Mortality, Spring, and an Update

Been a while. Some stuff has happened: went to Seattle, went to NY, have continued along the path of working part-time...but I think Holy Week has been one of the best moments for me, crazy as it was.

Holy Week was crazy because of several things: I was working full-time rather than part-time because staff was short-handed. I've done it before, but I remembered after this week that I had adopted a little less high-strung approach to the office cluttering up. Cleanliness in the areas nobody goes can wait; cleanliness where cluttering affects efficiency can't. Yeah, took me a week to remember that (much like last time, go figure), so before that realization I was on my feet from the moment I walked in the office til the moment I sat down in my car to go home (well, lunch excluded). That in and of itself is tiring, but hey, millions of people do it, and I've DONE it, so it's not like it's going to break me. What was slightly more taxing was the choir practices and Masses/Service throughout the week. We needed rehearsal, we did well, but going from work to those and standing the whole time...I'll just say my legs were exhausted.

Bright side of the week, though: lots of reflection that I didn't expect to get in the mayhem.

My first was on the nature of how I saw Good Friday. I've been spending a lot of time on really...I don't know, trying to go a little deeper. That's the beauty and the danger of the mysteries: There's always something more to discover, but staying on the same plane for too long leads to stagnation. As Fr. Regis would say, one has to "work the muscle." So after a long hiatus, it was time for a spiritual workout, and Triduum seems to be made for that. I've been having a hard time really processing or even beginning to process the Incarnation. I mean, the mere fact that it happened is mind-blowing, but the reasoning becomes even more difficult to swallow: "To be with you. Let me truly be among my people, let me be born as one of you, let me suffer hardships as one of you, let me grow, learn, and take on your being." Love. Imagine the devastation that Israel suffered in the loss of the Ark and the destruction of the first Temple. The place where God deigned His name might dwell destroyed, the vessel in that structure that held His commandments that was with Israel in its battles...the One God who chose to bring them close to Him, and the vessel where He was truly present in a special way...gone! Those who had hardened hearts perhaps decided when this horrible faith-shattering event occurred that something was bunk, or God was weak, or not really present, or perhaps just not faithful, and left it at that. Others began the profoundly more (initially) difficult process of dialoguing, reading, rediscovering the faith, lamenting their infidelity, calling to God with lamentations...a truly heart-breaking time. Then they were freed from captivity, they could go back to the Temple (which they could rebuild!). Then Alexander came, then the Romans, and jeez, it's easy to feel downtrodden and wondering where God is...and the Ark seemed to be lost forever.

For those who came to believe, I can't imagine how unbelievably beautiful and hard to believe it would be that God would stoop farther than have His Name dwell in a temple or an Ark...that His Word would become human?! To descend to such levels to embrace His people!

So yeah...first thought. Incarnation. This was in my mind as I entered Good Friday. And then in Good Friday's service, I started thinking about mortality. My grandparents certainly have limited years left on the globe. I envisioned my parents dying, which is scary, because I've always envisioned them as invisible. The notion my mom someday (perhaps soon) won't be able to accomplish everything or that my dad (ever young-appearing and relatively unaffected by his diabetes) might not be as able to contain his diabetes as he was really gave me pause. The idea of them not being present to call just to talk put a lump in my throat. Then I envisioned friends...those who are still very much here, those who have died...and the feeling of invincibility that I have, that arrogance of youth that it will last forever regardless of changing roles or years or responsibilities (there is the adage "youth is wasted on the young") vanished. It's mind-boggling, it's terrible, and it can be paralyzing.

The cruel and humiliating execution that was the Crucifixion took on a new dimension. I was able to FEEL a little more. I understood the suffering that was present throughout the day, from Gethsemane and beforehand on Holy Thursday (heck, going into Jerusalem, being baptized...but especially as it drew near) in Jesus' mind. The psychological pain makes me wince at least. Then I think of those who had the courage to stand and watch everything, and the feeling is all the more powerful. And man, someone who didn't have to even suffer chose to do that to BE WITH US THAT WE MIGHT BE WITH HIM?! Hmm...yeah, okay.

