Fullfillment in God's Love

The one thing I have found in spite of all the personal misgivings I may have at any particular lucid moment (those nagging moments of irrational or seemingly insurmountable worry) or the detractions of others against their better selves whether due to their own outlook or loss from another, in spite of all of this, it is so easy to fall into love.

...Fall... in a sense, from the seized moments of clenched hearts and clenched fists. The encompassing willpower to do then what is right and just and necessary. That is often what we have lost, even those familiar with faith and trust.

...in love... because love isn't an absence of reality but the fulfillment of it. "Fulfillment" because "God is love" (cf. 1 John 4:8) and we are not there yet; our hunger remains...

Yet, our hunger does not exist in a vacuum or in a myth. Neither does our faith or our hope... It is and it should always be rightly directed, honed, and poured into the chief telos of our hearts: Communion.

Communion in and with what... or, rather, whom? Communion with Him. However, Communion with Him does not limit communion with others; rather, it extends and exalts it. It purifies every other love one has and transfigures it to the reality of it outside of time and space. He does all of this out of His very own love for us.

We are to love "because He first loved us" (cf. 1 John 4:19). To do so is to love Him with everything we have and love each other as our very selves.

So, although it is "very good that we are here," (cf. Luke 9:33) this mountaintop is not a place we can stop. It is a momentary stop on the journey we each take and we must each choose, as we are called to love and to be love for one another.

Let us not be dissuaded from the truth of love.

"We did not follow cleverly devised myths
when we made known to you
the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ,
but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty.
For he received honor and glory from God the Father
when that unique declaration came to him from the majestic glory,
“This is my Son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven
while we were with him on the holy mountain.
Moreover, we possess the prophetic message that is altogether reliable.
You will do well to be attentive to it,
as to a lamp shining in a dark place,
until day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts." - 2 Peter 1:16-19

Let Love Be

My heart busies about as a moth before a flame;
shaped and muffled it turns over and over again.

From one concern to another,
fighting the fights and sealing the shames,
of a journey that has yet to be named.

Clarity and then shadows fall into place,
where hearts filled not with love,
come home to reign.

Would love be easier if not challenged by struggle,
or is it the struggle that wins victory's name?

Nay, it is victory all the same.
Let love be not a game.

I said...

I said a lot of things.
I said, "We are friends and that's okay,
that the silence, the distance would be fine."

But really I said,
"No, please don't go, don't leave when day is done,
don't give me a reason to let you go.
I love you but must let you go.
I love you; I love you so."

Is this a lie? To let things go?
Or is it truth to let things that are impossible
fly on down the road?
Yes, our roads converged once,
a spark of inspiration, of drive,
of mutual compassion once...
but now... only distance, silence.
What of this? What of this silence?

I said a lot of things,
but I was never silent.
I gave my silence to Him,
in hopes I was doing the right thing.
My words to Him went unceasing.
It was a gift I want now to return,
but love doesn't settle that way.
It remains; it sticks to heart and hands
     like an adhesive.
It doesn't return until it has fulfilled its aim and duty.
It is with purpose as I am to be with purpose.
Its aim is my aim:
to care when caring isn't something fun to do,
to smile when smiling isn't what I want to do,
to listen but not speak...

However, one thing I did not say to you,
were the words, those words: "I love you."
Why? Because I wasn't supposed to.
But I do, I do love you.

On the Laity, Sanctity in Marriage, and the Mission to the Secular World

It is not the rejection of the world but the redemption of it. We must baptize all things to Christ. There is no difference between a Catholic chair or an un-Catholic chair, or a Catholic table and an un-Catholic table. So it is with a Catholic home. All homes are first catholic. What matters are not its contents, but rather the actions and the beliefs of the hearts within.

Many have seen Catholic homes that are Catholic in word only. And, likewise, un-Catholic homes devoid of anything to pin it to a catholicity, and yet in truth they are catholic. What can be said of the Catholic broken home? Much! Not only does it fail the first test, that of belief, but also the second—action. It is "very good" enough to assent to the belief handed on from antiquity but in truth is not the case if the action proceeding fails to live the credo out. Where is the redemption of the world?

The answer then is not to reject it outright. It is to redeem it, to baptize it to Christ. And there the family—intact and whole—is most needed. It is here that the first missionary acts are borne; it is here that the first transmission of faith, of credo is given. As milk from the mother is this done, and here the father is most important in the role to daughter and son. It is here, most often, the child will receive the fire of His love, of Christ's indomitable love. And so too is this true with the mother as the seat of compassion. Where are our holy saints of happy marriage? Where are the saints of marital bliss?

Heroic virtue is first born in the home, like faith a grace-filled gift, always a gift with a purpose. So why not the saints of the home?

Many have been born out of home a vocation of sanctity. Namely among them, St. Augustine, whose own sainthood one could argue was born out of the prayers of his mother, she too now called "Saint."

One cannot doubt heroic virtue to be born out of, or rather, in spite of, broken homes, unhappy marriages. This much is true, but never has such an example of sanctity has been recorded that such a tested soul takes the helm too to the unsteady waters of the earthly sign of Heaven's Banquet. No, this is rarefied air. But is God intending this to be so? I wager not.

What a sign for the world would this be! Indeed, it would be a credo worth believing. Heroic virtue found not only in strife but also prosperity, would this not be classified as territory of a friend of God, too? This is not solely of the Catholic domain. It is a uniquely human desire, hope, and dream. However, this is not merely a dream; this too can be a reality.

This can be captured through the gift of faith, yes, but how is the faith to be nourished? From scraps and left-overs? I think not! We must have an educated laity. This means the resources of books, libraries, radio, and television must be renewed! The excuse of never having being done before or of others not doing the same must not be the excuse! "Either we accuse ourselves or we excuse ourselves," St. John Vianney once said, so too in this case. Let us not excuse a lack of zeal and haste to this aim.

We must renew our parishes to being a center of knowledge, of faith, of sacraments, and of wisdom. The Mass must be nourished!

Why not a library of faith for instruction into that which is sublimely beautiful, all-encompassing, and most needed and beneficial? The Mass cannot itself teach or merely preach. Its action provides an example which is incomprehensible if not without a guide. Let this be the writings of Christian antiquity, to stir us renewed in our one true faith! The Word made flesh dwells among us!

The Half-way House of our Lord is made known through all the vocations but especially in the breaking of the bread. It is here too that the family plays a crucial role! Where are we placing "the breaking of the bread" in our families' lives? Are we even getting the proper idea of breaking the bread? If not, then let us renew this too and truly "ita missa est" into the world. This is where all vocations, all calls to sanctity and sainthood begin!

This is our call to living as laity enriched by the faith, sanctifying marriage and its bonds, and being true missionaries to the secular world.

The Court Jester

I think I'm just here...
          here for entertainment purposes
                  for the little things.

You'll send me where all...
          where all the court jesters go...
                  somewhere else...

And you'll find someone new to entertain you...
          to entertain you with baubles and bright things,
                  silly things that are trifles
                  and nothing terrible...
                  the beautiful things.

What if 'yes' was 'yes'
          and 'no' was no longer 'no'
                  and there were no maybes,
                             simply... simply 'yes.'
                                         "Yes, I accept."

Where would that bring us?
          Where would we go?
                   Would you go?
                         Maybe so?
                    There you go.
 Maybe, maybe, maybe so.

