Swan Songs

Among my favorite bands of all time (I have 7 albums and six hours worth of their music, and aim to acquire at least two more in the next year) is the Marshall Tucker Band. Led Zeppelin may have started Swan Song records, but if there is any band that epitomizes the ramblin', road hungry, yondering impulse that burns in a man, it was the MTB. From classics like Can't Ya See, Heard It in a Love Song, Take the Highway, and Running Like the Wind, to less well known greats like Anyway the Wind Blows Rider and Ramblin' (which they performed both as a burning gateway to adventure and a weary longing for freedom), to newer songs like Rider of Your Life and Beyond the Horizon, these guys knew the wanderlust, the yondering, what I sometimes refer to simply as "the itch".

The urge to get away - from responsibilities, ties, the familiar, the past - is there. Sometimes even simply the urge just to go somewhere takes hold of me. My dad pointed out that women vacation for the destination, while men (or at least, men in my family) vacation for the going. I don't completely buy into the notion of the journey being the goal, rather than the destination being the goal... it strikes me as too buddhist, and I am reminded that the journey to heaven is not nearly as important or awesome as heaven itself. Indeed, journeys can hurt, and it is in the hurt that we grow.

Despite all this talk of moving, of going, of rambling on my mind, there is a quiet, a contentment, a desire to find a place to call home. So that when I sing "if I ever settled down, you'd be my kind..." I could settle down, instead of going on to say "but I guess it's time to head on down the line..."

There is beauty in responsibility. Duty is a sublime word. There is grace in the simple life. Always moving, always going, always running, tossed about by every wind - to live this way is to hide from life and from the great beauty and grace that come with contentment. Life on the road can be just as much of an escape mechanism as sex and booze and drugs. The urge to be always moving, always doing, always busy, never stopping, never slowing, never looking around to breathe - that urge is a subtle temptation. It tells us that if we just keep going we'll never have to look back, never have to remember, never have to hurt. But that's bullshit, and we know it, just as we know that when we wake up in the morning, sober and alone, we will still be empty.

Don't run from life, from responsibilities and memories and struggles. Stand and fight, submit in humility, trust in grace. When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't do that, you find someone to carry you. Be a simple kind of man.

On the Cutting Away

Lent is, among other things, a time when we recall our mistakes and (hopefully, and more importantly) repent and return to God. Recalling some of my mistakes, and digging through some old writings, I thought I might share some of my past reflections.

"Say not that to err is human. Say rather that you forgive, as God does. There is this difference: the first is to ignore, even justify, while the second is to accept, and to love. Though we are imperfect, we must never look past our mistakes, but face them, accept them, and strive to change.

Do not seek to be called a gentleman. Only do what is right by those you meet, be kind, love, serve, respect, in sum, be worthy of the name, without arrogating to yourself the title, lest in your arrogance you forget that a good man does not seek notice, but only to serve and love. The obsession with, the mystique of the chivalrous and the gentleman, are misplaced. I do not wish to be a gentleman, but only to be a man, imperfect yet honorable, weak yet deserving of the trust of those whom I love, and all those whom I meet. "

"On the cutting away
Of the sin and the pain
There's peace to be found
Through the fear and the shame
A little voice inside
Says don't screw up again
But there's another place
A comforting thought
On the cutting away"

Now that I no longer have graduation to work for, I often wonder what it is that lies ahead. There is no demarcation, no target... so I walk on, plagued by fear and doubt, but secure in the knowledge that whatever lies before me is better than anything I can imagine right now. I have friends walking beside me, and Easter is my goal. And for now, that is sufficient.

The Curious Case of the Loveless Sacrament

Forgive my absence, I've been short on time and desire, but with the approaching of spring I suspect that the reflective bug will bite more frequently.

About a week ago Zach, Scott, Justice and I went to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button at a local dinner cinema. I enjoyed the movie... well, most of it anyway. For one thing, the Scott Joplin tune Bethena (one of only two pieces he wrote in waltz time) makes three appearances during the film. I love that song, and it holds pleasant memories of youth for me as well, because I performed it at a statewide piano competition my senior year of highschool (and didn't even get an honorable mention thankyouverymuch, but I enjoyed it nonetheless).

The movie is picturesque, sweeping, filled with all the joys and sorrows of life. It reminded me of Big Fish, except that in Benjamin Button, the frame story really added very little to the larger tale, whereas in Big Fish the two are woven together so beautifully that you forget that there even is a frame story. In that respect, CCBB was more like The Princess Bride.

