Tag Archives: Friendship

Holy Waiting

This Advent is a little different for me because I’m, in a sense, waiting for a new coming of my Savior into my life, but I’m also awaiting the birth of my godson, who is due in January. The baby shower was on the first Sunday of Advent, and it was a good party. A lot of people were there. I normally don’t do super well with crowds, so I helped amuse a couple little kids who were there and helped make some decorations for the baby’s room. We had a two hour drive home, so I spent some of the time praying the Rosary. At some point, the phrase “holy waiting” popped into my head. My initial thought was, “I hate waiting.”

I’m naturally curious, so I did give it some consideration, “How could waiting be holy?” Waiting is tedious and boring. I am obviously not alone in this sentiment. Then another thought popped into my head: “couldn’t any activity be holy, provided it’s not sinful in itself?” I was teaching my CCD students last week, and I mentioned that I’m a songwriter. I told them that most of my songs are, in some way, about God, prayers to God, or about things that God is or has been involved with in my life. In the studio, my producer and I pray before we get to work, and it’s obvious to us when God starts really working his magic. In this way, I do think that working on my music is a holy activity.

Truthfully, though, the idea of waiting being holy is hard to wrap my head around. Then again, there are different ways of waiting. Waiting for me usually involves mindlessly trying to beat my high score on 2048. I could spend the time reading scripture or praying, but honestly, when I’m waiting, I just don’t want to have to think that hard, or really at all. I want to kill the time so it feels like it’s going by faster. The fact of the matter is, though, I’m not “killing” the time, and it’s not going by any faster. I am wasting the time I’ve been given. Advent is precisely a time for waiting, and I think it’s a time for making waiting a holy occupation.

I’ve been waiting for my godson with his parents for a long time now, but in hindsight, it’s seemed like the time has gone by insanely fast, and I’m just really excited to meet him. I am not patient, but I think, in some way, waiting to meet him has made me a little more patient. I think to understand how waiting could be holy, though, we have to take a look at what Mary did during the first Advent. She waited, but I don’t think she worried. I checked out a reflection on this by two priests and a nun, who emphasized all the interruptions of the personal plans of Joseph and Mary during that time.

From the get-go, Mary was planning to marry Joseph. That was complicated when she was asked to be the mother of God, but she said, “yes.” That again was complicated when Joseph realized that she was pregnant, but not by him, and they had to have a difficult conversation. He was planning on “divorcing her quietly,” which would have been the kind and honorable thing to do, but he was then asked by an angel to be Jesus’ foster father. Things went pretty smoothly after that, but they weren’t a wealthy family by any means, it was the first century, and anything could have gone wrong at any point during the following several months. The point is, they trusted God, and it didn’t–until Mary was eight and a half months pregnant and they got the news they had to go to Bethlehem. That was not going to be an easy journey, but still, they trusted God. They had to trust God the whole way because they didn’t know where they were going to stay, or where or when Mary was going to give birth. In the Gospels, however, there’s no indication that either of them panicked or worried too much at any point.

There’s no knowing for sure what could have been going through their heads at any given point, but obviously, they would have had normal human concerns. To not worry at all would have been abnormal. Humans have needs and concerns that are unavoidable. The point is, they didn’t let those concerns take over. They knew that God would take care of them. In the reflection video I watched, they talked about waiting with God instead of waiting for Him to do something. They also emphasized the importance of being vulnerable and being still with Him.

Earlier today, while waiting for my mom to run a couple of errands, I sat in the car and just prayed, out loud, about nice, simple things. I have a tendency to only talk to God when something is freaking me out or when I or someone I know needs something. Today I told Him that the sky He made was beautiful, and later, while eating my lunch, I just talked about food. I told Him that I’d like to know what He ate when He was here on earth because He knows what I like, but I don’t know what He liked. Maybe taste preference wasn’t much of a luxury He could afford, especially when things were getting dangerous for Him, but I’d still like to know. Maybe it’s not the greatest example, but we were waiting–just waiting and talking. That is priceless time that is not wasted.

All that brings me back to the question of “how can waiting be holy?” I think it’s less abstract than I originally assumed. Talking to God while sitting in the car makes sitting in the car holy. I think one doesn’t even necessarily have to be praying for waiting to be a holy activity, though. I remember the night my dad and my aunt went and waited with my grandmother over the couple of days before my grandfather died. I wasn’t there, but I don’t think they talked much. They just waited and loved each other and him. I think that was holy waiting, too. I think simply hoping is a kind of holy waiting.

Advent is a time for hope because we’re reminded of the first Advent, and we’re once again, waiting for Christmas. Jesus’ coming into the world to save us was a historical event, but we revisit it every year not just to remember it, but because we can personally invite Him into our lives again, in a new way, as our Savior. Saying “yes” to His love, or to anyone’s love isn’t something we do once. The “holiday season” is chaotic, and truthfully, it kind of drives me crazy. It probably drives you crazy, too. Try to find some space in that craziness to be still, wait with God, and to be vulnerable and honest with Him. That, I think, is holy waiting.

