Would God Ever Say, "I Told You So"?

I don't know the exact date of the last time I had communion. For some reason, there are other dates popping in my head like the date of my last day as a theology student... the date that I got a phone call from the other side of the country that snapped me back into reality... the date that I packed up and drove 45 hours back "home" to face that reality... and even the date that I met with a bishop back home who tried her best to help me back on the path of the straight and narrow.

I do know that somewhere following all of these dates, I essentially tried to cut my losses and walk away from the church all together. I had reached a point of spiritual exhaustion. Being realistic, 5 years ago, I was a happy, church going youth who believed that nothing was more precious than my relationship with God. In those 5 short years, I went from being a boisterous youth minister responsible for getting teenagers excited to live a life of faith to deciding that what I was hearing in my heart were the whispers of the Holy Spirit calling me elsewhere. Packing up, I pronounced my faith in a different denomination - putting myself at odds with my cradle faith and the family that came with it. Within the following three years, I would not only convince myself that I was called to some form of servant ministry, but anyone I met. Literally. Three separate interviewing committees, new friends, and national contacts all were equally on board with the idea that I was "called to serve" as I was. It's no surprise that when things blew up, I personally decided that I was better off without any of it.

Now... I'm not so sure that I was right.

I was in the process of closing up the grand piano, tidying up the sheet music I had acquired, and fixing the piano bench when a man from choir approached me.

"We never know what to do with you and Communion"

"Um... pardon me?"

"Well, you don't go up to the altar to receive communion with the rest of the musicians, but you also don't take communion with the choir when we all receive. We never really know what do with you during communion"

"Oh. I see. Well, it's not a big deal. But thank you for thinking of me!"

"Would you like us to bring back a host for you?"

"No thank you."

"Why do you play in a church if you don't take communion... are you baptized?"

"Yes, I have completed all my sacraments, some more frequently than others. I do not take communion because I am at a weird place in my journey right now." (Which is easier to explain than trying to explain the process of what I would need to do to participate in the Eucharistic feast)

"My wife and I will pray for you"

I wanted to stop him and clarify that there are more important things to pray for, but he was gone. I wanted to tell him that I am just there for the musical outlet... I can survive without communion... really and truly...

On the drive home, I opted for silence. Just like the feeling that overcomes a composer when there is a song to be written, music streamed from somewhere deep within. The tune sounded familiar to me, but the words and context just wouldn't come. Once I got home, still puzzled, I pulled out my guitar and began trying to figure out what this song that I kept hearing was. About three strums in, I broke into tears.

It was a song that I was asked to sing at the Cathedral in town because it spoke about the woman at the well (which were those Sunday's readings). I don't remember whether we did the music for the whole service, or just that song, but I was on the guitar, there was someone else singing, and we had a violinist as well. The song was not really relevant to me back then... but now... sitting on the couch in tears... I get it. (Nothing slow 'bout me, I promise!)

It is a song sung by country artist, Martina McBride and it's called "Reluctant Daughter"

Jesus, tell my Father I wanna be his child again

Tell him, what my name is, incase he's forgotten.

Tell him I'm the woman at the well, drawing water

And I'm sorry if I've been his reluctant daughter.

Jesus, tell my angels to keep me in their prayers

Remind them how I need

To feel them everywhere

Tell 'em I'm ready to drink the living water

I don't want my angels to think I'm his reluctant daughter.

Jesus, tell my Father I wanna come to heaven

Tell him, to shout my name out

So I won't be forgotten.

I cannot make any promises for the date that I will kneel in prayer and sing this song upwards, nor can I know where that will be, with whom, and what will precipitate from doing so. I cannot know whether I will hear the whisper of "I told you so", nor can I assume that singing it will be effortless. However, I will simply continue to trust in what I do know... that reluctant or not, I have most definitely not been forgotten yet. Apparently I just needed the reminder.

The Tides are Changing

This time yesterday morning (almost exactly to the minute), I was standing on a Bahama beach in sandals, a pair of long shorts, and a very light jacket. We had just finished eating our last meal on the island as a family and when the rest of the six went upstairs to pack, I snagged my youngest sister and made her come down to the water to take pictures with me. I had missed a friend's birthday back home and just to prove that I was thinking about her while away, I wanted to get a lovely picture of "Happy Birthday (Friend)" written in the sand with the ocean in the background for a half decent birthday card.

