Get Out

They'll never leave. 

I don't ask them to come in anymore.

They got in here because I let them in once, a long time ago.

But back when I let them in, I loved them and was excited to have them here.

Now they are dark and hurtful, and I can't get them out.

They come in and dwell in that place that used to be theirs.

But they aren't suppose to be there.

I don't want them in, they make me sad.

Marry Church or Marry Woman

Every Catholic male ponders the question at one point or another: "Should I become a priest?"

I don't know what God is. I don't know what God is not. Putting him in the category of "knowing" and "being" are not even justice to His existence.

The sacrament of being called to the priesthood comes through Holy Orders. If I don't know God or how he really talks to me, then how would I know that I am being called? Priests, parishioners, friends, family--they all say "you have to listen! you have to be ready and able to hear God's call" Okay...

What does that even mean? Do I feel it? Do I stay my path until one day I find myself either with a wife and kids or at the pulpit? Something in me fights the idea of being a priest. I don't know what it is or where it comes from. Is that God? Is that me? If it's me, is it selfish preservation of the freedoms of a layperson? I'd hate to be called to be a priest and miss it because I wasn't listening...

Then again, if it was in His will, I'm sure it would happen. Right? I've never really been on the fence with the idea, as I said I do not wish to become one. To make the idea even more inappropriate, the advantages of being a priest are what I think of when contemplating the calling:

• Part of a sacred brotherhood that has lasted for centuries
• No financial worries
• Pride in duty/position
• Trips to Rome and the Holy Land
• Admiration of many people
• Closeness to God and more time to contemplate faith

I don't think that "perks" should be weight to tip the scale in wanting to be a priest. I feel as though it should be something deeper and spiritual. I've asked priests why they went through the seminary and ordination, and surprisingly, I met quite a few who spoke of it as being without "a calling", but instead that it "made sense" or "seemed like the right thing to do". Boy that complicates things.

I have never been able to see myself in the future. Even as a kid, I couldn't picture myself in my 20s. Now in my 20s I can't see myself in my 30s or even as an old man. I want to get married and have children of my own, but I can't see it. I can't see myself alone and yet I can't see myself aging with another person. All my life I assumed that this meant I would die young or something. But maybe it's just like that for everyone. People say they can "see it" because they can imagine it. I have done too many things for reasons that I don't know that I don't bother imagining. I don't even know how or why I did them. Will becoming a priest one day just happen like that also? Or will finding a wife and making a family just happen?

Standing Above a Crowd

You're supposed to treat others the way you would want to be treated. Do this throughout your life on earth and you are promised eternal life. Celebrate the gift of life that is given to you and try not to be selfish with your time here. Do this and upon your death you will enter a kingdom where there is no pain, fear, worry, or sorrow. 

That all sounds desirable. This man came around 2,000 year ago and told everyone he met these kinds of things. It's no wonder he found a few followers. Since then, millions of those who believed him have lived and passed on, realizing for whether his promises were true or not. For better or worse, we don't know if they proved him right or wrong. 

Yet even if it was all false, what the man told us to do to get there really isn't asking for much. In fact, if you have ever done kind things for others and showed compassion to those in need, you more often than not feel good about yourself anyway. Isn't it ironic how you are ultimately serving yourself by serving others? 

On This Day

150 years ago today, State's rights were fought for like it never had, and probably never will see again. 

Although 150 years sounds like a lot of time, but in reality for mankind it is not. It is horrifying in that perspective to understand that men stood in lines across from their foe, and marches into volleys of bullets, unwavering. The side that held out and shot more men in the opposition's line held victory. The bravery still stands as no less than astounding.

The battle at Gettysburg, most notably Pickett's Charge ended in a slaughter for the South, and being reminded today of the 12,500 men who marched uphill for almost a mile under cannon and musket fire the whole way, is heart-breaking. Of every 2 men in that charge, 1 would be a casualty. 

