So the first 5 days of giving up the internet haven't been that bad. The first thing I noticed is all the extra time! I've taken that time to do plenty of reading, some homework, and other fun things that don't involve me being in front of the computer by myself. Quite honestly, being here in Novitiate seems like the one time in my life when it is feasible to actually give up the internet.

Although I've learned through experience that there's never a "right time" to give something up. Whether it's smoking, dieting, or any other change one is making, it's easy to rationalize why it's not "the right time" to give something up. And even here, when I think nothing could be so important that I wouldn't need the internet, it's funny how life surprises you.

Those of you who've followed my story for a long time will remember me writing about my daughter. While not of my blood, I tried as best I could to treat her as my own. It can be hard for any child to allow someone new to be a parental figure at the age of 15, but she welcomed the opportunity to call someone "Dad" and to have a father figure in her life. Looking back, I am amazed at the amount of openness and love to be as forthcoming as she was.

After the break-up with my ex, I knew I'd have to "break up" with her daughter as well. Anyone's who's been in a relationship with a parent knows that they build a relationship to their child as well. It's a heavy guilt to bear, and it took a long time for me to deal with it.

My readers will also remember that last year, I sent her an email. She was no longer a teenager, rather a woman at 18. I wanted to tell her, as an adult, how moving and wonderful it was to experience life as a father...if only for a little while. And my heart broke again from never getting a response.

So on Fat Tuesday, when I'm checking my email for the last time, I'm dumb-founded by what I see in my Inbox...the response.

It was wonderful to hear from her, and she apologized for taking so long to get back to me. Without saying too much, she wrote the words any estranged father dreams of hearing: "You are still and always will be my dad. Please email me soon. I love you, Daddy."

With this and with the emotions of everything, it was hard to think why I should stay away from the internet. Surely Jesus didn't expect his disciples to fast during a time of joy. So it has been a struggle to stick with staying away from the computer. Quite honestly, I want to check my email ever 15 minutes!

So I have to ask myself: "Is this the right time to give up the internet?" The timing appears to be horrible, but prayer and reflection is helping me find God at work in all of this. Even working with my spiritual director, perhaps there's a way to continue to be present to my fast while being present to my Capuchin charism of being loving and compassionate. Which is the greater pennance: giving up something, or opening my heart to a floodgate of emotions that scare me? Again...things I have to take to prayer.

So for now, I await her response. I won't go into the contents of what I wrote, but I told her it requires a lot of love to allow someone back into your life as easily as she has.

Until next week...

After the struggle of making the decision to break up with my girlfriend, issues would continue for several months afterwards. Looking back on the story, while helpful, is hard at times.

What follows seems more like a story of redemption or even justice. And perhaps at the time of its writing, my mind was filled with the anger and frustration of the situation. It's hard to tell yourself you've been called to a religious life with an itinerant order while you force someone out of your own house.

If there is only one other great reflection that I have from rehashing these events, it is the constant presence of music in my life. Like with any significant time in our lives, we have songs that remind us - bringing back feelings of joy or pain. They remind us of good times, bad times, or maybe times when that can only be described as "becoming free."

I would recommend that anyone, either going through good times or bad, to find the music that speaks to you and your experience. Sometimes it is the best way to celebrate, mourn, or cope.

 "Everything you own in a box to the left." -Beyonce

Sunday was a wonderful day. Bright and sunny, with a nice breeze. I had a meeting with the vocations director of the diocese, and then a 100 mile drive to visit my grandmother for Mother's Day. But before the meeting, I stood on my balcony, looking out at the grassy field and enjoying the cool breeze on the sunny day.

It was almost perfect...except for the overwhelming stench of dog feces that came from inside the apartment.

Yesterday was the first day I'd returned to my old apartment since January. The place smelled like a zoo. Words cannot express how horrendous this apartment looked and smelled. Everything had been cleared out, save a few boxes of my old junk, some hangers, and a half-eaten bag of lettuce in the refrigerator. Everywhere you could see piles of dog poop, and the once beige carpet was a disgusting mix of yellows, reds, browns, and orange.

