The second part of how I broke up with my ex-girlfriend. I share this not because it's juicy drama, rather it is one of the hardest experiences of my life...yet the first of some many hard choices I would have to make in pursuit of a religious vocation.

It's extremely hard for me to look back at this time of my life. Just adding it here brings back feelings of hopelessness, anger, guilt, selfishness, and other thoughts that I'd rather push out of my head. When leaving everything to my ex-girlfriend, I thought I was being noble. In retrospect, I was trying to pay off my level of guilt. No matter how filled with joy I felt about pursuing a vocation, I'd built up large amounts of guilt about this experience. There are other aspects to this story that come into my head which were not written down; I think it better to keep those things from the Internet.

I'm not proud of the life I used to live, nor is this a means to glorify it. However I often get smiles and praises when I go out wearing my habit. I have people telling how wonderful I am for pursuing a vocation, and how I'll be wonderful. To read the stories of my past serves as a humble reminder that I did very little to get to this point...the credit belongs to a much higher power.

Beware the language. Photo by IDG. -V

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another;" -James Matthew Barrie

If you haven't read part one, I encourage you to do so now.

Part of me thought "She'll be OK with this." Maybe I still thought I was in a great relationship, or maybe I was just blind to what she might do...I honestly thought it wouldn't be a problem. She said she was a Christian woman (despite being an adulterer), so perhaps everything would turn out alright.

After I told my girlfriend about what I was feeling, the end result was distrust. Because of how we spent the previous year, she couldn't comprehend that someone as "horrible" as me could actually be called to a religious life. She simply assumed I was sleeping with another woman.

I was a home wrecker. I wanted out of the relationship. I was using religion as an excuse because I wasn't man enough to say what I truly meant. These are the things she told me. I was so confused, both from understanding my calling and trying to make sense of the argument, she convinced me that I was making up an excuse. I started to feel horrible. I felt like a little kid who just broke a window playing baseball. I stood in the living room and let myself be yelled at.

I acted like a man who got caught fooling around. And in essence, that's really what I was doing, living with a woman who'd chosen not to divorce her previous husband, in spite of being separated. I was in a horrible situation from all aspects, and I built up a lot of guilt and shame.

During the next few weeks, things were rocky and cold in the apartment. We never slept in the same bed, we rarely talked anymore. Later on, she would describe the setting as "two roommates instead of two people in love."

January 13th, was a Sunday like most others (sorry for the cliche); she was absorbed in her video game while I was surfing the net, reading, and watching football. The reality of what was happening finally hit me: I was an adulterer - plain and simple. I decided to write down my thoughts here (referring to my old blog an a myspace account.) I wanted to find some sort of balance in my life between what was happening and what I felt in my heart. I wanted everything to make sense.

She, on the other hand, wanted to validate her feelings. And as the day progressed she chose that night to release her fury.

First she tried to prove I was cheating via myspace. I found this funny and showed her that I'd set up a second account to write about my vocation. Then she tried to use my job, saying that working late hours and never being home proved I was a cheater. I laughed at her again, reminding her I'd worked 11 hour days since we met, and that I was too tired or poor to fool around with another woman. Perhaps I laughed because I was fed up, or because I knew she was grasping at straws. (Looking back, I see it was my ego...eager to prove her wrong.)

Finally, she said I was using this whole "wanna be a priest thing" as a cover to go talk with another woman. It was an argument she'd used before, but I stopped laughing.

"I could have kept this to myself," I told her. "Wouldn't THAT have been the cowardly thing to do? To live together and for me not to share an important part of my life...isn't THAT living a lie?"

"I don't believe you," she replied. "You've been lying this entire time. You're just like every other man. You got what you wanted, now you want out. You can't even tell me to my face, you have to make some excuse."

"This is NOT some excuse. I spend my time away from work thinking about this. I feel happy thinking about it. In fact, I feel happier than I have in a long time."

She began to rant about how men were assholes, about how she didn't need anyone's help, about how she could take care of anything. As she talked, I asked God for the strength to get through the ordeal. I didn't know where I would live. I didn't know how I would survive. I didn't know how I could live with the guilt of what I was feeling, or the shame I would endure if I left. What I did know was that this "relationship" was nothing more than a hollow shell of a family...and to continue another day together would be destructive to everyone involved.

"My God wouldn't do this!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "I don't know what God you believe in, where you can hurt people and lie, but my God doesn't believe in that!"

"Does your God believe in letting married women screw around?" I thought. I'm not good with people who scream and yell, so I kept the thought to myself as she continued to yell.

As though she knew my thoughts, she found the way to piss me off:

"All those Catholic priests are f*cked up anyway!"

She could see the anger on my face, yet she knew that ever since we'd been together I'd never yelled at her. It wasn't in my nature. .

"Go ahead and say whatever you want! You won't leave. You don't have THE BALLS to leave me!"

She was absolutely right. In spite of the words she said to me, and the fact that this relationship was based on idealistic thoughts of love and passion rather than the reality of life, I still couldn't find enough courage to leave. Most men would brag how they'd never let their woman talk to them in this fashion. However I'd been the nice guy all my life - there was no place in my heart for the yelling and brute anger that she had towards me.

I tried to pray. I tried to ask for guidance. And in the end, I could only respond to the anger and screaming with serene words:

"If you don't need a man, if would rather think I'm a cheater, than good for you. If you don't need me, then I don't need to be here anymore."

She started to yell about how I was going to leave her with nothing. Most of the things in the house were mine, she'd be left without furniture, TV, computer, etc. In a calm voice, I responded: "You can have everything here. I'll take my clothes and an empty wallet."

As I collected my things, she remained quiet. I remember an old episode of CSI Miami playing on the TV. I remember feeling bad that her daughter had to be present during the exchange. I remember feeling again like a little kid who's in trouble. As I collected my things, she yelled at me "Don't walk around like your puppy just died!" but I didn't know what else to do. It was either that, or let my rage take over and rip her throat out with my bare hands.

After I'd finally gotten my things into the car, I left the key on the desk. In a calmer voice she still tried to sound firm: "That door only swings one way. If you walk through it, don't expect to come back."

They say that we have 5-6 truly life changing events in our lives. While we have events that affect us, there are only a few that really change who we are and how we perceive the world. I realized that I was standing at the crossroads of a great decision. One of them had the comfort of familiarity; I wasn't happy with my life, but I knew what would happen. I would be safe.

Down the other road lie the possibility of something wonderful happening, but I had no clue how I would survive. I'd just given up my apartment, all my things, and a year long commitment that I thought was the answer to my prayers. Life was so uncertain right now.

I grabbed my last bag, walked out of the apartment, and drove off in the snow.

"One Thing" by Finger Eleven played on the radio.

I smiled, as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Slowly, I drove to my mom's house.

That night I cried. I felt like a failure, and I had no clue what to do next. I slept on a sleeping bag that night instead of my lovely bed. I thanked God for having a roof over my head, for having a job to go to the next morning, and for having a family that would support me, even when I'd given up everything.

