2010 Westward Odyssey; Leg One

Monday, October 18, 2010
Departing Cape Cod, 2 P.M.

I am finally packed and ready to depart…six days behind schedule. I have decided to pass on the New England (Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont) portion of the trip on account of weather, time, and a desire to share those moments of newness and awe in the future with someone by my side.

Instead, I am going to visit Ali, Sean, Sarah Marie and Lucy Rose. I have been able to spend a great deal of time alone this past year, which has been tremendous towards the building of my Faith and trust in God. I am sure, as well, that I will get to spend a significant amount of time alone on the road and, finally, the Rocky Mountains of Colorado this winter. Although it may not be as exciting as braving the elements of nature, I am first choosing the warmth and unconditional care of loved ones.

Bon Voyage! Au Avoir, my cottage by the sea,
APV

Guilty But Forgiven

Roland stood humbly between his past and his destiny. He was dressed in orange from head to toe awaiting the words of the man with the gavel. Then he was asked if he had anything more to say before the decision was made final.

“No sir. I’ve said all that I needed to say.”

“Okay then,” the man said, “due to insufficient evidence of rehabilitation, and an unconvincing remorse for the crimes committed, the motion for parole has been refused.”

Roland was guilty; he never denied it. He fully intended to rob the gas station nearly thirty years to the date, but he never intended to kill anyone. Night after night he tossed and turned on his cold metal bed, the sights of a mother and daughter lying face down in each other’s blood haunting him until he fell asleep and the nightmares set in. Three decades of prayer and asking God’s forgiveness didn’t change the way he felt—guilty, and the warden’s gavel cemented the feeling into him for what he thought would be forever.

The guards walked him back to his cell, and when the steel door opened he was pushed inside. He held his hands through a small opening and waited to be unchained. When the shackles were removed, the slot was closed. He was home.

“No luck amigo?” his cellmate said.

“No, Miguel. No luck.”

“I’m sorry, amigo. Hopefully next time.”

“Yeah. Next time.”

There would be no “next time” though. It was his last chance at parole. It was his last chance for freedom.

Before climbing into his bed and hiding under the coarse woolen blanket, he sat down at the small desk and picked up his pen to write a letter.

Dear Mother and Daughter,
May the peace and joy of God’s Resting Place be with you. I should be there, in the ground, not you. My life should have been taken, not yours. God brought three lives into this world, and I took all three of them away. I have tried and tried, but I don’t think I can ever forgive myself. I am prepared to endure the fires of hell, so long as you may rest in peace.

I was denied parole for the final time today. The warden says I haven’t been rehabilitated. I know that I would never do such a thing again, but I also know that I did do it, and so I must pay the full price.
The walls and the steel bars and the shackles do not bother me anymore. I feel no more imprisoned by them than I would an open field. What imprisons me is not being able to forgive myself for what I’ve done. This world is no longer in need of me. I have taken and taken, but I give nothing back. Perhaps I will finally give the world something good by taking myself away.

Rest in God’s Peace,
Roland

He folded the notepad and stacked it on top of the others. Thirty years of writing letters, all of them more or less the same, with nowhere to be sent, so they piled up instead, serving as a reminder of the wrong he had done. Finally, he climbed into bed, pulled his blanket over his aging body and said, “Buenos noches, Miguel.”

“Good night, Roland,” the voice from above returned.

As he lied in bed, unable to sleep, he accepted his fate. He was going to find a way to kill himself. He would wait until the next day, so Miguel wouldn’t have to be in the room when he did it. With his parole denied so was his chance to seek the forgiveness of the family he deprived a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister. He didn’t say his prayers that night. He no longer sought salvation. Both had escaped him at the warden’s desk.

Morning came and the slot in the door slid open. He reached his hands through and waited to be shackled for the last time. Then he followed Miguel and the others down the long, narrow walkway to his last meal.

He chewed slowly, enjoying every bite. He was sure they didn’t serve breakfast in hell. When he was done, and the bell rang, he joined the others in line. He looked at Miguel, who was on his way to the library for school, and he said, “Farewell, brother.”

“I’ll see you later, amigo.”

Then he walked coolly and methodically to his resting place.

The steel door opened and he stepped inside. He held his hands through the opening and waited. He was relieved of the shackles, and as usual, they left rings around his wrists. Rings he often sat and stared at for hours.

He sat down at the small desk, looked at the stacks of notepads to his left, and took the ink pen into his right hand. He held it over his left wrist. Then he raised it to his neck. He wanted it to be quick. He wanted it to be final.