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I’ll Stick Around To Remind You

I’ve been on a bit of a blogging hiatus. I’ve been busy loving a teenage boy from where, I don’t know, praying, working on my book, and working on music in the studio. I just finished up the second song, “Heart Of Love.” I don’t know where it’ll be on the album, but I’m just overjoyed at how good it sounds. A lot of love went into this song, on my end, for sure, but I’m convinced, from heaven as well. Ken and I pray before every session, and both of us have been convinced that we’ve had very little to do with this song. Even when the work was barely started, we couldn’t stop ourselves from laughing at how good it sounded.

Last week we finished “Heart Of Love” and started work on a song called “Sunset Sparrow,” which is partly dedicated to my new friend, but also to anyone who is suffering from loneliness or any kind of mental health issue. The first verse ends with a question: “Sunset Sparrow, can you see the city lights, and in the sky beyond, can you see the stars?” The Chorus goes like this: “If your answer’s ‘no,’ I’ll stick around to remind you, the night can’t last forever, and the morning’ll break through.”

A couple of weeks ago, my friend and I decided to watch “The Hunger Games.” There’s an interesting conversation in the first movie between President Snow and the guy who designed the game/arena. President Snow questions, “You like an underdog?” The guy responds by saying, “Everyone likes an underdog,” to which the president responds, “I don’t.” My friend reflected, “People don’t actually like underdogs. People like underdog stories.” Truthfully I haven’t thought about it a whole lot, but at the time, she seemed to be right, and I think she probably is.

I have also heard over and over that we live in a cut-throat, survival-of-the-fittest society. Though I have seen beautiful exceptions, I think, for the most part, this is overwhelmingly true, too. This leaves people afraid to reach out to one another in kindness because it leaves them vulnerable. Any show of weakness could mean defeat. I am reminded of the “Good Samaritan” story. Two of the three people who pass the wounded man–the underdog–pass him by. They are more interested in their own survival; the task at hand.

Jesus uses that story in a particular context as a teaching device, but I wonder what the wounded man–the underdog–would have been thinking. I had a very strange conversation with my new friend just a couple of days after we made contact. I asked him how his weekend had gone. His response was not a positive one. I spent two hours trying to convince him that he was lovable, that he was loved, that I don’t abandon my friends, and that I wasn’t going to abandon him. He countered by saying that he was very good at pushing people away, and that we couldn’t possibly really be friends because we had only known each other for two days, and then, it was only over the internet.

I spent the whole two hours inwardly hoping he wouldn’t ask me why I loved him because if he asked me, I don’t think I could have explained. The fact of the matter is, though, that, though I only really know his name and his age and the bare minimum of his personality, I love this kid, even if I can’t articulate a reason. Pope Benedict XVI said, “Only when God accepts me, and I become convinced of this, do I know definitively, it is good that I exist.” Saint Paul said that we can know God loves us because, and I am not quoting directly, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” I’ve recently come up with a prayer that I find exceedingly helpful when, in a sense, I have to remind myself of what I believe. “Lord, I’m a mess, but I’m your mess.”

For too long I tried to figure out why God loves me. Of course I know that God is Love, so I can infer that, in some sense, he has to love me. He kind of can’t help it. At the same time, I personally don’t have to exist. He wanted me with all my quirks and talents, and preferences, and what not, to exist. He created me knowing I’d be a mess, but he loves me too much not to have made me. Accepting my own messiness has not been easy. It probably never will be. By messiness, I don’t only mean sinfulness. I’m talking about other things, too, like the leftover insecurity that still occasionally tries to rear its head from when I was a teenager, or even my medical weirdness.

Acknowledging the mess is important, but if anyone only looks at their mess, they’re left with not much more than a bad mood. That’s why the second part of the prayer is important. By saying that I’m His mess, I am reminding myself that I belong to Him. It’s my pledge of loyalty, but also a way to say, “I know you love me, and I love you, too.” In a world where we’re convinced we have to do everything on our own, it’s easy to make the mistake of either not asking for help when we need it, or ignoring those who do need our help.

From talking with my new friend, I’ve discovered a new sense of the idea of tough love: “I’m going to love you whether you like it or not because you need it.” Sometimes unconditional love is uncomfortable. It can sometimes seem entirely idealistic and unrealistic, when, in fact, the opposite is true. The God of the universe who can literally do anything, and never changes, loves each person literally no matter what, even if our actions or words are sometimes not to His liking.

Last night I reflected on the fact that, while praying, I usually call God, “Lord.” That should be no surprise, except that, when Jesus instructed his disciples (i.e. us) to pray, he told us to address God as “Father.” That’s the whole point. God is the most perfect Father we could ever have. Even when we’re being “the actual worst,” He loves us. Sometimes when our loved ones are going through something particularly hard, or they do something particularly detrimental to themselves, another person, or our relationship, it’s tempting to decide, “I can’t deal with you right now,” and then “right now” lasts a long time. God, on the other hand, doesn’t think like that. Unlike humans, God can handle any mess, no matter how big, and nothing we do, and no matter how we feel, we are unconditionally loved.