I tried, I really tried, to love the movie. I tried not to be critical. I tried not to parse its every subtlety and flaw. I tried, and I failed. Thinking back now I am finally able to put into words what bothered me when I saw it. I can forgive immoral characters. We are imperfect, sinful people, and art should reflect life. What I cannot abide is the portrayal of marriage as a hindrance to love. With the exception of Benjamin's parents, there are two married couples in the movie. Both relationships hint at a cold, loveless, convenient formality. Love, on the other hand, is expressed solely through sex, regardless of marital status and, in many instances, in the face of it, as an escape for Benjamin's two lovers from the confines to which they must restrict themselves out of necessity.

At no point in the film did I find myself feeling the character's pain as I watched them make the right decision, even though it hurt. There seemed to be no effort to even attempt moral action. The guiding star of both protagonists was self-satisfaction disguised as love. Real love involves sacrifice, pain, hardship, and devotion; it is not a beautiful, passing fling. To divorce marriage and love, marriage and sex, is to strip all three of their meaning. And in this the film left me empty, longing with an unsatisfied desire to see a depiction of real love, rather than this empty fraud, sneaking about and following our passions, giving no thought to our duties or spouses, who are merely a convenience to be discarded at will.

Save Us From Ourselves

I was really bitter and cynical last week during the inauguration. Of course, I'd have been bitter and cynical regardless of who got elected. To my shame be it said that I let my bitterness get the better of my charity, and to the person who had to put up with it that afternoon, I apologize.

As Diane pointed out to me at the time, politics is marketing, and people buy into the brands. I like people. I like being around people, knowing their stories, and just watching their behavior. It's a curiosity with me, a fascination. This is why I like cities. Sure, I prefer the open air, the peace of a blue sky and a spring breeze, but there is something to be said for spending time with your fellow man, for they are also beloved by God. What hurts and saddens me is when I see people whom I genuinely like led astray, either by smooth talk, or selfishness, or power, or what have you. I cannot worship a country, or an idea, or a word or emotion or politicians, and to me that is what politics is all about. Ideals - they are beautiful - hope and change and prosperity are lovely notions. Yet I have learned to much history to forget that ideals are what inspire men to kill without thought. Passion, resting upon the ideal of some higher good, and ending in the use of violent force to deprive another child of God of life or liberty, this is what has driven so many of the atrocities of the last century.

I am not willing to believe that the majority of people are completely and totally given over to evil. No, I am convinced that we have let ourselves be led astray and deceived. We allow ourselves to be whipped into a frenzy, hungry for power, hungry for blood, blinded from seeing the crimes done in our name, the innocents who suffer as a result of our passion for choice, for change, for freedom and democracy. Most Americans seem to me to be guilty of this blindness, and on occasion it infuriates me. Mostly, though, it merely saddens me. Indeed, it behooves us all to remember that we are none of us perfect, we have all, at one time in our lives, offended another child of God, and in so doing we have broken the heart of Him who loves us. It breaks my heart to see the blind cheer thoughtlessly for an ideology.

I have long leaned towards the libertarian thought pattern. A distrust of the state, of government of any sort, seems to me to be a rational approach, for to give someone power and then trust them not to be corrupted by it is foolish. At the same time, there seems to be something missing in libertarian thought, and I think I have finally begun to understand what that is. It is a misunderstanding of man himself, and of the spiritual nature of the world in which we live. One cannot operate on the assumption that by acting selfishly in all things we may achieve perfect harmony, with no government, no laws, but only our own selfish interests and the mores of society to restrain us. This presupposes, first, complete knowledge of our own interests, and, second, a lack of malicious influences in our world (or at least the assumption that they will balance each other out). It is this arrogance that has finally brought me to disenchantment with so many of the libertarian ideals.

Intellectual arrogance is another stumbling block, perhaps as harmful spiritually as unbridled passion. What is gained? True, we ought to oppose evil, by naming it, by fighting it, but too often we fail to name the evil and only name ourselves superior, and then what good have we done? Selfishness rears its ugly head once more, and the struggle never ends, until the end of time.

So what is the point? Fight on, fight for right, for truth, for truth is there. Fight for the innocent who cannot defend themselves, fight passionately, but wisely, with discretion and never in blind devotion. And always, always, fight with charity, for to fight evil with hatred and pride is counterproductive.

