As I sit here awaiting Game 3 of the 2017 World Series, I reflect on a remarkably productive week. I decided to arrange my agenda into a schedule for once (I know, I was ridiculously disorganized up until this point. I'm surprised I've made it so far in that state). It's amazing to see how one little change could relieve so much stress over daily errands!
I'm more or less caught up on my online classes and I'm anxious to get this semester over with. At the same time, I'm doing some finishing touches on my graduate school application and I hopefully will get that in by early November. I'm excited to begin a new chapter at my old university.
I'm starting to get the hang of adulting a bit. I'm slowly but surely learning to handle my own resources and prioritize my errands. I'm actually becoming less worried about the money in my pocket, and I pray I never let that become my idol. Quick shoutout to my parents for helping me on the way for the past couple decades!
I had a blast going to a couple of Halloween parties this week. I decided to use an old costume idea from a few years ago:
They said I could be anything, so I became an internet meme...
This morning, I went to Confession for spiritual refreshment. In addition, I called up the vocations director for the Melkite Eparchy of Newton, Father John Azar. More to come in later posts...
In summa, I loved this week. There wasn't anything significantly bad about it, and I feel much better than with previous recent weeks. It's a bunch of little things, but it's a bunch that made a positive impact. It's the little blessings that God rains upon us each and every single day.
"Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." --Matthew 6:34
I woke up this morning and checked my news feed. First item I see is a post about a mass shooting at a Jason Aldean concert at Las Vegas. At work, I watch news coverage about this tragedy; it pained my heart seeing the footage of gunfire erupting onto the crowds. With more than fifty dead and hundreds more wounded, today has shaken me to the core.
I mourn those lost, and I extend my sympathy and prayers to their loved ones. To save a portion of your life to be with those you love only to witness them being taken away is senseless and outrageous. It is absolutely unfair for that joy to be taken away.
As I sit in my room writing in silence, I reflect on the movement of the souls present on that day. Joyful souls celebrating with those they loved. A disturbed soul moved to inflict death and sorrow. The joyful souls turning to fear and anxiety when the pain is wrought. And brave souls pouring in to protect the helpless.
In the midst of sorrow and rage in the aftermath of the attack, I stress that we do not forget the love pouring in that night. I want to extend thanks to the first responders who came in to provide safety and security for the victims; these are people to look to as inspiration. In spite of the darkness covering that event, there were people who came to serve as beacons of love showering hope upon everyone. From first responders to those calling in and praying to ensure their loved ones' safety, many acts of love were committed that day in response to the gunman's singular act of hatred.
I'm not writing to debate gun control or any issue related to this. I reflect on the trial of human suffering; in spite of the worst that can be brought out of humanity, it can never truly quench the good that can come out of those willing to sacrifice for others. In the midst of tragedy and suffering exemplified by the recent hurricanes and last night's attack, never lose your focus on the good, little as it may seem.
"I will spend my heaven doing good on earth. I will let fall a shower of roses." --St. Therese of Lisieux
I found it fitting to use this quote from St. Therese, as her feast day was just yesterday. In her short life, she committed numerous little acts of love that nonetheless impacted her family, her congregation, and ultimately, the Church. Her "Little Way" serves as a model for those who might think their little good cannot overcome the evils in this world. As long as there is commitment to Love, hatred and evil cannot conquer us. In the midst of evil, let fall your roses.
I was driving back home, with my phone hooked via AUX cord, and this song started playing:
I haven't delved deep enough into Linkin Park's music enough to consider myself a fan, but, in light of Chester Bennington's passing (as late as this post may be), I wanted to share how this particular song brought closure to one of the darkest chapters in my life.
Waiting for the end to come
Wishing I had strength to stand
This is not what I had planned
It's out of my control
A year prior to the release of Linkin Park's A Thousand Suns (the album in which this song is found), I was facing multiple struggles in my first semester of high school. I couldn't maintain consistency in my studies, and I was struggling to make passing grades in a couple of my classes. To make matters worse, I let myself become the victim of bullying and harassment; I was making an idiotic spectacle of myself in front of my peers, no matter how many times I tried to stand up for myself. It was only the first semester of my freshman year, and I was already being caught up in the storm of high school drama.
What was left when that fire was gone?