I wrote “Sunset Sparrow” initially as a promise to my friend from my personal perspective. However, on further reflection, I’ve realized two things. The first is that I have never encountered the kind of deep darkness I’m finding in his soul. Maybe he’s being an overly dramatic teenager, but I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt. Secondly, though, I think the chorus of the song can be addressed to anyone. “I’ll stick around to remind you. The night can’t last forever, and the morning’ll break through.”

My upcoming album is a worship album, but I wanted the songs on it to be a bit less conventional than the usual fare of worship songs. The fact of the matter is, after a while, truth can only be said the same way so many times before it starts sounding like white noise. I hadn’t intended to write a song to reflect God’s faithfulness directly. On the other hand, I have asked Him to give me some words from His perspective that He wanted me to address to someone in particular, or the world in general. I had hoped He would give me something new to say, but no spectacular divine revelation came. Instead, He gave me new words to convey an ancient message: “I am faithful;” in other words, “I’ll stick around to remind you. The night can’t last forever, and the morning’ll break through.”

Quick Answers To Strange Prayers

“What have I got myself into?” I sit here this afternoon with a message in my inbox from a teenage boy from exactly where, I don’t know, knowing that, in fact, this kid is an answer to a prayer. Nonetheless, I feel as though I’ve probably bit off more than I can chew. Two days ago, I was praying my Rosary, as I do every day, and the focus was on the Sorrowful mysteries. Whenever I focus on Christ’s Passion, the thing that bothers me most is that he had to endure it alone. He was as alone as anyone could possibly be, and that kills me. When I finished my Rosary, I said an extra prayer, which was, “Lord, I wish there was a way I could take some of that loneliness away from you.” Then it hit me. “Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me.”

I can’t directly take away the loneliness of His Passion, but I can help someone else who is lonely. I had insomnia a couple of nights ago, so for something to do while I was trying to fall asleep, I joined a website that helps people find pen pals. I created my account, and on my profile, I said that I was hoping to make a new friend, and to be a help to someone who was lonely. I prayed that a lonely person would find me, but yesterday I decided I couldn’t just sit around and wait. Jesus went looking for those who needed His help, so I decided I needed to, as well.

I found the aforementioned kid’s profile, and he said he suffered from severe depression, and was looking for a friend. He’s fifteen, and he was looking for someone more around his age, but I sent him a message anyway, saying that I might be able to help him, or just be a friend. I told him that when I was younger I dealt with pretty bad loneliness, and I knew that it sucked. I didn’t expect him to reply, but surprisingly, he did. He was surprised that I’m twenty five, and he agreed to be email buddies. This was all in a conversation we had using the website’s mailbox, so I gave him my email address, and now I’m waiting. In the meantime, I’m also praying for him.

I worry that I won’t have the right words to talk to this kid, but I suppose I don’t have to. I most likely can’t physically be there to give him a hug when he needs it, but maybe all I need to do is listen. I often forget that it’s just as important, if not more important, to listen, than to say the “right” thing. Sometimes people don’t need to hear anything. Sometimes they just need to get their words; their thoughts; their pain out. If I can’t be the angel who comforted Jesus in the Garden, maybe I can be a friend who comforts this kid in his garden.

Love Stories

The past two days have been pretty amazing. Yesterday was the second meeting of the Carmelite group I attended last month. They have Mass at the meeting, which meant I got to receive the Eucharist two days in a row. I didn’t go to our regular Mass yesterday afternoon, so I went this afternoon. That means three days in a row receiving Jesus in communion. I’m planning to go to the worship thing tomorrow, so that will be pretty awesome. I’ve just been really happy this whole time. I went to bed last night with the thought, “I am loved,” in my head.

Before I got up today, I watched a short video of something a priest said. He was reading from the diary of Saint Faustina. She had written of a conversation she had with Jesus in a moment of despair. Jesus explained to her that He will call a despairing soul to Him several times, and even if that soul despairs of His mercy, Jesus will make a huge effort to prove He is loving and merciful, and that no soul is beyond His love. It’s only if the soul willfully rejects His mercy that He will let that soul go. In that conversation, Jesus refers to Himself as the soul’s best friend. Though I’ve been really happy over the past three days, I wondered for a moment at lunch today: could He really be my best friend? Then I thought, “Well yeah, I know He’s my best friend. It’s just weird because He’s God and I’m just me, and He’s perfect and I’m not.”

Yesterday I had to be at the monastery for the meeting at eight AM. I’m nocturnal. This is entirely against my nature. We didn’t really have much food in the house for breakfast, but my dad threw together an omelet for me, which was actually pretty good because it had broccoli and onions in it, but it didn’t have any meat. I don’t know why, but if I don’t have any sausage or chicken in an omelet, it does not fill me up. I ate some toast on the way, thinking this would help, but it didn’t do much, and I had a seizure in the car.

I was able to think coherently enough to pray a little just before we got there, so I said, “Lord, I want to do this for you, and I think this is what you want me to do, but if I’m going to do this, I can’t be fuzzy.” When we got to the monastery, I took an extra pill, and I was mostly back to normal by the time we got through morning prayer. Incidentally, yesterday was a celebration in the Church for the birth of the Blessed Mother, so we had cake. This obviously helped alleviate my hunger.

