Things Not Hoped For....

It has been a couple of weeks since writing here. It's such a paradox how those two weeks and a half seemed to have gone both so so painfully slowly and also over in a blink of an eye. There were a few posts I started writing but never quite finished, brief recounts of the small blessings encountered over those weeks. Whatever witness those events presented me in the interlude of the past post are still quite valid and still bear its distinguished imprint of God's most mysterious workings in my life. As a friend put it a few days ago, sharing with me a line her spiritual director often tells her:  "I am only a spectator of God's drama between you and Him"... I often feel this blog (and the few numbered readers) is that humble spectator!

Speaking a bit more closely to the title of the post is really an opportunity to speak of the great mystery sometimes life is to me. I can't comprehend it. I can't even start to do so. My return to this city is one of those great great enigmas in my life. I couldn't understand why God wouldn't place the path, the circumstances, to allow me to remain with my parents, to allow for me to be present to my little sister right now in those crazy teenager years and the sometimes not wise ways they seek that independence/identity. I continue to lament she is growing up without me, despite my perhaps fake grandeur as to the depth of my guidance. Regardless this enigma has had a richness, a fruitfulness, in its potential to be a gift to the Beloved. It has been an opportunity to show faithfulness in a most palpable way  which has drawn me to my knees time and time again. It forced me to be brave when, if left to my own attachment of comfort, I never would have done or offered.

Today I reflected ever more deeply on this particular enigma. My dad recently had a meeting with immigration and for over a month I had prayed and hoped fervently for its good outcome. Countless times at Mass or adoration I would confide to Him how much heart longed to see them all again. The immigration situation with my dad was drastically made more complex by a great injustice that has haunted us for nearly a year now. Regardless, many dear folks hoped for the best in this long long awaited meeting... meeting we were waiting for since the beginning of this whole process, some 8 or 9 years. And so my hope, my prayers turned into a frustrated answer where more uncertainty sets in as well as another 3 month wait without any sort of security or deserved outcome. Truth is, today, I can't grasp any of it. After hearing the outcome of the meeting my response to the Beloved in my crucifix was a frustrated tired whisper: "what else do you desire of me? what else?"

For tonight I continue to sit with this question....

Crucifix @ Our Lady Of Victories- my parish.

The (Continuing) Gift of My Youth

Sitting in adoration today, reflecting a bit on part of the homily the priest gave in the Mass preceding the exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, I thanked God for the gift of my high school years. I thanked God not only for the gift to be alive, to have received an education (I do owe so much to St. Louis public education), but more specifically I thanked God for the goodness of those years. Even as I write this now, with barely 8 or 9 months of retrospective, I am aware that my gratitude/knowledge of these years will continue to deepen.

First of all, what do I mean by the "goodness" of those years? Well, I think a good introduction to these ¨"years" was highlighted about a year and a half ago when I visited the Dominican house of formation and a friar (now priest too) commented on a memory he had of me from my middle school years when every Sunday after Mass I`d eagerly and consistently ask apologetic-like faith questions to him and another Jesuit. He had a big smile on his face and mentioned that with such peculiar characteristic I was hard to forget. At the moment I just laughed but I was well aware that I owed much of this ¨"goodness" to God Himself and the people He placed in my path during those years.

High school was, for me, a sort of "dating" of religious life and, to my best attempt, a deepening into a transcendence, a reality, of God's existence in the world.. (in fact, here is a small excerpt from a paper I wrote freshman year about a visit to a Benedictine monastery, that expresses this raw and new "awe" well)

....They chanted with low and deep voices of comfort; quickly I became accustomed. I looked behind me and I stared attentively with awe and silence. A row of beautiful young nuns dressed in habit. A brown veil surrounded their faces while like the flicker of their own candles made their complexion flawless like those of holy saints. With a joy and equal solemnity they stood frozen in time captured in my mind by the glow of my own flickering candle.

I turned, but this time I stared at nothing. It was not an abyss but rather my mind searching within itself. I focused on a crystal window above the ruffled walls. The deep and rich chant continued with its demanding and reverent rhythm.

“♫ Evil bring death to the wicked. 
Those who hate the good doomed 
The Lord ransoms the souls of the servants 
Those who hide in him shall not be condemned ♫”

I listened and at that time I knew I did not understand anything. Everything I knew and did and held and fought for and worried about. Everything I experienced and loved and desired was condensed, compressed in that second. It was compressed in the sound, the thickness of the chant itself. Every thought ended there and yet it emerged from it as well. I began to wonder, as that second passed and the significance expanded from that building upon a direction I didn’t know. I didn’t worry but instead I wrapped myself in every word since I knew this wouldn’t be outside, there society awaited me and this wouldn’t be, not there. Insanity, I recognized reality and I didn’t want to let it go.