And what seemed like a 30 second task to find the "perfect spot", write the message in the grains, and snap the picture... turned out to be incredibly and deceivingly challenging. The tide was not quite out all the way and it took a number (higher than 10) of attempts to time the writing in between the big waves and get the picture taken. So much so, that I nearly lost a sandal to the undertow and managed to provide quite the comedy to the security guard further up.

And now, 24 hours later, exhausted and wide awake, I find myself chuckling at how beautiful of an image yesterday's adventures were in illustrating life itself.

In about an hours time, I will drag my jet-lagged, sleep-lagged body out of bed, shower, and drive to the local university where I will embark upon a two year, professional degree of studies to hopefully graduate as a Registered Nurse - fully certified, trained, and health conscious. The logical part of my brain keeps telling me that these are just courses... they are no different than the six years of undergrad courses I just finished taking. But that middle section of my body that houses the digestive system seems to be saying something else. My stomach is churning, I feel like I'm going to either pass out or puke, and although nerves are not a horrible thing - I cannot remember feeling like this when I attempted to start theological studies a little over a year ago.

I am pondering the whole concept of the tides changing and what that means for me: a single soul standing on the edge of something so deep and profound as the ocean having the waves wipe out the message I try to write each time.

Maybe pondering the journey as a whole is too overwhelming and impossible to do, but I cannot help but ask the question of whether this journey is going to the "thing" that leaves my mark in the sand or whether this is something I am embarking upon as an attempt to run away from facing God's call once again. On the flip side, perhaps the tides have indeed changed as has God's call on my life, morphing the expression of discipleship that I am called to live and breathe and emulate.

Makes me wish that I could have a brief cup of tea with one of three wise spiritual mentors. One, because she would ask the hard questions in a way that would make sense and then share her intuitive opinion on what she believed the answers to be. Two, because although I only recently met him, he is a truly incredible young man who frankly - hates change and transition as much as I do and although he couldn't offer tips on how to cope, just sitting in his presence and sharing the hate of transition moments would be enough. And three, because although I detest green tea, she steeps a wonderful cup and whether via custard and bananas or curry or simply a peaceful accent... the world always seems alright from her viewpoint; she always has a plan B, even when having done something completely backwards or downright wrong - scolding and shaping is done in and through love - always, and frankly/finally - I miss her.

But, as these three individuals either live on the other side of the world, are in school themselves, or unreachable - I guess I am left to ponder these waves as any brave soul has done in years gone by: experimentally. Here is to hoping that I do not get sucked under by the pull of the ocean, wiped out by a massive tidal wave, or get lost wandering aimlessly along the beach front of life.

Cheers!

Let your Light Shine

Well, Advent 4 has come and already gone and the self-assigned "advent reflection" seems to have fallen by the way-side in the blogging world. After reading a comment left on my previous post drawing attention to the fact that there is more to the Advent season than simply allowing the Christ child to come to us, broken, lost and wandering really got me thinking. I do not mean to lessen the importance of our journey to the creche as Christian people and solemnly believe that it should be a time of reflecting as well as genuflecting; a time of looking back on where we have come in light of where we are going as well as taking the time to pause upon the truly incredible gift that we are seeking out on this somewhat dark night.

Perhaps I understated Fr. A's sermon notes, but do not think so. For you see, I am a firm believer that not unlike the Magi, the journey should not be perilous. Challenging, yes, but not difficult.

For the past three months, I have been working with various individuals who have varying disabilities. Some are battling through the teenage years of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Disorder, some are Manic, Bipolar, Fragile X Syndrome and some do not necessarily fit within a boxed category but cannot read, write, or function as a "normal" individual (as much as I hate the word normal). Two of the handful that have entered my life are, for lack of better description, non-verbal. Although they can tell you what they want to eat, when they are hungry, tell jokes, repeat phrases, answer short questions, and have a wicked sense of humor... they will never sit down and write a novel or be able to describe in any length, how they are feeling.

But the truly incredible thing about these two individuals, is that in speaking almost no words, are the Gabriel's of the 21st Century, heralding the coming of the Christ child.

I was awake all night on Friday, sitting in the shadows of Kristy's (name changed) living room as she paced, stomped, stormed up and down the hallway, around the dining room table and back to her room. The bedroom door must have slammed 102 times throughout the night and the bathroom door, 101. There was screaming, yelling, water-cup throwing and puzzle destroying. Although my urge was to jump up and gently guide her back to bed, I sat there. Did not speak, but just let her be. She is stressed and the only way her body can work it out of her system is through manic behaviour. Needless to say, when she finally fell asleep at 6:30 Saturday morning, I dashed off to bed to catch an hour or two before the other two ladies in the house were up and needed my attention.