Several of the people there know about my epilepsy by now, and they’re really helpful and understanding. I have to take my medicine at ten and eleven AM, which are kind of inconvenient times during the meeting, so again I prayed. I said, “God, I’m nervous. You are a merciful God, and I know you want me here, so I need you to take care of this.” As soon as I finished praying, a girl whose name is also Katie came over and asked if I needed help getting my pills.

God’s mercy, love, and goodness really are unfathomable. Last night I started really thinking about a kind of love I’ve been feeling lately, but still don’t quite understand. I recently got a text from my “cousin,” with a picture. It was a sonogram of her son–my godson. The funny thing is, I was kind of hoping for a girl. When I saw that sonogram though, with the confirmation that he was a boy, I immediately fell in love. I had been praying for this kid all along and I was joking with my “cousin,” saying that it’s been awkward not knowing which pronoun to use. Now I know that I’m going to be the godmother of a little boy named Max, and I am ecstatic.

Just thinking about him makes me happy. This makes no sense to me. How can I love someone I’ve never met before? The craziest thing about it is that I don’t even like babies. I just know that somehow Max might change that. Earlier I was thinking about something I had heard from a musician I admire very much. He said, in a nutshell that it doesn’t really matter what we do. It just matters why we do it, and who we do it for. I’m starting to think there isn’t really one particular thing God wants me to do with my life. I do know one thing, though. I do what I do because I love Him. I don’t always love Him the way I should, but ultimately, that’s what God’s will for everybody generally is. Jesus said to love God, and love the people around us.

Looking back, I see the line of strangers I’ve befriended, and I see that most of the time, they have been people that the rest of the world passes by. After Mass today I was talking to my dad and laughing because I was thinking about how, when I was a teenager, all I wanted to be was different. I wanted to be nothing like everyone else. At the time, that actually meant befriending the people that others rejected. In fact, between my Junior and Senior year, I took a summer program for highschool kids at Berklee in Boston, and I made a very memorable friend. He was a homeless man with some form of Autism or something. I never knew his real name, but he called himself Polliwog.

I never made friends with any of the other students, but I saw Polliwog every day between classes. I played guitar for him, and he danced, and it made both of us happy. Though I didn’t recognize Him at the time, I think I saw Christ in Polliwog, and I’m convinced that that was the first step towards changing my heart so I’d let Him save me a couple years later. I still think about him from time to time, and I hope he’s doing well. When I was talking to my dad on the way home from church I joked that I always wanted to be different. I got what I wanted. I am different than a lot of my peers. I just never thought being different would look like being madly in love with Jesus.

In the end, though, being in love with Jesus automatically means striving to be like Him. That means loving like a crazy person. Before I knew Jesus, I befriended those the world rejected because the world rejected me, too. Now I love because I love Jesus, but also, I think, for reasons I don’t even understand. John the Baptist said that he had to decrease so Christ could increase. To live like Jesus means letting Him live through me, and love through me. God’s love and mercy are infinite. I am not infinite, but God can work miracles through people like Polliwog, and he can teach love through Max, and He can show His mercy through my hopeful prayers.

There is so much reason to trust and love the Lord, and to love those around us. All we have to do is choose peace when the world chooses violence; choose forgiveness when it’s easier to hold a grudge; choose faith when the night is at its darkest; choose love because love saves the world and love sets us free.

The Ascension

I’ve had a weird couple of days. Yesterday my epilepsy was acting up, so I couldn’t work on my book. Today is the feast of the Ascension of the Lord in the Catholic Church, so I went to Mass with my mom at noon, and then we ran a couple errands and got lunch. Thus, I haven’t got anything done today so far, either. I realized something about this yesterday, however.

I know from experience that doing certain things on the computer exacerbates my symptoms. Given that both my work and many of the things I enjoy doing involve a computer or my Kindle, I quickly ran out of things to do. I prayed a lot, and played guitar for a while, then just lurked in my bed and listened to music. I quickly went from bored, to depressed, to angry.

I prayed some more, and man, did I let God have it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to say anything. I was confused and angry about why this was allowed to happen, but I still trusted him. I don’t get his plan, and yesterday, I really didn’t like it, but it hit me while I was praying that I was so angry because I was unable to do what I assumed he wanted me to do. I assumed that he wanted me to work on my book, like I do most days. Really, I think he wanted me to pray yesterday, and that’s what I did. Beyond that, though I was angry because I wasn’t getting done what needed to get done. This was interfering with my schedule.

When I wake up in the morning, I usually entertain some inane thought or another, then after realizing that I’m actually conscious, I say “Good morning” because I know the Lord is with me. After getting dressed, my second prayer is, “I have a plan for today, but if yours is different, we’ll go with yours.” I think yesterday might have been God’s way of saying, “Sometimes our plans aren’t going to be the same, and sometimes you’re not going to like mine.”

