The Pilgrim's Prayer

Some days just seem to blindside us, leave us reeling in the dark, wondering why. I'm so exhausted physically and emotionally. Yet, somehow, this day still gives me peace and hope.

I found a prayer this afternoon, it helps so much to express what I feel stirring inside me. I needed to hear and pray it.

I had to realize that it's okay not to know everything, not to have it all planned out. To admit that, sometimes, I don't have the answers.

A Pilgrim's Prayer by Thomas Merton

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end....

Nor do I really know myself,

And the fact that I think I am following Your will

Does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

 I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this,

You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust You always though I may seem lost 

And in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for You are ever with me, 

And You will never leave me to face my perils alone.

...

I helped write a song in Africa. It was right after an extremely heartbreaking moment, greatly distressing, to say the least. I'm going to end this post with its chorus. It's very simple but we don't always need to say much to truly be heard.

...

Even though I'm broken,

Lord, you take my hand. 

I will trust in You,

 Though I do not understand.

Have a good night ya'll, I'll see you next week.

-TJ

The Life We're Living

What are you afraid of?

At first thought, I might say pain or catastrophe. But when I think about it,

I'm afraid of being trapped.

We live busy lives, don't we? At this moment, instead of writing this, I could be (a) practicing my piano (b) doing school (c) working on my album (d) brainstorming my novel (e) editing a film project (f) practicing my dance moves (g) getting some family time. 

But no, I have to work first on this blog post. Not that I'm complaining about having to write, I'm just disappointed that I always leave it till the last minute. And I mean, Every. Single. Time.

The problem with all of this is that I can't focus. I can't slow down. I can't rest.

Yes, yes, I do get my sleep and I do take breaks. But I'm never at peace, do you know the feeling? 

And I've read the blog posts and I've told myself, I need to cut back. But how? Most of these are serious commitments that I can't just walk away from easily. Most of these have deadlines, most have other people involved. Eventually, the only things I can say no to are the things I want to do, but don't need to do. Or if I work on them, I can't focus, I can't always concentrate when I've got more important things to do. 

I don't think it's healthy. It chokes life out of creativity and poisons free time. But what greatly troubles me, is how it's inescapable. 

This wild, frantic pace frightens me because it helps me to forget. It's only when you're taken out of this cycle, that you realize how much you long to change.

To illustrate my words, I wrote this on my plane ride back to America from Africa.

"I'm supposed to be concerned primarily with eternal things and not worry about temporal needs, but how can I prevent myself from slipping back? From losing the lessons learned?"

When I stepped off that plane, I desperately hoped that I wouldn't. Yet, here I am, four months later, caught right in the thick of it again.

How time flies.

The curse of this society is that we're not allowed to think, to look deeper and farther than ourselves. All this amazing wealth and opportunities but we never have time for any of it! The things that truly matter in our lives never seem to have real consequences in the immediate future like so many other trivial things do.

We're always worrying about our test scores, unfinished novels, or the latest drama in our circle of friends, but there's not always the same concern for drawing closer to God or developing healthy friendships. What about our splintering families or widespread addictions to social media or gaming? Why do we always have to wait before figuring these things out? 

People always tell me how mature I am for my age. Sure, maybe I am, but by what standards? Yes, I might have some things figured out, but already I'm regretting that it's taken me this long already. Just looking back a couple years makes me marvel at the mess I was and the person I am now. I'm still a mess, it's just harder for me to see it now.

And we all are. It takes strength to look at yourself honestly and admit the flaws you see. That's why the cycle is so hard to break. When we're too focused on the world around us and the demands it places on us, we can forget to look inside and realize the need to change. 

We simply don't have the time to confront the problems within ourselves. We put it off for later when we have more time. Apparently, once we graduate college, find a job, perhaps get married, that's when we'll have the time. 

It's. A. Lie. 

Life doesn't wait for you to get your affairs in order so that you can start polishing it into shape. No one is going to give you that push to move forward, to get in gear. If you want to see results in your life, then you need to move! There's no time to sit around waiting for the right moment. The moment is now, not tomorrow because one day there will be no more tomorrows.