As much as I knew that Passion and Resurrection were connected, I viewed them as two discrete events rather than part of the same reality, i.e., God's love. The idea of Redemption becomes much more accessible from that perspective for me when I combine it with what I gather about the Incarnation. God is here. Undeniably. So rather than have what I believe to be misguided focus on the gore of the Crucifixion (though it's tricky, clearly, as the nature of the death emphasizes the extent of the love), I've tried to have more of a focus on the desire behind it. The desire wasn't to cheat the devil and laugh at him in a legalistic loophole, nor perhaps forgive something unforgivable, but to experience man's experience at its most visceral without sinning, able to touch every person and have that touch bring life and communion with God rather than perpetuate death, stagnation, isolation, hate.

It probably makes more sense in my mind's eye than in the blogger format.

Here's the other thought: Spring. It's here. I have been away from a legitimate spring for 5 years, catching the last whiffs of it in my first days back from DC, missing it entirely in Peru, and how I have missed it. Green grass, days of deluge with flowering trees and leafing trees, suns with the smell of freshness permeating everything, nights with moisture in the air and the perfume of flowers wafting down quiet streets. I understand a bit more that I'm not invincible nor immortal nor unchanging, but at the same time, it's amazing to have that surge of absolute joy that hangs in the air of spring and summer for those who deign to listen to it to breathe deep, almost drunk with it, and LIVE. Life is hanging here, tantalizing, pleading that we live it, more clearly than most places I've been, and yet...the number of people both young and old who choose to not grasp it pains me.

"I have come that they may have life and have it in abundance."

Eyes Opened Up

I'll just go ahead and eat my words about the last post being my only update for a while.

It was helpful to have that welcome-back party, to have that brief time to talk about the struggle we have been facing and will continue to face as we return to a place that isn't quite the home we left. If nothing, it gave me the heads-up to what will come (that hadn't already), as I had arrived in the States two days prior to the talking. Through no fault of their own save not knowing any better, people can try to put the experience of Peru, of service, into a box, label it as a discrete experience that has been had, that is now over, and the box can go on a shelf like a trophy. I know that I'm prone to do it myself with any number of events that happen to ME, so yeah.

It's been a nice lesson realizing that...well, the experience isn't over. It's here, it's with me, in my memories of the jokes, in my blundering between Spanish and English and Spanglish, in things not feeling quite right when I come back to a place of less simplicity. At the moment, my heart is in Peru because that's where my love is, but in another equally important way, my heart always belonged in its mountains, in the Andean music, in my visions of flying above and in its canyons. My soul belongs amidst its language, in the warmth, its subtleties, and its simplicity. The being away, the rediscovery and reiteration of what's important to me, the chance to process in a different environment, gives me new perspective regarding everything from houses to the past. It is there, and it is a part of me, and I regret not telling anybody all of that when they ask me how Peru was. Though really, that's not what Peru was like; it's what the experience of doing service and living in Peru IS and still affects me even after I no longer physically live there nor do direct service.

Being here, a year and a half removed from people at college, at home, family and friends...Knowing what I know, seeing what I see...how is it that it changes the past? Clearly events still happened, but with new perspective, new insight, all of a sudden the context is more fully seen. Hindsight, I guess, is the common name for it. In this instance, I guess it makes my path ahead clearer.

I guess I have less to say than I thought. Regardless, there you have it.

Surrender

And the minutes are ticking, hustled into life and its business when what would really be nice is for everything to just freeze. I could go and read, or sit, or walk, or pray, or any combination. I could hike, I could dance, I could feel the ease of being in a simpler way, unencumbered by challenges to find personal growth in a different context and a different rhythm of life. I could sit in the verdant pasture, rested, protected, and reality would be exactly the way I'd wish it were in these moments: far more tailored to the needs I think I have in the way I think is best. If the years wouldn't perform their terrible dance; if all our friends were together again; if new friends could come, too; if all of life were more like the summers of joy and bliss that I experienced in 05, 06, and 07...that feeling of life being right, wouldn't things be better off?

I only work five hours a day and I feel encumbered. I don't generally have to wake up early or challenge my body, yet I'm exhausted. Vitamin deficiency is probably a player in all of this.

I suppose that just as life before Peru offered me a host of lessons, and my time in Peru gave me the chance to essentially have a clean slate, a way to reinvent myself, or go deeper into discovering who I am, life after Peru offers a host of lessons.

One of those is about poverty. I went to Notre Dame for a couple days to interview for their Masters of Divinity program and had the chance to hear them talk about Metz's "Poverty of Spirit." Embracing poverty can take many forms, whether it be in embracing one's finite nature, or in embracing God's infinite love, or in embracing one's handicaps, or in embracing one's ability and necessity to overcome those handicaps. To embrace it is to welcome the true human interaction, to be poor is to...well, be the richest and fullest you'll ever be capable of being.