Little did I know that the relationship was not done. The next time I'd enter the apartment I'd be escorted by police. There was court, bill collectors, and the worst cleaning experience of my life.

As I continue to re-issue posts from my first blog, an attempt before creating my current blog at http://vocationstory.blogspot.com (Pardon the gross self-promotion), I want to share an old prayer of discernment I'd written.

I was rather shocked at how much this spontaneous prayer sounded like the famous prayer of Thomas Merton. I had no clue who Thomas was or about his journey; I would have started reading his works immediately if I knew how much of his life pertained to my current way of thinking.

The post also provides a brief understanding of the importance of prayer. Sometimes we feel it’s hard to talk to God. How do we find the words to say what we truly mean?

There’s many different ways of praying...the hardest part is often making the time and the commitment. Even before knowing about the Divine Office, Lexio Divina, or the other numerous forms of prayer, I was able to use prayer as a reminder of my vocation – in hopes that I would keep this journey at the forefront of my mind.

Peace and all good, -V

Lord,

I am searching. I have heard your call; let me understand your plan for me so I can follow your way. I am so confused at this point, dear Lord. Help me have the patience to wait for your plan to become clear to me. Give me the strength to live in your footsteps, and grant me the courage to act when you plan is finally revealed to me...regardless of wherever it is.

Amen.

Something I’ve started since discerning is the ritual of prayer. It’s been a looong time since I’ve taken the time to talk to God, yet I’ve restarted the practice – in the morning and evening. I was late for work today, but even in my rush to get to work I took time to stop and pray...simply asking for God to reveal His plan for me and for the strength I so need in this hard time of my life.

The nature of prayer is honestly still a mystery to me. Sometimes prayer feels fulfilling, even inspiring. Other times I wonder if I’m praying to some Divine Answering Machine (begin your intentions after the beep).I don’t know if there’s a way I’m supposed to talk to God, or if depends on the situation.

In spite of the confusion, I still feel it is beneficial. I might only have started just recently, but it gives me a sense of peace and reminds me of my ultimate goal each day. I’m sure there are prayer books and structured methods to pray, however I’m not familiar with any of them, nor do I have any of those books. If all else fails, I still have my rosary.

I just hope I wake up with enough time tomorrow!

What follows is my first discussion to my girlfriend about my vocation. This argument, except for my first visit with a vocation director, is the first move forward I made in my vocational journey.

In recollection, the step forward feels like a step backwards. It is clear from the writings at the time, and through a lot of discernment, that part of me was looking for a way out of the relationship. It’s a hard fact to face when you realize you are as much of an ass as you were told you were.

Rather than create a theology of “God gave me a way out,” the greater question I ask, sitting in prayer or quietly in my room, is: “If this was my way out, does that mean I should still be here? Is this all a continuous lie?” My life as a Novice with the Capuchins does not feel like a lie, nor does my being here attempt to validate an excuse I gave 2.5 years ago. These past few years have been some of the greatest (yet confusing) years of my life. While I am willing to recognize my immaturities (both as a man and as a spiritual being), I can stand where I am now, turn around, and be thankful for how I’ve grown.

Thoughts of inadequacy to my vocation still crop up. Reading these lines still make me feel unworthy, crediting these past years of life not to myself, but to the guiding power of the Holy Spirit.

Sorry for the huge preface. Peace to you. -V

Currently I face two hard questions regarding my future with a religious vocation: my girlfriend and her daughter - both of whom currently live with me. For some pretty obvious reasons the Church takes issue with this kind of “living arrangement,” especially for those who are thinking about becoming a priest.

I first told Girlfriend about my “calling” almost 2 months after first having this feeling. I’d kept it under wraps for a while, protecting my “little secret” as if I were having an affair. One morning her daughter missed the bus and I drove her to school. She was headed out to the car when I remembered about the vocation pamphlets sitting on the passenger seat. She would be confused…then ask her mother about it! I ran outside to “warm up the car,” feeling guilty as I hid the papers under one of the seats.

I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be doing, and I was already hiding this fact about who I was. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a priest…maybe I’m just supposed do more with the church. Either way I knew I couldn’t continue to live by hiding this important event in my life. Don’t I have a right to figure out this vocation? Don’t I owe God some kind of response?

After dropping of her daughter at school, I came home and simply blurted out what was going on: “Honey, God’s called me to do something. I don’t know what it is, but I think he may be calling me to be a priest. And I don’t know what to do, because becoming a priest means I would have to give you and Stepdaughter up.”

My masculinity doesn’t usually admit to emotional release, however I cried – and honest cry from the heart. I’d put myself at her mercy, ready to accept whatever rage or distraught she displayed from this revelation of mine.

Oddly enough, she told me how wonderful it was to have something like this revealed to me. She told me it was great, and I should explore where God was calling me.

“It can’t be this easy!” I thought to myself as I drove to work. Where was all the ugliness, anger, and mistrust that was supposed to come from a conversation like this? The vocation director told me that this would be a painful experience for her and I, but it was a conversation that had to occur. Yet nothing like that even happened?

I had a great day at work, completely forgetting about the discussion that morning. Perhaps by Divine Providence, Stepdaughter was spending the night at a friend’s house and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow morning…making time and space for what was about to happen.

When I returned home, the situation had completely changed from when I left. The conversational feuding soon ensued…just as I had been foretold. I was called a liar, a user of women, a self-centered man, and few other choice words that would be improper to print here. All of my personal faults and flaws were pointed out, as if she had started making a list the second I left for work. My flaws as a man, my shortcomings as a boyfriend and lover, and a provider were brought up, and I was frequently reminded how I had promised to make a life with her and her daughter. (Note: While we were never engaged, certain expectations arise when you live with someone for over a year. This is not to make me look better; rather it is to give understanding to this particular moment in my life. -V)

Out of all the attacks and expletives I heard that night, the toughest words I had to digest were: “If the Catholic Church would take someone like YOU to be a priest, then they are really ****’ed!” I may be a great negotiator and a good arguer, but when people start shouting in anger, I really have to watch my words. I know when I get angry; I can say things I don’t mean. In spite of the venom of her words, I sat silent and accepted what I had started.

So in the heat of the tirade, I knew what I had to ask, and I knew that I had to be willing to follow up with whatever answer she gave. I told her that if she wanted me to leave, with only the clothes on my back and an empty wallet…then so be it.

And yes, she told me to leave.

Yet in doing so, it was a rhetorical statement. She said that it proved her point that I wanted a way out of the relationship…that this whole “priest thing” was a concoction to hide the fact that I was too scared to break it off. I stood up, not knowing whether I should stay or go…not knowing if she really wanted me to stay or go.

In the end, I told her that I wasn’t sure where God wanted me to go, or what he wanted me to do. Things would become complicated in a break-up, emotionally and logistically, so I told her that I don’t know what God has in store for me, but I’d like to know where it leads me, and I’d like her to be with me for as long as she wished.