We've got to start waking up and start taking charge of our own lives because ultimately, we're the only ones who are responsible for them. This cloud of busyness is a drug that has the power to destroy our lives. But if we're honest, this way of life is the one we're most comfortable with.

It's comfortable because it distracts, it numbs. We're living lives of quiet desperation and we don't even know it. The way out looks hard, uncomfortable, or exhausting, but we weren't made to be comfortable. 

We were made to live.

And live well.

Home

"Emmanuel, how much for a Boda-Boda ride?" Sheila asked.

"1000," the young man replied, our soft-spoken guide on this foray. I stayed silent as my aunt continued.

"Ok, well, we're not going to be able to take one."

"Why not?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"We have no money with us."

"We shall have to walk then," he said easily. "Come on, I know a shortcut."

***

It's that time of year. In every direction, (at least where I live), there's forests with trees decorated in every color, mellow orange pumpkins, and dried up fields of corn. The fields are covered in mist and the temperature is just refreshingly brisk. I'm tempted to say that fall is my favorite season, when only a few months ago I was saddened by the thought of empty trees and the approaching winter.

It always makes me nostalgic, like I'm living in a field of memories or waiting on an empty bench in the park. It seems that no matter what season I'm in, that one is my favorite. Can I just say that I love all the seasons with their different temperatures and colors?

And yet, each time the seasons roll by, I find myself clinging to each one and viewing the coming season with apprehension. It seems that there's always a universal mistrust of change, we're comfortable with that which we are familiar with. Change means transition, which isn't always comfortable.

After all, fall heralds colder temperatures and raking leaves, which can be seen as troublesome to one's regular life. Yet, whenever the next season rolls around, it happens so gradually that we're surprised by the change and instead of it being an unwelcome burden, it's a pleasant change of pace. For, despite the many vivid, even dramatic changes there's something comfortable about it. There's something familiar.

That's the beauty of seasons, they're always changing time and time again, but they always retain that sense of the familiar. It's a good lesson for us to learn; no matter how many changes we undergo, we don't have to fear them. We don't have to be afraid, for despite every unknown that may come, there's always an known quality about them. We have everything we need to face the challenge ahead, we just don't realize it until the day comes.

In that vein, I should finish recounting the story above. It's taken from, perhaps, the most nerve-wracking experience I had in Africa. We had just finished visiting with our selected student's family and decided to skip lunch in order to get back before the others would start to worry about us. (Plus, they needed the food more than we did.)

In a stunning example of generosity, Emmanuel's grandmother picked for us an entire sack of peanuts, to show her gratitude for our visit. Then we started down the dirt road, in search of St. Kizito's High School.  Emmanuel was about 13 years old and spoke rather poor English. The plan, originally, was to catch a boda-boda (motorcycle) ride back to the school from some of the nearby men. Unfortunately, neither of us had any money on us, (we didn't think it wise to be carrying it through the Ugandan countryside), so we had to walk.

Emmanuel guided us along several dirt paths, before taking us off the wider dirt road to a path he said was shorter. My aunt and I hadn't the slightest clue where we were, so it was with apprehension that we followed him onto this route. I'm pretty certain we were the first mzungus ever to travel that path. Finally, after a good amount of walking, I spotted the most reassuring of sights: Our Lady of Guadalupe School. We're on familiar ground, we were getting closer to home.

Home. It's funny how we thought of it like that, even though we hadn't even been there two weeks. I came to realization that home isn't just where we live or grew up. It's where we are safe, comfortable, and belong. It's where we can dwell in peace and safety. It's where we are familiar with our surroundings.

That night, I knew that wherever I went, I could always carry that sense of home and safety with me. How I looked at the school as a sign of reassurance is how we should see God.

Before we left America, we had a sendoff Mass for us, with a special blessing. In that blessing, a certain line struck me.

"May the Lord be a staff of refuge for you."

A staff of refuge. 

That's what God is for us. No matter how far we travel from home, whatever the circumstance or situation, even and most especially in times of danger. 

The less of our strength that we can draw upon, the more we can rely upon him, our staff of refuge. Trust me, no matter where you go, it doesn't seem a foreign land, strange and unfamiliar, because you don't have to change. You can still cling to that staff tightly. In the grand scheme of things, there's nowhere we can't feel at home, because God is the same, regardless of one's location. 