I guess that's my chief struggle at the moment: surrendering everything. Video games can be a vice for me, and I might start playing them obsessively when I feel out of control, dissatisfied, or experiencing desolation. I can tell when I'm playing the console for that tiny little bit of control, or when I'm eating because it elicits some rudimentary form of interaction that I, me, Miguel, have initiated. Stopping is the next hump, I suppose. And...offering it up. Stopping is well and fine, but I guess there's that mentality that needs to change, too. The bottom line is that I'm not in control of much, but the challenge doesn't lie in seeing that, but in accepting it and, most of all, trusting that it's okay and that there are larger forces at work than just what I can see. That's poverty as I need it: surrender of that concept unto which I can cling ever so fiercely and aggressively that I am independent, self-sufficient, ought to be, and that who I truly am is something that much change in order to earn love, be it God's, my girlfriend's, my friends', my own.

I doubt it will be easy, but I'm on my way. Learning patience was a key thing. I can tell other people to have it, and I will work harder to exercise it on myself.

There was a moment this past week in which I thought about all the things I saw and strive in which to believe. I was surprised to weave through trying to envision love, or poverty, or humility, or trust, and found that a person awaited me at the end of all of it. There wasn't some intangible idea or word phrase that stood as the end result or motivation or example of the Christian life. It was a strange moment of knowing beyond any Thomist or Aristotelian logic's grasps that there was a certain necessity for Christianity to be an encounter with a person. It's like B-XVI said: it's not the result of a lofty moral choice or an idea. I guess this is all kind of "Well, duh!" stuff, but to truly experience it, to KNOW it, is much different than to spout it out.

This is as close as I'll get to a "State-Side" update for the time being.

Tangential, Quixotic...Me

Although one might consider the benefits of having a cast far outweighed by the drawbacks, and while I would generally agree with them, one benefit is that I have the ability to blog instead of going to sleep, because hey...what am I really going to do tomorrow? There is a bit of bitterness in my voice, but not too much. The cast will be off Thursday morning, and then I can return to regularly scheduled programming, as it were. Be warned...this post makes little sense and has even less continuity.

I am a cynical person. I have had some incredibly lofty and wonderful ideology, and my goal is that I can get back on that horse, as it were, in spite of being sadder and wiser. It's a fight, though, and right now I would have to say that I'm a recovering cynic. This experience of service has been difficult not only in discovering more about me, but in dealing with knowledge. I have talked about the beauty of individual people in several blogs, and no blog entry would capture the beauty and wonder (despite the flaws) of any person, least of all those who have been closer to me, and certainly not by any stretch of the imagination she who has been closest during this experience. However, I somehow find myself in a paradoxical situation: as my love for individuals grows, my view of humanity somehow diminishes. I think (but haven't gotten it into my heart) that this view comes from a misattribution.

You know, I also paradoxically think of myself as a great person and a really lousy person. I'm in the process of searching for equilibrium, and this journey was a blessing from God to show me how desperately I need it. In all my complaining about society, I fear that I've been hesitant to venture into it. Heck, I haven't even registered to vote! It's easy to be the unregistered naysayer withdrawn from the world, talking about being a responsible voter and the ridiculousness that is the contradictory stances either US political party holds as their own. And there's always a truth in what naysayers and even hypocrites have to say...but man alive, I have to wonder how I sleep at night, sometimes.