There I am Saturday morning, essentially drooling. I do not function well with little sleep. The second staff showed up and took the other two ladies to finish Christmas shopping as I sat with Kristy and had a cup of tea. It's hard to not let feelings of shear exhaustion get in the way of compassionate care. It's hard not to say, "hmm - too bad. We're not doing anything or going anywhere today because I couldn't sleep last night", believe me! Kristy went off and came back with her winter boots, a fancy pair of tights, a long skirt and her winter parka.

"Shopping?"

"For what?"

"Mom and Dad and Kristy"

"You want to go shopping for mom and dad?"

"Yes please"

"Why?"

"Santa Claus is coming to town"

So, bundling up, we stopped off at the bank, grabbed some lunch and tackled the mall. At each stop, she sang the one line, "Santa Claus is coming to town" to everyone we passed. Some smiled, others ignored. The day would have been a write off if we hadn't sat and rested a while and grabbed a bite to eat. There we are, in an over crowded food court, eating the mall's sad excuse for lunch, when four carolers stood 15 feet away. They started singing "Silent Night" and two lines in, my lunch date put her burger down, and started singing.

She didn't care what others thought, I don't think she even acknowledged that there were other people there. But there was... singing loudly and beautifully. As soon as they finished, she stood up and bolted in their direction. Approaching the man on the end, she slowly put her hand out towards his. He did not even hesitate. He turned his page and took her hand in his. There she stood... swaying her hips to their singing voices, holding his hand and singing right along with them.

Standing a few feet away, my eyes began to overflow. Kristy may not talk a lot, but at the end of the day... she "gets" it. She understands what the true meaning of Christmas is and how special that little baby really is for bringing joy and love and peace and happiness into the world. And as I sit in the glowing light of these four candles, the song that comes to mind is,

"Let your light shine, for all the world to see

The brightness of your light within, the joy that sets you free

Let your light shine, to fill your nights and days

And all will see the deeds you do and give your Father praise"

Yes, at the conclusion of this Advent season, almost on the Eve of the Christmas feast... this little heart is singing The Beatitudes as loud as I possibly can. And giving thanks to a Father who has once again, reminded me what it is like when I open myself to the possibility of being touched by a child, touched by a king.

Muppets, Church and Belief

This will be a short post as I only woke up a short time ago and have to run through the shower before my dad gets back and we go to look at cars to replace the one that was totalled last week. (Stupid truck drivers!)

Yesterday I took one of the ladies that I support to mass. It's funny because although we are entirely two different people, her and I seem to understand one another on a level that is not quite where other team members see themselves.

Anyway, there she was - blessing everyone who would make eye contact with her, singing to hearts content (though completely out of key and incorrect words, it did not matter), and giving thumbs up to the guy behind us because he had a "lovely singing voice". She was smart enough to put two and two together because when Fr. A started talking all about "preparing the way", she tugged on my sleeve and not-so-quietly whispered, "we have to prepare for the Baby Saviour. He comes at Christmas, you know!"

It was a powerful moment on this advent journey for me because although we were sitting there for her that morning, I had a "Grinch moment"... you know, one of those moments where my heart grew three sizes.

There was Fr. A, preaching in a church that I left years ago to pursue a dream, speaking to a heart that has been self-inflicted with grief, hurt, and pity; nearing the end of his 10 minute homily, I could truly feel my heart getting warmer, praying for a sense of cultivation and watering.

"Fine. If you have crooked ways that need to be straightened, by all means, straighten them. If you have rough paths that need smoothing, then smooth them over. But do not do all these things in order to prepare to be touched by the Christ child at Christmas time... do these things because you are obsessive or compulsive or both, ok? God does not want you to come to the manger all high and mighty with all your affairs in order because then he cannot help you. He wants you to come, with all your crooked and imperfected ways, for it is only through the cracks that the light can shine..."

Left me a ponderin' late into the night last night and still sits heavy on my heart this morning. Maybe there is truth to what he was saying... I'll keep you posted.