As St. Therese would often say, "The world's thy ship and not thy home." We live in a foreign land, it is true, but instead of causing us discomfort, that should give us hope. It means that one day, our journeys will end, our struggles will cease, our pain will be given purpose.

It means that one day, we will find peace, comfort, understanding, safety, joy, and love. In short,

We'll be home.

Idling Forward

Sometimes, I don't understand. 

Why does it seem like everyone around me is hurting and yet, I'm doing just fine? 

Looking around me, I see good things and bad things. And, as usual, the bad things tend to appear bigger than good ones. 

All around me, there are people hurting, families tearing apart, uncertainty, financial worries, loss of a loved one, and squelched dreams. I see people trying to overcome the storms that threaten their faith. 

And for me, I feel like I've never been tested. 

Yes, I have experienced some of the aforementioned trials, but never in a way that made me seriously question the faith that I've always been raised in. It was hard, sure, but never quite in the same way I've heard or read about. If life is a road to Heaven, then, of course, I've encountered obstacles on the way. I've tripped and stumbled and it hurts a lot. But through all of it, I've never thought about turning back or finding a new path. 

Which leaves me with two possibilities. Either my faith is stronger than I think it is, (unlikely), or the trials I've experienced are as small as I think them to be. 

But I feel the question is, Why hasn't my faith been tested yet? Am I not mature or strong enough yet? Am I just not ready for it?

It's not that I'm asking for a catastrophe to happen, but I just want to know how deep my faith truly is. It's hard to measure something if you've never traversed its limits. How can I tell someone how far I can run unless I actually attempt running as far as I possibly can?

But what if I'm wrong? What if I've been looking at the wrong angle at this? After all, it's much easier to be dependent on God when you actually have need of Him. When you lose every shred of security, you have nothing left to get in your way of God. God is our surest refuge, a foundation to stand upon when all others fail. The problem is, we seem to always seek out our Saviour as last resort, a sort of fail-safe measure when everything else fails. God seems to have become our fairy Godmother, a forgotten fancy that appears only when all seems to be lost.

When the storms hit, God becomes a lot more evident in our minds. Great evil requires a greater good to overcome. That's just simple math. But when the sea is calm, we can tend to leave God below in the ship, sleeping undisturbed.

What if the greatest challenge to my faith is not my belief in it, but rather my commitment to it? 

One of my favorite aspects of Africa is that it was hard. I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly every day. I saw the beauty of human faith and trust in God and the despair and desperation of poverty. There were things that made me squirm, cringe, and want to turn away. Sometimes, I probably did. But each experience, regardless of whether it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside or confront me with the reality of human suffering, was a powerful experience. A good experience, not in the sense that it was fun, but that I needed to see this.

In Africa, things challenged me, made me confront the problem of pain, allowed me to see just how much I could take.

Back home, it's not hard. I can take things easy and not many people would even notice. No one begs for my water, I don't have to witness the nature of poverty, I don't even have to take cold showers anymore!

In Africa, all I had to do was shift into neutral and let God push me. I was idling forward. He helped me get started, but now I have to pull my weight. That means work. Sacrifice. Patience. Commitment.

I can't just drift from one spiritual high to the next. I can't just glide along, complacent. If I'm not moving forward, then I'm just going to fall right back to where I started. Perfection is a pursuit of the infinite. We have Jesus as our measure, our role model.

I don't know about you, but that's a very high bar to reach! And while it's one that we can't make on our own, we still have to give it our very best. We still have to work, we still have to suffer. Because if all we're going to do is idle forward,

Then we're going nowhere.

And we're going to get there fast.

Sharing the Cross

There will always be things to challenge us. 

The real problem lies in that there are always two paths to every choice. 

Sometimes, we think we know poverty. We've seen the pictures, we've donated the money, we've done our part. Haven't we?

In Uganda, we stayed and visited at some very nice schools (at least, nice schools for Uganda.) The students are always dressed in clean uniforms, there's a beautiful landscape all around, and everyone is happy and excited to see us. The children run out beaming, waving, and calling "Mzungu, Mzungu!" (White Person)

And in that setting, poverty seems picturesque and idyllic. Everything's just perfect. All is right.