This all happened the weekend of Christmas.

From that argument until now, we’ve only slept in the same bed once. There’s a distance between us that is clearly visible, but there’s nothing to say about it that hasn’t already been said. If she wants me to go, then that’s what I will do. If I have to leave behind all of the material things I’ve bought: TV, X-Box, PC, furniture – then that is what I will do to search this call. At this point, I’ve already grown indifferent to a lot of the things that used to bring me pleasure. If I can eat, clothe, and bathe myself, then all my concerns are met at this point.

During all of this, I have often wondered why God would give, only then to take away. For years, I was successful at my job, yet felt I was missing something. When I met Girlfriend and her daughter, I was convinced that they were the missing piece of my happiness. Yet even after six months into the relationship, I knew something was not there. But why would God take the blessings He’s bestowed on me, and then ask me to give them all up to serve?
I realize I’m the last person to question His plan at the moment, and I need to be more as Job was, not complaining about what God has given or taken from me. I only pray that though all of this, I can find some place or some reason for all of this to happen, and not destroy the lives of two good people in the process.

In hopes that I can continue to provide blogs while having limited access on the internet, I've decided to re-issue some of my first-ever blogs. These were written 2 and a half years ago - soon after having my "God moment" where I first felt called to a vocation. They show the confusion, the joy, and the fear I felt about how my life was about to change.

Looking back at these remind me of how I felt at first. At times, that innocence and confusion is lost in all the prayer, liturgy, theology, and ministry. It is snapshots like these that help remind me of the long journey I've taken to get this far, and how I still have so far to go. -V

I had hoped that by keeping busy and avoiding the topic, I would simply forget about the possibilities and the questions that my future now held in store for me. I wanted someone to tell me it was just a mid-life crisis, or even an exotic hobby – like skydiving.

Today I woke up with the thought of serving God at the forefront of my mind. In the last two months I’ve tried to forget this “call” that I’ve received. In fact, I really haven’t done much to respond. There’s a part of me that’s scared of what I may learn about myself…scared about how I will have to change and what I may become. Maybe I’m not ready to commit 100%. Or maybe I’m just not ready to give up control.

But last night, when I was in bed and Girlfriend was still on the computer, I thought about the lie I was living. She’s convinced this is all an elaborate scheme to get rid of her and her daughter; she refuses to believe otherwise…in spite of what I’ve tried to tell her about this unique experience I’ve had.

In a way, she’s right. Have I really changed my life since I’ve started “discerning” this Great Plan that I feel I’ve discovered? Have I sought reconciliation for my sins against others? Have I made more time for church? What do I even know about my faith? I’ve only opened the Bible a few times in the 2 months since this feeling started. How could someone as horrible as me actually have a calling to ANY religious vocation…much less the priesthood? Of course she thinks I’m lying!

And so today I must ask myself: If I truly want to serve God in whatever fashion He’s decided to call me, if I truly am going to open my heart and be open to whatever this journey may lead..am I willing to do it to appease others, to prove to Girlfriend that I’m not a lair, or am I willing to walk this path simply because I’ve had a unique and awe-inspiring moment with God? I’ve spent a lifetime trying to live up to other’s expectations; am I willing to do this for God and myself alone?

My only connection to my faith these past few years has been Lent. A few years ago I gave up smoking. I figured if Jesus could do 40 days in the desert, I could do 40 days without a Marlboro. Last year I gave up Monster Energy Drinks. Today I’ve made a commitment for a month to give up computer games. I know I could give up bigger things, however the time I waste could be better used for research, prayer, or concerning myself with the future…one that is no longer clear.

Tonight when I get home, I will talk to Girlfriend about what I am doing. I’m sure she’ll be surprised. She’ll ask why. And I’m going to have to explain that this is not a joke, nor is it a plan to get out of the relationship. I realize us living together is far from the “ideal Christian living situation,” but I just want to be sure. Can I be sure? Will I ever be sure? Perhaps not. But before dropping everything in my life and pursuing some wild idea of becoming a priest, I have to know more.

Whoever said “Let go, and let God” never had as big a handful as I do right now.

For most people, July 4th is a time of celebration. And since it hasn't completely turned into a day/weekend of binge drinking (e.g. St. Patrick's Day or Cinco de Mayo), something tells me that many people feel there is an importance to the date that supersedes us as individuals. It's a day that we can celebrate our freedom from oppression from the British rule...

...and then use that power to enslave, eradicate, displace, conquer, acquire land, then expel the indigenous...all in the name of Manifest Destiny.

I struggle with the sins of founders, and recognize the imitation of other leaders to achieve what we have through the same means. We wonder about the evils committed today, yet explain away the evils of our forebearers. In 100 years from now, will we forget the drive to end abortion, saying only: "That's how things were back then." In 100 years, will our descendants see any kind of evil in stem cell research with human embryos, or will we tell ourselves: "Yes it was bad, but look what we've done with that knowledge!" I realize I am making broad arguments, but I wonder if we as a country have found a way to explain away our bad deeds...so we can feel proud to wave our flag and to love our country.

All of this can surely be debated, however it is not the prime example of why I do not share in the usual July 4th celebrations:

When I was 16, my mother and I went downtown to see the fireworks on the 4th of July. It was our first year in Grand Rapids, MI...a much bigger town than Davenport, IA. I wasn't the out-spoken challenger of authority that I am now; I spent most of my childhood as a quiet poor kid surrounded by wealthy white kids...some of which had no problem telling me where I "belonged."

That evening when we got downtown, we found a place to sit and watch the fireworks. This (white) couple behind us starts making comments.

"Why do they always get in the way?"
"Why do illegal immigrants need to be here on the 4th of July?"
"I bet they don't even speak English."

There's two ways to experience this sort of thing. Being a quiet kid, I chose to not do anything. Underneath, I felt horrible...even guilty for having been "in their way."

My mother, on the other hand, whipped around and tore into the couple. Ironically enough, it was a middle-aged family with their 7 year-old son listening intently to the argument that now ensued. I remember hearing the man threaten to throw my mom into the fountain that was nearby; I remember the wife to tell her to "Shut up!" I remember the boy watching intently...all while the "Star Spangled Banner" played and the sound of fireworks filled the sky.

"United We Stand." No thanks, I'll pass.

Unfortunately, I've been forced to view my world without the rose-colored glasses. And if by reminding people of our past transgressions as a country labels me as "unpatriotic, unthankful, or even un-American," it won't be anything I haven't already lived.

May your day be spent with friends, family, and those you love.

-V

While I'd hoped the previous entry would have helped heal some of my heartache, I found that even today I was still thinking about the time spent online. It is something I keep rather personal; I feel other people can't understand or maybe cannot see past the initial idea of a video game being a means to help someone begin to understand religious life.