Three knocks echoed through the steel door. Then the slot was opened.

“Looks like you’ve got a letter,” said the voice on the other side.

“No letter,” he said. “No one sends me letters.”

“Roland Tynes? Number 06772?”

“Well yes, that’s me, but I don’t know anyone who would send me a letter.”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Yes. I’ll take it.”

The envelope was dropped through the slot, sailed up and down through the air, and landed on the cold cement floor. He set the pen down on the desk and walked over to the letter. He picked it up and sat down on his bed. Then he opened it and read:

Dear Roland,

This letter is very difficult for me to compose. I believe it’s been a long time coming, and I only wish it relieves you by reading it as much as it relieves me to write it. Thirty years ago you killed my mother and sister as my mother was finishing her shift at a gas station in north Houston. That crime and loss of my loved ones orphaned me at the age of 6. I was in school when it happened, causing me to never see either one of them again. I spent the rest of my youth in and out of foster homes, until succeeding enough in high school to earn a full scholarship to the University of Texas.

I never forgot what happened to my mother and sister, and because of it, I set out to pursue a career in law. I graduated top of my class, applied and was accepted to law school in Chicago, and since I have made a very comfortable life in the Midwest with a wife and three kids. Slowly over time the wounds of my childhood healed, but not fully. I came to grips with the loss, and I believe that both my mother and sister are at peace with the Lord.

I have prayed and prayed, but the wound has never entirely healed. Then I sought the guidance of my priest. I told him my entire story, from beginning to end, and I explained to him how I can’t find the last bit of healing I need. Word for word he went through the Lord’s Prayer with me. When we neared the end, a light went on in my head. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

He advised me to think of all of the people who have done wrong to me, and if possible, find those individuals and offer my forgiveness. I sought every friend, co-worker, and businessman who I felt “wronged” me at some point or another. I extended my hand, and in most cases I was well received. Little by little I felt the wound closing up. Finally, I couldn’t find anyone else who had done wrong to me. The wound was only one stitch away from being closed forever.

I never thought I’d be able to do this. I was sure that I’d hate and revile the man who took the lives of my mother and sister forever. I wanted that man to be executed and taken out of this world with them. The anger and hate took deep roots within my soul, and by ignoring the memory altogether, I didn’t know I possessed such evil within me. I would like to note that I am not only doing this for myself, but for you as well. I want the healing I’ve yearned, but I also want healing for you, too. I want you to know that I forgive you. I have prayed for you. I have asked God to forgive you. I truly hope that you have sought the Lord’s forgiveness. I no longer wish evil upon you, rather, I wish you salvation.

I cannot imagine we will ever meet. I don’t know if I’ll ever possess that kind of courage. But the Lord works in very mysterious ways, as evident by this letter. Please accept my forgiveness Roland. Please know that you are one of God’s children like everyone else, regardless of your past, and that He wants you with Him when He decides.

Your Brother in Christ,
Juan Jose M.

Roland trembled as tears rolled off his cheeks and fell through the air before landing like raindrops on the letter’s surface. He was free.

He carried the letter to his desk, grabbed the notepad at the top of the stack, and opened it to the first blank page.

Dear Juan Jose,

Thank you. You saved my life. You freed me from the shackles that have imprisoned me for thirty years. I accept your forgiveness. I hope to see you and your mother and your sister one day in Heaven. Thank you.

Your Brother in Christ,
Roland

When he was finished writing the short letter, the first of many similar letters he would compose over the last years of his life, he closed the cover of the notepad and placed it on the ground, next to the tall stack of others, as new beginning.

Pray; Just Pray

In light of the unfolding events in Cleveland politics, I urge everyone close and far away from me to pray. Please pray for Jimmy Dimora, his family, his friends, those close to the allegations, and those far away. Certain things "come to light" as the hour glass sifts towards a bottom-heavy weight, but what is human and what is Divine is often misconstrued. Now is a time for compassion, not hate. Now is a time to look in the mirror as you brush your teeth this morning, and ask yourself, "Am I perfect?" You and I both know the answer; it's rhetorical. Nothing great has ever been accomplished by malice, or callous judgment. We are all faced with demons every day. Sometimes it's just a chocolate chip cookie, other times it's a slew of worldly pleasures. A real human being stops, listens, and offers love and compassion, no matter the personal gain or loss, in hopes of the betterment of his or her companion. The ultimate goal in this life is to reach the Presence of The Creator and His Home--Heaven. The next goal shall always be to bring as many other souls with us. Earthly justice should be served, if deserved, but that is NO reason to turn our hearts and souls away from the Grand Prize. I seek for this to be a life lesson to me, you, and as many people as you share this piece with. We err, as humans, always have, but only the Father decides who is left out and who is left in. Please just pray that we are all invited In.