At least, so I was deluded. I never really knew what it meant to live there.

One day, we were herded up like a bunch of grumpy sheep and we squeezed into the school truck. From there, we drove around the Ugandan countryside. I was informed previously, that today we would be visiting, personally, in groups of two, the homes and families of the students of Our Lady of Guadalupe School. So, after some hours of driving back and forth like a drunken circus (I can only imagine what they thought of us!), I found myself in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Africa, with only my aunt, a six pack of pop, and 8 chipati to survive.

The student we were visiting, Emmanuel, lead us down a dirt path to his humble home. There we met the rest of his family, none of whom spoke English, and he showed us around. Communication was difficult as he spoke rather poor English, but we managed. This was the first time I ever stepped into typical African home. I wasn't totally surprised, but it did change my perspective.

By American standards, they had pretty much nothing. You could probably fit their house into my bedroom, everything was dark and the rooms extremely small. I think they were cooking a couple corn cobs outside, where my aunt had handed a bunch of licorice to the kids.

In reflection of that day and the rest of the trip, it's made me question myself. Why me?

Why am I the one who gets to live in an affluent country? Why do I get the chance to succeed, to have an excess to give? Why don't I have to walk miles just to get water for the day? Why don't I only get two meals a day, consisting of porridge and beans?

You could feed a child lunch today for 2.2 cents. TWO POINT TWO CENTS, PEOPLE!! That's about eight freakin dollars a year. I spent more than that, just buying a burger in the airport.

Why? In the overall view of things, life ain't fair. These are children. They haven't had a chance to do anything wrong and yet...there they are. They get so hungry that they have to leave school because they can't even concentrate.

I just made $50 today playing the organ. Technically, I could feed 2,272 children today with that. But what am I supposed to do? Sure, I can give them something today, but tomorrow they'll go hungry just the same. I'm not big enough to feed the world.

In my mind, that's not justice. That's not mercy. That's cruelty. Sure, I can understand pain. I can understand redemptive suffering. But children can't. They're not old enough to understand. To them, it's just pain.

But we're not called to understand. We're not always meant to make sense out of the bad things of this world.

What's necessary here is trust. Right now, faith doesn't mean believing that God exists. Faith means believing that God is good. Either He's a loving father or He's not.

Remember the student's house I told you about? Written in chalk on the wall in one of the dark, dirty rooms was:

"God bless us."

They know who God is. If they can look up to Heaven and call out in faith of His love, how can I dare question that? 

Some things are greater than we can understand. Yes, it's true that some are burdened with heavier crosses than others. But the way I see it, sometimes we're given lighter burdens, to help others carry their own. 

I might not understand, but I don't need to. God knows what He's doing. At times, it might seem hopeless, but you and I can still spread light in this world. 

Because with God,

Anything is possible.

The Pearl of Africa

Alright, I'm back. I'm alive.

I survived

I'm going to depart from my usual structure of posting, mainly because I wasn't thinking much about it. Jet lag is always an adventure, (usually involving excessive sleep), and then there were parties and all-day film shoots at obscure castles. You'd think my life would simplify, but no, it hasn't. As such, this overwhelming whirlpool of busyness broadsided me by surprise and thus, postponed most opportunities to write something. 

I do, however, intend to get a grip on this unwieldy life of mine and make it follow what I want it to do. We'll see how it goes. Anyways, let's get started.

Basically, going to Africa was one of the greatest experiences of my life, to put it simply. In Uganda, there was change, challenge, and choice. Things happened there, big things. Every day was packed with adventures, challenges, and lessons. More happened in a day, than I usually experience in a week. And frankly, I miss the difficulties each day provided. I need them. In Africa, there were absolutes. Concrete, maybe even harsh realities that presented me with two choices.

Either close my eyes or take an honest look at myself and change.

It was not a comfortable experience, but I loved it that way. It was not easy and honestly, how could I have believed it would be otherwise? Now that I'm home, that feeling of being stretched, of being challenged, has lessened somewhat. And I don't know if that's a good thing. I'm scared of losing all that I learned there, of backtracking. The problem is not being too uncomfortable, but rather being too comfortable.