The biggest reason I dwell on this as an issue is because it will not be the last time I have to deal with such feelings. What happens in 5-6 years when I miss going through the formation process with my classmates? What happens in 20 years when I miss a parish or ministry that I presided at? What happens when I'm old and can't get out of my wheelchair...trapped in the memories of the past that I cannot return to?

I spoke of this in generalities with my formation director. He was wonderful in not pressing details, and gave me a few things to think about as I continue to work through this rather unique time in my life.

Many of us remember things in our life that when they are gone, it is like losing someone we loved. The experiences, the memories, the change in our life which are the fruit of such things...all of those are linked with with grieving process. While his words made sense, even I found it hard to really try and grieve for a character made to exist in a fake world.

He continued to talk about healthy ways to express the good that is found in such things. He mentioned that because I liked to write, perhaps I could put such things down for me to read, and put them in the sense that they are not sad, but wonderful memories to be cherished.

He also talked about a symbolic death for whatever I was longing for. He explained that when I was ready to make peace and be able to let go of the past, that a symbolic death could be a way for me to kind of deal with the issue once and for all. It wouldn't be hard to just delete my character (which still exists in Sony's database). I don't know if I'm ready for that quite yet, even though I haven't seriously played the game in years.

I spent quite a bit of time thinking about this issue, although I am still not proud to talk about it in public. I think what I will do is log in one last time to visit the many places I remembered during those past 4 years, grab a few screenshots along the way, and begin to put down stories that I remember from my time there. While it may not be of interest for many of my readers, perhaps it will be something that benefits me and my journey to become closer to God.

My formator also told me he heard a lot of symbolism in my discussion of this topic; he said he could hear my reverence for whatever I was describing. He offered (gently) for me to begin and share that with the community here in Milwaukee, since I considered it so important to who I was. I told him of my fear of vulnerability, and that my personal EQ experience was like a special flower I kept hidden from the rest of the world. It was something I protected, something I cherished but refused to let others see for fear they would not understand. To share this part of my life is scary.

But perhaps that's where my catharsis will lie: in the telling of my entire story with pride and joy. To deny any part of my journey on this long, winding road is simply to lie to myself. To not say that a video game impacted my life is to deny everything about me that I never liked before finding my vocation. What I've learned is that God works with our faults and our quirks, and uses them for whatever means he sees fit.

Maybe I'll keep the stories here, perhaps I'll create a new blog for the gaming community; a place where such stories and memories can be shared with others who hold their EQ memories close like I do. I don't know exactly what my plan of action is, but I know I will do something I haven't done in a long time: face my fears, admit my weaknesses, and find a way to put this important time in my life down for others to see.

I hate to admit it, but sometimes I miss living in a false reality.

When people ask me what kind of person I was before being a Capuchin Postulant, I tell them all about my sales days, and my time spent at the poker rooms. They usually laugh or make a joke at this point in which I return with a funnier joke, and it's a wonderful story for them to tell others.

Sometimes I want them to ask me: "So what do you miss most about your old life?" For them it would be a surprise because it wouldn't be women, status, big paychecks, or anything tangible. What I miss the most was the chance to wage war with my guild, joke and laugh with a group of people whom I called friends (yet only saw a few of them in real life), moaned and complained with when we were frustrated, and shouted at and led when there was task to be done. What I would tell them is that I miss 4 years of my life spent "in community" with a group of 50-70 people from around the country (and in some cases around the world) as we got together to laugh, curse, conquer, argue, be inspired, share, and always with the intention of becoming better.

I've written many times about finding all these things in an online game, and I think the paradox that many people find with this type of community, beneficial or otherwise, is that to spend so much time in this way is to remove oneself from what is happening in the "real world." To spend a weekend on the computer is to spend time away from family/friends, to not exercise or move much, to not eat balanced meals, and to spend an "unhealthy amount of time" in front of the computer. The same exists with any other MMORPG (World of Warcraft, Vangaurd, Lord of the Rings Online).

And perhaps there are reasons for people to be worried at times. If someone is not mentally stable, they may have a hard time differentiating from fantasy and reality. Young children should not play these types of games in an environment where the parents cannot monitor what is happening. Games like these can cause people to lose jobs, loss personal money/property, improper sleep and eating habits, unhealthy social habits, and can lead to addiction for those who are prone to such things.

Taking all these things into consideration, I still feel a loss at times for not having the community of people I knew when I played Everquest. While the game held promise and the goals in the game were long-term, the part that mattered most (and the reason I sometimes spend $15 bucks to log in and say hi) is because of the people. It's all fun and games until you start meeting people on a real level, and begin to hear their stories.

I remember a 20 year old woman who had just developed Epilepsy. Since I'd had the condition for over 15 years, we used to spend lots of time talking about her fears, sharing stories about trips to the doctor's, not being able to drive at times...the game was merely a means of a support group.

I remember watching as our guildleader told stories about his newborn baby, and how the women in the guild would share their experiences and advice.

I remember learning about proper leadership during raids (large group encounters that could have 72+ players in one huge group). I remember lifting people up who'd never performed a task in front of such a large group, who were worried about failing. I learned to handle people who were overbearing, not paying attention, or simply did not share my point of view.

I remember the sense of loss for a player who'd died in real life, yet never seen the guy until a picture was posted after his death. I wondered if it was possible to feel grief for someone you've only met in an online game, and ended up realizing that it made you wish you had the chance to know the person even more.

I think of all these things, not the amount of time spent in front of a computer sitting on my ass. I think of how much I miss the time spent, and not the time I wasted. I recollect the memories of these things that happen on a computer screen, but they're not different than a memory from a bar or the beach. As wrong and unhealthy as it sounds, I want to relive the past. And that's why, every now and then, I really think about logging back into EQ.

Like an older man fighting mid-life crisis, I find myself at times wishing for the way things were. But on those rare occasions when I do log back in, I realize that only a few people remain from my memories. Those large numbers of friends have moved on. Some are playing different games, some are raising children, some are fighting a terminal illness, some are living happily and maybe haven't thought about this game since they left.I still keep in contact with some of those people who have also moved on. There's something they say that always give me something to contemplate: "Your decision to become a friar actually doesn't surprise me; I could see it in you years ago." I find it very reassuring, but some would find it very contradictory: How could someone who wants to live the life of God choose to spend their evenings in front of a computer instead of working at a soup kitchen, or helping at a homeless shelter. Instead of spending Sunday recuperating from a late night raid, why didn't I spend that time at Church? If I enjoyed community so much, why was I not able to do it in real life?

I've yet to figure out how He decided to make this all work, but I'm going with the flow. And while I can't explain the complexity of an online interaction to someone who's never even heard of these games, I can only live my life by reflecting on all the things I've learned. I continue to use what I learned from a simple video game in my ministry, and unfortunately I still continue to hide this huge influence from others I meet.

But like that man in his mid-life crisis, I miss the people I knew (even though some of them I never knew their real first name), I miss the great deeds we did (even though they don't seem so great in context of the real world) and I miss the time I spent with them (even though I was sitting alone in front of my computer.) And as those thoughts sink in, my desire to play leaves me...for now.