Don't worry, I won't share the pictures.

In the bedroom were even more piles of trash/dogshit, mixed with torn pictures and broken items that had once belonged to me. Here lie a broken picture frame that held an autograph picture of me with the guys from Blessed Union of Souls. Over there lie a box I was given at age 8. I was on the phone with a friend as I walked through the apartment, yet the total destruction of the place left me speechless.

But even as I stared down at a torn picture of me at my first communion (a picture of me when I was 8), I knew that everything was finally over. Despite the TV, bedroom set, XBox, and all the other things of mine she either took or threw away...

The whole ordeal was finally at it's end.

When I initially left the apartment in January, I was still feeling some of that guilt and shame. I agreed to give her some money to either catch up on bills or make arrangements to move closer to her family (either in Iowa or Tennessee.) My friends and coworkers were adamant that she was simply using me for my money, and she would use me as long as possible. Despite their arguments, guilt is a powerful motivator, and I had arranged to give her a lot of money.

In the first few days, my ex-girlfriend decided to use her daughter as the "mediator," and every call I got was in regards to money. "Mom wants money." "Mom wants to know when you'll bring the money." "Can you pay the money in cash?" "Can you drop it off instead of sending the money?"

The first time I gave any money was a week after leaving. I had a kitten that was given to me by a friend before my ex moved in, and she wanted me to get rid of the kitten. She also wanted "her money." While never being married or fathered a child, I was accused by my friends of paying alimony for my guilt.

Whether it be dumb luck or divine intervention, her daughter called me before going over to the apartment, asking if I was still going to show. I said I would and I had her money on a prepaid credit card. She asked that I get $275 in cash; her mom was buying a toy poodle.

That's when my guilt finally broke.

I realized that regardless of what happened, we were two adults that made a really bad decision, and this was the result. But because I felt so much guilt, I would have paid her rent/bills/food for as long as I could be strung me along. And even though I'd started dealing cards as a way to help pay for her bills AND help my mom at home, I was paying for her to by a toy poodle from a breeder.

When I went over to the apartment in January, I took two police officers with me. I was done being yelled at like a child. I was done taking sole responsibility for a common mistake. I was done being used. I decided I was going to make a stand.

Unfortunately, it took a while to build up that courage. By the end of January, I'd given my ex around $1400, on top of her own money. Despite all the money, the electricity to the apartment was cut off, the rent was not paid in February, and her internet bill was still coming out of my bank account. Even with this happening, it was still hard to see the reality of the situation through all the guilt.

Finally, in a phone call from the daughter, I was asked to come over to the apartment yet again. When I mentioned that I'd already given her some money, I was told that her mom "wanted to talk." I said I was here and on the phone..."Let's talk." I think she was surprised at my answer because the line was dead for about a minute.

Whether it be out of hate, ignorance, or lack of experience, I didn't recognize that this call was a form of reconciliation. The following conversation went as such (to the best of my ability to remember):

her: "I want you come over after work so we can talk."

me: "I'm here and don't have any customers...what do you want to talk about?"

her (sounding frustrated): "I think there are some things we should talk about face-to-face."

me: "There's no reason for me to go over there."

There was a slight pause, and then she asked for more money...just as I'd expected.

(Note: Looking back, I can see the difference in personalities, especially in relationshihps. I don't like it when people yell, nor do I like it when a person makes hateful or hurtful statements when angry. Perhaps she was thinking I would forgive forgive her for the comments and she'd said to me. Having never experienced that until our relationship, I was unwilling to forgive, nor did I ever recognize her statements as a reaction or defense mechanism. -V)

Despite the money, I found out she wanted help with paying the bills. She wanted me to help her find another apartment or help her move out of state. She said she no longer wanted to live there, and therefore I should move her out.
In an uncontrollable rage I yelled back for the first time. I told her how she was a lazy bitch. I told her she's lousy with money. I told her if she wanted to buy a specialty-breed dog and spend hundreds of dollars at Blockbuster (debit card statements of her use we still coming to me via eBilling), then she can do it with her own money. I told her that if she really "Doesn't need a man" than she no longer needed my money. I told her all of that with a hefty amount of F-Bombs and shouting.

