I am waiting in the Chicago O’Hare airport, after a late Sunday morning flight. Everything went remarkably smooth, the flight seemingly over not too long after take-off. Now complications will most likely arise. The other four gentleman meeting me all flew into Midway airport, thirty-two miles south, and then we drive fifty-three miles southwest to Joliet. The others texted that their flight was late in taking off. As I sit waiting in Chicago, they have not even left Cleveland. It appears I will have a plentitude of time people watching at the airport. I find the fact appealing. A mother and teenage daughter, sharing a fine form of loving communication, laughing and joking constantly with one another, has just departed the adjoining seats. An oriental stewardess takes their place. Before the outbound flight, I was able to attend an early Mass at St Charles. Once again, I am struck by the profoundness I am experiencing attending Mass with a full church of parishioners. The families, the elderly, the gathering of people allows detachment, a pulling away from myself, a pleasing feeling of love. Currently, I am being overwhelmed with recovery efforts—a lot is coming at me. I accept the challenge of allowing a multitude of input, while outputting little. Humbly, I allow influences to emerge, and others to pass by. Silently, I try to acquiesce. There is no doubt my center is Mass, the summit of my prayer life. The reality of who I am is concrete, meaningful, and distinct during Mass. I view the process of my life, including the failures and struggles—possibly through them the most—a trudging toward the light, an embracing of God. During Mass, I did become pouty with myself, speculating about realities. I thought of my past, remembering the difficulties. I wondered why God did not guide me to a stable life within the Church. There is no place that brings such peace. Why did I wander so far? During Mass today, within the congregation, I observed women of faith, humbly dedicated to their families and community. Why did a broken young lady materialize as my first love? The heart break and immersion into sin during and after the relationship nearly did me in. I am still recovering. Realizing my first romantic love may not be going back far enough, I whined to myself while awaiting the Eucharist. Why didn’t God draw me immediately and intimately into the Church? It was there I belonged. The religious life or the life of a faithful father and husband are obviously the avenue a properly formed young man would have pursued. Yet that was not who I was. Possessing a stout faith, I was determined to open wide the gates of the world, nearly, and prayerfully not, the gates of hell, all in the name of seeking the life of an artist. Possessing mediocre talent, lacking a serious work ethic, plus being emotionally and psychologically broken, nothing substantial amounted from the grievous endeavor. The fascinated young man who read Hermann Hesse’s ‘Demain’ with a passion inherently needed to experience the world; to discover and appease himself with the possibility he may possess a unique vision. There were things that I could not avoid. Delusion drove forward, enlightening through sorrow, disappointment, addiction and severity. I can only be grateful for the protection God provided, the anchoring and guidance provided by my Holy Mother. Now looking back, it is obvious I never stood a chance. Struggle and strife were the only paths I was capable of creating. There was no way prosperity and stability could establish itself. I reflect upon my time with the Franciscan order, comprehending my proliferation within the rigorous prayer life, while unable to adapt to the emotional and psychological demands of community life. It was not long before internally I was warring with others. My thoughts while alone, away from prayer, were lonely, desperate, and ugly. Within a religious order, I became singular, an isolated being—a soul vulnerable to Satan. Unable to properly seek spiritual guidance, unable to communicate, it was not long before I was walking away, my obstinate pride leading the way. Deficient in coping mechanisms, I stubbornly rejected a life that gave me a sense of peace and depth never known before, a way of life that introduced the means of advanced prayer that grace allowed access to. There were things that needed to be addressed, and I did not have the means to address them. Rebellion, a contentious and fighting nature ruled my thoughts, and thus my behavior. I could not cease the dissenting. I could not quiet my argumentative mind. The struggles continued, within a life devoted and loving God, I could not find peace. Anger and wrath were my natural expression. I recall living with my rescuer, screaming at her so relentlessly that I piercingly gave myself a splitting headache. It was not about being right. Attached to a codependent and obsessive idea of love, the core of my being poured forth rage. Now I sit at the O’Hare airport watching people, the majority reflections in the street viewing window, distinct where the window is darkened. One of the gentleman emerging (I posted his photo) will be guiding me through the book ‘Why am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?’ Under the direction of another, he recently exercised his way through the book. Now the student becomes the teacher. My teacher he will become. I trust the gentleman. His unassuming, smiling nature, instantly disarms. I turned around for the exchanging of peace yesterday at St Paul Shrine, my eyes locking onto this wonderful face seated directly behind me. I knew I knew the man. It took a concentrated stare and the reception of a smile before the realization set in that it was Dennis wishing me peace. He was not wearing his glasses. I look forward to sharing a reading and recovery experience with Dennis. Together, we will explore the writing of Jesuit priest John Powell. Conducting research on Father Powell, I was saddened to discover complexity. I will link to a EWTN Women of Grace post for further examination. Life is truly a struggle.

My person is not a little hard core inside of me, a little fully formed state that is real and authentic, permanent and fixed. My person rather implies a dynamic process. In other words, if you knew me yesterday, please do not think that I am the same person that you are meeting today.

I have experienced more of life, I have encountered new depths in those I love, I have suffered and prayed, and I am different.

Please do not give me a “batting average,” fixed and irrevocable, because I am “in there” constantly, taking my swings at the opportunities of daily living. Approach me, then, with a sense of wonder, study my face and hands and voice for the signs of change; for it is certain that I have changed. But even if you do not recognize this, I may be somewhat afraid to tell you who I am. –‘Why am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?” Father John Powell.