Lord, teach me always my own insignificance and failings, lest I think myself better than others, and remind me always of your Love, lest I despair that my life be worthless.

Another Auld Lang Syne

Living like a gypsy, and dreaming like a kid
Can make you old before your time

There comes a time in every man's life when he must, as a friend once told my brother, "sack up." Or, as K-Bo was fond of saying, "don't be a b****, man up." There's more of K-Bo in me than I used to think, and there's more of my brother in me than he ever knew. There is a constant, biting itch, a longing to escape, to get up and go, as God told Abraham to do. Yet I feel that the itch is less of God's call then my own refusal to face life. How happy I am and have been. Why, then is there the desire to pack and leave, to tell my friends they can do without me, that I'm for another time and another place? Responsibility is what separates a man from a child. Boyishness has its delight. Responsibility brings cares and troubles. Yet, viewed another way, when we answer God's call and take responsibility for our own lives and our own actions, is that not the only way to find joy in life? For, to be sure, one cannot run forever. We spend our lives searching for a way out. We run from God, from Truth, and from Holiness. We seek our comfort in sex and booze and money, in people, in things, in work (aye, for the constant drive to always be doing is an escape as well).

Antti once told me I have at least ten years before I have to settle down, and that I should live it up and enjoy life while I'm young. There is a protest in my mind and in my heart, though. For if I live the so-called good life now, will I not have to face up to the real world later, and perhaps with regrets for the time I wasted? It is one thing to experience life and the world, to go places, to try things, to learn people and gain friends and memories. And indeed, what is there for me to leave behind in my childhood? Certainly, I should leave behind the foolishness, the selfishness, the ego. Should I also run from the people who have shaped my life? After this Christmas, I think I cannot.

And it was Christmas that showed me the folly of the old saying "you have to grow old, you don't have to grow up." Too many people never grow up, and so much pain and darkness is the result. Too many never face their God and answer his call. Too many live their lives for themselves. Even a dear friend of mine once told me that, in the end, I should do whatever made me happy, never understanding that those who follow their own will are rebelling against the natural order, and demonstrating a profound lack of care for their brothers and sisters, strangers and sojourners together on this earth.

Six friends and two brothers made my Christmas what it was. One, older than I by six or seven years, just began working as a missionary. She was an assistant youth leader when I was in highschool, and was one of a few that I have always respected tremendously. I saw her joy with life, and I was happy for her.

Another, a girl only in the eighth grade, comported herself like a fine young lady almost twice her age. I have known her since she was seven, and it brought me a smile to see her growing up so well, though she is no child of mine. Thinking of her, and of the other younger kids I know from the times I was in A Christmas Carol, I can only hope that as they grow older, as they face the turning points in their lives, that they face them well, stand tall, and never fall away. To see my friends grow up beside me, or perhaps behind me, and to see some of them fall astray, it hurts. I cannot imagine the care that a father must have to see his own children grow old, to see their mistakes, their triumphs, their failings and their graces. Could I someday bear that burden? If so, I hope I bear it well.

And then four more, much closer to my own age, though indeed Emily Sue is yet in highschool, and Shane is but a freshman in college. To see them and know the changes we have all been through in our lives, to know even a tiny bit of their stories, and to know that still, through it all, we are friends, though our roads are different and we often bear our troubles alone, there is still a care there.

And my brothers, one facing his own trials as a man, another standing on the verge of becoming a man whom I would have proud to walk with his older brothers, that we three, separate but always together, may face the world out there. I hope he is the best of us. He is certainly no longer the baby. I find it strange to think that he will finish growing up without me there, but I look forward to seeing him a better man than his elders.

All this has given me pause to reflect, and to find in the road ahead some joy at the thought of taking responsibility, of being a man - not of making my mark on the world, but of making some small mark in the hearts of those I meet. I stood at midnight last night with my new friends, and though I've known them but a short time, they, too, mean so much to me. In my head and in my heart I drank with them, with Chad Hillhouse, with Katherine Heil, with Nancy and Rachel and Doy, with all the old faces from my childhood, here and gone, I raised a glass and drank a toast to innocence, a toast to time, and a toast - to old times and new times, first times and last times, and the times we've never had.

Pro Choice?