And when I was done, I realized she'd hung up on me.

After that, my ex became an annoying itch in my life. When I was thinking about other things or out with other people, I'd get a call that something wasn't paid, or a message from her asking if I could please send some money. When I went to St. Louis, she called me. When I was talking with the Pastor that bought a car...she called me.

Finally in April, I got another notice from the apartment complex: the rent had not been paid. Previously I'd covered for her. My name was still on the lease, and because I could not get it removed, her eviction would hurt both of us. But this time around, I refused to pay it. I called the apartment, and no one answered. No one called me for money anymore.

Near the end of the month, I got a call from my ex's sister. She said she was coming to get her at the end of May, and help her move out. I said "Great, but the rent hasn't been paid, and she might get evicted before that. I told her about the situation, I told her if she takes her name off the lease and leaves, everything will be OK for her."

Still no action from the apartment, and eventually I had my day in court.

The judge sympathized with me, however he affirmed that I could not be separated or removed from the current lease. If there is an eviction, it will affect her as well as me. A judgement was rendered, and if the total amount is not paid by the 18th, there would be an eviction.

On one hand, I did not want to pay for her to live, but on the other I did not want an eviction on my credit report. Torn on what to do, and struggling to find a way to do it, I took a stab in the dark and did what all great poker players do:

I bluffed.

Yes, I lied my ass off. And interestingly enough, it was all done through the magic of myspace.com.

First, I paid the $900ish dollars to the company so there would be no eviction.

Second, I sent a message to her sister via myspace, saying that the judge was evicting her, and if she wasn't out of the apartment by Monday (today) that the sheriff's dept. would come and through them out.

Third, I made sure there would be some reaction...so I sent a similar message to my ex's daughter's myspace account as well.

And as I sit here in my epty and dirty house, preparing to spend the week installing new locks, cleaning, and painting, I wonder what role God played in this whole situation. Part of me thinks that God wanted me to realize what it was like to live in sin, so I might be able to tell this story to someone else in a similar situation. Part of me thinks that I needed a devastating event in order to let go of a lot of things in my life, thereby removing "noise" for God's plan to simply reveal itself. Part of me still thinks that God saw fit to tap me on the shoulder and say "Hey, just a reminder that you're not following the rules." (Note: This story is one I've discussed in prison ministry. It's not an attempt to bash women, rather I use it as an example of how wrong life can go when we focus on the wrong things or get into relationships for the wrong reasons. -V)
Even now, my spiritual director asks if I'm pursuing a vocation because I want to serve or because it was a way for me to get out of that relationship. And that's why this entire event has been such a huge part of my discernment. Was my ex-girlfriend right? Was this whole "I wanna be a priest thing" just an elaborate way for me to get out of the relationship?

Even at this very moment, I'm not 100% sure. And while that scares me, the fact that I can be honest with myself is an improvement on how I used to be. But now that the whole ordeal is over, I think I'll be better prepared to answer that question.

And despite everything, I still can't find room to hate. She and her daughter are no different than many of the people I hope to work with. Instead I feel disappointment that I confused love for charity, thereby basing a year long relationship on the ideals that if I simply give them a better life, I will be loved without condition.
I ask any and all people who read to keep these two people in your prayers, as well as other families like them. I don't feel proud for the events that have transpired, and I hold plenty of guilt for the repercussions that have occurred as I try to follow this new journey I am on. However if I am to ever have peace and make an honest decision about the course of my life, at some point I have to find God's purpose in all of this.

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.

It would not be until months after the breakup with my girlfriend that I felt comfortable writing down the events. Out of all the venues to discuss this important experience in my life, this is when I really felt the freedom and the passion of blogging my actual experiences.

These next three "flashbacks" give the entire story of my relationship from the beginning to the end. The language is graphic at times, so consider yourselves warned.