Love and GOD Forever,
Anthony Paul

Amazing Grace

I first saw him out of the corner of my eye. He shuffled his body sideways towards me, braced himself on the pew in front, and sat down a few feet to my right. He looked lost, but as I watched him, he was responding rather well to everything around him. He stood up when he had to stand, and he knelt when he had to kneel.
The Gospel hit especially close to home that Sunday. It was the story of the prodigal son. I kept myself together to the end, but I lost it when the baskets were being passed around and Amazing Grace was being sung. I cried and cried, with my head in my hands, trying to stop before anyone noticed.

Then I followed him as he slowly shuffled his feet to the end of the pew and shuffled them some more until he stood underneath a hanging cross, awaiting the Host. Then I knelt down next to him and prayed.

His fingers were brittle and scarred. There were hardly any wrinkles because there was hardly any skin. His arms, once strong, were the size of a young boy’s. He must have been twice the age of the building, which was twice the age of myself.

I closed my eyes again and bowed my head. As I prayed, he leaned over and spoke to me, “You know…I was your age once.”

And that was it. He went back to praying, and when the Mass was over, he slowly shuffled his feet out of the church the same way he came in. Over two decades of pain and suffering were behind me and many more were still ahead, but at that moment in time, his words brought the healing I needed.

Never Taller Than When We Bow

Jl 2:12-18
Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.
For gracious and merciful is he,
slow to anger, rich in kindness,
and relenting in punishment.
Perhaps he will again relent
and leave behind him a blessing,
Offerings and libations
for the LORD, your God.

Blow the trumpet in Zion!
proclaim a fast,
call an assembly;
Gather the people,
notify the congregation;
Assemble the elders,
gather the children
and the infants at the breast;
Let the bridegroom quit his room
and the bride her chamber.
Between the porch and the altar
let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep,
And say, “Spare, O LORD, your people,
and make not your heritage a reproach,
with the nations ruling over them!
Why should they say among the peoples,
‘Where is their God?’”

Then the LORD was stirred to concern for his land
and took pity on his people.”

2 Cor 5:20—6:2
Brothers and sisters:
We are ambassadors for Christ,
as if God were appealing through us.
We implore you on behalf of Christ,
be reconciled to God.
For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin,
so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.

Working together, then,
we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain.
For he says:

In an acceptable time I heard you,
and on the day of salvation I helped you.

Behold, now is a very acceptable time;
behold, now is the day of salvation.

Mt 6:1-6, 16-18
Jesus said to his disciples:
“Take care not to perform righteous deeds
in order that people may see them;
otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father.
When you give alms,
do not blow a trumpet before you,
as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets
to win the praise of others.
Amen, I say to you,
they have received their reward.
But when you give alms,
do not let your left hand know what your right is doing,
so that your almsgiving may be secret.
And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.

“When you pray,
do not be like the hypocrites,
who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners
so that others may see them.
Amen, I say to you,
they have received their reward.
But when you pray, go to your inner room,
close the door, and pray to your Father in secret.
And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.

“When you fast,
do not look gloomy like the hypocrites.
They neglect their appearance,
so that they may appear to others to be fasting.
Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.
But when you fast,
anoint your head and wash your face,
so that you may not appear to be fasting,
except to your Father who is hidden.
And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.”

Today is Ash Wednesday, and so the Lenten journey towards Christ’s Resurrection begins. When read and examined closely, the first reading, and the Gospel seem to contradict one another. I don’t know much about the Old Testament, I must admit, nor do I know as much as I should about the New Testament, but I do know that Jesus spoke the truth, and the truth only. So I know that He would not contradict the old Law, but revive it, as He revived the destiny of man with his death and Resurrection.

After I took a closer look, and referred to my Catechism, I corrected my initial reaction. The Third Commandment “Honor The Sabboth” is where I started.

2176 The Celebration of Sunday observes the moral commandment inscribed by nature in the human heart to render to God an outward, visible, public, and regular worship “as a sign of universal beneficence to all”(109 St. Thomas Aquinas, STh II-II, 122). Sunday worship fulfills the moral command of the Old Covenant, taking up its rhythm and spirit in the weekly celebration of the Creator and Redeemer of his people.