Is anything ever clear,
clear to sight,
clear to touch,
clear without any other fight?

Can there be a world without games,
without fights,
without things hidden in plain sight?

Can we go to this place,
not for my sake, no...
for the life we ought to live.
A life of 'yes,' without fear
A life full of beauty, without so many tears
A life of truth and worth living.
A life without court jesters,
A life with only mystics here.

The Body and Soul Exposed

I. Renewed Adam

A man's chest is a complex thing,
even when undressed.
It protects a heart that is restless,
even when found at rest.

It projects an aura of strength,
its muscles bulging here,
its muscles dipping there,
its shape supple with a muscular chest.

It beckons a woman's heart to draw near,
to trust and run to,
to confide in with a certainty of strength,
to hide in, away from the restless world.

A man's chest is a guiding sign,
when open to the Other betrothed.
It revels in pointing His Beloved
to the life-inviting act bestowed,
to the conjugal love of marriage sown.
It forms at its crown a place
to carry the complex burdens of a restless heart made to love.

It calls a woman's eyes to see this crown,
broad shoulders to carry the wood of sacrifice
on the muscles and tendons of mass and berth,
for a mission to carry since fashioned from the earth.

A man's chest is an incomplete sign.
Its other half is only found
once you notice His ribs below.
Count the bones, the ones on His cage scooping below—
The missing one—"Flesh of my Flesh,"
"Bone of my Bone!"

Its sign scoops downward,
its navel gracefully surrounded
by contracting muscle
as chiseled from stone.

A man's waist forms a crossroads
between body and soul.
The body's origins still remain,
a vestige of His mother's life-giving pain.

These muscles too now help to form
a new life to be,
a breathing and heaving shown through the whole sign
where old love and new love prepare to transform.

A man's waist forms a bridge from the crown of sorrows
to the columns of strength by step below,
where the burden brought to completion
and the Sacrifice is lived once more.

The marble columns form a base,
to which the Beloved draws in closest,
to the inner storm of Eros in Agape—the love God bestowed!

A man's base is girded in strength,
girded for His Beloved to see.
He hides from all but His Betrothed
a passion destined in love,
one given to the Other
Fully, Faithfully, Fruitfully, and Freely.

Sheathed in armor great,
the man's defenses form,
flanked with robes of sanctity,
a sheath concealed for His wife alone.

A man's body as a sign
would be utterly incomplete, save for two others:
the arms of a compassionate soul
and the diadem of the crown—His mind of reason.

Found in strength when combined with His bosom,
He defends the defenseless;
He consoles the distressed.
His defined structure beckons His Beloved
to find a heart redressed!

A man's mind forms the jewel of the crown,
His hair the capstone of this diadem.
Inside He forms His thoughts,
directs His heart and braces His shoulders
to carry His cross, to die to Himself,
for His Beloved, for His everything.



II. Renewed Eve

A woman's form is a grace-filled sign
to Her Beloved to initiate their mutual embrace.
She beckons Him with a figure elusive,
a form that drives Him mad with passion
to form the union destined to be.

Her curves invite Her Beloved
to the Banquet of life-giving embrace,
to rest in Her life-sustaining bosom,
to bring Him to propose a new life together as One.

A woman's form beckons Her Betrothed
to warmly caress with firm but gentle hands
the giving heart of the mother of His children-to-be.
Laid bare, the woman opens to Her Betrothed
a body to explore with love and tender care.

Her bosom beckons Him with its free movement,
where children-to-be will gather under Her care.
Her bosom bounds to and fro
as Her Betrothed approaches with gentle care.

Before God the Betrothed are stripped bare,
not out of lust but out of love,
a love open fully, faithfully, fruitfully, and freely
to the marriage bed's promise of God's children,
to love once again renewed!

Her gentle waist, too, leaves testimony
to Her mother's life-giving pain,
to a quiet beauty that bridges
the love above and the love below.

Her waist girds Her hips,
which serves as a gateway
of Her selfless giving and receiving,
of life sustained in a fruitful love.

Her innate beauty at once bestowed
leaves Her Beloved in breathless awe,
as He rightfully beholds His Creator's love outpoured.
His righteousness refuses ownership of God's own making,
only to receive the Gift given fully, faithfully, fruitfully, freely.

Her twin talcum pillars of grace,
Her innermost hidden reaches of beauty,
remain veiled but for that moment,
that betrothed moment of Her Beloved's embrace.

There She remains, beauty in Her face
with eyes lit like oil lamps full,
waiting on the Bridegroom's return.

Her flowing hair rests rich in beauty
Ready to wipe clean with mercy's tears
And veil Her thoughts for the day of Communion,
Communion with Her Beloved near.



III. The Guide to a Sign Even Greater

And so God destined us woman and man.
For He knew that man needed a helpmate,
and in this very sign of love
we see one another even clearer;
we see a sign even greater.

We are not our own,
rather we are the Other's.
In love we are to give
as He has so fully given.

In love we are to die
to ourselves for the Other.
We are not our own.
We are for the Other.

In love, He stripped bare Himself,
that Sacrifice of all sacrifices,
once and for all time,
a sacrifice for our sins.

The images preceding
thus are washed in the Water,
are thus renewed—
By definition, a foretaste of the Banquet
that it points to above.

This is the body and the soul,
One in the Other,
the Other in the One.
This is the Body and Soul exposed.

Passion can only lead us
to two different paths,
one of descending depths,
one to the heights above.

Let us always remember
Love is never for its own sake;
it's for another fully.
It cannot be divorced from the Beloved.

And so it is—
either hot or cold—
there is no lukewarm.

Must you be afire
be fully as He is fully.
Do not settle for the reject image,
of "love" taken but not given.

It is not love but lust,
an impostor beyond compare.
It chokes out the Original;
choked to death, the Original dies.

Let the Lord be your guide;
He remains there before us, now risen.
Risen yet with scars of sacrifice that remain,
He guides us on the Way—scars all the same.

We Mustn't Fall in Love...

We mustn't fall in love, we must rise in it. Love is the search for truth and beauty. If it is indeed such a search, where else must we go than up, rising to the Heavens? Such things in time we learn do exist.

This world may give the appearance of running like clockwork, on its 24/7 rotation of endless schedules of always running, always on-time. However, this world runs not on the consistent humdrum of efficient interaction, but rather on everyday miracles of grace and moments of wonder and inspiration. For as the world cannot prosper without the drenching rains of doubt, it cannot blossom without the everlasting rays of Light and the roaring fires of Love, covering all of Creation. Life depends on both doubt—and through it, tested and enduring faith—as well as Love to carry on.

Life needs both the waters of doubt-tested faith to remove and the fires of Love to completely consume, not one thing or another in our lives or our world—but all! To cover all of it, the world over, in a mantle of love in an all-consuming fire... not of destruction but a mantle engulfing with a Passion, a love in its purest of forms, as gold tested in fire. So is love in its purest of forms. So the search continues for truth and beauty, for truth in beauty and beauty in truth, but the truth is it has already been found. We must only have the eyes to see it in the world in front of us. It is there. Always. Always, it is there.