I went to the National Catholic Prayer breakfast in 2009. I was probably more arrogant and cynical then. I heard the introductory speaker speak on Christians as cretins or viewed as idiots, counterproductive, etc. for their views. It was smart, it was intelligent, and it informed the American citizen that being a Christian means opting for what people who take easier or more immediately pleasurable routes might consider incomprehensible. Then, the keynote speaker, a bishop emeritus spoke. I recognized his name as being one who was very much anti-abortion, so I prepared myself. Don't get me wrong, I am NOT a fan of abortion and have some very, VERY strong views, but I also take issue with the current conservative view that makes it a single-issue ticket. I won't get into them here, but let it suffice to say that if for no other reason, it makes politics very, very boring and predictable. I had this bias going into his speech. I was probably the only one in the auditorium with this sentiment. Had I heard this speech by myself, had His Excellency been addressing me alone, I might have had a very different reaction to his speech. Instead, I was immediately turned off by what I perceived as mindless yes-men applauding to every other sentence. I am impatient; I wanted him to get to the point. It's hard when people break out into applause every half-minute. His speech, predictably, though very fairly, talked about being responsible Christians and citizens, and how having the courage to speak to one's representatives in order to ensure that one is in fact being represented is important, especially regarding the values of life. He arrived to a point about politicians wanting to avoid getting implicated in something that might (heaven forbid) jeopardize their spot as a politician or make their voice unheard, how sometimes they'll talk about wanting to save that voice and that pull for another cause that is also important and in line with the Christian faith. Now, when a politician needs to be called out and, well, grow the courage to be a discordant voice of truth amidst a throng of common trend and self-deception, I support that. In fact, sometimes a person needs to really weigh how much the cause they want to support is the cause that they need to support. The bishop's words were not incorrect, uninspired, or anything of that nature. HOWEVER, somebody interpreted what he said in a very different way...or at least I thought so. A woman at the table next to me (I will avoid description because I do neither of us charity by judging her down to her jewelry) sneered, "Social Justice," as he arrived at this portion. I feel I'm justified in my interpreting her sneer to pertain to the subject at hand, citing a specific example of what other causes a representative might wish to support instead of the taboo "abortion" dilemma. This...sent me over the edge.

Thinking that one law or Supreme Court ruling will eliminate the problem or change the culture is simplistic. To me, it is the very idea of social justice that has the ability to change the culture and make legislation more feasible and more effective. If we look at low-income families and the poverty of finances and education (both in general and regarding sexual education...which is distinct from talking about different sexual positions and contraceptives), and look at how to remedy those problems, well, that's a bit more holistic. Much more difficult, granted, but addresses the root of the problem. In the end, though, what experience has shown to me as the "liberal" idea that legislation and more government initiative solving everything isn't the answer, either. As long as the man next door doesn't care for his neighbor, as long as a man lacks the conviction that he needs to give a crap about another, the letter of the law is ineffective. The spirit is what brings that perfection. That's my soapbox. The reason I bring it up is because I had little faith that humanity could really pull it off. With that woman's sneer, I wondered if the people proclaiming themselves as Christian from either side could ever bring themselves to see the sense in some portion of the other side, because neither side has got what it takes to bring about the kind of peace that Jesus preached if they go it alone. Of course, there's the fact that we'd still be Christians, and many people aren't and don't share those views, and...well, there you go.

I meet so many people. So many really, really, good people. Some of them take the time to think and be awake, some of them don't. Even with those who don't, I have a really hard time seeing how the cogs of society crunch and grind and go in so many directions I don't want to go down, that I know beyond any shadow of doubt are ways to certain...well...unconsciousness.

It's hard to fight that cynicism, that discouragement, that temptation to give up hope and give into impatience and despair, in the midst of a giant cloud of black. There's a certain guy who would always call me naïve for my views. A part of him was right, because eventually I let my own broken heart make me condemn and judge everybody in sight and see the world as a place incapable of goodness and change, or a place unlikely of it happening...and instead of fighting my best anyway, I let myself become bitter. Becoming bitter is easy. Being judgmental and arrogant and sanctimonious is very easy (Exhibit A: this post). The title has "quixotic" in it...but perhaps that's not quite right. "Quixotic" means overly idealistic and impractical. I think that this experience has helped me take what was originally me--idealistic, hopeful, uncompromising in stuff that counted--and took out the naiveté. I had had my heart broken...and it was rebuilt here, and I've been shown without minced words what the world is like, and what it's like to try to live seeing the world as it is while aiming to make it as close to "as it should be" as possible. I'm sure it will happen again, and harder, and I hope that I'll be ready for it. Only way to do that is to learn to trust. Here we go. Still.

Holy Family

Many things have happened: Thanksgiving was a wonderful event even if the turkey didn't get cooked all the way, December and Advent have been nothing short of beautiful experiences (albeit very challenging at times), and all of a sudden, quick as the madness began, it stopped. Here I am, the day after Christmas, one of maybe 40 people in Ciudad...about 15% of the normal population. I won't see most of those kids ever again, and while I almost started crying when Hermano Hugo called us up at Mass on Saturday night to be given a farewell blessing, I was glad to see these boys go. I was glad to see them walk confidently and happily out of the pabellón into the promise of a summer that won't be as carefree as one might hope, but in any case is summer. The promise of summer is a privilege whose full benefits, I think, are reserved for those in the academic sphere. The passage of time has helped the boys be confident: having a few months just being in your own skin while the changes of puberty start really setting in help tremendously. Knowing the routine, going from a new kid to a veteran, having the swagger of being "not freshman" and/or "upperclassmen"...I know the self-assurance such happenings can give a teenager, and I had a bit of pride to see the boys I'd seen as short, awkward kids walk out as not-quite-as-short, almost-confident-in-social-situations teenagers.