This first part is a look back after 5 months from the break-up. It's still hard to look back at these pages and think about the mistakes I made. However I can recognize how they shaped who I am now.


I could write pages upon pages about how important these next 3 blogs are to me, however my purpose in reprinting them is so that you as readers may understand me a little more; and in doing so, recognize that NO ONE is beyond redemption. If God chose to call a guy as bad as I was, don't trick yourself into thinking God can't use you as well.

Peace,
-V

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." - Maya Angelou

Out of respect, privacy, and perhaps shame, I've not chronicled this part of my life. This weekend will be the final page of that story, and I've found it much easier to write this story now that the tale is finished. And now that it's almost at the very end, I can look at the beginning and start to understand why I made the choices I did.

In May of 2005 I was extremely happy with my life, or so I thought. I had a great job selling cars, I was making plenty of money, I had a nice place with low rent...I had everything I could want. The previous year I was living at my mom's place, trying to recover from a "corporate restructuring" at my previous company.

Despite this financial success, I still felt incomplete. I worked hard and I played hard, but I could still feel a sense of emptiness inside. I'd also spent so much time trying to build my life back up, I'd gave up looking for relationships. I didn't feel "lonely" per se, yet I knew there was still something missing from my life. To compound the matter, the other two salesmen were getting married that year. I decided that I was missing out on personal intimacy, and began searching to fill that void.

Unfortunately, my history with women hasn't always been good. I've met a lot of women that had, for lack of a better term, baggage. They were still dealing with ex-boyfriends, they had self-esteem issues, they'd just gotten out of abusive relationships, they're electricity was about to be cut off...I've had a lot of women cry on my shoulder about many different things. And in most instances, I would cheer them up, make them feel better about themselves, make them smile or laugh...only to watch them go back to the same situation again and again. I tried to show that I was the one who actually cared, yet it seemed as if the women I was attracted to thrived off of being abused. I thought I was cursed, but in retrospect I should have recognized it as a blessing.

That September, I met a woman. Again, she had some "baggage," however I convinced myself that I was being too judgemental and I shouldn't expect anyone to be perfect. Things developed as they usually do, and in November, she moved in with me.

Life was good. I felt more like a ...well, more like a man. The whole "hunter/provider" instinct just bloomed, and I enjoyed living with my girlfriend. We got along great. The sex was fantastic. Most of all, I was happy that I didn't have to compromise myself to find someone. I could still be the "nice guy."

I didn't mind that she had a daughter and I was taking on a lot of responsibility. I didn't mind that she'd been kicked out of her last house and her utilities had been cut off. I didn't mind that she suffered from depression, and was very insecure with herself. I didn't even mind that she was still married; separated from her husband for many years, yet still married.

I think part of me wanted to "save" someone. I wanted to have someone love me and also feel protected. I wanted to be the knight in shining armor. Even if the damsel in distress was wrong for me in every way possible, I felt complete when I was able to fill that role.

And I was happy, for a while.

Eventually, we moved to a bigger apartment. We said we were in love, but in reality we were simply Hedonists. Both of us truly wanted someone to love us, I know that for sure. But in reality, we were just fulfilling each other's wants. I provided the money, the security, and the knowledge...and in return she did everything she could to make me happy: be it in the kitchen or the bedroom. Even now, after everything that's happened, I struggle with my celibacy because I remember the time we spent together.

It wasn't until about a year ago that I really noticed the nature of our relationship. We'd been living together for about 7 months, and the "thrill" was leaving the relationship. Sales had dropped also, and I was no longer bringing home the big paychecks. Credit card bills were piling up, utility companies were calling demanding payment, and the luxuries we had at the beginning were pushed to the side. She began to stay up late playing video games online, often times playing all night. The apartment was no longer kept clean, we fought more, and I was tested to truly provide for everyone. In spite of this I assumed we were simply "going through a rough spot," something all people deal with during a relationship.

During this same time, I did something inexplicable.