For us Americans today, may the forefathers of this nation that fought for an idea bless us and give us the courage and determination to live meaningful lives. And through their example, help us be guided by knowing what is worth fighting for; because knowing this is significantly more difficult than it may seem.

The Old Man

There are occasions where my patience and unwillingness to "seem rude" have really been positive. Usually, it just wastes my time, but then again I've always been an attentive listener. One of those occasions happened today at work, when an old man leaning on a cane hobbled over to my door.

I walked up to the building entrance where the remnants of a rainstorm was still sprinkling down. I took him as far as the entryway out of the rain and began our conversation.

The man introduced himself to me as Mansef Hailu, and upon asking what it was I could do for him, he bluntly replied "Oh, just to talk for 5 minutes." I wanted to be hospitable and invite him in for a drink of tea or coffee, but I'm not allowed to let people in. I was so conflicted. I felt so rude making the man stand in the door way, but I obliged him at least with an open ear.

He told me where he was from, what his name means, about his brothers and sisters, what there was to do in his country, and a couple of stories about his beloved mother. He didn't ask any question of me beside what my name was. He genuinely wanted someone to talk to. Looking into his eyes and seeing his joy at finding someone new and willing to listen to his words wanted to make me cry. 

I wanted to cry because I've been in this situation before with the elderly. A situation where I felt ashamed at feeling like one of the few persons to give someone in the twilight of their years the time of day.

I wanted to cry because of how happy he was to talk to me, and I, to JUST LISTEN.

I wanted to cry because I realize time and time again how something so simple is what is truly meaningful to a person. It's something that brings humans back to their roots of what we are; social, emotional beings that are living in a world we created that distances ourselves from our origins.

I wanted to cry because I wondered when he would again find me to talk to.

He told me that I was a good person, and his reasoning was simply because he could see it in my face. I told him "I don't know about that..." but he insisted. We bid each other a "God bless you" farewell and I told him that the rain had stopped and sky was parting.

He nodded, as I began to close the door he caught the handle lightly and began to sing. If I wasn't moved by our conversation already, I felt a wave of emotion run through me. Although being born and raised in his country of Eritrea, his English voice was smooth and clean. I had never heard the song before, but it was something about the rain, his cup being full, and things always getting better. He sang the tune as though it was something he knew by heart for decades. And he sang it to me.

As he finished the song, he closed the door and smiled. It was as if he had done all he wanted. His brief talk, his song, and a new friend...this was all. And I gave him 5 minutes. 

QVID AGIS?

She said, "One of the things I like most about you, is how you go wherever you want. You do whatever you want. It's refreshingly mysterious."

I cocked an eyebrow to that, because not only have I heard similar comments before, but my thought was "...and that's one of the things that I can most hurt you with."

I have lived in my present habitat for over a year now. It's the longest I have stayed in one place without some sort of long excursion away, or packing up and moving all together since...goodness...since I was 17 years old before heading to college.

I know I will always be traveling and visiting the reaches of the world, but I wonder if I will continue to roam. A part of me hopes that I will. I don't know if that part of me is habit or comfort with the normalcy of everything being temporary. Perhaps it is pure curiosity and the adventurer in my heart that want to see and experience more. 

Lead on, champion.

Light

There is a light that glows inside of me. 

It grows strong because I've worked so hard to make it so.

I've spent much effort and time shaping it to be as bright and true as it is.

The light is positive and good in it's energy.

I give it willingly to those who I think need it.

I do not give it because their lights or smaller or weaker.

In fact, some of their lights are much bigger than mine.

But my light is different and it can help them with theirs.

My light will make theirs bigger and stronger still.

I give my light to them in hopes that they will be happy.

I give my light so that they will have power to overcome their challenges.

After I give my light, I look and see the darkness of where my light once was.

It was so bright there, but now it's gone.

But, as I look into the dark, I regard with no surprise to see a spark flicker for my new light that I will make.