It'd be arrogant to think "My work is done," because a lot of that work is the natural course of time unfolding; I was merely a witness and cheerleader, adding the occasional formational remark. It was sad for me, and will be sad still...it'll hit more when I'm on the plane heading to the States, and more so when I realize that I can't just strike up conversation with whatever gringo is around about the ridiculousness of these boys and have them truly understand from sharing that same root experience of being in this place. I know that even in the midst of coming home, even in the midst of being welcomed back, of coming back to people who've been missing me, I'll be struggling with feeling very alone. I'm coming back a different person with different experiences, a different diet and different preferences; people will rely on my description of Jhon to form an image of him, unable to just draw on their knowledge of his quick-as-a-whip friendly tongue-in-cheek from encountering him in the kiosco. This is very tangential. The point is that as I feel more alone, as I feel my time in a community in which I've become comfortable comes to a close, the realization that I might not ever see these boys again will become more acute. And that's the way of things, and I'll fight the negativity tooth and nail and work on being grateful and trusting God as the time comes.

Now to the point of my post: Today's the Feast of the Holy Family. I could go on at length, but I'll let this suffice: Like those of the Holy Family: In every one of our relationships, may we have the Father as our first father, the Son as the first child born of the relationship, and the Spirit as our first lover.

Recurrent themes

This post originally was going to be about something completely different, but the title remains the same.

My junior year of college, I had what many would consider an awful 1st semester. A friend died, a family member died, a friendship went freefalling, I had a million responsibilities, a lot of academic work, and then, as icing on the cake, I sprained my ankle shortly before Halloween. I hated that time, I was mad at myself, I resented the situation, dwelled on the negative, and really let myself get to a bad place. I had found it hard to pray before that had started, but I certainly had no desire to pray after. God was unfair, He was my competition, and I could tell that He wanted me closer to Him, but man did He have another thing coming.

Of course, my desire is to say how foolish I was, how immature, how self-damaging and infantile in my tantrum, and...well, yeah, I was. I hurt myself, I closed up a lot, I hurt others, and everybody felt that energy coming from me. It was so easy to go to that place, and while the loudest voice in me told me to continue in that vein, there was a voice that told me that I had to try. That voice was muted at times, distant, or even without any passion: a monotone radio announcement, a bored mantra. All the easier to shut it out. And man, I shut it out. I didn't give up on school; I put more effort into school, as I was doing well with it and I derived my sense of well-being from it (I also liked my classes a lot...well, mostly. Some classes I was awful in. I'm sorry, Dr. Mc). I worked really hard at Esto Vir. Here's the thing, though: I didn't tell anyone what was bothering me. I didn't pray because it was just that much easier to ignore my need to do so, having had active reasons to rage against God (so I thought).

I am pretty sure that 3 years later, exactly to the day, I found myself once again without the mobility I'm so used to. Slightly different reason than before: This time I dropped a pot of boiling water onto my right heel and got a nice 2nd-degree burn. This is the same foot that got severely sprained 3 years prior. October 28th (day of said injuries) is a special day here in Perú. It commemorates the feast of El Señor de Los Milagros. Years ago, there was a huge earthquake in Lima. The whole city was decimated, save for one mural of Christ Crucified, which stood completely intact amidst the wreckage. It came to be known as El Señor de Los Milagros (Lord of Miracles). Of course, at first I thought it a very ironic occurrence to receive a burn and be confined to rest and a crutch on a day associated with Miracles. It's easy to make a joke about how God needs to resort to physical injury to send me messages or that He just enjoys watching me in pain.

This time, though, I really needed to fight the negativity. Somehow, I put on a fun face for everybody last time and let it eat my core. This time, maybe I won't tell people how hard it is to fight going stir-crazy or to fight my mind's crazy formulations or impulses due to boredom, but I feel more honest and less angry about life. I can't tell you what the differences are between this time and last, but I feel the message is the same: "Trust me, be with me, talk to me, follow me. And Hope!" Last time I was in such pits and so pissed and...wanting the world to give me some recognition and loads of sympathy. I found some. To everybody who interacted with me then: thank you, you have shaved several years off of purgatory, I'm fairly positive.