Be fearless to spread this fire to the world. For in spreading this mantle, we rise in love. And this is the most beautiful thing we can do, to be fearless in the Love of Christ and to never, never turn back. To always do what most pleases Him, to do what best gives us greater intimacy with Him. We love the Other not because of vanity or self-preservation. No, we love the Other, whether in singularity of eros or magnanimity of philos and agape, because of the gift God has given to each of us, even when the road may be dry and distant and the journey seemingly lost. We love Him because he first loved us.

We must rise in love.

Yellow Rose

For a day adorned in white,
For a day celebration.
For a moment all stands still,
For a moment pure elation.

Given to the Other,
Of once two, now one light.
Given in full sight,
At once now together.

Banners float above;
Yellow banners run.
From arch to arch they run,
Signifying the new love begun.

Yellow Rose of love,
See the beauty this day,
See the love joined today,
See the graces bestowed from above.

Yellow Rose of love,
Know that love isn't for a moment
But all times, all places—
Forever a co-author of God’s graces.

Yellow Rose of love
Beneath the Spanish arch,
Stay with this moment,
Stay with it for all time.

Yellow Rose of love,
The time of pruning again will come;
The time will come to be pruned with love—
Be pruned with His love.

Yellow Rose of love,
Remain in His love,
Bear the fruit He gives now,
And blossom in the sun of day.

Yellow Rose of love,
Blossom for the world today.

Witness to Hope

Witness to Hope,
Saving love of God,
Mercy of His selfless love,
Face of the Faceless One.

Mercy of the One who bestows mercy,
Hands of the One whose hands were nailed,
Heart of the One whose heart burned with love,
Eyes of the One who sees only beauty

See my hand outreached,
Ready to receive your compassion.
See my eyes centered,
Ready to take in your holy beauty.

Feel my struggle to remain faithful in all things;
Enter into my understanding of hardship.
Feel my joy of passion to give freely;
Enter into my serenity of heart.

Help me to die to myself,
To give myself freely to you.
Help me to give without prompting,
To breathe compassion in my every breath.

Let me take on the fragrance of your love,
To be ever a constant effusion of your grace,
To become ever united fully with you,
And to never again be the same.

Witness to Hope,
Lover of Love,
Defender of the Faith,
Mother to be of many

Grant me your precious favor,
Guide me to the Most High,
Complete my joy with your endless joy.

The Temptation of Inertia

Before all things and in all things, we have a tendency to remain where things are most comfortable and either to take the path of least resistance or continue down a path of failed understanding. We all have seen it: in politics, in science, in religion, in human interaction itself.

We, so to speak, don't see the writing on the wall. Either that or we fight to ignore it. We wish to remain in our comfort zone, that habitable bubble of comfort and understanding where all is supposedly right with the world even while everything around us is crashing down like the Hindenburg. My friends, this is a mistake—a horrible mistake.

If there weren't any resistance to our vocations in life, if there weren't any push back in success or defeat, we wouldn't grow. In weightlifting, isn't resistance not a good thing? It provides the strain needed to see through to later growth. So it is too in relationships, for if we reach a point in time where we aren't tested, like our muscles in weightlifting, our interpersonal relationships turn to mush. We become flabby and unfit in our life's social interactions.

And so there is resistance in our lives and in our relationships, both big and small. In this we must fight the inertia of not being able to turn our course in relationships and in our lives. We mustn't see the hardships as something to be cursed; rather, we ought to see them as what they are, tools in building what matters most and what leaves a lasting impact—making a difference in another's life.

We must fight the temptation of inertia, since in it we find much of our tendencies, our vices, and our habits. If we see past these habits, the short-term fruits they that quickly turn rotten, we will find a much greater bounty beyond the momentary strain that we find ourselves in on our way to building healthy—and lasting—relationships rooted in true love.

Silver Linings, Silver Wings & Sweet Symphonies

I returned to College Station three weeks ago, and I can tell something has already changed. It was almost as if I smelled or felt it in the air when I arrived on that Tuesday. The dependencies I felt last fall have been altered, but the more I spend time here in this hallowed place of mine, the more it becomes like home to me. It just feels natural to be here.

Something I came across during the return trek to Aggieland had something to do with weather phenomena, which to me was a little funny because a Gabriel García Márquez novella (Leaf Storm) I had read those weeks ago which has a character in the story, a priest, oddly enough called "the Pup." He does his weekly homilies not on the Gospels but on readings from the Bristol Almanac (it's part of the magical realism in his stories that I love so) and through some weird reality makes reading weather predictions/conditions into something profoundly theological and something even more meaningful than what is found at the surface of an event—in this case a weather event.

Well, I'm a very symbol-driven kind of person. I try to find the symbolic worth of things in my life. It's just my part of making sense of this whole crazy thing of life. However, I don't put too much worth into omens since things are what you make them out to be with what's been given. A helpless surrendering to omens only constricts your reality and your potential success in any endeavor, great or small. That being noted, I do like a good analogy or symbolic meaning to things. So here's my take on the Pup's knack of weather phenomena readings.

That Tuesday of my return was for me the first day in recent memory that it consistently rained in Houston, which happened to be on the same day I was driving up from Houston. It had been the most stormy and overwhelming drive from Houston in recent memory for me. Moving from that dark, humid storminess of Houston into the cool air of College Station, I felt distinctly welcoming aura to all of it. It was certainly the best homecoming weather I could ever imagine!

Throughout that day an analogy ran through my head. Just as the day's travels were, where the storms brooded overhead and the rains fell with the dark clouds hanging ominously, so there are the things in one's life holding one back from God's giving Light, His Word. Only once one is empowered to move beyond it, to push through what holds them from the warmth of the Light—those clouds of darkness—can one reach the delightful and pleasing journey's end. You might even get the treat of an accompanying rainbow, as there was that day I came back to College Station, or you may just get the treat of a beautiful sunset—as ones are so accustomed to here in Central Texas as well. All is just as well.

What matters most is that through pushing through those storm clouds can one finally see the silver linings on the outskirts of those very clouds of darkness previously so vexing. It is in peering back to what was the storms that haunted you before that allows you to not only tell yourself but the whole world that those things will not continue to hide you in darkness, to hide your city on a hill from the Light of Christ. As I stated in the last post, through faith there is hope. But neither of these, we are taught, can exist if there is not love between them.

Just as much as the Father and the Son love each other, the Holy Spirit dwells between them. So must we do with one another. We must have that bond of love and kindness to our fellow man. So often do we forget this bond of love. And I think I realize that I too have seen the effects of not nurturing this bond enough in the past month or so.

And so I turn my discussion from silver linings to silver wings. As over the break, I thought and prayed over a number of things going through my head and through my heart. Still, I am not sure how to fully address them, but I push forward in full knowledge that if I am faithful to Him, He will indeed provide for what is needed.

I had spent that time over the break in a very rewarding retreat of sorts, not in perfection but in spite of my imperfections. My times right now are indeed a great time of soaking as much as I can in, both academically and spiritually. It is in these imperfections of mine that I find myself, and I daily must remind myself that it is His Will and not mine that should be done. If only His were as clearly vocalized as mine, life would be so much easier!

My future is constantly being molded, created, and adjusted. It is intertwined with so many and— currently, at the same time—by seemingly so few. That is a key part of human existence, the development of our own future. For how do we even exist if not for having a future ahead of ourselves? We cannot exist as we are if there is nothing ahead, just as much as we cannot exist if there is nothing from our past existence.

