Signs

Have you ever felt that you had a destiny?  Something you knew you just had to do?  Has that calling come and gone with the days, and you wonder where it is now?  Or does it still linger in the back of your mind, knocking on your soul like a door-to-door Bible salesman?

One of the purposes of these writing exercises is to demonstrate the idea that every past experience and every memory has some kind of impact, some kind of effect, on who I am today.  That's why I can't just write an autobiography and be done with it.  My personhood develops and changes every day because of what I do and who I interact with and what I feel.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a priest, and I knew that I would be good at it.

Granted, I went through the phases like any young man.  When I was little, I wanted to marry my mom.  In the third grade, I had a crush on Krystal Plummer (which would last through elementary school).  Middle school was a horror story of failed romances, and in high school, after Becca Janik, everything else went to hell.  It was my junior year when my priorities began to change.  I grew into different leadership positions, focused on school, community service, extracurricular activities, and learning and growing in my Catholic faith.  Maybe it was because of my previous romantic failures that I went through a phase during which I participated in casual dating, but did not actively search or strive for romance or love for myself.

Many friends will tell you, I was quite the romantic guru in my time.  I could offer advice and fix any number of other people's romantic problems (I still can, by the way), but I could never get myself out of my hopeless lackluster rut.

The more involved I got with my church, Boy Scouts, and the high school band, starting my junior year, the more I felt, "You know?  I don't really need a woman to be happy.  I like myself, and I can be happy without a significant other."  Of course, that didn't stop me from dating.  But an inkling kept digging at the back of my throat, like the fuzzy film that grows on your teeth.  An inkling that said, "You know, Travis.  You could be a fantastic priest."  And you know what?  I could.

There were 'signs' everywhere.  More 'signs' than I care to admit.  Many of them I probably put together afterward.  Here are a few examples.  At that time I was the Senior Patrol Leader (SPL) of my Boy Scout troop.  One thing our troop does is, at the beginning of every meeting, the SPL would stand at the front of the room and hold his arms like the referee at a football game for a successful point.  "GOOOOOALLLL!!"  You get the idea.  The gesture served to inform everyone in the group, "It's time to start."  I feel that I did a fairly good job as SPL, seeing as I was voted into that position for three consecutive terms.  I was also the drum major of the band.  As you know, the drum major holds out his arms, forward with palms out, to conduct and keep rhythm.  While both of these arm gestures served functional purposes, I feel that there is an important symbolism that those gestures illustrate.  Both say, "Don't worry.  I am here to lead you to success.  It takes work, but follow me.  Trust me."  The arms come out to encircle and guide the flock to safety and success.

I bet a priest does a 'big arms thing' EVERY DAY.  It is an important symbol.  He does it to pray, to bless, to welcome, to inform, to teach.  He does it ALL THE TIME.  Sign #1:  the 'Big Arms Thing.'

One day, my senior year of high school, I went to a Burger King with my mom, and we talked about all of my 'signs.'  As we left the restaurant, walking towards my mother's car, a pay-phone rang.  Seeking a lucky adventure, I answered the phone.  "Hello?"  No answer.  Oh well.  Not today, I guess.  I took a step towards the car and the yellow pay-phone rang once again.  Lucky me!  "Hello?"  No answer.  Someone out there is laughing at me.  Wouldn't be the first time.  I hang up, and take one more step.  Mom says, "It might be God."  Shit.  Ring, ring, ring.  I answer the channeling device with anxiety.  "Hello?   God?"  No answer, thank God.  Ha, see what I did there?  Mom says it's God, calling me.

My priest at home likes to poke fun at people whose cell phones go off during Mass.  That familiar melody plays, the one that ends in a cymbal crash, and Father Bob says, "That had better be Jesus calling."  I made a little playful bet with myself.  I'm always so good about turning off my phone for Mass.  "If my phone goes off audibly during Mass, I'll be a priest."  A year, a Fellowship of Catholic University Students (FOCUS) Conference, a break-up, and a Catholic university later, I am altar serving during Mass.  I am kneeling in front of the altar, holding a tall candle as the priest elevates the Body of Christ, the bells ringing indicating the solid, real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, and feel a buzzing tickle on my right thigh.  My phone is on vibrate, and it goes off NOW.  Are you kidding me?  After Mass, I check it.  It's my friend Richard.  He wants to play D&D and watch 300.  I think I'm fine.  Sign #2:  Calls.

Time goes on and I meet a girl.  I see a baby.  I want one.  Not now, but eventually.  She loves me.  I love her.  These are important details for later.

I study Communication, English, and Philosophy at the University of St. Thomas.  I know priests.  I see them all the time, but I'm with her, and she floods and eclipses everything else.  In Mass, we stand together, holding hands, and pray "for vocations to the priesthood and religious life to flourish at the University of St. Thomas."

I know that I'd be a good priest, an excellent priest, a phenomenal priest.  It is a lifestyle that I can live with and flourish in, and it is a noble and honorable calling.

But I don't want it.  Bring those previous details back up to bear.  I want a family, and to be a father.  I am scared of not following through with what could be "God's path" for me.  I'm overwhelmed with a crushing doubt that I might not be able to handle the intense divine intimacy that a priest must have with God.  I told a priest that I was terrified of being a priest, and you know what he said to me?  The little devil.

"If you are terrified of becoming a priest, that's a pretty good sign that you shouldn't be a priest."

Words of Wisdom.

Compromise, though.  I can always be a deacon.  Go Catholicism!