I've had my moments of frustration, despair, of being brought to tears, of doing stupid things like eating crap in huge amounts due to boredom even though I know it'll drive me crazy because of how unhealthy it is later on and the fact that I can't do exercise that I'd love and want to do. I've allowed myself to go paranoid partially out of boredom, partially out of being so alone and feeling so vulnerable. It's easy to think that people despise you or resent you when you're so worried about having to ask for help or admit you're weak that you inadvertently become self-involved. When forced to grapple with yourself, it's easy to avoid that battle and fall into a spiral of self-pity and frustration because you wish you weren't a burden. I've sat staring at the ceiling at night because I've rested all day and while my mind is exhausted, my body (having done little more that be vegetative and recuperate) is wide awake, ready and reporting for duty.

I've needed to deal with the same things, and I've been able to receive some of the same gifts: Wonderful, genuine people who have care and concern and show me love in a way that is very touching. It's amazing how those small acts, like people asking if they can get you something from the market or bringing you dinner when they come to visit or ask after you whenever they have the chance can be so very powerful in the experience of somebody who is needing to feel assured and embraced and loved.

Bright sides seem easier to find this time. Part of that is being willing to let my girlfriend in, and her willingness to keep me from dwelling (even when I really want to). Part of it is a desire to hope and a knowledge that I can't give in to all of that anger and resentment, all of which stems from...fear and from pride. It's a tough battle at 3 AM when you're wide awake and can't sleep no matter how much you'd like to do so, but it's nice to think that through the grace of God both in my all-too-imperfect openness and in others' love and presence, I'm at least willing to try to see what He might be saying to me. It's a tough thing to do because I hate not having all the answers, knowing what will happen, how it will happen, etc. I like being in control, I like being on top of everything, and to even admit that maybe God's trying to tell me something is to admit an imperfection which is a blow to my pride and sets my anxiety alarm off. I was lucky enough to have a bright side: now I have time to do what I complained I didn't have time to do. I can pray, I can write applications to grad school, and I can rest. And I can keep learning how to believe and have hope.

It's tough to have to admit that you have to learn something. I was too wrapped up in myself 3 years ago to see it. I'm still too wrapped up in myself in some ways to see lessons that I'm sure God's been trying to scream; I hope that continuing in the spirit of surrender I might unclog my ears a little bit and maybe take my fingers out of them, too.

At the end of it, though, this has been a miracle. And...how fitting for me that the only thing that stood in a city with all of its solutions for problems, all of the ways that people look to escape (granted it was the 18th century, so this is my own 21st century spin on things) that you can find in a city, the things that can absorb us entirely, the one thing that remains intact was a mural of the crucifixion. The message "The road of love leads to Calvary" has been on my mind, and the idea of surrendering to that is my (life's) task, but how fitting that the only thing that will stand strong and endure is that paradoxical image of selfless love and perseverance; that, with the eyes of faith and hope, speaks of the resurrection and immortality that lies after the death and the initial pain.

Intellectual processing of this: 78% complete (roughly)

Holistic processing and integration of this: 5% complete. Estimated time remaining: rest of natural life, and perhaps then some.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

"Rejoice in the Lord Always"

"I say it again, rejoice!" I'm not a major Bible fiend in the sense that I can quote and then cite passages with perfect accuracy, but reading the Office of Readings sure gives me some awesome things to read each day, and I get a rush out of reflecting on the readings for each Sunday and finding some of the ways that they connect and send a message. Sometimes, context and full meaning aside, little passages and/or phrases just jump out to me...This portion of Philippians chapter 4 (verses 4-7, de hecho) always makes me think a little bit. I know this is a recurring theme I talk about, partially because my own journey right now and forever will always be about learning to trust and have faith, to hope, and to know the peace that comes from that, a mystery to those who experience it and confounding to those who see it from the outside.