Perhaps after I'm dead and gone, someone will remember my time in Everquest and remember what I did. And perhaps while I wasn't a saint, I could get my old character canonized as the patron saint for MMORPG players: "Saint Severaen of the Faydark"

I finish with my head swimming in memories, and my heart heavy for a time now gone by.

(rather poetically, I looked online in the guild forum and in my old email box for screenshots of my time in EQ. I could find only a few, and only one with me -Severaen- in it.)

My first round in the sales business was at the store everybody knows. I wore the blue shirt and khakis, I told people how I wasn't on commission, and while I was never paid extra I worked my butt off to sell those Extended Service Plans. Fun Fact: If you ever get into one of those high-pressure situations and the sales guy tells you he's not on commission, tell him: "Lucky for you then, huh?" and walk away without saying another thing.

One of the first things "Big Blue" taught me, as with any other large business, is how to actually sell something. The process is as old as the first caveman traded a spear for a woman, but the fundamentals never change:

Greeting: "Hi, welcome to G.T Autos. My name is Vito, and you are...?" Make a good first impression on the customer, make them feel welcome. Try to get them to smile, even laugh. Find common ground.

Gathering Information: Your customer is at your store for a specific reason. If they are looking for a computer, find out what kind? Desktop or notebook? Who's going to use it? What are you using it for? As you ask, you learn more about what the customer's needs are.

Recommend - Isolate: After listening to the needs and wants of your customer, show them the item that best fits their description. Should the customer object, reiterate their wants and needs and explain how this item is better than the others around.

Close: After showing the customer the item that best suits their needs, get a commitment to buy from the customer. Your product knowledge as well as your gathered information will help you overcome customer objections.

In any sport or competition, if you know what your opponent is doing, you'll have the edge. While we're not engaging in physical acts of strength and agility to buy a used car, there is a level of competition that can't be ignored. Because of our egos, we don't like to be tricked into buying something. We like to earn a deal, we don't like to be given one. We'd rather buy from someone we know, even if they're clueless about the product, then buy from an informed stranger.

Sales people know this, and these are tools that they use to "push" you in the direction they want you to go. The best can gently push you so far off your target, you end up buying something completely different than what you planned. There is a way to avoid this, and I'll get further in detail later. For now, let's agree that if it benefits the seller to know the buyer's actions, the same must be true in reverse.

Here's another example: Studies and market samples show that car buying habits are broken down into 4 major decisions. Depending on the buyer, those decisions can take as short as a day and as long as 8 months. Whether it be a widget, a service, or personal property, all purchases must go through this 4-step decision before a customer buys:

Exposure (Average time - Instantaneous): You see a commercial for the new BMW M5. You're buddy tells you about the new pair of Nike's he bought. You see your neighbor's new deck and think you might want one yourself. Something sparks your interest in a particular item. In most cases, a need for a new or second vehicle (gas prices, child leaving for college, growing family) is the initial exposure to buying a car.

Gather Information (Average time - 2 weeks to 6 months): You've accepted that you need a new vehicle, but which one should you get? Do you want to buy/lease a new vehicle, or just a used car? How much can you spend? Should I buy a domestic or an import? Since the decision to buy a vehicle involves so many choices and considerations, the gathering of information should take the longest part of the entire process.

Decision to Buy (Average time - 3 days to 2 weeks): After examining all the options, making a list of the pro's and con's, and maybe even settling on the specific make and model of vehicle you want, so begins the process of buying the car. You are still gathering information, but this process is more of a personal decision to spend the money and make the purchase. Will it cost more than you have? Where will you get the best bang for your buck? Do you truly need a car, or do you just want one?

Act of Buying/Delivery (Instantaneous - 30 minutes): This is the awkward climax that some of us love and others hate. This is the reason you bring friends along and why you feel nervous about the vehicle. This is why companies like CARFAX, Edmund's, and Consumer Reports make money hand over fist. This is why we tell friends we bought something and lie to make it sound like we got a better deal. This is the knowledge that you will buy this item, and you need only give them the funds to end the transaction.

The big question you probably want answered: "What do these things have to do with my car buying experience?"

These last four steps are key to any salesperson's approach. If you walk on the lot and I know you're still at step two, I tailor my approach to match. A guy walks onto the lot and tells me: "My buddy got a Honda last week, says it's great on gas. What can you tell me about that Civic over there?" Obviously he's just been exposed to the Honda brand; closing a deal on this guy would be considered offensive. My method of attack: become a walking Mexican of Knowledge, give him product knowledge, acclaims and benefits of the vehicle, show him the history of the car, and perhaps even let him test drive the vehicle. I may ask a few "closing questions," but I know that aggressive sales will backfire.

One day I met a woman who was looking at our Honda's in the pouring rain. As we stood outside in the storm, she told me how during the closing at another dealership, the owner changed the price at the last moment, hoping she'd be fed up and pay anyway. She left angry, depressed, and with $6500 in her hip pocket. She was on Step 4 already and suffered from the same problem many of us face: we don't want to do the whole thing again. Within an hour she left with a 1995 Honda Accord with good mileage and warranty for under $5500. By knowing which part of the sales process she was at, I adjusted accordingly.

In much the same way, you can use the sales process to your advantage.

Answer to the Greeting: If you're absolutely sure you don't want information, there's ways out. Keep in mind, if you want questions asked about a car later, you may be labeled as a "tire kicker" and have to come back another time:

• Start a fight with your boy/girl friend. Nothing's more awkward than trying to talk about cars with a couple who are obviously having a tiff. If you're with your significant other to browse for cars, plan to act mad at each other. If you don't drive off the sales guy, he'll definitely back off.
• If you have your iPaq or Blackberry stand at the front of the cars and walk with it in one hand and your stylus in the other. If you're approached, just wave, smile non-nonchalantly and tell them: "I'm just grabbing VIN numbers." If you've ever worked in the car business, you'll know why this trick works.
• Look like a salesman. Walk fast, talk fast, and have that "I want to sell you something" grin on your face. Dealerships are bombarded daily with people who are trying to sell them something. If they think you are a solicitor, or you're just stopping for your lunch hour, you'll be left alone.
  

Answer to Probing Questions: This part actually is beneficial to you. Information is what you are after, and if the person you're talking to is truly benefiting your shopping experience.

Okay, so maybe I'm being over-dramatic. But trust me: once you spend a day not being able to keep food or drink down, you might find yourself on your knees, with your hands on the porcelain throne, praying either for repentance or that The Almighty might strike you down and end your suffering.

Friday morning I awoke groggily. I debated going on my walk; I chose to lay down again. I considered getting up 15 minutes later; I rolled over in my bed. At 8:10AM I shot out of bed with a wave of nausea, thinking only about getting to the bathroom before staining the carpet. I still tried to work Friday, but after 3 more "trips" to the restroom, I decided to suffer alone and in the comfort of my bed rather than the office.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea - the point isn't to gross everyone out. While the affliction lasted only half a day (which was plenty long enough), I spent the weekend recovering from the dehydration and mal-nutrition effects.