Most of us are used to arguing on forums/chatrooms on the internet. One can argue about anything from politics to the color of Paris Hilton's handbag on the internet. I'd gotten used to arguing current events on several different message boards. At some point, perhaps after a random discussion about religion, I made the conscious decision to start arguing for Catholicism. I'd read stuff by Celsus and St. Aquinas, but I'd been away from my faith for some time. The switch not only allowed me to argue about something that mattered, but it helped me know more about what I "believed."

Sometime in October, I landed on a diocesan website. For whatever reason, I started reading about priestly vocations. I still can't explain what happened when I really started thinking about vocations, but you know the story from there. I went to see the vocations director, I started this journal, and I began to re-evaluate my priorities.

One thing the vocations director told me was I would HAVE to tell my girlfriend about this. He said it would probably not end well, there would be a lot of trust issues afterwards, and it might get really ugly.

Boy, was he ever right.

Tomorrow - Telling my girlfriend, the fallout, the accusations, the yelling, and someone gets kicked out.

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.

I've talked several times about my ex-girlfriend's daughter, and how that relationship has been one of the hardest for me to deal with in choosing this life. Some days are better than others, and lately I've learned to forget about the decision to leave her and her mother.

It's been over a month since I sent her an email, and I've still heard nothing. I think I've resigned to the fact that there are two (more) women in this world who want nothing to do with me. I'd really hoped to hear something. It would have made a great post to write about; it would have been something far more special to me than another post. However if this is how things will be, then she will be my greatest sacrifice in choosing religious life.

As usual, there are songs that stir my mind. John Mayer's song Daughters came out when we were all still a family, and the song made me feel good about trying to be a surrogate father. While looking for new songs to play on guitar, I crossed this song again today.

This time, it had a much different feeling and message for me.

I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world.
But she's just like a maze
Where all of her walls are continually changed.

And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hand.
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me.

Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers that turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too.

Ooh? See that skin
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left - cleaning up the mess he made.

Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too.

Boys you can break
You find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone with warmth from
A woman's good, good heart.

On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the guide and the weight of her world

So fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too.

For the past few days, I haven't had much energy after getting home from ministry. This week has been pretty busy; I wish I had time to talk more about those things, but this recent development with the woman I used to call my daughter has greatly over-shadowed much of this week.

I find myself checking my email inbox over and over, being afraid when I actually see a new message, and then dying again when it's from reunion.com or an ad from soccer.com. I don't know what to expect, I don't know if I should expect, but this feeling that I have is a sense of loss, a sense of failure, and a tiny hope that perhaps I can, in some way, reach out and try to mend a broken relationship with someone I still worry about.

Last night, I dreamed I was in a relationship again. The woman I was with resembled someone I work and interact with in ministry, something that was covered in a previous post about dreams. Anyway, we were in a relationship and she was pregnant (not showing), but the kicker was that I was public knowledge that it was not my child. In spite of that, I wanted to be with her and be a father to the child, regardless of the father.

We'd moved in with my uncle (at least when he used to live in Michigan...now he lives in California) to kind of prepare and save money for the baby. It's quite appropriate that I thought of him; when my mom had me and she was by herself, we stayed with him when I was young (3-4) and even a few of those old memories entered into that dream.

But while we were there, it became clear that my family had serious worries about what I was doing. Some of my aunts told me that it was not my child, and that I shouldn't make it my responsibility. Some of them thought she was using me because I was trying to be a nice guy to both her and her baby. Some thought I was even being stupid, and I needed to start my own family. Without revealing the actual identity of the person, I can say that we both come from vastly different cultural and racial backgrounds, and there was this sense that they wanted me to have a Latino child.

At some point, when I was running around and trying to get things ready (as if this were all happening tomorrow!) she ran out of the house, crying and upset. When I confronted her, she was hateful and resentful of me. She said she wanted to go her own way. She said she didn't need me. When I told her that I loved her and cared for her AND the baby, she said something so grossly offensive and hurtful, I don't think I can even put it down in print (knowing full well that in reality it came from my subconscious and not her lips). Upon waking up, I found myself crying.