I Once Knew

I once knew a very intelligent individual who had the personal ability to move mountains, change minds, and influence the hundreds by a single sermon. Although I haven't spoken with her in quite some time, she continues to cross my mind, invade my thoughts, and speak directly to my heart from afar. I think that after all was said and done, it was a tie whether I learned more from her powerful sermons each Sunday morning or the simple and seemingly innocent car rides each morning and evening.

I like to think of this individual as my wise shepherd, no pun intended nor does it bear much relation to her current role within the wider church.

Almost a year today, I found myself in the basement of a tiny, country, Anglican parish on the outskirts of the seminary town I was still residing in (although no longer studying). A friend was preaching there on the Sunday morning prior, and when an older lady stood up at the announcement time and invited the congregation to join her on this particular evening of mediated healing, I was overcome with that combo platter of guilt, heart tears, and a slight pull. There I was. The youngest of the crowd by at least a decade, maybe even two.

She asked us to close our eyes and spoke in this incredibly serene fashion about a journey that we were on. She took us down a winding path, through the trees that were taller than any house we had ever seen in our lives. She walked us past a babbling brook, where we stopped for water, up a long and meandering hillside, through a green and flush meadow, and through an old gate that was barely on its hinges. She walked with us into a quiet cove with vines, birds, trees, and a large rock. With the birds and the water in the distance, she sat with us in the warm sun as we waited for our special visitor to arrive. After not too long, our wise friend came around the corner and our hearts filled with emotions. While I can't speak for anyone else, my heart was overflowing with tears for I had not expected this wise friend to show up - in a dream or real life.

But there was more. My friend was bearing a box, wrapped with a bow. And it was for me. Opening it carefully, I pulled out a key. It was one of the old fashioned keys and in the end, was an engraved heart. Although my friend did not verbalize anything, her message was clear and articulate...

So, five days later, I was packing up my room, loading my car and preparing to drive across the country once again... all the way back home. I had no idea what I would do when I got here, or how things would look. And, although I am living in a basement somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in a house, I am not yet home. On one of our many car rides, this wise friend said something that has stuck with me through thick and thin. "If God is really and truly calling, he has not told my heart yet". She was referring to a turning point in her own journey and how everyone else seemed to vision her taking on a new role, but for whatever reason, she remained tentative.

It's been more than year and I think I speak for my entire being when I say, "Dotto, I just wanna go home, we aren't in Kansas anymore."

Last night, on my late night drive to the arena, I was listening the "All Christmas, All the Time" station on the radio, responsible for playing Christmas music 24/7 from now until Boxing Day when none other than Josh Groban's, "Believe" (from the Polar Express) was played. I had to pull over on the freeway, turn my hazards on, and go... "Ok. I get it. That is my heart you're talking to."

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Trains move quickly to their journey's end
Destinations are where we begin again
Ships go sailing far across the sea
Trusting starlight to get where they need to be
When it seems that we have lost our way
We find ourselves again on Christmas day

Believe in what your heart is saying
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste
There's so much to celebrate
Believe in what you feel inside
And give your dreams the wings to fly
You have everything you need
If you just believe

Sisterly Connections

I am laying awake (when I should be sleeping), wondering how many places I have referenced "Wonder Chemist".

Annnnd, as means of an update, failing miserably.

Let me explain where this is coming from. Last week, I met up with my sister for coffee. Albeit, we share no common genes, bodily fluids (aka, we are not blood sisters), or similar dreams and aspirations. However, on various occasions, as sisters do, we have fought with one another, ignored one another, screamed about (not to, but about) one another, cried with, for and because of one another; we have pouted about one another, tattled on one another, envied the other, and wanted to punch, kick or otherwise seriously injure one another.

But in the same breath, I can only speak for myself here, I would never (ever) want to live a life without the other. We have seen each other at our worsts and still manage to sit on the sidelines of one another's lives to cheer, encourage, and motivate.

Anyway, contrary to what her family members would have done, she trudged over to a small coffee shop after her long day to catch up. Maybe next time, I'll let her pick the place because it never fails that I suggest tea/coffee, neglecting the fact that she does not drink hot liquids. Ever.

We sat there for what seemed like a few moments and caught up on one another's lives before she had to run off to get a ride home and I had to dash off to a meeting elsewhere. I know it seems weird, but for the first time in a year and a half, I almost felt human again. She did not have a gun or want to push me into oncoming traffic; she even hugged me when we parted ways.

