This is a picture of the first path I ever took at Hope. It happened more than a few months after that first Easter, after my first meeting with Pastor Debbie, when I offered to come take pictures during the upcoming church work day.
I had already fallen in love with the church, with the people, with the way I felt God's presence during the service, but when I walked this path, I fell in love with the grounds. I fell for a beauty that extended beyond the church walls. This path led to another, which followed the water and passed the memorial garden. Beyond that, hidden behind the palms, was a statue of Jesus.
Over the next few months and years, there would be many more paths to explore, paths fashioned by God through rain and growth and greenery, and paths made by people driven by Godly inspiration. One day a ditch would be filled with rain water and the next day a bridge would appear, as if by magic, and now a large puddle was a creek, a tributary. It meant something.
There were spider webs to break through and palm fronds to duck. There were rumors of bobcats and otters and gators.
I took this picture this morning before I met with Father Dave, my Commission on Ministry representative, to discuss where I am on another path, this path to the priesthood that I committed myself to long before I knew the impact this illness would have on me.
Father Dave asked me many important questions and the one that hit me the hardest was this: what can you do, he asked me, with the collar, that you can't do without?
That's a hard question. I think I tried to give a good answer about the priesthood being about commitment, a level of commitment and connectedness to God. But in the end, I broke it down to this: God has called me to the priesthood. That's all I know. I don't know why. I don't know how. I just know. And I am compelled to follow the call.
An hour later, I would be on the phone with the disability company who asked me if this autoimmune disease was something that would disable me for the rest of my life.
I told him about being called to the priesthood and again I said the words, "I don't know."
"I can't predict," I told him. "I can only hope."
There are so many paths. Sometimes we miss the obvious signs that God puts before us, like a church with seemingly new paths being discovered each day, with a path called a labyrinth that we walk in prayer.
I don't know. None of us know but God where the path goes. But when one path leads us to a spider web or to a water hazard, we have to have faith that the web will be cleared by us or by someone else, a bridge will be built, or a new path will emerge.
I had already fallen in love with the church, with the people, with the way I felt God's presence during the service, but when I walked this path, I fell in love with the grounds. I fell for a beauty that extended beyond the church walls. This path led to another, which followed the water and passed the memorial garden. Beyond that, hidden behind the palms, was a statue of Jesus.
Over the next few months and years, there would be many more paths to explore, paths fashioned by God through rain and growth and greenery, and paths made by people driven by Godly inspiration. One day a ditch would be filled with rain water and the next day a bridge would appear, as if by magic, and now a large puddle was a creek, a tributary. It meant something.
There were spider webs to break through and palm fronds to duck. There were rumors of bobcats and otters and gators.
I took this picture this morning before I met with Father Dave, my Commission on Ministry representative, to discuss where I am on another path, this path to the priesthood that I committed myself to long before I knew the impact this illness would have on me.
Father Dave asked me many important questions and the one that hit me the hardest was this: what can you do, he asked me, with the collar, that you can't do without?
That's a hard question. I think I tried to give a good answer about the priesthood being about commitment, a level of commitment and connectedness to God. But in the end, I broke it down to this: God has called me to the priesthood. That's all I know. I don't know why. I don't know how. I just know. And I am compelled to follow the call.
An hour later, I would be on the phone with the disability company who asked me if this autoimmune disease was something that would disable me for the rest of my life.
I told him about being called to the priesthood and again I said the words, "I don't know."
"I can't predict," I told him. "I can only hope."
There are so many paths. Sometimes we miss the obvious signs that God puts before us, like a church with seemingly new paths being discovered each day, with a path called a labyrinth that we walk in prayer.
I don't know. None of us know but God where the path goes. But when one path leads us to a spider web or to a water hazard, we have to have faith that the web will be cleared by us or by someone else, a bridge will be built, or a new path will emerge.
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