It is in this molding of my future that my deepest of fears comes forth. A fear of loneliness. Fears tend to lean on the irrational side of things, and my deepest of ones is far from the exception to this axiom. This fear of loneliness acts as fog, until the sun of day can burn it away. It is then and there that the future looks bright. And so back and forth I am oscillating, even now.

In the past weeks I have put many thoughts to mind. I have thought of dear friends, ones leaving on silver wings, and thought very fondly of them. I have seen reminders of them in reminders of home in my travels to family in Louisiana. I have remembered others in repeated events of the past year. These bonds have been strengthened in my heart because of the reminders.

I do not tire in the fullness of life I feel. I do not dare grow weary. It is in weariness that fear and sin sets in. A weakening of the spirit leads to the weakening of the flesh. There is no doubt of this.

One good friend reminded me as of late of some important things to consider in my vocation call. I must consider what kind of love I am being called to. Is it a deep, intense love of the community? A deep call of service to the community? Or, is a deep, intense love of one in the community? A deep call of service and compassion to one and with one in the community?

I have oscillated greatly over this in the past few months. Too much for my own liking and sanity at times, but it is a decision process that is all too necessary. My issue has been that I don't want to exclude the Other. This causes the problem where I cannot preclude the Other from consideration. I cannot have a foot in either wade pool. I must decide. If not now, at some time in the future.

However, my good friend had also reminded me of a line from the great A&M film from the 1940's "We've Never Been Licked", of which I had watched a great deal over the break coincidentally. The line is where one of the main characters, Cyanide Jenkins, says to Nina Lambert, another of the main characters in whom he's deeply in love with: "If you don't walk on the railroad tracks, the train won't hit you." So true are those words...but how long should we stay on the tracks? The answer to that question never comes easy and rarely does it come quickly.

What is my deepest and most sincere desire? I want my breath taken away, not in the beauty of the person but in the beauty of the soul. I want to find the Other that I know is out there. I know not who she is, but I feel deep down that She is there. I speak not of romance for romance is not reality. I speak simply of a clear black-and-white reality in my heart. For in the end, it is my heart that leads and my mind that follows. It is creativity that comes from the heart and logic from the mind.

I want a family in which I can provide and bring to bear another generation to love God more fully. I want a family I can pass what I have learned of God's love so that it may be multiplied and sent forth to all the ends of the earth.

And so, I must still learn much, but God has blessed me with so much already. It is as if God has planted a chord which He plays over and over. It is a pleasing musical chord, a lyrical one that reverberates in the heart. I feel it calling back to me, even when I stray within my own heart from Him. It calls me back to Him. Slowly, it seems He adds more to that chord, the music is lengthened and stretched. Each day, more is added as He builds His sweet symphony.

Each person has their own musical chord planted within them that they move to in life. It is in their moving in which God calls them. Each moves within their own measure of time and tempo, until all are combined in harmony, each in tune to the other. That is how I see Heaven. Yet, that can be accomplished here on Earth, too, if only for brief moments. It is in those moments we wish never to leave that we taste that slice of Heaven, that we hear God's sweet symphonies.

How great is our God, in whom we trust. I cannot fathom how much He has done for me and my friends nor can I express with any justified eloquence His boundless compassion. I can only pray that in the end we hear that symphony in which God has created, indelibly unique, for each of us.

It is then fitting to close with the Gospel reading from today's Mass, one so regularly used when talking of religious vocations:

When Jesus heard that John had been arrested,
he withdrew to Galilee.
He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea,
in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali,
that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet
might be fulfilled:
Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,
the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan,
Galilee of the Gentiles,
the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light,
on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death
light has arisen.
From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say,
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers,
Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew,
casting a net into the sea; they were fishermen.
He said to them,
“Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
At once they left their nets and followed him.
He walked along from there and saw two other brothers,
James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John.
They were in a boat, with their father Zebedee, mending their nets.
He called them, and immediately they left their boat and their father
and followed him.
He went around all of Galilee,
teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom,
and curing every disease and illness among the people.
-- Matthew 4:12-23

This past Saturday's trip to Austin for the annual Pro-Life March started out as a foggy morning, shrouded in the haziness of uncertainty, but as the picture illustrates below from the Capitol that day, the sun's light came out for a beautiful day of calling to witness to God's love for all human life. There is always a silver lining to each cloud out there, if one only looks closely enough to find it.

Conclusion

I have reached a conclusion in an important point in my life. The lovesick spell that was cast last fall has fallen. My poem The Garden has found its conclusion.

The words I've written this past year I do not wished burned, buried, or forgotten. They are a part of me through and through. My heart is still there remaining silent in those words, but they do not define me—not the whole of me. However, today has been a rainstorm. I have felt the rains pouring down and washing away the past and the chains of the past. Today was what today needed to be and even more. God has certainly provided for me greatly today, much like the waters flowing from the southern side of the temple provided for the fruit trees in the passage from Ezekiel 47. What's even more interesting is a song I heard this evening covered by Norah Jones for the album Higher Ground called I Think It's Going to Rain Today:

Broken windows and empty hallways,
a pale dead moon in a sky streaked with gray.
Human kindness is overflowing,
and I think it's gonna rain today.

Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles,
the frozen smiles to chase love away.
Human kindness is overflowing,
and I think it's gonna rain today.

Lonely, lonely.
Tin can at my feet,
I think I'll kick it down the street.
That's the way to treat a friend.

Bright before me the signs implore me:
Help the needy and show them the way.
Human kindness is overflowing,
and I think it's gonna rain today.

Lonely, so lonely.
Tin can at my feet,
I think I'll kick it down the street.
That's the way to treat a friend.

Bright before me the signs implore me:
Help the needy and show them the way.
Human kindness is overflowing,
and I think it's gonna rain today.

Those words and the chords of music certainly spoke to me, and it confirmed what I felt in my heart. They were chords of hope and consolation. There was no doubt in my mind that I needed to hear that song because human kindness is indeed overflowing. Praise be to God!

I am not lost. The love that I felt was not for naught, nor was the pain I felt. It was all for the future, a future of unexpected glory. What that future will entail is unknown to me and known only to God, but I am thankful nevertheless for I have not lost a friend.

I have reread many of the words I have posted here in the past year and a month. There is plenty of pain to be read in those words, plenty of anguish and sadness indeed. However, interwoven amid all the struggle is a persistent chord of joy. Yes, there is joy in those words, and reading those words this day makes the chord even more present for me. The words written have been fulfilled. The spoken and unspoken petitions for mercy in the poems of Standing Next to You, My Friend, The Painter, The Garden, Take This Cup Away from Me, and others all have been met and exceeded.

So what occurred when I let the words be said openly? Peace and understanding. This is God's personal unveiling of Christ to me right now. This has been most assuredly a personal mini-apocalypse within my life, a reconversion of my heart to holiness, more complete holiness. How far have I come from a mere five years ago! Praise be to God!

Finally, let me share a poem I have completed this evening, which I have been kicking around for a month or so, to close my Shattered Dreams anthology. It seemed to be a fitting end to a glorious exploration of others and my own inner self. This experience has been an amazing journey that I am glad to reach the conclusion of and do so also in joy and happiness overflowing. The poem is partly inspired from Ezekiel 47:

The Walled Garden

The bells toll;
The vine grows.
The water flows
From the south wall
And sustains the soul.