First and foremost: no I was not drinking the night before. I have my share of This one time when we got really wasted stories; this is not one of them. I've come to four possible conclusions as to why I spent Friday in complete misery (seriously, I wasn't drinking!):

1. Egg Salad Poisoning. It's a well-publicized urban legend that eating gas-station egg-salad sandwiches will give you worms. Thursday evening, in our rush to get out to the fishing hole before the day's light ran out, I threw caution to the wind and decided that egg salad couldn't be as bad as they say. I ate the first part and let the other half sit for an hour in the car before finishing it up. Yum.
2. Malaria. I mentioned before how I had mosquito bites on top of my mosquito bites. Several nights spent fishing I was only wearing a short-sleeve shirt and shorts: a blood-sucker's free-for-all. Along with the stomach issues I had chills, a possible fever, and I couldn't focus my mind on anything. It seems that when you're sick, your mind fixates on the wildest thoughts.
3. Hydrochlorothiozide. I was prescribed this medication months ago to help control my blood pressure. Because of my hatred for pills, I never took them. Yet when I refilled my seizure medication last week, I decided to "man up" and start taking these meds as well. The episode could have been a huge side-effect to the medication.
4. The most probable answer - I incurred the Immediate and Omnipotent Wrath of the Almighty. Since hearing from the Capuchins that I had been accepted, my life hasn't changed much yet. In fact, I found myself slipping further back into my old ways-habits and activities that most would consider unproductive or un-Christian. I know He's given me nudges in a certain direction before; it's entirely possible a stronger nudge is used from time to time.

Regardless of why the episode happened, the real eye-opener for me was how my brothers from Chicago called and emailed me all Friday and Saturday, leaving messages of concern. Here I was, less than 100 days from starting a "new" path, and I'd almost found my way back down the spiral: I was smoking again, spending money without forethought, acting lazily and without thought to others, being selfish, slothful, lustful, envious...I'm not trying to be a person without sin, I'm trying to be a person who's aware of his sins.

I've spend the past week being "sales guy;" maybe deep inside, I'm still a little scared of what it means to be "religious guy."

Maybe I'll write a screenplay when this is all over, a big thick manuscript in perfect New Courier font, so that someday readers, family, friends, or just curious minds can see what it's like for someone to go from one extreme in life to the next.

If only there were some experience, something metaphoric, life-changing, and inspiring, that would prove to me, and just me, that this whole priest/friar/Franciscan thing is for real...

During this Triduum weekend, we had time for some faith-sharing. Around 5AM, we began to talk about our discernment stories, and how we've gone from "where we were" to "where we are."

As the 6 or 7 of us listened to each other's story, I soon found myself talking about my life - not just as a salesman, but as a man who'd admitted to having an unhealthy attitude towards women. While all of my relationships with the opposite sex are strictly platonic at this point in my life, I spoke of my desire to fix women: this idea that love and intimacy could be shown strictly through my charity and sympathy. To say I don't understand women is a great understatement.

One of the people in this circle was a woman from Cap Corps, a full-time volunteer program for men and women to help serve the needs of the poor and live as St. Francis told us. She works with men and women who have a history with abusive relationships. She has great wisdom, is a wonderful poet, and I was happy to have met her.

Today she sent me an email, along with another poem. While it was written long before we ever crossed paths, reading it made me feel as if it had been written by the thoughts and minds of every woman I've ever been close to. It was as if the voices of multitudes scolded me in my mind.

"See. See. This is the pain you don't know of. This is the heartache and the longing and the hope we have in love." I could almost hear it with my ears.

While I usually reserve the words of songs for my discernment & music series, the words of this woman are louder than any song and hit harder than any drum. Thank you again, Marcia, for sharing your words.

Sometimes I think you want me to right a poem about you,
put your dustashes and glimmersmiles into words so that you can feel them and determine if you are real.
Sometimes I wish that I could write you that poem,
share it with you,
and let you know that you are worth it.
that we could laugh and cry and dance and struggle through it-together,
until the poem becomes ours and I am no longer writing.

But now I write so that I can determine if we existed at all,
and determine how to let you go.
How to right my poem,
so that I can laugh and cry and dance and struggle until I am no longer writing.
But even as I attempt to right you out, I want to write you in,
put you into words that I can hold on to.
Keep you with me to be engulfed in the warmth of God in your spirit,
enveloped in a shared hug and intertwined fingertips,
I want to be able to feel you in the spaces between these words,
and be able to hold onto
what was never mine.
I want to hold onto the part of me that wants to still believe in possibilities,
that wants to still believe that maybe one day you will just show up,
or send a letter or a million other romantic possibilities that I see in the movies and invent in my head while I am telling myself not to believe in them,
or at least not in you being them.
I want to believe that you will continue to pursue me,
to pursue us,
even when all the evidence speaks otherwise.
Or at least love me enough to speak to me other-wise.
To share words that you have found a space that is yours
and that the role that I held in that space has changed,
and you have changed,
and we have changed.
I want to hold onto the part of me that still believes that you will call me,
maybe now, maybe ten years later,
and tell me that I am worth it.

I want to hold onto this belief that love can be forever.
That our poem does not end only in the words between spaces
or the spaces between the words.
even as the evidence in my life speaks other-wise.
I cling to crumbs of possibilities that I do not want to let go of.
Do not want to believe that you or I or he or she can only love sporadically,
only say I love you when it is convenient,
that one day there is and another is gone.
Wanting to believe that even if love changes,
there is still a shadow of it that is strong enough to say in words instead of only spaces,
“I am leaving, and I am changing, we are growing, and it is apart,
but I still respect you and I love you, pray the best for you,
and you are worth it.
and you are worth it.”
maybe that’s all, at the root, is just wanting to be worth it,
to be given the gift of certainty not only from your spaces but from your words,
not only from your words but from your spaces,
that I am worth it.
that I am worth enough to give of yourself in uncertain certainty,
whether it be words of leaving or spaces of self.
I want to hear you,
your words,
in more than your spaces,
so that I can be strong enough to move on.
Even as my hope speaks otherwise.

So I guess, in the end, I am just trying to push my choice onto your actions,
so that I do not have to decide on my own,
to let go,
when all of the evidence speaks of-wise.
Because I too, can say
"I am leaving, I am changing, we growing, and it is apart, but I still respect you
and I love you, pray the best for you, and you are worth it.”
my excuse for not giving you these words? I am tired of always having to initiate this, because you are not the first to leave without leaving,
to speak only in spaces between words and expect me to only hear with my mind that is
logical,
when the essence of love is more than logic.