That summarizes much better than I can why it is so important to join one another for worship—for the Catholic, Sunday Mass. When two or more join in prayer, so, too, is the Lord. As Saint John Chrysostom puts it:

“You cannot pray at home as at church, where there is a great multitude, where exclamations are cried out to God as from one great heart, and where there is something more: the union of minds, the accord of souls, the bond of charity, the prayers of the priests.”
--De incomprhensibili 3, 6: PG 48k 725

What better way to ask forgiveness than with each other? In a novella I am working on titled, “A Real Man” I put it as thus, “When you are with your brothers and sisters, you will see the needs of others. You will feel compelled to work for God, by working for others.” I am no saint…far from it, but I do feel an amazing presence of warmth and joy when I am surrounded by so many others in church.

Saint Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians insists upon togetherness and unity, as well. He calls us to be “ambassadors of Christ”. He goes on further to say, “Working together, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain.” To me, this means that if we gather together, praising God for our work, we are much more likely to stay humble, than if we accomplish a great task on our own. Why? For the same reason we must join each other in church: where two or more gather, so, too, is the Lord. I don’t know why it is, but when we work alone (a golfer), as opposed to working on a team (football), the likelihood of personal congratulation, increases.

Now, onto the Gospel, which is rather self-explanatory. Because God wants us to be in union with each other, He wants only Himself to stand out. I have struggled greatly with this Gospel reading lately. Having made a concerted effort to start over in my Faith this past fall, I also made a concerted effort to share the Faith with as many people with questions as possible. I also tried becoming more reverent during the celebration of the Eucharist, knowing in greater detail of its Sacred importance. I don’t think that Jesus is telling us to be any less reverent in Mass or daily life. I don’t think He would ever do that. Rather, He wants us to remember that only One is supposed to stand out. We are all equal members of God’s Body. Whether you are a saint or a murderer, you are the same to God. I don’t know how He will judge you, nor will I ever know, or should know. But it is for that very reason that we should always bow humbly to our Creator—most especially when we are in front of others—by putting ourselves above anyone else, we are trying to take the place of the only One who is above all of us.

When we are alone, in the darkness of our inner-room, we must face God one on one. There is no hiding from Him. It is the only time that all of our attention is on ourselves before the mercy and might of God. That is when we should pray for our wants and desires, which I have found to be His will. Amen.

Love and GOD Forever!
Anthony Paul

All That I Am I Will Share With You

“I am reminding you, brothers and sisters,
of the gospel I preached to you,
which you indeed received and in which you also stand.
Through it you are also being saved,
if you hold fast to the word I preached to you,
unless you believed in vain.
For I handed on to you as of first importance what I also received:
that Christ died for our sins
in accordance with the Scriptures;
that he was buried;
that he was raised on the third day
in accordance with the Scriptures;
that he appeared to Cephas, then to the Twelve.
After that, Christ appeared to more
than five hundred brothers at once,
most of whom are still living,
though some have fallen asleep.
After that he appeared to James,
then to all the apostles.
Last of all, as to one born abnormally,
he appeared to me.
For I am the least of the apostles,
not fit to be called an apostle,
because I persecuted the church of God.
But by the grace of God I am what I am,
and his grace to me has not been ineffective.
Indeed, I have toiled harder than all of them;
not I, however, but the grace of God that is with me.
Therefore, whether it be I or they,
so we preach and so you believed.”

1 Corinthians: 1-11

Today’s second reading by St. Paul was very special to me. In October, I read a book titled “The Personality of Saint Paul” and I truly believe that he intercedes for me, to help me find the words I need to relay Christ’s Word. I wish I was half as eloquent as Saint Paul, or I should say, spoke with as sweet a tone.

Recently I reached another epiphany—that I am who I am, and my calling is to use my creative talents to spread God’s Light, Love, and Word. I believe God has challenged me to use the gifts He has given me, to spread the Word to as many people and places as possible. Unfortunately, we live in a society that takes constructive criticism, or even guidance, as judgment. I have been made aware of that by a great deal of my peers. It confuses me, but I have to learn from it, not disregard it.

I feel as if I am convicted to tell the truth, and I cannot feel guilty for how people react to it. Recently I have learned how my words have a great impact on people, because I speak with conviction and passion. This is good and bad. It is good, because people listen to me, and seek the truth from me. It is bad, because I am merely human, and so prone to error. Also, I did not think about it this way until a few days ago, but there is no editing in conversation. Everything I say is first and final draft. With all of this in mind, I have decided to think very carefully before talking about anything, but especially the Faith.