"There's a difference between like and love, because I like my Sketchers, but I love my Prada backpack."
"But... I love my sketchers..."
"That's because you don't have a Prada backpack." - Ten Things I Hate About You

"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to marry her?"
"I love her, sir."
"But do ya like her?... When her mother and I were married, I didn't love her. I liked her well enough. Then, one day I realized I loved her." - Shenandoah

"Love is not an emotion; it is a choice." - Unknown (to me, at least... first heard it from Kathleen)

Ah, and that is the choice of which I speak. You thought I was talking about abortion, didn't you?

I apologize in advance: I'm delirious with fever and, though I have yet to take my Nyquil, I am also nursing a hot cider and brandy (and may nurse another one before I finish... I could use a maid to make these for me right about now... sometimes, a man just needs a maid).

As you can see, I'm liable to wander and wax poetic. Again, I apologize.

I think those quotes up there sum up some things quite nicely. There are, of course, different kinds of love. English has done a horrendous job of preserving these differences. Charity, which once meant Divine love (from Caritas), has come now to mean a corporal work of mercy, which is indeed an act of Divinely inspired love (or perhaps of human-inspired quest for reputation), but the word no longer describes the thing itself. Likewise, there has been a debasement of the difference between physical love and emotional love (indeed, the lines have blurred to the point where we could say that in many cases people assume the following: lust = love), and like Brick, we often find ourselves throwing the word "love" around without ever giving thought to its meaning.

Let me first talk about like, then. To like someone is to feel an emotional attraction to them. When we find joy in someone's presence, we like them. Sometimes this means that our own happiness comes to depend on the happiness of another, and we are natural friends in the Aristotelian sense. (I say natural, here, because in the Divine sense our happiness ought to depend always on the Divine Happiness of others, but more on that later).

One must not like another person, however, in order to love that person. Christ, certainly, loved the entire world, including the money-changers in the temple, enough to sacrifice His life. Yet certainly he did not display a liking for them when he drove them from the temple and overturned their tables. He did not need to desire their company in order to love them.

This is why, as Jimmy Stewart said in Shenandoah, it is important to like someone before you marry them. I can say I love someone, but in what way am I speaking? There are many people whom I love (I hope). They are family and friends, some of them are merely acquaintances, some are brothers and sisters in the faith and some are not. Certainly, I ought to love all men and women, but I am imperfect (again, more on this in a moment). Marriage requires not merely that one love another person, but ideally that you also like that person. You need not like that person all the time, but if you marry someone that you don't like from the outset, are you not playing the part of a fool?

That brings me to something Fr. Rick said at Theology on Tap in November. When asking his mother about her relationship with his then dead father, she told him, "You know, son, there were times I didn't even like your father, and there were times when I'm sure he didn't like me." The point being that, while it may be important to like someone, marriage certainly involves much more. Marriage requires Charity, in the original sense.

Charity is twofold. First, one must make a choice to love. Love is not first an emotion one feels, but rather a choice to do always what is in the best interest of another. Charity is also a grace. God loves us with his Divine Love, and he asks us, calls us, indeed begs us and requires us, to act with the same love towards others, and if we make the Choice to love as we are called, then God grants us the grace to do so with purity of heart and goodwill. We might be charitable without liking a person. Yet look into the eyes, and see the grace of God standing before you. You have been given an opportunity to sacrifice yourself for God - to lay yourself down, in however small a way - just as Christ laid himself down for you. Therefore swallow your pride and revulsion, and Love, as God has loved you.

It is a blessing to be with those whom we like, to find joy in their presence and to know that we are children of God. It is an even greater blessing to receive the grace to love when we do not like, to swallow our resentment, anger, and prejudice, and to do God's will.

There is one choice to make. To fail is to submerge yourself in selfishness. Do not succumb to the lie that what you want is the ultimate good. Sacrifice your life, whether it be for a child you did not want, for a person you do not like, for an enemy, for a friend. Lieg sich, gerne, vor einem Zug hin.

Then you will begin to understand the words:

True love will never fade
True love will never fade
True love will never fade

Potpourri

Open to Suggestions

I have few enough readers as it is, and so, in the interest of keeping them happy, I shall always remain open to topic suggestions. I like seeing comments, it feeds my vanity and makes me want to continue posting, so I might as well post on topics that you will find interesting enough to reply to. I have a few old xanga posts and facebook notes that I might recycle and update, but I'd like to put down some new thoughts. Help me with ideas.