I thought it felt right but that right was wrong
All caught up in the eye of the storm
And trying to figure out what it's like moving on
And I don't even know what kind of things I said
My mouth kept moving and my mind went dead
The breaking point came towards the end of that semester. I had been chatting with a classmate on Facebook regarding one of the students who had been bullying me, but misunderstandings led to argument, and it escalated to the point where I, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, sent online threats to peers who I suspected of sympathizing with the bullies. At that point, I felt like the world was falling apart and collapsing on me, and that decision threw me into confusion and self-doubt. I regretted my decision and deleted the filth I had posted up, but the deed had been done.
Soon after, the incident had been reported to the school, and I was subsequently withdrawn from the student roll, a de facto expulsion. The story spread to the other schools in the area; I had to move to a new district, as my family feared backlash from students who heard about this. In addition, I had to be placed in psych rehab for about a month before I was considered fit to go back to school.
I was completely shattered by what I had done, mentally and spiritually. I quietly contemplated suicide while I languished in a sea of regret and helplessness. I didn't see any reason to keep going in life; I felt forever marked by this sin I had committed.
So I'm picking up the pieces, now where to begin
The hardest part of ending is starting again
Thank God for a wonderful family I was born into. My parents, in spite of the gravity of the situation, never gave up on me. They worked their butts off finding a new school for me and constantly kept me in their prayers, taking me to see Jesus Himself in the Adoration chapel at St. Catherine's in Glenview. Whatever friends I had left after the incident encouraged me to move on, maintaining my resolve to reform and strengthen myself.
Of all the regret and despair that had flooded my mind during my freshman year, I still had some residue of in spite of successfully finding a new environment to thrive in. "What if it happens again next year? What would I do then?" I still had more questions even after that issue had been resolved (on the surface, at least).
It was then that I stumbled onto this song while I was watching a couple of music videos on TV. The message from Waiting For The End struck deep into my heart. I wasn't alone in struggles such as what I went through. There is hope even in the deepest pitfalls of life. Life in general will be hard and trying, but you can push through, with the added bonus of a support group.
It's been almost eight years since that life event, and I still feel the effects, though in a different light. Though I had been broken down to the core, I found an opportunity to grow and learn from my mistakes. I have a more positive outlook on life; I carry my crosses, but I know it doesn't end on Calvary. Am I still struggling? Of course I am, and life will drag on with such, but at least I know I'm not alone and that I can always reach out for even the tiniest spark of hope.
For those of you who may be struggling right now, I hope this little piece of mine helps, shoddy as it is. If you or someone you know may be contemplating taking your own life, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255; that one call could turn the tide of your life.
To conclude this post: Thank you, Chester. Your music saved this life and countless others; may your work continue to impact lives around the world.
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While I was studying for my digital humanities course this semester, I came across an interesting article entitled, "Building Meaning in Digitized Photographs". It feels a bit strange to write about an academic work in a casual blog like this, but what I read had me thinking about a personal issue many of us have encountered at least once in our life.
Cutting to the chase, the author, Paul Conway, talks about the implications surrounding the digitization of images. Conway brings to question whether or not these digital copies are true and equal to the analog originals from which they were taken. He then draws various examples of different copying methods and analyzes how "true" these copies are to the originals. In spite of advancements in digitization technology, Conway concluded that digitized images were--to some extent--altered copies of their originals and thus never the "true" originals.
The reason why I'm bringing this article up is that it relates to the idea of the role model or the "idol". We all have had people to look up to as examples on how to live our life. "I want to be like them!" "I want to be selfless as her!" "I wish I could be as talented as them!" Questions like these race through our minds as we think about the people we admire. It's a good thing to look up to exemplary people such as our family and friends, but when does one take it too far?
As much as we can copy the good deeds we witness (and I pray that we continue to do so), we are not meant to copy another one's life to the smallest detail. Our interests may not be the same. I might be called for one thing, and you may be called to do another. You cannot force yourself to conform 100% to someone else's lifestyle in the hopes that you can do exactly what they do; you will inadvertently have a different experience and perspective from what the other has, no matter how detailed your "equivalent" is.
Besides, if everyone lived out their lives the same as each other--like the society portrayed in Lois Lowry's "The Giver"--where is the dynamic beauty of diversity and originality? Life wouldn't be as motivating and adventurous if you knew how it was going to turn out based on what you've seen in others. You have your own story; you have been authored by the Author of Life Himself, with the next chapters hidden away for you to write out by your choices. The world is a library of books coming and going, and you have a chance to write the next inspirational best-seller for generations to read. You can cite from past works, but your work must be your own. It is the newness of your impact that makes the difference. Pass on the ideas, but make it your own in your place in your time; that will be the epicenter of your works.