The walls are thick,
Cold and defending,
The gray, rough bricks
Hide the walled world within
With grace n’er bending.

The saving waters are falling,
Soaking the parched ground
Where fruit-laden trees are found.
Off the thick walls the sound reverberates;
To the whole world the waters are calling.

From all the garden’s walls
Mighty vines hang from above.
No disease or pest can do any harm
To any of the vine’s branches at all.
They testify to the Creator’s love.

The bells ring out God’s glory,
Calling all back to the garden
To recall God’s n’er-ending love story.
Joyful is the bells' sound
As the ringing repeats again.

His love endures forever,
And great is His Name.
His love endures forever,
And we’ll n’er again be the same.

I will be gone for Advent as a sort of symbolic journey like that of John the Baptist while I regain my bearings for the new year ahead. What a glorious end to the year this has been! It has been worth all the pain and trouble, and I look forward to new beginnings ahead.

Through Christ I am victorious this day. I pray that every day's end is just like this one has—in the peace of Christ.

Personal Apocalypses

I write today a bit timid and also a bit unsure of how to classify my temperament right now. So much seems to be in flux right now it's almost scary. The scariness is not in knowing my acquaintances personalities, but how God is unveiling things before me in ways I didn't think possible.

That is what struck me at Daily Mass yesterday. We're getting to the end of the liturgical year, so the readings are dealing with the "last things" and therefore the study of the last things (the Greek for this is eschatology), especially regarding the last things before the Word was made flesh.

But this also includes the apocalypse, which was brought up in Mass yesterday as a tie into the first reading from Second Maccabees. I've always thought of the term apocalypse to mean the end of this world, but this is only what it has now been degraded to. It is Greek for "the lifting of the veil." Which to me is a curious phrase, but it does make sense, especially for the Nativity. Namely because of the allusion of the Virgin Mary as the New Testament allusion to the Jewish Ark of the Covenant, holding the Holiest of Holies—the Ten Commandment tablets, the Law of God—the Word of God. Compare this to the New Testament comparison of the undefiled Virgin Mary, pure in every sense, holding the Living Word of God, God made flesh. With the Ark of the Covenant one must lift the veils to be in the innermost part of the Temple of Solomon to be in the presence of the Ark. So likewise, the Nativity was indeed the first actual Apocalypse—that being the "unveiling" or "revelation" of Jesus Christ as Messiah.

But this connection does not stop there, as we saw in yesterday's reading from Second Maccabees of Elezar being "an unforgettable example of virtue not only for the young but for the whole nation," 2 Maccabees 6:31:

Eleazar, one of the foremost scribes,
a man of advanced age and noble appearance,
was being forced to open his mouth to eat pork.
But preferring a glorious death to a life of defilement,
he spat out the meat,
and went forward of his own accord to the instrument of torture,
as people ought to do who have the courage to reject the food
which it is unlawful to taste even for love of life.
Those in charge of that unlawful ritual meal took the man aside privately,
because of their long acquaintance with him,
and urged him to bring meat of his own providing,
such as he could legitimately eat,
and to pretend to be eating some of the meat of the sacrifice
prescribed by the king;
in this way he would escape the death penalty,
and be treated kindly because of their old friendship with him.
But Eleazar made up his mind in a noble manner,
worthy of his years, the dignity of his advanced age,
the merited distinction of his gray hair,
and of the admirable life he had lived from childhood;
and so he declared that above all
he would be loyal to the holy laws given by God.

He told them to send him at once
to the abode of the dead, explaining:
“At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense;
many young people would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar
had gone over to an alien religion.
Should I thus pretend for the sake of a brief moment of life,
they would be led astray by me,
while I would bring shame and dishonor on my old age.
Even if, for the time being, I avoid the punishment of men,
I shall never, whether alive or dead,
escape the hands of the Almighty.
Therefore, by manfully giving up my life now,
I will prove myself worthy of my old age,
and I will leave to the young a noble example
of how to die willingly and generously
for the revered and holy laws."

Eleazar spoke thus,
and went immediately to the instrument of torture.
Those who shortly before had been kindly disposed,
now became hostile toward him because what he had said
seemed to them utter madness.
When he was about to die under the blows,

he groaned and said:
"The Lord in his holy knowledge knows full well that,
although I could have escaped death,
I am not only enduring terrible pain in my body from this scourging,
but also suffering it with joy in my soul
because of my devotion to him."
This is how he died,
leaving in his death a model of courage
and an unforgettable example of virtue
not only for the young but for the whole nation. – 2 Maccabees 6:18-31

This beautifully courageous story speaks volumes in a very christological way. It radiates the story of Christ himself in his ultimate model of courage and unforgettable example of virtue.

Father Brian spoke of using the example of Christ in our lives everyday and of having especially relating that example of Christ on the Cross for those going into marriage. Which reminds me of the Christopher West quote:

"Love, and the demands of love, hurt. If we don't think love involves suffering, we have not spent much time looking at a crucifix."

We are to love like He had loved and still loves us. The Sacrifice is an active participation in His One Eternal Sacrifice through the sharing of His Blessed Body and Blood through the Holy Eucharist, which aptly means Thanksgiving—what a nice tie-in for TOMORROW! What joy! What better day to go to Mass than tomorrow! So we are called to share in His Sacrifice.

But how do we share in it? It cannot simply be going to Mass passively. We Cradle Catholics are certainly taught that since the earliest of catechists. No, we are called to be active in our faith, too. We are called to bring Christ to others, especially that in the form of His love, the Selfless Love, our true human nature, not the one that the Devil spreads upon this earth of Selfish Love. Too often it is easier to take than to receive. And when we do take we even forget to give thanks. That is what makes this time of year so important and why it should be important to us all. We are called to give thanks not only for our own personal gifts but for the Ultimate Gift given to us: Christ's love outpoured for the World.

So also did Father Brian in yesterday's homily include a couple of quotes from the truly splendid (all puns intended) encyclical from Pope John Paul II's The Splendor of Truth (Veritatis Splendor):

By their eloquent and attractive example of a life completely transfigured by the splendour of moral truth, the martyrs and, in general, all the Church's Saints, light up every period of history by reawakening its moral sense. By witnessing fully to the good, they are a living reproof to those who transgress the law (cf. Wis 2:12), and they make the words of the Prophet echo ever afresh: "Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!" (Is 5:20). – Veritatis Splendor 93

And again from The Splendor of Truth:

The lives of the saints, as a reflection of the goodness of God — the One who "alone is good" — constitute not only a genuine profession of faith and an incentive for sharing it with others, but also a glorification of God and his infinite holiness. The life of holiness thus brings to full expression and effectiveness the threefold and unitary munus propheticum, sacerdotale et regale which every Christian receives as a gift by being born again "of water and the Spirit" (Jn 3:5) in Baptism. His moral life has the value of a "spiritual worship" (Rom 12:1; cf. Phil 3:3), flowing from and nourished by that inexhaustible source of holiness and glorification of God which is found in the Sacraments, especially in the Eucharist: by sharing in the sacrifice of the Cross, the Christian partakes of Christ's self-giving love and is equipped and committed to live this same charity in all his thoughts and deeds. In the moral life the Christian's royal service is also made evident and effective: with the help of grace, the more one obeys the new law of the Holy Spirit, the more one grows in the freedom to which he or she is called by the service of truth, charity and justice. – Veritatis Splendor 107

The
We, as Christians, must be ready to be those idealized evangelists that is described in the second passage from The Splendor of Truth. Just as Abraham's readiness to follow God's will to sacrifice Isaac (Genesis 22), we are called to rid ourselves of our selfish ways...and not only become good people but saintly—holy—people, people set apart.