Mood Music

All music is mood music, really. I don't mean that sort of mood music. What I mean is that music suits a mood, just as many other things do. There's happy music, break-up music, chill music, angry music, self-loathing music, party music, love music... I have rarely found myself in a mood where some sort of music did not appeal to me. This is why I have a hard time understanding people who rarely go outside of a specific genre. True, there is variation within each genre. I tend to prefer rock music - blues rock, folk rock, prog/art rock, hard rock, psychedelic rock, country/southern rock, post-grunge - they all have their place. Sometimes I want the blues of Layla, sometimes I want Linkin' Park, sometimes I want to lose myself in the swirling layers of Yes or Moody Blues, sometimes I want psychedelic lyrics of Cream, or the country twang and beautiful flute of Marshall Tucker Band, or the stripped down, roots rock of Tom Petty, or... okay you get the point.

Beyond rock, I often find myself relishing the calm beauty of classical. I like jazz, though I don't know much about it. I can listen to country, techno, and hip hop (though I'd rarely suggest them or spend money on them.

Coming Up (Whether You Like it or Not)

Reflections on why Obama won, the media bias, the uninformed voter, and the evils of informed voting.

Reflections on "like" and "love". Comments on the notion of a gentleman.

My generation: bad statistics, revivals, secularization, and hope.

And of course, suggested topics will be taken at my own whim.

November Rain

I actually set out to write this post with a purpose in mind. I was preparing some thought-provoking reflections on cultural trends in my generation and the uselessness of statistics when your sample set is rotten. Well, forget it, the night is too peaceful, and I am too mellow to be direct and serious. I feel poetical.

I'm sitting on my apartment patio, listening to the cold November rain as it falls softly around me. It's a peaceful night, not nearly as dismal as it could be. With a sweatshirt and slippers to keep me warm, my laptop in front of me, and a beer by my side, I find that I have nothing more to wish for. I have to look past my screen to see the halos that ring the yellow streetlamps. There are no stars out tonight... of course there aren't; it's raining; they are all hiding behind a dark curtain, guarding their modesty from the prying eyes of the falling drops.

Strange that the changing of the seasons brings a rush of nostalgia with it. Is it always so? Or is it merely that I have no memories of winter in this new town, and so the gray and rainy nights recall other years and other places. This is not the torturous nostalgia I have had before. The itch to get up and go is not there. A warmth and contentment fills me. Perhaps it is only the beer. Perhaps it is the grace of peace. Perhaps it is the time I have spent with friends, especially this past week.... it's probably the beer, but I hope those others each have a part in it as well.

Some pleasant reflections of times gone by float through my mind, and I think of the toast we created so long ago...

"To first times, last times, and the times we never had."

From the recesses of my mind comes a strange mix of poetry:

Nothing lasts forever
Even cold November rain

Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere, that you tell me to

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another Auld Lang Syne

Fortunate Son

"Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
Ooh, they're red, white and blue.
And when the band plays hail to the chief,
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, lord
...
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, lord,
And when you ask them, how much should we give?
Ooh, they only answer more! more! more!"

I know, I know, everyone is talking about the election. Well, I'm gonna get my tuppence in the old man's hat, so deal with it.

A lot of my Catholic friends are just appalled that Obama won. They're angry, and with good reason. Obama's stance on abortion goes against an issue that they hold to be of paramount importance (and rightly so, I might add - I certainly do not mean to equivocate on the issue of abortion). What mildly frustrates me is that most of them think McCain would have been better. Of course we can't know for sure, but in all my admittedly limited understanding, I cannot imagine that McCain would have done anything to stop or even curtail abortion in this country. He was for embryonic stem cell research, which is no more justifiable than abortion. Bush threw the pro-life movement a bone by signing the partial birth abortion ban the year before he was up for re-election, but we would have been lucky to get even such a gesture from McCain. McCain, like almost every other Republican politician (at least at the national level) merely pays lip-service to being pro-life in order to hold onto his "constitchency". He might - might - have nominated supreme court justices who opposed Roe, but I find it hard to believe. The Republican party, on the pro-life issue, has a history of doing just enough to fail, while still convincing people that they actually want to make a difference. You see, they need the pro-life votes to stay in power.

