If You Would Come Back Home

This past weekend I had the opportunity to visit my alma mater. Though I was only a student there about eight months ago, it feels like a lifetime ago. As I sat in mass over the weekend I looked around and realized that I recognized only a handful of faces. The other hundreds were new, yet very much the same as the ones I knew there. It was as if everything had changed, yet also as if nothing had changed at all. Or maybe it was just that I had changed.

In the reunions I had with friends, in the beauty of the mass, in the buildings I called 'home' for four years I found myself again this weekend. For months now I have felt so stuck and stifled, so lost at home. It has less to do with living at home and working at the same job I've had since I was fifteen and more to do with a sick feeling that I had left a part of myself back at school. In all of the experiences I had in my four years at college, I did a lot of growing up and self-discovering. I began to really become me. But then I grew comfortable, bored. I stopped stretching myself and challenging myself to do more. I found my comfort zone and I stayed there, collecting dust, branching out only when absolutely necessary. By the time I realized what I had done, I tried to break free and get on with my life, but I found that I had forgotten who I was, and who I was becoming. I had forgotten where I came from.

In the past few months, I've been able to see that my parents planted all kinds of seeds of faith in me, but it wasn't until I reached Franciscan and chose to let God nurture them that they really began to bloom. Then when there were so many distractions around me, I tried to ask Him to stop. I told Him that I had had enough growing, that I was content to just stick with what I had. It's like asking the surgeon to stop stitching you up when he's only partially finished: "I can take it from here," you might slur under the anesthesia. Then you'd get up from the table with a gushing, gaping wound in your side, stumble and fall to floor. That is basically what I did.

I think all I really wanted was more time. I wanted more time with my friends, one more round of bowling, one more late night study party at Tim Horton's, one more adventure in the city. This weekend, I didn't exactly get what I would consider my dying wish, but it was definitely my living wish. I wanted to reconnect with the 'home' where I made so many mistakes, where I did not do perhaps as much as I could or should have done to prepare for my future. The place where I realized that my parents are wonderful, but they are only human. The place where I realized that love is not as simple as it seems. The place where I glimpsed all I could be and I tried to hide from it.

I went back to that place. Jesus came into my heart in the Eucharist, Mary held my hand as I walked down memory lane, the Holy Spirit moved in me to forgive and let go of the lingering hurts and regrets. When I drove away from campus yesterday, I was suddenly whole again. I felt complete. Even in the polluted air along the Ohio River, I breathed easier than I had in years. Suddenly, I was back where I left off in my becoming process, almost as if nothing had ever happened to disrupt it. Except that now there was a mysterious, incredible strength inside me that I had not known I could possess. I know that strength comes from God alone. I am certain that even when I was that stubborn patient lying weakly on the floor, oblivious to everything except my own pain, He was mending the pieces with such a gentle hand that I could not feel it.

But I felt it yesterday. I felt it like a warmth all the way through me, a light that I had not seen before, a strength and determination that I had never known. When I pulled into my parents' driveway yesterday, I think I truly came home for the first time. It's good to be back.

The Choice

Since October is Respect Life month, my mind has been working around the issues of life and death. When I was younger and complaining about the injustice of it all, my mom explained that changing the laws won't matter unless we also change hearts. It's true. The government could overturn Roe v. Wade, and then the states would decide for themselves whether a mother was justified under law to have her unborn child murdered. But if we change their hearts so that they see how disgusting it is that this is even an option, there will be little to no need for laws. It just seems like common sense to me, that it's wrong to destroy life at its most innocent, precious, helpless stages. Why are we so surprised when kids go to school with guns when their generation is not even safe within the confines of their mothers' wombs?

It is a culture of death that, sadly enough, goes beyond abortion. Hearts have been corrupted by lies. They buy into the instant pleasures the world offers, and they seek success so that they can gain more of these pleasures. People seem to have forgotten about God because they have what they need for a comfortable, secure life. God's "rules" interfere with that, so they disregard Him completely. But when this life is over--and we never know when it will be--where will these shriveled hearts go? God does not "send people to hell." They choose to go.

This is a choice we all have. We can choose to love God with everything we have and everything we are, and spend eternity with Him in heaven. Or we can choose to ignore Him, to reject Him, to say, "That's not for me" and spend eternity in misery. Really, God's "rules" don't seem like such when we love Him, when we want to please Him, when we see the world as He sees it. When we ask for it, He gives us His Heart and His Love to share with the world. St. Therese wrote that most people don't think about death enough. She didn't mean that we should think of death in a depressing, paint-your-fingernails-black-and-hate-the-world kind of way, but in a Gladiator, "What you do in this life echoes in eternity" kind of way. If we choose lies now, we will spend eternity in darkness. If we choose truth, we will live in the Light.

It makes me wonder, thinking about faith and salvation as this choice we have between life and death, why do we try to be politically correct about it? Why do I try so hard not to make other people feel uncomfortable when I want to speak of God's love? "Let sleeping dogs lie," I suppose. But these aren't dogs. These are people, humans created in the image and likeness of God, brothers and sisters on this earth. If we truly believe that what we believe is the True Way to eternal life, that all sin leads to death, why do we keep silent?

I admit that I know the answer for me: I can be incredibly shy around others, so I found a peaceful existence in being an overly polite person who has limited, surface-deep interactions with others to keep from making anyone feel too uncomfortable. I can sit behind my computer and my journals and write things like this, but when it comes down to it, I am silent when it counts, when it is a matter of life and death. So here I make my choice to break out of this peaceful, comfortable existence. I want to stir things up. I cannot do it alone, but "The Good God does not need years to accomplish His work of love in a soul; one ray from His heart can, in an instant, make His flower bloom for eternity." (St. Therese)