And maybe this is my cross, and maybe this is my burden,
because I am the one that needs both words between spaces and spaces between words. Needs to hear the sound of the spaces to know that they are real,
and to feel that I am worth it.
but I still question,
if you were to right my poem, would you want to be given only the spaces or only the words? Would you want to be given the gift of certainty, in words that are honest to where I am?
or is it better to leave without leaving?

I know that it takes courage to leave,
courage to change,
and maybe for you, spaces without words are all that you can give
or maybe for you, spaces without words would be enough to leave you,
but would they be enough to affirm you?
To affirm that you are worth confronting a situation that is difficult or not working,
to wrestle through it, instead of fleeing?
Fleeing and hoping that if you leave enough spaces,
that I will understand and I will not ask you for the courage to face what is difficult and you
can just flee,
until the next time you are asked to confront if I am worth it.

so I ask you,
I beg you,
please, try to feel the words between the spaces in my poem,
the one that I am writing to determine if I exist at all.
try to put my dustashes and glimmersmiles into your spaces,
determine if I am real,
and if I am, please, please,
allow yourself to be in the spaces that remember how we laughed and cried and danced
and struggled-together,
and find inside yourself the courage to just say that this part of our journey is over,
I am here and you are there, and it is time to go along our separate paths.
have the courage to take in and let go of what I will give you in return for your courage, whether it be understanding, denial, or explosion.
Have courage in the righting of your poem,
because you are worth it.

And so, with this words and with these spaces, I am trying again,
as I do with each writing,
to leave you here so that I will no longer hold you
in the crevices of me that are hopefulled for a you and me combination thats time has passed. I am gathering the courage to approach you and let you know that I am leaving,
that it appears to me that the lines in our relationship have shifted,
that it is what it is and that I love you-even as we shift,
because we will still be connected-in one form or the next,
and that is worth it.
I am placing those holding holes in between the spaces of these words,
allowing time to seep into the holes and patch them in new and creative ways that allows
them to flourish into changing spaces and different words,
allowing myself to let go,
because I am worth it.

~praying for the Grace to allow God to be the moment.

-written by Marcia Lee

originally written on 1/30/08

It's about 8AM, and I did something highly unusual this morning: I spend about an hour in prayer.

I wasn't on my knees, prostrate, in front of a bed or knelt in front of a statue or candle; I laid on my buddies couch, arms folded and the hood of my Michigan hoodie pulled up for warmth, talking with God then spending time in contemplation.

Morning prayer is something I've always had an issue with, not because of my spirituality but because I'm not a morning person. Cognitive activity right after waking up is not a strong suit for me, and I could never imagine saying anything truly important or worth-while when I was still trying to get the sleep-gunk out of my eyes.

That's not to say I thought the idea of morning prayer was not important. I still have memories of my Grandfather saying prayers at the family alter (something I rarely see outside of a Mexican household) early each day before going to work. While Grandma was in the kitchen making tortillas, the TV was off and everyone was quiet as my Grandfather, one of the most stoic and hardworking men I've ever met, knelt before the alter and prayed for 15-20 minutes. I didn't know Spanish, so I never knew what he talked to God about, whether it was free-flowing prayer or if he was reciting the Rosary, but each day before work he got down and prayed.

As I laid in prayer, I also began to think about some of the reasons why I felt called towards the Capuchins, both Divine and worldly. Lately I've felt the need to be honest with myself and accept how I see certain "opportunities" by joining a religious order. I feel bad even thinking about those ideas, but it's better to face my thoughts now rather than later.

If you read the exerpts from my autobiography, you'll see a concern that I never mentioned before: my mother. She has been whole-heartedly supportive of my decision and has never pushed me either way, at least not consciously. Yet while I worry about becoming my mother or trying to live up to some expectation, I recognize existing patterns in life, mistakes my mother and my Grandfather already made - mistakes I've made myself.

Like my mother, I did not finish college. I simply didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I'd been told to get to college, but not what to focus on once I got there. After a few years of college, I simply dropped out. To this day I still have dreams of returning and feel remorse for not trudging through and getting some kind of degree. My mom has shared those same feelings with me when asked about why she never pursued her art career.

Also like my mother and grandfather, we have never worked in any specialized field. While my grandfather was a migrant worker and my mother had me, I've had the opportunity to become something specific, something important. I contact others from my graduating class and see the degrees, the accomplishments, the high-paying jobs and wonder where I screwed up. Where could I be had I "buckled down" a little more?

For about half an hour I sat with the thoughts of my mistakes, how I mirrored the same mistakes of my mom, and how that's affected my desire to become a priest. Maybe I'm not really called...maybe I just see the Catholic Church as a means to get me educated and doing something specialized and important. Perhaps I'm looking for the most "over-the-top" career so that at the class reunion, I can tell everyone that's a CEO or software engineer that yes, I finally did make something of myself.

The question I asked myself was whether or not I'd truly given up my own definition of success: the one where money, status, and power prove one's importance. I admit feeling jealousy when I saw how others were making much more than I did or doing jobs I once wish I could do. In my heart there is still jealousy, but I think I've gotten over the small stuff. I feel jealous that people are where they are, where they felt called to be, and I'm still back here, jobless and living at home, trying to decide where exactly my calling is leading me. I know it's not right to be jealous of others, but I am human.

I can't say I came to any catharsis on the matter, I simply sat (actually laid) with those thoughts until finally getting out of bed (couch). Is that jealousy still there? Probably. But I feel better having recognized it and being able to sit with it. I feel better seeing how beneficial morning prayer can be. I feel better that I am joining the Capuchins for my reasons alone, and not to appease others. And I feel better simply because I've been "more" awake this morning than I have in a long time.

Perhaps it's time to start making my own small alter for my room.

I will be out of town for the next few days to "catch up" on a few things in my life. In the meantime, I decided to leave two exerpts from my autobiography-one for today and one that will post tomorrow. They come directly from my paper I sent in to the Capuchins.

As I mentioned before, I wrote 5 smaller stories instead of one 5 page paper. The idea was to focus on certain times in my life, what they meant, and what I draw from those experiences. I had a chance to call the Vocations Director in Chicago and let him proofread the paper before I even submitted it. He loved it, so I'm confident it will work out well.

Enjoy, and I will see you all again when I get back in town.

-V

-

"In memory of your death and resurrection, we offer this life-giving bread and this saving cup…"

By age 17 I’d memorized most of the Eucharistic Prayer. I like to think this is when God planted his seed.

During high school I served as the alterboy for Fr. Dick Host at St. James Church in Grand Rapids, MI. We were still new to the area, and my mother thought it would be a good idea for both of us to get involved with the church. Initially, I think she wanted a reason for me to go to church every Sunday, and being a volunteer was just the thing.

For three years I served at the Church, rarely ever missing a Mass. I became more familiar with the actual dynamics of the different parts of the Mass, why the priest did this or that, how each little thing had a specific name and purpose (I was confused when someone asked for a Purificator).

