Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart - Houston, TX
Hey friends,
I know it’s been some time. I miss you.
Some interesting things have happened, but now I’m sitting alone at Teahouse in River Oaks, baggy eyed, consumed with a sense of urgency, as well as peace and confidence. I’ve just finished a walk around town (I’m trying to exercise and get ready for the same thing, but in Madrid!) and feel somewhat accomplished but weary. I’ve been blessed to get to know the great City of Houston. A lot of people dog it, but I’ve been lucky enough to know how awesome it is.
I get to walk around a lot different places in this town. From St. Thomas’ campus, the glittering lights Galleria, the oak trees off Heights Boulevard and to the concrete playground of Downtown. Walking through the often broken sidewalks offers a sense of adventure.
Adventure. That’s where I am today. Today marks a point in life that I have only seen a few, rare times in my life; the edge of the cliff, the end of the diving board.
I swam more than decade of my life and have taken a good share of tumbles from the starting blocks and diving boards. I recently have picked up the sport again, flooding me with memories from my sport’s past. There is a moment, when I dive of the blocks and I think before I swim. My feet lift off the ground, I literally fly through the air, my mind racing. Then my mind freezes. My eyes locked onto the water that I’m about to crash through (with a splash that’s usually bigger than others) and the thought that enters into my mind blocks my concentration – What are you doing? You can’t win. You are not having fun. This water is ice-cold. You don’t really want to go in. You’re afraid. - Then, as these ideas race through the mind, my hands pierce the calm waters and I’m in.
That moment is where I am now. I usually never think before I swim. I trust that my training, ethic, arms and kick will propel me to the other side of the pool and back. I trust that if it’s God’s will, I will finish this race and don’t try to fill my lungs with chlorinated water. I know, than when I think instead of trust, I stutter. I stumble. I forget to breathe.
When I entered the water, with thoughts in my head, I would forget to breathe. The burning sensation makes me remember. To breathe. I turn and shortly breathe in, then I swim on.
So here I am again, thinking. With six days left until I literally fly in a pressurized metal tube with wings, I am thinking.
I can’t but help to feel freaked out and completely surrounded by God’s blessings at the same time. When I went to get a refill of my bubble tea, I have to avert my eyes low, pretending to read the menu again so that the cashier doesn’t see my eyes are watery.
But here we are again. We are in this together. Because you have been a part of my life, I have learned to trust. If this whole World Youth Day thing is even worth anything, it’s because you think it is.
Nothing much will change over these next few days, as much as I wish it would. There will be no extravagant cinematic moment where I learn to trust again. I’ve been looking for it. I will simply just keep moving along in faith, while meeting a few more companions along this adventure. And breathe.
Thank you for your support, and I hope this finds you well.
Love,
James
PS. All this talk about Adventure reminds of this scene Pixar’s Up. “Do you think you’ve got what it takes? Alright! You’re in!” And with a brief nod, Carl is in the Adventure Club, even if he didn’t want to be. Aren’t we all?