We must do this every part of our lives. Just as dead branches of a vine must be pruned so must we prune our lives of the sin, we must look introspectively at ourselves to change what isn't of God. And so that is the hardest part of it. We must love the Beloved without request, we must do for the Beloved what is pleasing to the Beloved out of a selfless love.

Every day is an apocalypse. We are called to have our own unveilings of Christ in our lives as our Savior and love Him even greater—but not only Him but Him in the stranger, in the enemy, in the most undesirables of undesirables. We are to love Him in the Other we see each day, in each of our own personal beloved.

This is where I am troubled. I am two persons right now, a person beside himself, and I am a great deal unsure of the course of action I am to take. I've heard news that I probably should not be privy to, but it has been made known for a reason I yet not fully realize or comprehend. I heard it last night, and it was not a surprise—far from a surprise, indeed. I was shaken though because it awoke me from a numbness I felt these past few weeks over her. It was something to be taken care of later, so as to not agitate my aching heart.

I have felt numb, not to life but to love. I am trying to offer up what is in my heart. And it becomes even tougher as the days pass. The more it resides there, the more it turns and twists. The words I heard last night twisted my heart in newer ways, in nerve-racking ways. It was the third conversation this week to push me to the subject of addressing the past year and the feelings dwelling within me.

I could not concentrate last night, but I know that I must prune my heart of the many dead branches it has. I am not lost on the Path, for I feel God's presence working through this all. No, I haven't felt God more than I feel Him now.

As I heard recently from a priest, unfortunately I've forgotten which now, faith in God and a turning over to His Will doesn't provide an answer book, but it does provide a guiding light to the Truth in our lives. I only need allow the Light to illumine my steps even more.

These things revealed are what I am most thankful for these days. Praise be to God and may His Word ever dwell in this World and the Next.

Picking up Shattered Dreams

What a woeful week this past one has been! I've been through a roller coaster of emotions trying to categorize and prioritize everything, but it is to no avail!

I'm continuing to see and hear the personal connections within the Mass readings these days, and it makes me want for the next day even more. I fell back a few steps last week in my heart and with my actions toward God, but I'm further bolstered now in His Grace for the week ahead.

Furthermore, I've started to let more things out into the open from my heart, to explore deeper with others what all that's within means for me. I need to still find out if this twisting and pulling that God is doing to my heart is something that is pushing me in a new direction in my vocation: to the Church or to continue to explore the eventual path married life. I continue to test the water still but with that ever-present toe in the water. But how do I long for a family, too! So many questions pop up, but through God's grace I am able to continue to explore the human heart even more with as delicate touch as I can deliver. This love that I feel for the Other is not blind, no, but I still do love her dearly. How dearly!

I am reminded of the Nina Simone song from Bella (which I promise to post about eventually), Nearer Blessed Lord:

I am Thine, O Lord, I have heard Thy voice,
And it told Thy love to me;
But I long to rise in the arms of faith,
And be closer drawn to Thee.

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To the cross where Thou hast died;
Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To Thy precious, bleeding side.

Consecrate me now to Thy service,
By the power of grace divine;
Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope,
And my will be lost in Thine

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To the cross where Thou hast died;
Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To Thy precious, bleeding side

My soul look up with a steadfast hope,
my will be lost in Thine

So draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To the cross where Thou hast died;
Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
To Thy precious, bleeding side

I want the married life; I want the romance, the passion, the hassle, the sacrifice of married life. It is an alluring rose blossom dancing in the wind, its stem bowing back and forth in the wind.

I love Christ, His Church, and His will with all my passion. I move within the dark. The voices speak to me in the dark, and I am put to rest contemplating the emptiness I feel. I have felt that for nights without end these past months. Some nights are better, but I still return to the sadness, the desolation that comes out of not seeing a fulfilled romance. I question God. I've gotten angry with Him, angry to the point of sin. Then the remorse comes; I feel the actions that I've done act like a scythe across the belly, pouring out blood—my blood—onto the parched ground below. I have caused this sin, no one else but me, and yet my sadness remains even after forgiveness. Why? Happiness hasn't been found. I have distanced myself from the Font of my being.

What are we to do in the bouts of desolation? We are to turn to our friends. They are those who act in Christ's tread. We are to love each other with a love so grand. And yet, I feel the darkness no matter the amount of love God puts into my life. It's there, a specter of sadness. I grow weary of the future ahead, and then rays of light come in to brighten the day.

It's in those unexpected times of peace that come when bundled with sorrows, reminders of unfulfilled love, that move me the most. I had one last week and wrote about it. It was like a waterfall rushing over me, and my breath was taken from me. The words came to me the following day:


Standing Next to You

The cold is out this solemn night;
With each step, I feel its touch.
We move in the darkness,
Step by step, in bitter silence.

I feel the cold between us,
Distance brought by brutal reality,
One where touch is an impossibility
And everything isn’t as it once was.

I measure every step
And count every breath.
How many nights haven’t I slept?
How many times have I wept?

We take our place on the route
To mark with others the end of another’s life.
How so is life full of chance,
But still I don’t know why you’re in mine.

Standing next to you,
I wish you could be mine
And that I could be yours, too.
Then my heart would be fine.

I stand there next to you.
How do I still long for you!
There my heart remains, silent for you,
Glad to be just next to you.

The rifle volleys are fired,
And the bugle calls out mournfully.
We shuffle away that night quietly
With my heart so greatly moved.

How do I tell you
Of the love I feel for you,
Of the feeling that within me grew,
And rid myself of these bonds, too?

The cold still remains with me
Even after that fateful night.
My heart still yearns for you,
But I must defer my happiness for thine.

My wish to our Maker then is only this:
Take away my happiness if it means for her only bliss.


The words above are nothing more than a reflection of those sorrows, sorrows caused by distance that was no fault of our own or of God's either for that matter. But these are sorrowful distances nevertheless that I've decided to put to words. There is not a night that I don't think about her, but I still don't know where she belongs in my life. I am mystified and continue to wrap myself in a cloudy dream watching as the clouds drift on by.

I delay my happiness for the safety of hers and to not break the tranquility found even amid the sorrowful doldrums of my heart. How do I love her! But I cannot.

The Four Loves: Appreciative Love

Well, I'm writing again. I was a bit concerned with posting the last post, but it seemed to be a necessary step. For me all I have are the words to sort through to make sense of the emotions.

I don't know what I am longing for. I had a mini-crisis yesterday when I got to thinking about next year. Never have I been this clueless. At the same time it is a tad liberating to think that I don't have any big requirements of where I should be.

The freedom could be intoxicating, but for me this kind of freedom isn't free. It comes with my own expectations, my own concerns of how the future is to unfold. I need to be tied down, tied to a commitment. It motivates me. Without that motivation—whether that be academic, personal, or professional—I am nothing. With that motivation I have the willpower to make things happen, to pursue things and people to the ends of the Earth.