I know I'm dealing with a loss; I don't know if others understand it. My community has been supportive because they have seen how much this has rocked me in the past few days. But my situation is one I can't talk about to celibate men who've never had kids, how can they relate to my loss of being a father?

There's a lot of anger and resentment and hurt inside of me, and the best I can do is offer it up to God. If this is my cross, then I will do my best to bear it. More importantly, if this is the sacrifice I made to be here, to follow the calling I was given, I'm going to have to learn to trust that God will heal all wounds.

I just don't know when I'll get to that point...

I never thought that living here would bring me the pain of a broken heart ever again. As much as I tried, I thought I put my old life behind me in exchange for this new one. Yet today I sat and did one of the most heart-wrenching and painful things in my life...

I wrote an email to the girl I once called my daughter.

When I was together with my ex-girlfriend, she had a daughter. Her daughter was full of life, energy, and love. Without reservation, she called me "Daddy" when we were together. And just reading that word again makes my stomach knot up at the heartache of losing that.

Recently she turned 18...no longer a girl, but a woman in her own right. Her mother asked that I never contact her again; I've kept to that agreement, no matter how painful it was at times. She was not my blood, and I respected the bond between mother and daughter.

However now that she has become an adult, I took the chance to write one email, as if it were the only words left I could say, in hopes that she might understand exactly what she meant to me. As a religious, I realize that she will be the only daughter I will ever know, and I fucked up the one chance of being a good role model, a positive male figure, and a stable person in her life. I grew up an only child, and I know what it's like to have people come in and out of your life. I pray I did more good than harm.

Perhaps more importantly, she represents a sacrifice I made when choosing to pursue religious life. In choosing to follow a vocation, I chose not to continue a relationship, but with my ex and her daughter. I've managed to hide from that realization, but now I feel the guilt from that decision.

The email wasn't long. I thanked her for allowing to be a part of her life. I told her I was proud of the woman she had become, and that I wished only good things for her and her mother. Lastly, and with a heavy heart, I told her that I would respect whatever decision she made about the email, including if she chose never to speak to me again.

I have tried to be a good guy all my life, however I realize that there are people in this world that I have hurt. I would love to heal all wounds I created and offer apologizes to everyone. However I've learned that some people have deeper wounds than can be healed by words. And I've learned to accept that sometimes, you lose people forever.

I don't know what to expect in a response. She may not even respond at all. I thought the hard part would be writing the actual message. In reality, it was hitting the send button, knowing that I would be scared to check my email for the next two weeks...and that feeling of pain when I saw no response.

I also try to be a tough guy, but today I as thought about what to do, I looked back on an earlier post, and I couldn't help but cry.

Perhaps the sex workshop or recent events have stirred something in my unconscious. After spending so much time discussing sexuality, relationships with women, and how the boundaries of single life change when you choose celibate life, I'm really not surprised that I had a really weird and intense dream about everything. Luckily when I woke up, I grabbed a pad and pen and started writing out what I remembered, knowing full well that someone out there might get a kick out o the irony!

The setting for this dream was a large cocktail party with lots of people milling about. I could tell from my interaction that these were people that either new me or the Capuchins, and it felt like a friary or a function that we (as an order) had put on. I don't recall any specific place, just that it felt like something we would do.

At one point in the evening, I see an "ex-interest" of mine, sitting on a couch and sipping a drink. Our eyes meet, but rather than acknowledging her, I slightly nod and continue to be social to everyone at the party. Her placement in this dream and at a Capuchin function is slightly absurd; her sense of spirituality in real life is both relativistic and completely devoid of any apparent dogma - not a match for a "good Catholic boy" like me .

But before you think you understand this dream, it gets better.

As the party continues, I begin talking to a woman that I recognize from my ministry work. Unfortunately I cannot remember her face. She doesn't stick out as any one female, rather many of the women I work with could fill the role in my dream - perhaps that's part of what she represents. I kept trying to put my finger on one person, but nothing seems to make sense.