"...I saw that all the flowers He has created are lovely. The splendour of
the rose and whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its
scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. I realised that if every tiny
flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness and there
would be no wild flowers to make the meadows gay." --St. Thérèse of Lisieux, "The Story of a Soul"
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Today's post will not be broadcasted as widely as with recent posts, as this is a personal, but not secretive, matter to get off my chest. This is a piece from my life that is very intimate, but I will make this available for reading on the blog for you.
Today's one of those days again. Everything seems to have fallen in place, but it doesn't seem that it's just that that has fallen. Before me lies a book with my name on it; in my hand, a banged-up but still functional pen. Blank pages still comprise a majority of the work before my eyes. A familiar shadow--a familiar soreness--creeps up on me as I contemplate the next word, the next page, the next chapter. What more must I write? How much story is left for me?
The cast of our story. Who am I, first of all? What am I? Where am I? Why am I? I seem to have formulated a partial picture of what my purpose, my calling is. I have gone through much in the years leading up to today; laughter, tears, that whole shebang. But for what end? How will I know the end-all of this? Is there some result to be achieved now or in the future? What will be my impact? Am I even going to make an impact?
And what of the others? Those who have gone before me have played their parts and have affected my journeys and directed me to places where I had never imagined I would go. There are those who still affect me to this day, whether positive or negative, but how long until they disappear? Will some stay until the end with me? There are many today who I zealously want to keep, even when it looks like it is their time to leave. Who is yet to come? Tomorrow will decide that question.
Are the next few chapters simply regurgitated material from past work? Sometimes I feel like it's the same thing over and over again, as if each successive chapter was a crappy reboot of the previous. What is the point of all this? My spirit is dry and I yearn for refreshment. I want something bright, fresh, new; something to reinvigorate me. I want it, but I don't know where to go or what to do.
This dryness has placed me once more in a state of isolation. I can communicate with others, yet I still feel like a fish out of water; I don't feel the connection, that burning, passionate, zealous love I have for the other. It's like those prison phone counters you see in the movies; they're there, but you're not there, instead locked away from the energy of the embrace.
That's it. The Energy of the Embrace. The fuel tank in my heart has been almost emptied at this point. I've been so caught up in the bustle of my life so far in this world that I forgot to rest and revive myself. I've been emptying myself out into outlets that did not reciprocate enough for me to realize the potential of the life I have been given. I need more. How do I obtain this Energy? Who am I Embracing?
Then I recall a voice too often ignored throughout my book.
I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Of course. A simple, but profound answer to the various questions I've been asking. I've heard this so many times, yet I forget it so much. He is the one enough for me. He is the Energy I need to boost through the days.
This is My Body. This is My Blood.
Strength for the journey. What was it that an angel said to Elijah one day? "Eat, or else the journey will be too much for you." I haven't been eating my meals much; that is, I eat, yet I don't let the nourishment get to my heart. I accept it physically, but am I letting my spirit get nourishment too?
The alarm clock goes off. Sunday morning. Typical morning routine, then get in the car.
Parked. I open the doors of the church and walk in.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Work and school have settled in this month, and I have just arrived back home after a long three-week training with my unit. In spite of these new additions to my schedule, I am still determined to post at least a few things per month.
It has been a while since my last Persons of Interest! entry. I'm changing things up a bit for this series by introducing someone who I have not personally known, yet has made a big impact on my vocational discernment.
Last night, I watched a wonderful documentary on the life of this priest on EWTN, "Called and Chosen". Fr. Capodanno was born into a family strong in the Catholic faith. Vin, as he was affectionately known at home, discerned early on in this life that he wanted to be a priest and serve as a missionary. He was told he didn't have to do all of that and that he could serve the Church back home, but his heart pulled strongly towards bringing Christ to those who were less than able to come to Him.
After completing his first mission with the Maryknoll Fathers, Father Capodanno learned of the outbreak of the Vietnam War. Knowing in his heart that American forces needed the presence of God in this new conflict, he petitioned his superiors for permission to join the military as a chaplain. Again, many told him he didn't have to go, but he longed to serve those who were stationed afar. He commissioned as an officer in the United States Navy and was eventually assigned to one of the Marine units fighting in Vietnam. Many Marines found solace in the presence of Fr. Capodanno, who often made it to the front lines with them, and he became a beloved figure among those he served. For his constant presence in the lives of these Marines, from serving Mass and hearing confessions to going on patrols, he earned the nickname of the "Grunt Padre".