For some reason unknown to me, my heart and mind, in those crazy years of high school, were captured wholly into a very honest view of the world and myself within the boundaries of maturity of a 14-18 year-old. And I emphasize (again) that how or why this was touches me deeply. I know full well my ingratitude in prayer to God for this, a grace I've yet to most responsibly penetrated. I have no idea why I wasn't absorbed in the vanities of competitive running (I am a proud graduate of my high school's Cross-Country program), or the competitive spirit of academics (although I was proud to have graduated top 10 of the nearly 500 in my class), or the demand of social activities for Student Counsel (although I deeply enjoyed my post as one of the directors)... or why in the midst of issues like homosexuality, separated parents, immigration disappointments (etc) there was always a graced constancy and hope as well as people (rather blessings!) who became loved companions in the pilgrimage of those "high school" years.

The "goodness" of those high school years perplexes me. My enthusiasm for "nun runs", my huge interest of theology/catechism, my overall blessed and holy experience of those troublesome years, makes me more aware that such "goodness" arrived directly from the goodness and great tenderness of God himself. Sure, call it a somewhat unusual public high school experience but would I have won this neat little award had it been any other way? ;-)

 Before ending this little post I hope that it goes without saying that I by no means imply I was a sort sinless/flawless high schooler. God knows that couldn't be further from the truth! We all have our own "demons" to affront in our journey towards holiness and these were fully and boldly present during those years!

Anyhow here are other wonderful images that further express the "goodness" of those years:

 "Rejoice, O young man, in your youth, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth. Walk in the ways of your heart and the sight of your eyes. But know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment. "Ecclesiastes 11:9

Celebrating my 18th Birthday with my parish family (2010)

A quick photo with the Alton Franciscans, group I got to know in my high school years 

(2011)

Joining the Nashville Dominicans at the Pro-Life March (D.C. 2011)

Awkward photo with some great SJ's (2008?)

A "nun look-alike" from a friend. Mine is hidden somewhere and will never come to see the light of day I promise! ;)

Little Ms. Gonzalez and I at a Vocation Summer Camp (2007)

Eight Months ....

First of all, happy 2012 to anyone that reads this humble space!

Few quick thoughts on this new year:

I'm learning every day (quite literally), learning through experiences, in joys and sorrows, and many other blessings (hidden ones sometimes!) that I am allowed to be part of in what this human experience is. I am just so blessed to be alive! I am blessed to be aware of this and to have the gift of my youth and intelligence to better, to more fully, more radically, more deeply seek Him and thus be MORE alive, to be more authentic; to be more authentically His beloved.


However this post is about a date: eight months. (Over) Eight months ago God led me to this extraordinary place and quite bluntly, forced me on a plane, nearly kicking and screaming. I was afraid, it wasn't what I wanted one bit, it wasn't what I had hoped for, it wasn't what my heart longed for and I froze, back home, at the simple thought it was my reality. One could put a more political/social story-telling of this event that is neither isolated nor unique. We could speak about distribution of wealth, immigration laws between Mexico and the U.S., about myself and others but whatever was going on in the fear before embarking in this journey was something that once I touched ground slowly unfolded into the place I am now and faded into acceptance.

My point being; this is a journey, a messy one that is most incarnate, most human, with laws and people and longings and real tears, real paralyzing fear and real experiences that shape very very real souls. Searching the internet (and old e-mail archives) I found a story I wrote 2 years ago for a blog that still runs about undocumented youth in New York City. It had probably been two years since I had also seen this page but these words from my past self struck me:

I guess I am one of the millions who anguish about the “what will be”.
Currently a junior in high school I try my best to have the confidence that something WILL happen in 2010 and that I will be one of the lucky few that would benefit right away from the Dream Act because of my age. I think about it every single day, I think about me getting closer to 18 and what that means legally...... Like everyone I am just terrified........I can’t imagine going back and leaving this whole life story behind forever since it is my whole life story.

I can certainly still recognize the fear, the instability that it brought to my own sanity and ability to plan future goals. However, it has been over 8 months and I can honestly say that I could have never imaged where I am now, spiritually and also physically, back then. There is something quite interesting in my fear then, something most natural really, I felt a deep deep ownership of the place I was in. I felt it was mine, I loved (love) it deeply and I figured it was most naturally source of identity and of where I was meant to be. The thought I'd leave it was the thought perhaps I would lose who I was and who I wanted to be. Yes, it has been over 8 months of not seeing my parents and sister, and yes, it's a much much longer wait until I see them again. Yes, it has been a semester of NOT being at the American university I desired. Yes, it has been over 8 months of not having the chance to speak with people, to be fully present to them, as I desired to spend this time in my youth in.Yes it has been over 8 months of actively living a reality 2 years ago I didn't foresee.  But really, the journey, these months, approaching a year now, has been of detachment, a painful one and practical one, and growing confidence in God's goodness and wisdom. I take one step, mile by mile, and I realized that my identity, my joy, my ability to love and be loved and perfecting both being loved and this love, is not attached to a place in particular. It is an image of a pilgrim, who only carries with him his pack, and goes on, purely and most honestly, by the great mercy of God.

North St. Louis- Fall 2009, During a St. Louis Youth Leadership Experience