Despite being angry because I wasn’t able to do much yesterday, I was grateful that I was still able to process language. I could think straight, and I could speak. What I realized yesterday is that I value my ability to work too highly. As I said earlier, today is the feast of the Ascension of the Lord. Our priest emphasized the fact that Jesus ascended to Heaven in human form, thus drastically elevating the dignity of human nature. My value is not dependent on whether or not I am capable of doing anything.

There’s a Mercy Me song that I like called “Even If.” A few lines from that song go as follows:

They say it only takes a little faith to move a mountain
Well good thing, a little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose to leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

This became my anthem yesterday. My epilepsy is usually little more than a fleeting inconvenience. It usually doesn’t cause me problems for more than a few minutes. I won’t pretend that yesterday didn’t suck because it did. It royally sucked. Last night, though, my symptoms finally started going away, and I was able to read for a while before going to bed. I’m actually glad Jesus didn’t say anything while I was freaking out. I just needed him to let me cry, and he knew that.

I had to go to the mall with my mom this afternoon to get a chain for my cousin and chocolate for my friend. My cousin was just confirmed, and I got him a medal, but the chain isn’t long enough. I got my friend chocolate because her birthday is on Saturday, and we’re going to see the Avengers tonight to celebrate. There’s a very odd store at the mall. It’s odd because it’s a Catholic store in a place you would not expect to find anything Catholic. I ended up buying myself a medal with an image of Saint Faustina on one side, and the Divine Mercy image on the other. I also got myself a piece of caramel chocolate. The fact of the matter is, God’s goodness got me through yesterday, and today has been infinitely better.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Sanctuary

Last weekend my dad and I flew halfway across the country to attend my friend’s wedding. It was absolutely amazing until that night after I had said my prayers and gone to bed. At the party, it passed through my mind that I could forgo marriage for God, if that was what he was calling me to. The emotion behind that thought was not unpleasant. When I went to bed, however, I felt like ash. I could see my sin, and though I knew Jesus still loved me, that love was painful. I couldn’t understand what he saw in me; why I’m worth saving.

This past week, that feeling has been haunting. On Thursday, though, I went to Adoration, like I always do. During Lent, at Adoration, we go through the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary as a group, so I prayed the Rosary, and I knew the Lord was there. That night, when I went to bed, I read through Luke’s account of the Lord’s passion, and then I started praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. About halfway through, I felt the Lord tell me, “You’re worth it. You were worth it.” When he tells me things in my heart, I have to believe him. I still don’t have a reason, and I still don’t understand why he loves me, but I don’t need to. Sometimes I need to be reminded, and I thank God that he’s patient.

A while ago, I was just sitting at Adoration, and I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, and he asked me, “What do you see?” I was a little stressed out at the time, so I thought about it for a second, and then I said, “I see a forest, and it’s raining, and it’s really quiet… but it’s not dark rain, or cold. It’s kind of bright… and there’s treasure in the rain… but you can’t own the treasure.” That rain has become my sanctuary in a way. There’s something there, and I can’t quite figure out what it is, but it’s something apart from the noise and chaos of life. I’ve tried to build on what I saw in the sanctuary, but I can’t. It’s something he gave to me. It’s something special to think about when nothing else makes sense. I think God probably has a sanctuary for everyone, and it’s worth taking some time to be quiet and let him show it to you.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

God’s Timing

Yesterday we drove out of the mountains of Vermont and headed back to Massachusetts. On Friday we had arrived in the mountains for Vermont’s funeral. Of course death is sad, but something about this death made me angry. On Friday night I couldn’t eat much. I just felt drained. I’m really bad at dealing with sad things. I just don’t like other people to see me cry or that I’m upset. Because of that, I couldn’t cry until ten PM on Friday when I was in my room in the hotel alone. I can cry to Jesus because he knows I’m upset anyway. What I really wanted, though was not for him to hear me. I didn’t want him to see and to take my tears. What I wanted more than anything was for him to hold me and let me cry into him until I was done.

Yesterday, when we were about half an hour from home, my best friend called asking if she could borrow my dad’s soldering iron to modify her snake’s tank. Incidentally, she also didn’t have to work today, so I invited her to hang out when we got home. When she got to my house my dad was in the middle of replacing one of my wheelchair parts, but when he finished my friend and I went downstairs, my mom went out to get food, and my dad stayed upstairs. I had been debating it, but I finally couldn’t help myself, or maybe I couldn’t stop myself. I spilled the beans.

I told her everything. I told her how angry and sad this was making me, though I didn’t know why. I told her that I didn’t like to cry around people as I started crying hard. I told her how unfair it was because it was completely unexpected and out of the blue. She asked me if I wanted a hug. I hesitated for a second, but then I said, “Yes.” She held me and I cried for a long time. Then we played a dumb video game that I’m way too good at. After that we watched videos of assorted big cats being adorable. Then we watched a kids’ movie. I realized last night that Jesus knew that what I needed and wanted most was a hug from him. Since he couldn’t hug me in person, he sent my friend, knowing I would trust her with this. I told her that in that moment, she was Jesus for me. She just happened to call, needing a favor at just the right time. She didn’t exactly know what to do with that, but I wanted her to know. I went to bed a little after midnight and decided to go to church at a parish one town over instead of our home church this morning because the other church has an afternoon Sunday Mass, and I wanted to sleep in.