My writing is another story. I have been blessed with the opportunity to spread God’s Love with stories of fiction, as well as interpreting scripture into modern day relevance. I can write something, read it over, re-write it, edit it, and mold it as much as needed until it is a TRUE act of LOVE for all who read it.

Jesus spoke to those who listened, but he died for everyone. I am going to sacrifice my life for others, not by dying, but by really LIVING. I am devoted to speaking the truth and being honest at all times. I am devoted to sharing with anyone my struggles and sufferings, my sins and shortcomings. In short, I would like to live an extraordinary life, as a very simple man, who positively affects the lives of many.

I believe that I have a great deal in common with Saint Paul (the man, not the saint). For too long I blasphemed God, not through my speech, but through my actions. I will sin until the day I die, but the great challenge is repentance, and growth. Actions speak louder than words, it is true. And an ACT of LOVE is always more endearing to the heart, and to God, than merely saying the words.

I invite all to join me on my spiritual journey, if even for just a short while. I have not been called to the priesthood, nor am I going to live in a monastery in Tibet. I will be right here, in the middle of this chaotic world, as a rock for those need me. Amen.

Love and GOD Forever,
Anthony Paul

Clementines and Circus Rides

They played together in a traveling one woman and one man band. It was his dream, but she had the talent. His guitar was okay; her voice was angelic.

She never knew of her talent until meeting him. She was raised in a traditional, by-the-books family. She was raised to speak when spoken to, use the salad fork during salad, and the dinner fork for dinner, while ‘elevator’ music softly echoed off of the velvet walls.

He was raised to run around on bare feet, chase chickens, and pluck the feathers before it was sliced open, gutted and cooked in the kettle pot along with the vegetables. When dinner was over, and the dishes were washed, he could pick up the banjo and play his heart away.

She was destined to meet and marry a man of high class and social distinction. The families would unite, and the heavens would sing.

He was destined to marry one of the down-south country girls he had been around since birth. They would inherit the humble family farm, and do exactly as the generation before them had done—work and raise a family.

They met by pure coincidence, or Intervention by a Higher Power…it’s up to you to decide.

She was in town, like every summer, to enjoy the sun and beach.

He was in town to bring fresh Clementines for the rich folk to enjoy with their early afternoon brunch, as well as their poolside cocktails at night.

She was passing by the grocery on her way to an afternoon social with the other debutantes, and he was moving crates of produce off of the old pickup to a dully.

They exchanged glances first. And then a moment later, they exchanged smiles. Sometimes that’s all it takes for a couple of seventeen-year-olds on a hot summer day.

She was staying in a twenty-two-room mansion; he was staying in a room that often felt like it was shared with twenty-two other men.

She knew his class, and he knew her class, but neither cared.

She wasn’t supposed to venture out to the southern end of the beach; that’s where the summer work bums hung out.

He wasn’t supposed to venture out to the north end of the beach; he would stick out like a sore thumb.

As she walked south, he walked north. Under a hot July sun they met halfway. The rest is pretty much history.

She fell in love with him, and he fell in love with her. She discovered his simple, warm-hearted southern charm; he discovered a young lady whose talents needed to be experienced by the entire world.

In a moment, hotter than a pepper sprout, they hopped in his old truck and drove to Gatlinburg to elope.

She was certain her family would never talk to her again.

He was certain his family would greatly miss his help on the farm.

But what could they do, they were young and in love, living on a dream.

When it came to hit the road for a tour of one-night singing stands, with suitcases in hand, they still needed a name for the band. That’s when she hollered out, “How ‘bout Circus Rides?” It sounded good enough to him, so they went with it.

The old truck broke down several times on the first three legs of the tour. Luckily, it was warm enough to sleep next to one another in the bed, under a cover of stars. They put the money for lodging towards the flat tire, water pump, and oil change.

Through each setback they grew closer; they grew stronger.

Then came the fateful night, which would test their love forever. After nearly three hours of cover songs and original material, they were approached by an executive from the record industry.

He said that he loved what he heard and saw. But he was only talking about her.

Without a single thought she said, “No thank you. I’d rather stand by my man.”

And so Clementines and Circus Rides finished its first and only tour before returning to the old farm to work all day, raise a family, and play sweet music when the Good Lord allowed it.