Both candidates were war-mongers. Both candidates were wrong for the pro-life movement. Both candidates supported the bailout. Both candidates were statists of the highest ilk. Both candidates held to the fundamental belief that The State is the thing. Therefore, while I am appalled at Obama's election, I would have been barely less appalled by McCain's. Abortion will remain an issue that comes out only at election time when politicians are scampering for votes, and the American people continue to lose whatever remnants of liberty they hold, while our brothers and sisters die in wars started by our government, for our government's benefit.

Now, devotion to the state and patriotism are two entirely different things, though politicians like to pass off devotion to the state as if it were patriotism. They've done it so successfully for so long that I am half-inclined to let them have their word, and simply to declare myself no patriot. If patriotism means a love of one's country, a love of one's home, a love of one's countrymen, then you might call me a patriot... you might. Then again, you might not. I've no special love for Americans over other nationalities. I mistrust all people equally, and love meeting people regardless of where they are from. If my countrymen are unjust to those who are not my countrymen, it pisses me off, just as it pisses me off when Europeans thumb their nose at Americans and spit on my countrymen, and spew their endless crap about American "cultural imperialism" (please, quit bitching about America - you're the one who decided to wear blue jeans and sandals, we didn't make you, so shut up, wear your blue jeans, stop wearing socks with your sandals, and MYOFB). Therefore, if you must call me a patriot or not-a-patriot, please call me not-a-patriot, to avoid any possible confusion. (Note: I like Europe; I like the Europeans I've met; some Europeans complain not about "cultural imperialism" but about America's tendency to not MIOFB and instead go around playing world police; I have no beef (dead or otherwise) with those complaints).

I have said this before, my loyalties are threefold: God and Church, family and friends, neighbors and the innocent. Beyond this, as Talia said, "This is not our home." And as Riddick said, "Me? I'm just passing through."

And so my reaction to the election is this - I voted my conscience, not the lesser of two evils, therefore my conscience is clear. I pray for God's mercy on myself, my family, my friends, my country, and the world, regardless of who is president. And I know that, regardless of who is president, of what oppression, violence, or horror we face, my duty is to serve God, and in that I find joy.

On the cynical side of things:

A politician's job is to convince you that you are going to like it when he screws you. Because power is about "who does what to whom." People in government like very much to be the "who", but they must first convince you that being the "whom" is a good thing. They do convince you, and so you vote for them, and then they screw you, and like a good scientist, you wonder "will they screw me every time?" And so you vote... again.

The Difference

Runaway Train

"Wisst ihr? Ich wuerde, fuer euch, mich gerne vor einem zug hinlegen."

This week has been strange in so many little ways. Beauty, sorrow, love, uncertainty, are all closing in around me. The swirling about of my life has not stopped, it has merely moved below the surface. I am surrounded by good things, yet the joys seem darker, more sinister, or at least more fleeting, as if I am standing on the verge of something awful. Danny Torrence is in the hedge maze again, but the bright, daytime sun is growing faint, and there are whispers of a coming storm, of darkness, and of fear. The maze is losing its appeal. I would like very much to be standing in the open again.

But what is real? Is the clear, open path flooded with sunshine and birds and pleasant breezes merely seduction? Is the enclosing forest that pricks our sides with thorns, that wraps itself around us and tries to suck us down into its foul stench merely fighting to keep us from the end? There are two ways out of here... the great escape is merely an illusion - it is the wrong way out.

"...um mich gerne vor einem zug hinzulegen."

Last night I went with my friends to a Latin Mass on the eve of All Saints Day. The solemnity and the reverence of the Extraordinary Form are always overwhelming, but were particularly so last night, with the dark outside the windows, the small congregation in the large church, and the small choir singing the ethereal notes. And I loved those around me. As we filed out of our pew to go forward and receive the Eucharist, I stepped aside to let the four girls who were with me go ahead. It is not much. I do not place much importance on what I did as anything gentlemanly or chivalrous. Only, as I watched my four sisters in Christ go past me, and as I stood behind them, I felt proud - proud to call them my friends, proud to call them my sisters, proud to be able to love them, imperfect as I am. And in that moment the world seemed right. And in that moment
the path I am on seemed light, if only I could walk it with my brothers and sisters, with my blood family and family in Christ. And in that moment I felt that for them, for these four and for so many others whose lives have touched mine, I would gladly lay myself down.

"Seems like I should be getting somewhere/ Somehow I'm neither here nor there."

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what this year will bring me. My wildest imagination had never predicted what the past month has brought me. So I'll place my right hand on the wall and find my way through the maze. It will take time, but that's life, isn't it?