I thought sleep would help me recover from my emotional roller coaster. My dad caught me crying in church this afternoon. It was right before communion. He asked me if I was okay. I said I was. He asked me why I was crying, then. I said I wasn’t done being sad. Both are true. I am okay. I’m just sad. I don’t think these are mutually exclusive. The Gospel reading today was about when Jesus is recruiting his disciples. The priest said that his mission statement was, “Repent and believe in the Gospel.” The Gospel is the Good News that God loves us and made a way for us to be with him forever.

After church I asked myself, “do you believe the Gospel? Do you believe in what Jesus said and did? Do you believe in the afterlife? Do you believe in Heaven? Do you believe in God’s love? Do you believe in his mercy? Do you trust him?” At that moment I truthfully could say “Yes” to all of these, but it was hardest to say “Yes” to the last two. At this church we sometimes go to, they use more contemporary music instead of the more traditional hymns you might expect at a Catholic church. A line from the closing song sticks with me right now. “Your grace is enough for me.” I know that’s true. I don’t remember the context, but I know that we are commanded to praise God even when it feels like the world is crap. Therefore, I’ll end this post with a few lines from one of my own songs.

I will sing. Hallelujahs. ‘Cause there is good in things. And I believe it. I can see that it’s true. And it’s beautiful.

Growing Up With Me

I just read a few posts from 2012-the year I started my blog. It’s interesting to see how the site has grown up as I’ve grown up. I already thought I was a Christian when I started blogging. The truth is, I didn’t personally know Jesus yet. I believed he was the God of the universe, and I vaguely knew that he saved the world, but I didn’t yet understand that he had saved my soul because he genuinely cared about me personally and wanted to be my friend. In 2012 I had some pretty funny, some good, and a lot of naive ideas. My posts were also a lot more varied in terms of subject matter back then, which I guess is neither here nor there. My posts these are largely about work and God, though sometimes they’re about stories in general or random life stuff. The blog has also largely turned into a way of procrastination, as well as a space to dig for treasure, and hopefully find some truth, whether I like that truth or not.

In the almost seven years I’ve kept the blog, I’ve learned a lot and I’ve gained just over three hundred followers. I don’t think all those people come here often, but that’s okay. This blog has been a companion in my many journeys that have taken place in the course of such short a time. It has been my companion through college, finals, insomnia, epilepsy, faith, hope, fear, love, and milestones. In a lot of ways, it’s kept me going. It’s been a place where I can share my truth, which sometimes, as ugly as it can be, just needs to be squirted out in muddy water colors. This is where frustration and triumph happens. This is where failures are confessed and victory proclaimed. This is where messes are made with the joy of a child, and I admit, in the grand scheme of things, I am one.

I write this as an encouragement to all my fellow bloggers, journalists, and writers in general. Tell the truth. Tell your truth, but more importantly, tell God’s truth. Fear nothing. Writing takes courage, and honestly, sometimes clicking the “Publish” button can be terrifying. Click it anyway. Sometimes we write something, expecting it to get us tons of attention, and no one gives us a second glance. Keep writing. In every circumstance, keep writing. When the world is falling apart keep writing. When you’re on cloud nine, write about it because sometimes the rest of us need to hear what cloud nine looks like. Sometimes your good day can be a happy five minutes for someone who is having an otherwise crappy day. Stories, especially true ones, teach us empathy, so write them. Keep writing, and don’t stop. Write without a reason. Write because you like to. Write because you know you’re good at it. Write because you think you’re good at it. Write even if you suck at it because it brings you joy. Just don’t stop.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Cake

Everyone, firstly, I want to thank you all for following my blog. I don’t say that enough. I really do appreciate it. As a writer, it’s really wonderful to know someone sees and knows about what I do.

Secondly, I want to announce some very exciting news. I’ve reached my goal of twenty stories. Of course my book isn’t even close to finished, but twenty stories has always been a goal of mine. I’ve come this far through small bouts of epilepsy, generally being a scatter brain, family vacations, road trips, self discovery, sin, love, faith, learning, and certainly with the help of my God, so this post is meant to say “thank you” to him, too.

I’m quite excited because my friend agreed that when I wrote twenty stories she would make me cake. She makes darn good cake. I would like to celebrate with you all, too by sharing, in a way, a metaphoric piece of the cake. When I wrote my Creation story, I didn’t even know this would turn into a book. Now the first draft of the book is about half finished. So without further ado, I would like to share story number twenty.

Feorolf

As one might expect, Ferolf’s mere name struck unease at the very least, into the hearts of even the bravest souls. He was not a creature to be taken lightly. He was stronger than any man, and smarter and faster than any wolf. Yet, he was neither and both. He fought without weapons, in fact, he hardly fought at all unless absolutely necessary. He simply hunted. He hunted fear. According to legend, he did not always live in the Forest, but once terrorized the towns of an infant Kingdom. Finally, after many eternities, however, he was driven away by the earliest hunters of Kich. Some of these hunters were rumored to be descendents of the King and Queen themselves. Many were nearly mortally wounded in the effort to track him down even, because in those times there were many strange and dangerous wonders, fully alive, and without thought for human life. Luckily, it was during those times, however, that humans were mysteriously protected from death by the Barrier created by the Exile at the moment of Creation. This was, of course, before the Change.