One of the boys who was in the pabellón where I worked named Alfredo Navarro, 15 years old, has a benign brain tumor. Of course, when tumors decide to take up residence in the brain and are freaking large, it's hard to imagine a tumor being benign. He's had a biopsy and now has had a device put into his skull to help with fluid from accumulating and building up in the tumor's area. I need to visit him soon. A part of me is scared. Don't get me wrong, a part of me is selfish, but the selfishness and callous attitude I'm tempted to have comes from someplace completely unexpected: a fear. I know it's silly to post confessions on blogs, but hey, you all wanted to know me better, anyway. Lauren and I were the same year in the same school since age 5. We went K-8, Freshman to Senior year of high school at the same schools. Then we went to the same college. I remember when I first heard that she had cancer...I prayed for strength. I didn't pray for strength for me, or at least I didn't think so: I wanted strength to not doubt, to be there for others...and because I didn't want to acknowledge how awful a thing cancer is. She and I weren't best friends. We actually fought a bit back in 4th grade when I was acting up and stood behind her in line. Haha, I kissed the back of her head on accident in 3rd grade and was humiliated for the whole day. Everybody forgot within a day, at least as far as I know (though I was never one to be in the gossip circles, nor would said circles' opinions really influence me, so who knows?). In any case, we kinda went our separate ways in high school and college. But did we? There she was, a small reminder of home in a strange land in college, a reminder of what we both experienced at our parochial school in high school. And then we heard her cancer had come back, full force. And then she gave her final showcase the summer after freshman year of college in our high school's theater. One of the moments of my life I regret most, I think, happened that night. Instead of waiting to talk to her, instead of acknowledging how seeing her sing even though I knew that she was in pain and that she was tired made me feel both so sad and incredibly hopeful, instead of even just meeting her eyes and giving her a hug and saying hello...I bailed. I went with my friends who didn't go because they didn't feel they knew her (and a few who went but didn't know her well) and went in search of ice cream. I can't say I enjoyed my time with friends, I can't say I enjoyed the time I stole to avoid the discomfort of acknowledging that, unbeknownst to me before seeing the showcase, I was a little bit destroyed (a little, not totally) that she was not going to be a constant for the rest of college, that I'd only hear her astounding singing voice in youtube recordings made before I was 21...I was so terrified of facing that, and yet I was miserable not doing so.

I sometimes wonder, especially now that Alfredo reminds me of her situation, and even of her, with certain facial expressions he makes, how life would have been different if I had just stayed that night, if I had allowed myself to see her, if I had allowed myself to cry, if I had allowed myself to admit where I truly was in that moment. I doubt that life would be incredibly different, and yet the significance of that one small act/omission is vast. My mind has so many places to go with this thought.

The first thought is nothing new: a life lived in fear is hardly a life. It's the difference between surviving and thriving: it's a huge difference. You can read old blog posts to read about that.

The second thought relies on a quote from our pal St. Paul: "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:28). Well, people can be against you, cooperate against the grace that's trying to be there, but the lovely thing about God is that...well, He Is Who Is. In the end, if we're receptive to Him, His grace is enough to bring us to what we all want. I look at the moments wherein I've let fear I've misattributed to strength or sensibility and my answer to Paul's question is, quite simply: We can be against us. We are our greatest and truest obstacle, and when we let fear or pride (the two actually go hand in hand, at least in my experience) call the shots, we don't give grace much opportunity to act. I mean, it's still God, so He doesn't ever give up, but yeah. I want to be strong, which I often take to mean hiding my weaknesses, not showing them, not even taking time to realize I need to confess them or justifying myself IN Confession. But...it's precisely in that brokenness that we can find grace waiting to wash us over, peace, love, and we can tune our strings to the true tone.

Third thought: People think of hospitals as depressing, and I can understand. There's so much illness, sickness, bureaucracy, dehumanization, mortality, etc. Somehow I see myself there for another reason, and perhaps not as a doctor or nurse. Perhaps due to experiences in the past, or my experience now with Alfredo, I feel like it's a place that offers so many profound invitations for us to recognize where we are, both in how we feel and that we are not perfect and that we need other people. I know that the feeling of there being people there to grasp your hands when you reach them out is incredible, affirming, strengthening, and ennobling. When that happens, there's a light that one can't help but ignore. In a way, it highlights some of the key points of the human experience: birth and death (clearly), but also how to deal with suffering, what it means to be social beings...I have begun to ramble.

I had a fourth thought, but sleep deprivation has killed it. Perhaps in a later post.

In the end, it boils down to more how one is rather than how one does. The latter will have significance only if the former is there. And I'd like to be in a place of trust, of rejoicing in the Lord at all times, in all things, always. I'd like to be in a place of faith.

God willing, I'll see him this week. Send prayers, any of you folks who still read...and feel free to send me your intentions, too!