When I was younger Mass was just a kind of show. I know that sounds completely sacrilegious, but that’s the best way to describe it. As a kid, I saw what was happening at the alter, I watched how people sat/kneeled/stood, and I remember when everyone got in line to accept the Eucharist. Yet I never really took the time to understand why these things were important.

As I continued to help during Mass, my interests in religion and philosophy soon blossomed. I read as much as I could regarding other religions and beliefs. My senior year of high school I was reading Camus, Kafka, and even had someone try to explain Scientology to me.

I haven’t always been a regular at church since my days as an alter server, however I’ve always had that interest regarding philosophy, existentialism, and religion. For many years, I continued to look into the question of: “Why are we here?” Even then, I was searching for that “something.” Kierkegaard was too confusing, Nietzsche was too pessimistic, and I didn’t know enough Greek to truly understand Origen.

While I continuously try to understand more about religion and Catholicism, it took a while to truly develop a sense of spirituality. I knew God existed, I knew Jesus died for our sins. I had to learn how that affected me. And what continuously drew my attention was how Jesus served those less “desirable.” I couldn’t walk past a homeless person without giving money; I couldn’t let a friend go without telling me of their woes. I found my spirituality in the service of others, and while it took a while to truly understand it, I realize I’ve lived with it all my life.

Perhaps I’m subconsciously trying to live up to my mother, or maybe I’m the poor kid trying to make good. Perhaps these are real factors on why I want to join the Capuchins, but I don’t think it’s the main reason:

My godparents are far from the Church now; one is divorced three times and the other is a Seventh Day Adventist. I missed out a season of football because of Confirmation Classes in 8th grade. My best friend is an agnostic, most of my co-workers haven’t seen the inside of a church in years, and 99% of the people I talk to don’t have a clue what a Capuchin or a friar are.

I cannot convince them with words. But I can listen, I can pray, I can teach, I can feed; I can be someone’s hero. And God willing, I can also help someone believe.

That is what I feel I have been called to do.

It seems like eons past, but merely 6 months ago, I would have cringed at the thought of openly discussing my vocational discernment. Thoughts of inadequacy mixed with feelings of doubt kept me quiet about this strange pull I was feeling. I didn't want this to be a "phase" or "the next thing Vito's into." Surely I was scared of what others might think, but I was scared about what it really meant to me.

These days, I talk about my calling the way I talk about other things in my life. Some have been more receptive than others, while some have really no words to say.

"You're seriously gonna be a priest? Oh my God, that's like so crazy!"

"And they're seriously gonna let you be a priest?"

"When you're done praying to baby Jesus, did you wanna stop by and play cards this weekend?"

Months ago, I feared hearing such things, and even now it would surprise most of you to know that these are comments from friends and co-workers. Should they be saying such things to me? Don't I find their comments hurtful?

It's taken a while to understand the motives and thoughts of people close to me, but after spending time in reflection, I honestly believe that I hear such comments from friends and family not out of malice, but out of confusion and ignorance; and the only way to conquer ignorance is to educate.

Let me explain further...obviously with another story from my life.

When I developed epilepsy at the age of 16, my first few seizures occurred when I was spending time with family. Growing up an only child meant my closest siblings were my cousins. Most of my cousins are guys, so there tends to be a lot of teasing and trash-talking.

However when I first had a seizure in front of them, the happy days were interrupted. This was something new for them - for all of us. It was scary, it was unsettling, but it was family. I am the eldest of the Martinez 3rd generation, so for boys 14 down to 10 to watch someone go into convulsions is not something to be taken lightly. Frankly, it scared the snot out of them.

Later, as I was diagnosed with Epilepsy and the family understood that I would have seizures for the rest of my life, it just became another part of who I am. And like most guys, when we don't completely understand something, or if it's a touchy subject to bring up, we joke about such things.

I see my vocation in a similar light. I've accepted that not everyone will be able to understand why I feel called to religious life. In most instances, explaining what a friar does is even more complicated than explaining my draw towards a vocation. For these friends and acquaintances, it's easier to joke about it. Sure it is a sensitive topic, but if I can get them to talk about it, even in a joking manner, and they realize that I'm neither offended nor shy about my calling, they may come to realize part of what this is all about. If I'm lucky, they'll start asking more important questions.

Until then, I will keep getting ribbed, but that's OK. Even when I hear: "So you haven't gotten laid in HOW long?" I still don't miss a beat:

"Well over a year...so about half as long as you."

I figure if my priest says he's going to give up celibacy for Lent, I'm still allowed to have a slightly skewed sense of humor.

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 I was 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.

Peace,
Vito

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.

Enjoy!

We stood like soldiers in our black suits, protecting the casket of our departed grandmother. I had convinced the family to only allow the 3rd generation to move the casket, allowing my uncles to be with their families during the Mass and ceremony. As our aunts and uncles wept, we stood like statues in the sun.

Before we left the church, I'd made a deal with the Father to allow me to speak to the family before the lowering of the casket into the ground. I wasn't sure what I was going to say...but we'd been strong long enough. I'd been strong long enough. And I was ready to speak my peace before my family.

So as we stood huddled at the grave where my grandmother would be laid to rest, I did the best I could to say goodbye. (I spoke from the heart and don't remember the exact speech, but this was as close as I can remember):

"I know my mother has lost her mom, just like my other cousins. And we've done our best to be strong and support each of you in this time of grieving. We've heard hundreds of stories of your childhood...all of them wonderful.

"However we, the next generation have our own memories of Grandma. My eldest cousin is 51; my youngest is 16. I speak on behalf of your sons and daughters...each of us with our own wonderful memories of Grandma.

"We know she loved us because there was always food, and always a bed to sleep on.

"We know she worried about us, because she'd yell at us if we were climbing trees or near the grain silos."

"We know she thought of us, because she'd always buy us Christmas presents, even after we grew up."

"But what is important is that we, the third, fourth, and fifth generations here today, remember both our grandmother and grandfather. It's important to remember that we came from nothing, and that our family struggled to survive. Today we are successful teachers, nurses, bankers, and managers. But we can never forget that everything we are, we are because of the tireless work of Trina and Jesus Martinez...two migrant workers looking for a better life."

I made it through my monologue without losing it. And at the end of the day, after family members had thanked me for saying those kind words, I realized how important that charism of humility and ministry to the poor really was. Here I was....living the manufactured ideal of what success truly means: a good job, no worries of money, a nice car. Yet my grandparents, now both passed, lived good lives without half of the objects I currently own. How best to honor the lives of my ancestors? How best to give back the blessings that were given to me?

I learned two things, two important things, after finally returning to Grand Rapids. First I realized how attracted I was to the Franciscan sense of spirituality. Second, I learned if I could minister to my family, I could minister to anyone. I no longer felt inadequate, and I became excited at the thought of giving a homily, or just preaching wherever I can.

In the weeks after, I would deal with my workaholic tendencies, I'd struggle to continue my discernment, and I take a trip to Detroit.

Stay tuned as I fill in the gaps from the middle of September to the present.