The next afternoon, I got a text asking if she would see me at Taize with my guitar. I kid you not, every excuse that I pulled out, there was a logical, well thought out response. And, being politely persistent, sure enough - Sunday afternoon, I got a text simply stating what time she would be there to run through the song selection. Before I could really comment, she told me that whatever happened or whoever came, she had my back (so long as I didn't pick a fight with a nationally renowned body builder).

Showed up, played, and tried to pack up and leave in silence.

About 10 minutes down the road, en route home, she texted. "Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?"

"Yes, but in a different way than I expected"

"Explain?"

.... I will save the boring details of the conversation in the middle. It was what came at the end that means the most. Essentially, I told her that my heart was crying. I am pretty sure it was crying the words, "I want to come home". It was not referring to returning home to the white house with green trim, but a different kind of home. Whatever I tried to do, my heart would not cease it's tears. Most painful drive of all time.

And, although I wouldn't have predicted it, my sister got it.

So, I asked straight up - how do I make it stop hurting?

And this - in all her wisdom, is what she said.

"You don't. You let yourself heal. You understand that you've now taken the first step in getting back to what's important in your life. And, you stop pushing and stop running away."

Needless to say, her words resonate in an incredibly powerful fashion. And, tonight - keep me laying awake wondering, pondering, wishing. How did this blog get started? Oh yea! Because when we met for coffee, she inquired about the status of Wonder Chemist and I. Which got me thinking... have I called him Wonder Chemist outside of the blog? Hmmm...

I am told all too often that I speak in some bizarre type of code. And, I admit - that more often than not, I am tied up in speaking through metaphors or random hypothetical situations. While watching re-runs of an all-time favourite show this afternoon on Youtube, this poem was referenced and when I look up the poem, was astonished at how "perfect" it was in describing the human condition (as I see it). And so, I post it here... not to frustrate people, but to express it as it is.

O Capitan, My Capitan!

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman

A few thoughts

So, as means of an update, this whole convocation thing is really throwing a wrench into the plan of continuing to believe that it's "just a piece of paper". There are a few people who were crucial in ensuring that I finished this journey - and none of which are going to be here for the "big" day. Let's see... one of them has purple duties in a small country down under, one of them has purple duties in the city nearby, and two of them live virtually, across the country. At the end of the day, I continue to tell myself that it is not a big deal and it is *just* a piece of paper. An expensive one, no doubt, but it is simply a symbol.

I am reminded of an evening in which I tried to teach the concept of a symbol to a group of youth who were preparing for a sacrament within the church. My definition has always been pretty traditional in that a symbol is a sign; a symbol points us to something bigger, more inspirational, and often, a lot more meaningful.

We were talking about what symbols were - how roadsigns symbolized a significant traffic condition (high fatality location, slippery surface when wet/cold, oncoming traffic, one way, etc) and how the sacrament we were about to celebrate together was very much representative of something more meaningful and powerful in their faith journey than simply a loaf of bread being passed around.

On that note, I totally understand how this whole whoopla is symbolizing something greater, buuuuuut, that doesn't change the fact that it stinks. Like a rotten egg would in warm sunshine.

And, before I leave to conquer the day and change the world, although the people I wish to say this to the most will probably never read it (or not read it for a very long time), I shall say it anyway.

"If every word I said

Could make you laugh,

I'd talk forever.

If the song I sing to you

Could fill your heart with joy

I'd sing forever."

(Beach Boys, Forever)

Annnnd to that, I would add,

If every prayer I prayed

Could make you stronger,

I'd pray forever.

If every thought I had

Could ease your pain,

I'd think forever

If every time I wrote

Could close the gap we had,

I'd write forever.

That's all.

It's just a piece of paper...

In less than a month, I will walk across a stage, shake some strangers hand, and pick up a piece of paper that says I have officially received my university degree. In facing deadlines in ordering tickets and such, I emailed a friend to find out for sure what her plans were in either attending or not. When she elegantly wrote back to say the timing is less than ideal and she would have to pass, my response to her was simple: "it's okay; at the end of the day, it's just a piece of paper."

It's true. There is nothing in the world that can even come close to capturing the last six years of my life, and most especially, not a mere piece of paper. It is a piece of paper that will probably never be framed and hung on a wall, rather it will sit, packed nicely in a box, and stored in the corner of my closet. It bears the signature of someone whom I will never, personally meet or have a cup of coffee with. People get all excited about receiving this piece of paper. A three hour ceremony, cap and gown, standing and sitting amongst strangers for an entire afternoon - people I will probably, never see again.

