a calling, or will their psychologists tell me I have a deep rooted issue with commitment, or an obsessive dreamer with a Messianic Complex?
It is human nature to worry, to stress over something to come. There are times I just wish I weren't so damn unsure about where my life is supposed to lead.
Restless tonight 'Cause I wasted the light Between both these times I drew a really thin line It's nothing I planned And not that I can But you should be mine Across that line
If I traded it all If I gave it all away For one thing Just for one thing If I sorted it out If I knew all about This one thing Wouldn't that be something?
I promise I might Not walk on by Maybe next time But not this time Even though I know I don't wanna know Yeah, I guess I know I just hate how it sounds
It I traded it all If I gave it all away For one thing If I sorted it out If I knew all about This one thing Wouldn't that be something
Even though I know I don't wanna know Yeah, I guess I know I just hate how it sounds
If I traded it all If I gave it all away For one thing If I sorted it out If I knew all about This one thing Wouldn't that be something
-Finger Eleven As usual, the song can be found in the player at the bottom. I found it rather fitting to play it while proofreading this blog. It gave it that "Movie Trailer" feel.
There's really not much to say, since the song says everything and it's association is self-evident. When this song was released in 2005, it coincided with the time in my life where I started to doubt the importance of material things. There was something else important I was missing. I wasn't sure what it was, and it would take a bad relationship and a spiritual awakening to put my on the right path years later, but I sensed that something greater was needed to complete me.
As always, I've added the song to my playlist, located at the bottom of this page; for your listening enjoyment.
Fumbling his confidence And wondering why the world has passed him by Hoping that he's meant for more than arguments And failed attempts to fly
We were meant to live for so much more Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere we live inside We were meant to live for so much more Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere we live inside
Dreaming about Providence And whether mice and men have second tries Maybe we've been living with our eyes half-open Maybe we're bent and broken
We were meant to live for so much more Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere we live inside We were meant to live for so much more Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere we live inside
We want more than this world's got to offer We want more than this world's got to offer We want more than the wars of our fathers And everything inside screams for second life
About the time many of you will be toasting in the new year, kissing your sweetie, and talking loftily of resolutions to come, I will be in a room of about 200 poker players that barely notice it's passing. I have no regret; I agreed to work this evening so others could enjoy the festive night with their friends/family.