Either way, we talk and it's apparent that we are connecting. I have feelings of excitement; I feel alive. It wasn't a feeling of: " I am sooo going to get laid tonight!" rather it was more: "I am so into this chick, and I can tell she's into me!" It was the feeling I get when I feel I've met someone I can seriously bond with, the kind of feeling that goes beyond "puppy love" but is deeper and more meaningful than lust.

Nothing became of the conversation, because the next incident I remember is going back to the kitchen after the party was over. Jon Cel, our Provincial Minister, was in the kitchen washing dishes after the party. Wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans, his usual attire, he looks up from the dishes and says: "Hey Vito. How was the party?"

In a sort-of "father to son" kind of moment, we talk with him working and me leaning against the doorway.

"Well I have good news and bad news. The good news is I had a really good time tonight. The bad news is that I think I'm falling in love." While I didn't feel anything bad about what had happened, the presence of my Provincial brought my vocation and presence to the forefront.

Jon laughs, as if remembering something of his past, and says: "Welcome to Capuchin life."

As I thought about this part of my dream, I tried to understand the meaning of celibate life even further, and really explore what I was giving up and what I was accepting. Perhaps poverty isn't just about money and things. Maybe poverty includes the ability to recognize when something great is happening between you and another human being, and being able to enjoy that connection but limiting yourself to the boundaries of your vows. It's the poverty of working with a woman that I connect to emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually, but understanding that our relationship can only go so far in spite of what she or I may feel.

While this seemed to be an interesting revelation, the dream continued to another part.

Jon replies: "Well, I do have some other bad news. It looks like Amanda (named changed for obvious reasons) has been spreading some vicious stories about the Order. I'm not sure what her issue is, but she's obviously not happy with us."

This was a real twist in my thinking. Why would someone say bad things about us, we who spend so much time working with the poor, the homeless, and those other outcasts of society? Almost immediately I caught up with her in the parking lot and starting firing questions at her.

"Do you know what we do?"
"Do you even understand the charism that we try to live here?"
"Do you realize that we're not doing this for fame or profit?"

It was as if each question I asked was answered with an air of skepticism and even a hint of jealousy from her mouth.

"Well what do you guys do with all the money you get?"
"How do I know you all are trying to live celibacy? Why would anyone do that?"
"Who are you trying to impress by doing all this?"

It was if each question out of her mouth was a doubt, concern, or criticism I've heard so many times already. Many of those thoughts are not arguable; all they do is inflame emotions. I had no response except anger.

In my frustration I walked away from her and got into my car (no clue who's car it really was) and got ready to drive away. As I started the vehicle, I saw two men approach the vehicle (early 20's, white guys - in any violent dream, I'm always fighting white guys.), one of them had a pipe in his hand.

Rather than try to drive away, I grabbed a bottle from inside the car and opened up the door. It seemed to surprise the men, and it halted their approach to the car. I held the bottle by the neck, and tried to will myself to smash the bottle into the side of this man's head. Each time I tried, the bottle would stop at the man's cheek, as if my arm would not allow me to commit such a violent act. Through will and anger, I managed to get the strength in my arm to shatter the bottle against the man's head, and he dropped to the ground.

This is where I woke up.

There are a lot of aspects to this dream, and it's kept me thinking all day. Perhaps my subconscious is dealing with celibacy in a new way. Perhaps my presence here has begun to turn me into a new man, one with new values and a better relationship with women. Perhaps my changes, while good in my view, are seen by others as different, incomprehensible, and therefore worthy of suspicion.

Most of all, whenever I have dreams of fighting, it's often hard for me to actually hit or do damage to another person. I don't know if that's my self-esteem, my sense of humanity and non-violence, or my desire to control rage before it gets out of hand. Either way, this is not the first dream where I've been able to finally hit and wound another person in my dreams. Since coming to Milwaukee, a part of me has woken up that I have kept hidden. Some of these things are good, and some of them are bad. And in dealing with people and talking to my spiritual director, I'm trying to get to the root of some of these issues.

