I didn’t expect such a strong response to that celibacy post. I liked it because it reminded me of priests I know: men who became priests, not because they didn’t have it in them to be men or didn’t have it in them to be fathers, but because they did have those things in them. All the qualities that make a man a good father make a man a good priest.
But I do understand why it touched a nerve. A good friend of mine went through exactly what some of the commenters described. She became romantically involved with a man who later decided to enter the seminary. No problem there, except the man in question kept stringing her along after the decision was already made. He didn’t see a problem with having romantic evenings with a girl whose heart he was tearing to shreds. He used her as his crutch. A man like that needs to be punched repeatedly in the head, till he realizes that his grand, glorious story has characters besides himself.
In other news, last Sunday I moved in with my sister. Packing my things felt like slowly tearing out some living part of myself.
Moving in, on the other hand…I don’t know what it is about my sister and her family. It is as if they have the charism of peace. Peace in the yard, peace in the house, peace in the children and in the furniture and in the dog.1
I feel like a convalescent. Say I’m overdramatizing if you want, I don’t care: the last few months was one of the worst ordeals of my life. Now it is over, and it is time to grieve and heal.
This is a fine place for that. I had a perfectly normal day. I wrote some fine code, chatted with my coworkers, coded some more, came home, said hi to everyone, went to my room, and bawled like a baby for no reason at all. The dog was sympathetic, if nonplussed.
Then I set up my mat and Kung Fu’d myself into a sweat until I felt better. Tomorrow I will do it all again. I think it will hurt less tomorrow.