On September 4, 1967, Marines found themselves pinned down by North Vietnamese forces during Operation Swift. Fr. Capodanno's unit was sent to where the fighting was thickest, and Fr. Capodanno, at the last minute, boarded the last helicopter headed to the hotspot. Once more, he was told he didn't have to go, but he knew many men would be needing comfort in the turmoil of war.
The priest, upon his arrival, rushed to aid the fallen. He comforted the wounded and the despairing; he gave last rites to the fallen; he helped drag people to safety; he did everything he could to convey the presence of Christ in a place where it seemed otherwise. However, in an attempt to rescue a wounded Navy Corpsman (medic), Fr. Capodanno was gunned down. For his courage and selfless service to his Marines, Fr. Vincent Capodanno was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest military award granted by the United States. His cause for canonization as a Saint in the Catholic Church has been opened as well, and many pray for the Grunt Padre's intercession to this day. His name is etched on the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.
With the 50th anniversary of his death coming on Monday, I find Fr. Capodanno's story to be inspiring for those discerning life in mission. Many will say we do not need to go so far to make such an impact. Perhaps that may be true in some cases, but Fr. Capodanno provides a beautiful example of self-sacrifice and the drive to bring Christ to others.
Could not have ended July any better. I've talked about CFC-FFL in a prior post, and I'm going to be a bit more direct in describing my wonderful adventures with them.
After finishing up another day of work on Friday, I took the train straight to O'Hare Airport. After a brief layover in Minnesota, I finally landed in Sacramento, California, albeit a bit late to the venue. At that point, I missed the first day, but I was lucky enough to be in contact with my friends who had already arrived from Chicago.
I woke up Saturday morning to commence my conference adventures. The conference was held at California State University at Sacramento (also known as Sac State), and it was an appropriate venue, as it was the conference for both the college and young adults' ministries of CFC-FFL this year. I got tapped to be an extraordinary Eucharist minister (which in Catholicism, is a lay person authorized to help the priest distribute communion during Mass); it was my first time being an EM with the hosts, and I naturally felt nervous, as I found myself handling the Body of Christ Himself. Mass went great that morning, though, and we began to attend the workshops that were set up for the day.
I signed up for four workshops. The first one I attended was about mission work. Now, I've done a couple of service trips prior to this, but this workshop reminded me about true commitment to a mission. A real mission isn't just a commitment of two weeks to help out in an impoverished area; it is to introduce love and hope into impoverished hearts and make a permanent impact that encourages growth, both physical and spiritual.
The second one I signed up for was about Mary, the Mother of God. This had a particular focus on Mary's veneration in the centuries following the foundation of the Church. Mary's various depictions and devotions throughout the world signify the universality of the Church's mission on earth. No nation or culture is excluded from the outreach of the Body of Christ. The singular yes of a young Jewish woman from Roman Palestine is a model for all Christians in their daily calls to holiness and discipleship.
Next came the workshop on vocational discernment. Hearing the stories from the panel (a married couple, a consecrated single, and a recently engaged Tom Park), I learned the dynamics of discernment. One does not simply pray to God and remain stagnant in the hopes that God will drop an answer in front of you; no, one must be on the move, following the path God has laid out for them, allowing for growth and the eventual realization of God's calling.
Snapshot from the Catholic Citizen workshop!
Finally, I attended the workshop on Catholic citizenship. With regard to political participation as a Catholic, it wasn't about how to vote or who to vote for, but rather how to maintain the integrity of your faith in the midst of today's issues. In light of the recent election, it broke my heart to hear about Catholics being shamed by their own brothers and sisters just because of who they voted for, and it was a relief to hear again that the Church does not look left or right, but up.
We had a powerful closing worship to end day two. We then came over to the Newman Center at Sac State for a rather lit afterparty. Now, I'm generally not one of those guys that immediately starts going into the dance floor and busting moves (I'm more of that guy in the back crossing his arms and bobbing his head thinking he's a cool cat), but I had a fun time chilling with my brothers and sisters from across the nation.
Sunday came, and we had our concluding Mass, worship, and speaker. The time came for the announcement of next year's conference. Turns out that SFL and CBFL will be having separate conference in New York and Houston, respectively. No biggie, I can come to both. Anyways, this conference ended up becoming my highlight for this month, and I am excited to start getting involved with SFL and CBFL again.