For now, I'm not having any secret liaisons with co-workers, nor am I violently beating on people. It's just interesting to look at dreams, remembering not only what happened, but how it made me feel.

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

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

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!

Like most other people, when I started out on this journey I thought "celibacy" and "no sex" were synonymous. Even to this day, I'm asked "Why would you want to give up sex? I don't know if I could handle that."

I've learned that living a celibate life means much more than not getting any action.

It's been said that a child never really knows how much a parent loves until they have children of their own. If this is true, I will never know the love my mother had, and how it affected both our lives. I'll never know what it's like to play catch with my son, or watch my daughter as she tries to catch a frog. Parenting is our chance to make up for the mistakes we've made and teach those things to the next generation. Celibacy means I will never experience that kind of love.

At heart, I'll admit I'm not fond of kids. They're greedy, fickle, liars, unreasonable, and they don't pay attention: kind of like me. I grew up an only child, so I wasn't as exposed to kids as other families. Most times I played by myself, letting my imagination be my best friend rather than anyone else. As I grew, I never developed that "I love kids!" attitude that most people have. I never babysat, I never mentored, and I'm bad at discipline.

I had one chance to be a father...and I failed.

When my ex-girlfriend and I were together, she had a 15 year old daughter. I identified with her a lot. We never met our birth-fathers, we'd never had a steady father-figure in our lives, and both of us were seeking that father-daughter love that we'd seen in other families.

I can still hear her call me "daddy," and it rips my heart out to think about it.

Unfortunately because of how we lived, it was all doomed to fail. But she didn't know that. She shouldn't have to be a part of the break. What trauma must it be for a child to finally meet someone who wants to be a father, but it eventually fails? Perhaps this is the deep, dark area of my heart that I won't let go. A guilt I refuse to offer up to God. Perhaps my failing of one child is a demonstration of what's to come.

Even now, I remember that time with joy and happiness. I remembered the words: "After all that I've done wrong, I must've done something right." This week's song sings of that joy and happiness: Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle.

The song serves as a reminder of what I've already given up, and what I will never have. Until this point, I'd only thought about the conflict with my ex. My heart aches for the daughter. I feel like part of me is missing now that she's gone. I feel a sense of emptiness for a child I didn't father, but openly called "my daughter," not "step-daughter."

Whether the song is a way to remind me of good things or a condemnation of my attempt to be a father-figure, I'm not sure. Either way, it's something I must deal with while I continue walking this life.


There's two things I know for sure
She was sent here from Heaven
And she's daddy's little girl
As I drop to my knees by her bead
She talks to Jesus and I close my eyes
And I thank God for all of the joy in my life
But most of all...

For butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
Walk beside the pony, daddy, its my first ride
I know the cake looks funny, daddy, but I sure tried
With all that I've done, i must have done something right
To deserve a hug every morning, and butterfly kisses at night

Sweet 16 today
She's looking like her mama a little more everyday
One part woman, the other part girl
To perfume and makeup from ribbons and curls
Trying her wings out in a great big world
But I remember

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
You know how much I love you, daddy, but if you don't mind
I'm only gonna kiss you on the cheek this time
With all that I've done wrong, I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning, and butterfly kisses at night

All the precious time
Like the wind the years go by
Precious butterfly
Spread your wings and fly

She'll change her name today
She'll make a promise and I'll give her away
Standing in the bride-room just staring at her
She asks me what I'm thinking and I say I'm not sure
I just feel like I'm losing my baby girl
She leaned over

Gave me butterfly kisses, with her mama there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
Walk me down the aisle, daddy, it's just about time
Does my wedding gown look pretty, daddy?
Daddy, don't don't cry.
Oh, with all that I've done wrong, I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning and butterfly kisses
I couldn't ask God for more, this is what love is
I know I got to let her go, but I'll always remember
Every hug in the morning
And butterfly kisses


(I finally got the tears under control. God bless to all of you parents out there.)