My degree is nothing special. It does not give me more relevant wisdom than the man I sit beside on public transit each morning. It does not qualify me as a better citizen, Christian, or friend. It is not unlike the relationships that fill my life; random text messages or emails sent to a friend in which the relationship is merely a ghost of the life-changing journey that was once traversed. It is a piece of paper containing words that are meaningless unless placed in a specific circumstance, much like the communication exchanged between two people who used to have something in common. And most of all, my degree does not give me the answers to the life-agonizing questions that keep me up at night.

The same way that I will stop investing time and effort and concern into relationships that are going nowhere or in which my effort is met with a mere mumble of meaningless words, I find myself wondering if all the hype and hoopla is required in order to get a piece of paper. Because afterall, when the day is done... it's just a piece of paper.

In attempt to clean my life up a little bit, I have spent the downtime while I am 'resting' going through various stacks of paper, numerous binders, and resources that I no longer need. It is my desperate hope that by purging my life of all that is from the past, I can truly move forward - wherever that might lead.

One of the piles I came across was a stack of old school student newsletters. As the Student Elected "Spirit Director", students could email questions to a published address and their questions would be responded to as best I could in the published newsletter. However, there was one question that I was never able to answer. I have since found out who sent it, and we've chatted over the years... she always asks if she will ever get her answer and my response has always been, "yes... soon, very soon".

Opening up the addressed envelope, I found her question neatly typed out. Re-reading her question and skipping my 10 page response, got me thinking. This is what she had to ask:

Have you ever wanted something so bad, but you knew that you would never be able to have it, no matter how hard you hoped and prayed and wished upon every star? Have you ever wanted something so bad that it hurt your heart to think about it... but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about it? Have you ever wanted something so badly that it was the last thing on your mind when you went to sleep and the first thing on your mind when you woke up the next morning... everyday of the week? Have you ever wanted something so bad that although it brought you tremendous joy to be near it or around it or to think about it, you still feel tremendous sorrow at the same time? Have you ever wanted something so badly that you knew you couldn’t have that you actually started to resent it, based solely on the fact that you could never have it, no matter what you did? How can a person start to forget about that something they can never have? How can a person begin to let go of the feelings and thoughts accompanied with that something? How can a person come to terms with the fact that, no matter how hard they pray of how much they dream or how many times they wish upon a star, they will never see that wish or dream or prayer come true? Is it even possible to let go of that something completely? Or will there always be a part of it stuck deep down inside of you, no matter how hard you try to let go? I know that you won’t have all the answers, but...

It's a long winded question and although I am sure it was on many students minds at the time, I always felt that it was too sensitive and too broad of a question to respond to in a short column. To this day, I am not sure what to tell her. Being completely honest with myself, the answer is yes. Absolutely I have felt this way, I *do* feel this way... I feel this way for three situations in my life right now.

In one situation, I want answers more than anything else in the world because the questions I have, are the questions that keep me up late at night. These ponderings are truly the last thing on my mind every night and (if I'm lucky enough to sleep) they are the first things on my mind when I wake up in the morning. These questions... the desire for answers... is a double edged sword because as much as I want the answers, it pains me know that the answers are beyond my control, beyond my asking. And yes, it is slowly killing me from the inside out, to know that realistically - while I might be able to understand very, very little in reference to getting answers, this wish - this want - this burning, seeking drive... will never work.

In another situation, yes. The difference is that the "thing" I want more than anything in the world, is a person or more accurately, a relationship restored with a person (people). It is the one thing that brings incredible joy into life and yet, in the absence of it, life is dull, mundane, and dark.

And in the third situation - yes. But this time, the "it" is something entirely non-tangible... a feeling, a drive, a forward looking desire.

And yet, being able to understand her question - her hurting search for an answer - I cannot answer it. If I could answer her, in theory, it would mean that I had the answers for myself. That I had lived through my own period of longing for something that I could pass on the infinite wisdom of days gone by. I am not sure what kind of answer she was ever expecting or if she even realized that her question could never truly be answered. Perhaps my response is a one word answer. Perhaps all she needed to hear was: life. Life will come and go, life will change and morph... and through that all, life will bring desires, pains, wants, needs, and above all - questions. But, as life always does, the circle will turn and experience will provide us with the wisdom we need to understand, to grow, to seek further.