Still, there were scattered stories of Feorolf’s mercy, and even regret about certain things. He would not hunt very young children, and would not leave them orphaned far from civilization. That is not to say he would not leave them orphaned at all, for he could be cruel. Feorolf was not a simple brute like any average predator. Though his mind was certainly not human, he was intelligent. He was strangely trusting of humans who generally wanted to hunt him down, and creatures that no one else would trust; even making the mistake on several occasions of trusting the Faceless. This never turned out well for him, but he was a forgiving creature.

Oddly, it seemed that, in a way, Feorolf’s nature was like that of the Transient spirits. It was not that he often changed without explanation, but simply that he was unreadable. It was assumed that he had his reasons for acting the way he did, and he did not share them. The truth was he was alone, and he knew it, and regretted it for it was of his own doing. We know this because he shared it with the Wisdom who always shares her knowledge with us, especially knowledge of the Creatures of the Outer Realm.

The story goes that Feorolf was the second Creature to awaken in the Outer Realm, after the Falcon of Destiny. The world was young and fearless in that first eternity, before Reome and Fritam were made by the spirit Time, and Feorolf reveled in this fearlessness. When Time faded, and fear entered the minds of the first humans, it gripped Feorolf’s heart, and all he wanted to do was kill it. In that first eternity the Falcon of Destiny gave the first humans fire. They loved it, and it filled them with joy, but they became dependent on it. Without their fire, the fear returned, and all he wanted to do was kill it, so he attacked. He ripped to shreds some of the first made humans, but to his utter dismay, he realized that this only increased his hatred of fear and the human fear of him. He wanted to help them, but he had to stay away. Any time he came close to a human, two things happened. They panicked, and he almost always went into a frenzy; compelled to destroy the fear in their hearts. He knew how to bite, and tear, and rip, and shred with claws and teeth, and he knew only contempt from humans and Creatures alike. He was eventually forced into Thorn Forest, where he lived in solitude, and slowly even grew to hate himself because he could do nothing to destroy the thing he hated most.

In time he grew darker, seeking the company of Creatures like the Faceless and the Night Bearer. It is unknown whether he ever found the Night Bearer, and in fact, its existence is entirely unverifiable. However, It is believed that it was the Night Bearer that brought fear into human hearts to begin with and that it was a creation of Chaos. It is rumored that Feorolf found it, but could not kill it, but another story says that he defeated it, and it became his slave. Still, there were occasions on which Feorolf interacted peacefully with humans. He even helped those who passed too close to Thorn Forest find safety from darker beings, and he certainly had a sense of his own responsibility for their fear. He always felt it was his duty to protect them. Still, this was rarely possible due to the fact that their level of fear was usually too overpowering for him to handle.

Feorolf treasured brave souls. He had no true friends, but the memories of bravery kept him strong. He hoped for a day when someone would come who truly did not fear him, but he doubted that day would come. Sometimes, if travelers happened to be passing through or very close to parts of the Forest, and he could find them asleep and therefore unafraid, he would try to find and steal books. He needed food, yes, but he was fully capable of getting plenty on his own. He was not a normal animal, and could survive on nearly anything and almost nothing. What he really hungered for was the truth. He needed to know where fear came from. Through eternities, he had come to believe what many humans do: to defeat one’s enemy, one had to know that enemy.

Though he spent much time sneaking and thieving and learning, it seemed that he could not come to a satisfying answer. Then it occurred to him that the answer was simple. He did not need to know where fear came from. He simply needed to usurp its power, and he knew immediately just how he would do this. People were afraid of him, largely because of stories they had heard. He needed to change the story. Among the things he had taken in his time were notebooks, many of them filled with things he had written on his quest to discover the root of fear, but some, empty. He began writing his story, and this is how he told it.

“My name is Feorolf. I am neither man nor wolf. I am no beast that is known to humans. Some of what has been said of me is true. I have killed, but it is not for the reason people think. I do not need humans for food, nor do I hate them. In some sense, I fear them as much as they fear me. I was one of the first Creatures to awaken in this world. When this Realm was formed, there was no fear, but somehow, fear entered, and I hated it. I have always hated it. I sought to destroy it, but in doing so, I made a terrible mistake. I thought killing the first humans to fear would kill the fear itself, but it only made it stronger. I have been banished because of what I have done, and rightly so. I want to right the wrongs I have done. I want to change, if I can, but if I cannot change myself, if I cannot destroy my hate for fear, I must destroy it in a peaceful way. This is my gift to all who have been affected by the fear of me, and the fear of anything else. I shall take it away, as best I can, though I do not think it will ever be possible for there to be a true bond of friendship between humans and myself. We are strangers to each other, and our natures too different. I am not an animal, but I am a beast. I freely admit this.”