There are a few people that fit that build, but I don't sense that same drive with even a few of them. But this lies again in the area from my last post. I don't know what kind of friend I am supposed to be. More importantly, I don't know if my reality is set where theirs is. As it is, a relationship of any kind needs not reality, only mutual understanding. Where I am lacking is the sureness of the mutual understanding.

How does one address the feelings, the stirrings of the heart for a friend? If there was one thing I wish I knew, of all the secrets of the world, this would be the one I would want to know the most. I doubt at times how well-rooted my friends are even now, after all that we've been through. I fear if I even push the least again the friendship that it will fall over like a plant weakly rooted in soft ground.

I'm now endeavoring to read The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis again, a year after reading it before. I read it for the first time last fall, the most dynamic emotional period in my life. It was then when those rose-colored glasses came off. It was then when I awoke from my emotional slumber. This awakening is something I have yet to fully reconcile, but the battle is being won slowly. I read The Four Loves last fall to attempt to gain some insight into the feelings that waged within me, attempting to discern what those turbulent feelings were exactly. I still don't know what those feelings were about. I still don't know where that friendship stands. It stands on the shakiest of ground, but the book did provide some comfort in reading.

What I did learn from reading it that first time, which prompted my first poem—the one that is contained as a seed in every one of them since—and the relationship that it indirectly spoke of is encapsulated in the following quote from the book:

Need-love says of a woman 'I cannot live without her'; Gift-love longs to give her happiness, comfort, protection - if possible, wealth; Appreciative love gazes and holds its breath and is silent, rejoices that such a wonder should exist even if not for him, will not be wholly dejected by losing her, would rather have it so than never to have seen her at all.

Yes, those weren't the four loves. This pertains Lewis's initial divisions of the four loves' components. I wrestled with all three sub-types of love for the other that fall and into the spring. Slowly that love was put into its correct perspective and has now remained part-and-parcel wrapped in appreciative love. However, the seeds of the others remain and, with only the slightest of touches, can bring alive those sleeping dreams.

What my hope is in re-reading The Four Loves now is to do a self-assessment and to awaken myself to the inadequacies, to learn myself even better so that I can become a better person, a better friend, and hopefully in the future the kind of lover that I want to strive to be.

Out of the Night

There has been a distinct quiet wistfulness I have felt in walking across campus the past few evenings. I keep catching myself thinking back to the years gone by. I continue to think of what's been accomplished, what I wish I could have changed, and what I now miss. What worries me is that these ponderings are coming before the task is done. I think I'm getting ahead of myself.

Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much about the past. I think that's where most of my stiffness and over caution comes from. It seems that the past is always there to tell me: "No, don't go a step further." It's as though I am trying to not repeat past mistakes or to be burned once more, but it happens no matter how much I try to subconsciously stop change. I have the tendency to want to keep the pictures perfect, to not allow the imperfections to be seen.

But how does change sting so! Words spoken and actions done that sever the past hurt the most. Somehow I need to find my way through it though the maze. Somehow, but I am still unsure how. The future seems to remain in a hazy fog.

What's more, it seems I am reminded how much I am clueless to what others want of me. I don't know what kind of friend I should be. All the lines have become blurred for me. It's as though someone took off my rose-colored glasses I wore for my first three years in college and put on a set of glasses that blurred my vision. My heart has been thrown into this blurred state.

If life is truly a dance, as so many country songs state as matter of fact, then I've been stepping on a lot of toes lately. Too many, some might say. But it's through these missteps and miscues that we learn who we are and who others truly are. Masterpiece pictures we first saw become less-than-perfect pieces of flawed art. But, in the end, it's important that the dance occurred in the first place.

And so that brings me back to the blurred heart of mine, which has caused me to lose my way on the Path. It's by God's grace that I am back on the Path and His alone. However, the journey is not close to being over.

I have not been consoled in my troubled heart. I do not sense an intellectual or physical inadequacy. No, my weakness is emotional. And, sad to say, it has been the case for the longest of times. And the only thing that is keeping this unleveled stool of mine from falling asunder is God and my faith in Him.

The question for me is this: will my faith hold out? Will it see itself through to the end? Will it wait on the Lord with all might that can be mustered? Or will it wilt when put to the test? Is not the test a daily ordeal? How can we not be concerned for each of our next failures? It is through the Lord that we are able to stave off the doubts of the heart, to stave off the temptation of giving up and giving in.

Still, I want my heart to be broken. I want my heart to be broken and bruised. I want to have my toes stepped on as we all move out on the dance floor. And yet that dance partner hasn't come around. I am adept enough to know that these things don't just fall into one's lap. No, it's something to be searched for, but maybe I've been looking in the wrong places.

However, that's been the most confounding part because I thought it was honorable to be looking where I have. How confounding it is. It may be these words that have been written by my hand that incriminate me to this hapless state I am in currently. It is these words that chain me to being alone. However, I cannot purport something else to be my true self for this is me. I cannot put on old clothes that hide my true self. These words past and present are a part of me. And yet I continue to weigh myself down with chains still further.

Maybe I should just put on the rose-colored glasses once more and pretend everything is okay. However, for me it isn't okay, and there is no way to return to that blissful ignorance of the heart from my youth.

My spiritual dark night of the summer maybe over—thanks be to God—but my emotional dark night is here to stay for the long term. How do I pray that it will depart me for it haunts me still.

It may be the cross that I am to bear. It is through these struggles that the Lord will grant the peace of heart that I so desire. It is through Him that all things do come, and for that I shall remain patient as best as my heart can remain.


Out of the Night

What love do I feel within me;
It’s the peace you bring, O Lord.
The tranquility is not my doing,
Rather the work of your calming hands.

What merciful ways in which you free
For which my heart must sing, O Lord.
The fortitude is quickly swelling,
Ascending like an eagle over troubled lands.

Your soothing presence before me
Covers me with a grace so stirring, O Lord.
It counteracts against the temptations growing,
Subduing the Foe with a might so grand.

The Foe is no match to thee;
You are mightier than any realm or king, O Lord.
I am thankful for your merciful giving
So that I might, with you, so firmly stand.

I am forever grateful for my now renewed sight
And for being brought out from that cold dark night.

My Friend

My dear friend, how do I see you?
When we first met,
Such a memory was set,
But now my heart is so blue.

Night after night my warped affection
Became as clear as day
As I saw you in such a colored way,
My heart blind to reality’s complexion.

Without a doubt, I know my feelings are right,
But I cannot help but remember you are not mine.
My heart aches so, with your words so kind,
But life isn’t so kind to keep you in this light.

My emotions have tossed and turned
As a boat on the seas rocks to and fro
In a storm where the strong gales do blow.
Nothing has changed since in my heart so spurned.

I do not blame you, my friend,
For not knowing these words composed
Because I have kept it in,
Not telling a single soul.

It’s not that I want your love;
I’m quite far beyond that.
I know your heart is with another, so wrapped.
What I desire is your understanding of my pain.

I have done this before,
Wrapping my heart in attraction so impossible
That I thought burying it could be possible,
But stronger have the fires of my desires thus roared.

I don’t want to hurt what you have.
I’ve prayed for the both of you,
In good times and in bad,
But my heart needs freedom from you.