Since I'm already very late in posting this, I'll try and summarize the trip as coherently as possible. If you want to ask me questions about it in the comments, I can probably answer in a more in-depth manner.

After hopping off the plane in Entebbe, we visited the only zoo in Uganda and boated across Lake Victoria. Then, we headed to St. Kizito's High School where we stayed for the rest of the trip. From there, we constructed a playground for a school of some 550 young students and dedicated it in honor of my uncle, who passed away many years ago. We also helped with the construction of a Science Lab by transporting material for the builders by hand. At the same school, we dedicated a soccer field that four members of our group had raised $10,000 to construct. Once it is fully completed, it will be one of the nicest soccer fields in Uganda and several professional teams there have already asked for permission to play on it. Other than that, we built relationships with the students of the nearby schools and handed out many supplies for the villagers close by. In addition, we visited the site of the Uganda Martyrs, Namugongo and the National Mall of Uganda in Kampala.

Of course, that's a very brief summary of what happened. There were many personal, individual events that occurred throughout the trip, but that would be hard to fit all into one post. I'll most likely be sharing more about what I learned from it over the next few weeks, but until then,

I'm going to bed.

(And before you ask "Where are all the pictures?!?!?" Have no fear, I'll be posting them on Google Plus soon.)

I'm Leaving the Country!

So, I have a big announcement for ya'll.

Yep, I'm going to Africa.
(AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!)

Ok. I'll admit this news isn't exactly new for me. One does not simply walk into Africa without a moment's thought. I've been very busy getting vaccinated, paying for plane tickets, packing, and registering for a passport. (Sheesh, who knew this stuff was soooo expensive?) I could talk for hours about it, but I'll just give you some of the basics about it. 

I'll be leaving in July and I'll be gone for two weeks. (Rest assured, I have some great posts lined up for my absence.) I will be heading for the Pearl of Africa, Uganda, to help finish the construction of a school among other things. This is a big deal for me, as this is the first time for many things. I'll be flying in a plane for the first time, leaving the country for the first time, I'll get to see two new continents, and live without basically everything I normally have, for two weeks. 

I'm traveling with a group of twenty-nine individuals, twelve of whom are from my own family. (Which is simply put, AWESOME!) I'll have my dad, two brothers, four cousins, two aunts, one uncle, and Grandma along with me. Going to Uganda is almost like a family tradition. This trip takes place every other year and started about sixteen years ago (so, just a little older than me!)  It's built schools, dug wells, fed children, and tried to be Christ for all.

(Here's a video from one of the previous trips)

This year is my first time, but hopefully not my last. They say everyone always wants to come back to Uganda for more. I wouldn't know, but I believe them. 

Granted, this is going to be no picnic, so I'm asking humbly for your prayers for me, my family, and all of us going. Despite being excited for this, I know it's going to be hard. I can be a petulant individual, I dislike hard work, and I have a thing about germs and uncleanliness in general, which is why I'm going, I need to stop fearing pain and struggle. I need to take a step away from who I am and become more who I should be. I need to be the person God wants me to become.

I'm not looking for some cool pictures, a good time with my family, or something to brag about. I'm seeking God. I'm looking for Him in the fellow traveler beside me. In the many faces of abject poverty before me. In the sight of a beautiful life being lived, despite the heartbreaking circumstances all around. I need Him. I need Him in me because I can't do this on my own.

When I look at the pictures of previous trips, I'm struck by how happy they are. I'm amazed at the commonality between us, between countries, between continents, between cultures. The joy and light of Christ are common in us all. The more we become like Him, the more human we are. Love, peace, joy, fun, happiness, sorrow, concern, compassion, charity are all things we share. In every person, there is a flicker of the Divine. The more we forget ourselves and turn to the aid of others, the greater that flame grows. I can only hope that fire shines brightly at the hour of my death.

I'll admit, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of leaving everything I know behind. There are people I'd rather not leave home without. Despite Divine assurance and hope of salvation, I don't think I'm ready to lay it all down. Despite every precaution, there's always going to be a chance of danger in everything we do. I can only pray that I will be strong enough to lose everything. To lose it all. After all, in the last and darkest hour of my life, what do I truly have?

I have Christ in my heart.

And that's enough.