"A roll model, a hero of my youth, a man that only sings the truth, just sitting down to talk to me."

He said, "Son the secret to my overnight success is hard work and luck and 20 years and nothing less."

Lost in transition. That's where I feel I am a lot these days. I've started the phase of life where I am both excited and frightened by my impending graduation from college. Discernment is going, and will continue to go for a good little while now. Although this does not excite me terribly right now, I feel it's what I have to work with. If my calling to be a priest is for real, and continues to get stronger like it has over the past 2 years or so, then I am confident that when the time comes, I will be able to open myself up fully and show that the priesthood is the path I called to be on. And, when the time comes, if who and what I shows that I should be on is not the priesthood, I pray that God will give me the grace to live with that decision, as well as the knowledge, wisdom, and energy to move forward and appreciate what I've learned about myself.

Living with impending transition is where I'm at, and the ropes aren't where I want/expect them be. But I will remain faithful that they will remain where they should be, and a deep breath and a deeper look around will prove to lead me where I am suppose to go.

"Some days I may not have a clue. And some days I'll figure out a thing or two."

"I cannot remember what life was like through photographs; trying to recreate images life gives us from our past..."

"...sometimes it's a sad song."

I gotten out some since the storm came through. In some ways I needed to see things. I needed to know why friends, family, and strangers are in so much pain in so many ways. I needed to know how extremely lucky I was that the tornado changed directions when it did. It was coming right at the church, but turned about a mile, maybe a little more, before it got here. In some ways I needed to see the damage. In some ways I wish I hadn't.

I find what most hurts me now and over the past few weeks is the hurt I see in people's eyes, especially my friends. I see the hurt of ten years worth of change that happened in a few hours; like you moved and then came back and things changed. But nobody moved away. I feel the pain that people have, whether they talk about it or not. I see the hurt and feel the pain that they just want to go away.It's with them every time they come in the church. And in a way I glad for that. Not that the pain is there, but for most people who come in here, they can show that hurting and hopefully begin to let it go and continue to let it go until it's gone. I hope all churches can be like that for people, no matter the denomination.

I hear people say that for some things the pain never goes away - the sudden death of a close friend or family member, natural disasters, abuse. For me, this is no so much the case. For me, the pain yields to scars, scars like the ones on my legs or hands. They no longer hurt, but every time I see the scar I am reminded of why it's there - how it got there, how it shaped me. Everyone has scars whether we see them or not. And every scar has a story to tell.

"And mama I’ve been cryin’ cause things ain’t how they used to be. She said the battle's almost won, and we're only seven miles from the sun."

"I promise you not a moment will be lost as long as I have heart and voice to speak..."

"...and we will walk again together with a thousand others and a thousand more and on and on until there is no one among us who does not know the truth:"

The more things change, the more different things start to look. I had planned on writing a reflection on this past semester around this time. I had planned on writing about my fraternity and my pledges, about school, about church life. I had planned to be enjoying some time not having to worry about too many things before the "real world" began after graduation in December. I had plans. But that seems like a semester ago in itself.

Then a tornado came and mixed things up. No metaphors or symbols or anything like that here. A literal fucking tornado came through and did as it pleased where it pleased. Routines are gone. Things are gone. People are gone. To hear people talk about it has mixed results. Some talk of survival; most talk of tragedies. At first it made me feel fortunate that it wasn't like Katrina or Japan or Haiti. At first we we weren't on that list.

I am here at the church, as I have been since Tuesday. That's where I'm told I'm needed. Not to do much physical labor. Not to give much instruction on what to do or where to go. I'm here to give people support. To let them know what has and is going to happen. As the days go on, I can't say they're getting much easier. The life of a support beam is not an attention grabbing one. Most people see them, but never notice how much work they are doing just by being there. I know not everyone is fit to have that kind of job. I'm not sure I am completely fit to have that job. But it's mine all the same.

When people ask me what I have done to aid in relief, I can't say a lot. I can't say I went out and cleaned up debris. I can't say I took food to people who needed it. I can't say I've been physically worn out everyday since the storm. I can say I've been here to listen to people who need to talk. I can say I've said thank you more times in the past week than I could ever start to count. I can say I've gotten people in touch with who they needed to talk to, for whatever reason. I can say I'm still here, and will be until I'm not.

there is no future without love."

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name..."

"...it felt good to be out of the rain."

Sometimes I think people get caught up in the details in things that don't matter. Maybe I don't get caught up in the details of things that actually do matter. What's on my mind right now is pronouns used for God. For the most part, if not completely, masculine pronouns are used in all texts to describe God. For me, the pronouns doesn't carry a whole lot merit, it's the being behind them that is so powerful for me. I don't really care if it, or you for that matter, describe God as a man or a woman. It's really not that big of a deal for me. I know that God is neither and both at the same time. Maybe a better way to say it is that God is who and what I/we need when and where I/we need Him/Her/It. God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are present to work together and separately at the same time when you need them most. I guess that's all I have to say about that.

If you want to fight to change God's image based on the pronouns used, be my guest. I won't fight against you. I can not guarantee that I fight with you, though we all know I probably will.

"Under the cities lies a heart made of ground, but the humans will give no love.

"My stupid mouth has got me in trouble..."

...I said to much again."

This post is a reflection on Module 4 of the Community of Hope handbook: Listening Skills

I think there are two reasons why I'm usually quiet and reserved, especially when I first meet someone.

First, I grew up with three sisters all within three years of age of me.

Second, it seems like the wires connecting my articulation skills to my mouth are loose. Therefore, I can never be certain that what I want to say will come out as it is intended, whether in syntax, context, meaning, anything thing else that could go wrong in that way, or any combination of these. This may be a reason I tell jokes so much-since the outcome is intended to be funny, odds are that whatever comes out will make people laugh.

Why, might you ask, would I ever want to pursue a career where talking to many people about many different things is in the job description. Furthermore, why would I even think about taking that a step further and go out and intentionally find people who need to talk and need some type of pastoral care. Crazy, right?

Here's where this lesson comes in, and I like it(surprising, eh, an introvert liking that he won't have to say as much he thought he would). In making these visit, wherever they are, pastoral caregivers are not there to tell anybody anything. They are there to listen, to remember the fact that we are given two ear and one mouth. And also to remember that while the people that we are going to see have the same, for whatever reason people forget they do a mouth, too.

"Alas", you say,"you are going to have to participate in the conversation some. You can't just sit there and not say anything." Well you would be right, my participation is require, and although my voice will be heard, the word I say will not belong to me. Gus Davis enlightened me to this fact. If we do it right, we will allow ourselves to be a channel for the Holy Spirit to enter into that person through our voice. Granted we are who we are-humans-and we tend to not let that always happen. But I would like to invite you to try it sometime. It doesn't have to be when you are intentionally giving someone pastoral care. Let the Holy Spirit move you and guide you. You may be surprised what you begin to hear.

"Mama said 'think before speaking' no filter in my head oh, what's a boy to do. I guess he better find one."