Freedom comes from being vulnerable

Life can be hard. There’s no way around it. This year, and this semester especially, has been full of some difficult times. The second year of seminary formation is one of the heaviest academically in college seminary. I feel like I’m always scrambling to get even the bare minimum of my homework done before the next class. It feels almost impossible to live a well-balanced life of exercise, prayer, study, pastoral work, rest, formation, relationships, and all the other responsibilities that pile up.

There have been many times this year that I have been tempted to just give up. The thoughts run through my head: “Why do I keep trying to get this homework done if I’m just going to get more the next time I go to class?” “Why should I even try to build this relationship when I know that I either won’t have time or it will probably come crashing down like those other relationships?” “Why do I keep trying to stay attentive at Mass and in prayer when it feels like nothing happens? I will just get distracted and
beat myself up for it like I always do.” “What’s the point?”

At this point, I start to shut down. I notice that I start closing the door to my room a lot more to try to keep people out so I can get my work done. Instead of taking care of myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually, I turn into a machine. My whole focus is “just get the next thing done.” No breaks, no relationships, no focus on how I’m doing. I am naturally a deep person. God has given me the gift of emotional intelligence which means I feel things on a deep level, I am very empathetic, and I have a hard time just letting things go. I desire to be authentic, to be real, to do everything out of a deep love for God and everyone around me. But in these stressful times, I abandon all of that because I “just don’t have time to deal with those things.” Instead of living out of the heart like I usually do, I live life on the surface—and it is completely dissatisfying and unfulfilling.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and I am pushed past my breaking point. I finally stop trying to hold the world on my shoulders and fall to my knees. And there, when I finally admit that I can’t do it all by myself, God has room to speak. My Father picks up little Kade in his arms. Through my tears, I look at his face and, instead of the disappointment and scolding that I expect, I see his eyes, full of compassion; I see the tears on his cheeks, because he feels (as every father does) the pain of his son; I see the reassuring smile on the face; and I rest my weary head on his shoulder. There, in my surrender, he speaks the truth into my heart. “Kade, you are my son. I love you, and I am so proud to be called your Father. Kade, you are not the sum of your failures and weaknesses. Your worth does not come from what you do, but who you are: My beloved, little Kade.” And there, I find my rest.

When I go home for breaks, one of my favorite things to do is rock my little three-year-old brother, Camden, to sleep. The last time I did this, I remembered something my mom says to us:

“Kade, guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

As I was rocking him to sleep, I said this to Camden a couple times (in-between singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and “You Are My Sunshine,” which he usually commands me to sing at least twice). I didn’t know if he really understood how much I meant those words, but I wanted to say them anyway. My heart was so full of love, just sitting there with him, that I started to tear up. Eventually, I laid him down to sleep and was just about to go out the door when he called, “Kade.”

“What Camden?” I answered.

“I love you.”

I cannot describe the love that welled up in my heart at that moment. If my broken, human heart can love that much, how can I doubt the infinite love of my Creator, my Father, my Brother? His heart is broken out of love for you, his little child.

In the midst of the storms and trials of life, take a moment to rest on the heart of Jesus. In your passion, walk with him. When it feels like you are being crucified, be crucified with him. When you are buried, be buried with him. Then you will be raised, healed, and glorified with him.