He then left this, attached to a tree with a sharpened tooth he had lost. Feorolf was accustomed to using tools, though not tools one might easily recognize. Then he left that place and went far away, so someone could find it, and he would not feel the fear in them. He then wondered if he could detect other feelings in humans since he could feel fear so strongly. He decided he would try, from a safe distance. He began practicing, and after a while, he realized that he could. The trouble was that, in the Forest, fear was generally the strongest feeling. Under the safety of night, he finally decided to venture into a town rather close to the edge of the Forest. It was late, but there were still people out. He stayed in the shadows, listened to conversations and tried to feel what people were feeling. The array was like a beautiful symphony to him. He felt everything from sorrow to joy, and hope. Very late that night, he heard a man and a woman talking to each other in an upper room of a house. He could tell from their emotions that they were the only two there. He was able to catch snatches of what they were saying. They were talking about “makers,” whatever those were, and of leaving and going to Kich. He heard one of them say the name “Lydia,” though that meant nothing to him, and he heard a mention of the Falcon. He felt for the first time what he later learned was love between them, and there was joy again, too, and he felt hope so strongly coming particularly from the man, that it brought him to his knees, and he wept.

He loved hope as much as he hated fear, and he began to hunt it. He followed people cautiously, but more closely, to catch pieces of their conversations, and when he learned that they had lost something, he would seek it out, find it, and leave it somewhere with a note that read “From Feorolf.” Other times, if he learned that someone was hoping for something to happen, he tried to find ways to make it happen, and he would leave them messages, explaining what he had done. People still feared him, but slowly, outright terror morphed into cautious curiosity or perplexed wonder. The bravest souls wandered deeper into the Forest, and people in general seemed to travel with a bit more ease in their hearts. True to his nature, he still made mistakes. He still caused damage. In the worst cases, he still took lives, but he did his best to repent, and he always left notes; in many cases, leaving long letters lamenting his failure and begging the forgiveness of those he had hurt. Once, he received a letter back.

It read, “Feorolf, I’d be willing to bet you weren’t expecting a reply. I want to let you know that I forgive you, and I hope other people do, too, because I know you don’t mean to do the bad things you do, but I’m not sure other people do.” He didn’t know what he had done to whoever this was, but he was overwhelmed with gratitude. After much thought, he finally decided to leave another note for them to find. Again, he was not expecting a reply, and again, he received one. A strange correspondence grew between them, though he never learned who he was writing to. After the Change, he worried about them, but was very happy to learn that they were made young. When they grew old, he left things out for people to find, with notes explaining that the person he was writing to needed help. Eventually he received a note that read, “Feorolf, my name is Kyle. I recently learned that you were friends with my father who died several months ago. I am sorry if this is the first news you have received of his passing. His name was Andrew. I just wanted to say that you have helped us, and thank you.”

Agape

Earlier today a question occurred to me. Why, or how do humans love? What is love, anyway? I thought of this question because I keep coming back to the question of why God loves us. Ultimately, that’s an insanely difficult question to answer, so I decided to try and dumb it down for myself. The obvious next step was to “Google” this because I wanted to know what experts, whether they be spiritual or scientific, had to say. First I got scientific answers that really didn’t seem very helpful. They only really touched on romantic love, which wasn’t what I had in mind.

Then I rephrased my question and got the answer I somehow knew I was looking for all along. There are four different types of love according to Greek philosophy: Eros, or a love that is deeply related to the body and the senses; Phileo, or affection towards people and sometimes things; Storge, which is a loyal love, generally towards one’s family, friends, a cause one believes in, one’s country, etc; Agape, or an active, sacrificial love that is chosen simply for the good of others for no reason. Agape love cannot be understood in a passive sense. Agape is always a verb. Agape is to will the good of the other.

Agape is perfect love, and it is the kind of love that God showed us when he died for us on the cross. God is love. This is why he is a Trinity. He is a lover, beloved, and loving. The Father and the Son love each other, and the Holy Spirit is the love that they share. A human relationship is shared between two people, but if there is no love between them, there is no relationship. People need other people because we need to experience love, and we can’t fill our need purely on our own. God doesn’t need, nor did he ever need humanity to exist because the Trinity was already experiencing perfect love.

God created us knowing that we would betray him. He saved us even though he didn’t have to, and even though it would mean experiencing the worst we had to offer. The crazy thing is that even though God doesn’t need us to love him, he wants us to. This is revealed over and over in the Scriptures, and also through the writings of the saints. In fact, Jesus says that the greatest commandment is simply to love God. Loving God means a great number of things, and can be anything from enjoying and appreciating nature, to imitating Jesus and doing good for others, to stopping to pray or participate in some form of worship.

Jesus said that to find one’s life, one had to lose it. He also said there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. To lose one’s life does not need to be understood in a literal sense. It is meant that one is to give one’s self away freely, and in doing so, one finds out who they really are. Similarly, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends means to sacrifice for people without expecting anything in return. To make sacrifices for God’s Kingdom is Agape love. It is the kind of love that God wants from us.