I do care for you deeply.
I’ve prayed for your relationships,
But I also wished for something else secretly
And now wish those words didn’t come off my lips.

I have prayed over this,
With my heart unsure of its wish.
It isn’t me to be acting so,
But through this all my heart has been made low.

My friend, all I ask of you is this:
Don’t break my heart when I finally tell you
Of the impossibilities I have so wished,
For all I wanted to say was "I love you."

The Painter

A man stands at the foot of a cliff,
Alone at the abyss’s edge.
His easel rests beside his tread,
And through its delicate colors, shows his gift.

The painter looks down at his paint
And the many works of his past.
He remembers each with private joy so vast,
But their colors have faded, now to ones so faint.

The painter uncovers one deep below,
And within him a warmth so full grows.
The painting was of a woman from long ago
Who captured the man’s heart but filled it with woe.

His eyes filled with tears,
For he still loves her after all these years,
But Fate had struck Her path,
One of change filled with endless wrath.

You see, he had painted this picture
Not to impress the Other,
But to keep her memory alive further,
Leaving him, in times like these, much richer.

He had painted this picture for her,
All that time ago,
To share with her his love for her
No matter where she goes.

But she never saw the gift
For what it truly was
And left with him the gift,
With its colors now faded without love’s cause.

His love is insatiable to fill;
Its power to control him beyond his will.
Without that requisite return touch,
This painting, with its faded colors, is a mere crutch.

The painter’s heart sinks lowly;
His creative will is gone.
What he painted was love alone,
But that love left him cold and unsightly.

His eyes look to the horizon,
Focused on the radiant rays of the sun.
Tears fall down from his face,
For he now knows his place.

For a painter to believe in himself,
He must first believe in his own works.
The worst is not the critic who rejects his work
But the one who walks away without a word.

The painter looks to the Heavens,
Wondering what now to do.
His heart is ready for a new lesson,
But his heart is now silent like his canvas, too.

He puts down his worn brush
And turns away from the cliff.
His heart gives up on his dreams so lush,
And instead tells him to stop asking, “What if?”

Without a reason to paint or to implore,
The painter has no further reason to paint once more.

The Garden

So yesterday I posted my second poem written last week. Today's poem I wrote Monday of last week. It was a monumental day for me in that I am grappling some deep feelings within my heart and—to a lesser extent—also here out in the blogosphere. I have been doing this for months now since last October which was accentuated with the writing of The Window. The Monday before last was a very busy day, a meeting to sort these feelings out, the first speech for my Speech Comm. class, and then other classes afterward.

After this first discussion, I felt a great deal of relief to start to put these feelings to rest, to move on from feelings first felt and emotions that I haven't had in years. So much so it moved me again to reflect on what had been welling beneath the surface. The fact of the matter is that one cannot leave feelings alone to fester because if it does those initial feelings start to morph from their innocent beginnings to something altogether different...and not always in a good way.

These past months have been something altogether different and something so great, but at the same time there's something that's been amiss. Below is the poem I wrote to close these feelings I've had within me. Like a caged dove, I'm letting it go...slowly.

It is a pain not to let my feelings for her come fully out in the open. Something inside of me yearns to let them flower in the open. However, I am not that kind of person. It's not me to want to draw attention of that nature out into the open.

All that my feelings are capable now of doing are endangering something that I have prayed over and know in my heart is right. These words might speak of a lack of self-esteem, but it isn't that in actuality. It is the acceptance of the fact that I should not break the trust of a friendship...even if it it's to the detriment of my own self esteem.

What a mess have I've gotten my heart into, and somehow God will work this out in His own time, I know. It's patience that I need for His Will to be fulfilled. These thoughts are what I attempted to capture in words. I would even venture to call it a prayer in my search for "the Other" and to close the book on these feelings.

The Garden

A grove of oaks
Stands stoic amid a field.
Its isolation is stark, like an island,
And its surrounding grassland extends
As far as the eye can see.

At the center of the grove,
Resting safely beneath the trees
Is a lush garden of roses,
And a canopy broad and comforting
Shelters the garden beneath.

The soothing spring sunlight
Shines softly through;
Its light is a nourishing gift from above.
The soft smell of roses,
Sweet and intoxicating, wafts to the heights above.

This garden’s soil is fresh;
Its soft, moist earth is sweet in smell.
Bountiful is this blessed earth,
And all the plants set firm in this soil
Are fruitful and blessed.

At the heart of this garden
Is a rose bush, with its blossoms
A deep alluring red in full bloom
And its delicate leaves verdant,
Full of life and of hope.

But at its base, a weed springs forth.
Its stature is small and its blossom insignificant.
The plant is a mistake, its existence here out of place.
Still, it exists out of love from the Maker.

It is a meager dandelion, with blossom golden bright.
Yet the dandelion is still out of place,
With all the blooming roses
That triumphantly soar in the towering heights.

It clings to the rose bush’s base like a vine
And chokes from it its life and beauty,
So enchanting, mystifying and divine,
For it is blind to the splendor the world sees.

For the roses are love,
And the dandelion is mere attraction.
Its stunted growth is a mere shadow
Compared to the fullness of life that is above.

And so the Gardener enters the sanctified grove,
Treading carefully to its very center.
A mighty breeze blows through the grove,
And the dandelion quivers violently amid the wind.

Humbled, the dandelion releases its fortified grip
From the rose bush’s tortured base,
And the Gardner approaches it
Quietly with loving care and grace.

He knows of the dandelion’s intentions,
Of its loving desire for embrace,
For He remembers all His plants,
Whatever stage in life they may be.

He forgets not His plans for each of them,
Especially the solitary dandelion
Which He takes into His hands
And brings to another fertile land
To let blossom for all the world to see.

The Eagerness for the Fulfillment of Hope

The daily reading from yesterday's Mass struck a definite chord in my heart. It spoke directly to my heart and the troubles I have been feeling lately, namely those of this conflicting love in my heart. A few of the verses from the reading, the ones most pertinent to my heart at this time are as follows:

For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love you have demonstrated for his name by having served and continuing to serve the holy ones. We earnestly desire each of you to demonstrate the same eagerness for the fulfillment of hope until the end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitators of those who, through faith and patience, are inheriting the promises. When God made the promise to Abraham, since he had no one greater by whom to swear, "he swore by himself," and said, "I will indeed bless you and multiply" you. And so, after patient waiting, he obtained the promise. – Hebrews 6:10-16

While the context to which the preceding passage moved me is much lesser in significance, it still epitomizes how I should tread this very narrow tight-rope of loving desire. I know the Lord is there and is watching over me, wanting only the best. I must trust His will. I know I must not move from the tight-rope before me, lest I fall from the Grace the Lord has put before me. I shouldn't allow jealously or malice enter into my thoughts. Those two are among my most worrisome temptations for me at this time.

For it is much easier to let one's heart become hard when it is in pain. It much easier for it to become jealous and callous to touch when wrenched in pain. But as C.S. Lewis said, "To love at all is to be vulnerable." And right now, my heart is vulnerable. It is vulnerable to all sorts of whims, but I know it is also at the same time the most secure it will ever be. I have put my worries into the Lord's hands.

I will be patient in my heart, for I know the Lord will not overlook my work and the love I have demonstrated for His name, namely that unconditional love. For it is when all strings have been removed from our love, do we actual see the joy that is truly in our lives.