Vibrant colors would flood the floors as light seeped through the high windows. The sound of music would resonate throughout the cavities and fill the building with a sense of joy. Voices would join in and make the whole scene into one of beauty and magic. As I would look up, I would see the somber face of a man. He seemed to be central to this wonder, but I did not know him—not yet. I would simply sit down with my family, content to be in the presence of such bliss.

            Some of my earliest memories were of church. For as long as I can remember my family has always gone every Sunday. I was taught at an early age by my mother to pray every night: to be thankful for what I had and to ask Him for anything that I needed. I carried these beliefs and practices with me throughout the majority of my young life. Although I never felt that my faith was especially strong, I had it nonetheless and believed in it.

            This held true until November of 2006. Perhaps I should backtrack a bit. The following will not make as much sense without some background. My Lolo (Tagalog for grandfather) and I were very close when I was younger. As both of my parents worked during the day, it was he and my Lola who took care of my brother and me during the day. How much he truly loved me is evident in his smile while he held me in old pictures of me as a baby. His actions reflected his love as well. When I was about two years old, my older brother locked me into a room and I was too young to unlock it. It was a Sunday, and my mother was having trouble finding a locksmith to open the door. Goaded on by my crying, my Lolo kicked the door open.

            To my shame, as I grew up I began to overlook his love and caring. He wanted to spend time with me, but I was making friends at school. As a child, why would I want to sit and watch TV with my Lolo when my friends wanted to play? The older I grew, the more I neglected him. He eventually moved back to the Philippines when I was 13, and I didn’t give it much thought afterwards. That is until the summer of 2006 when my family and I went to visit the Philippines. During our stay, my grandfather suffered a heart attack. It took this to realize how selfish and cold I had been treating him. But we left before I could find the words of apology.

            Then in November, I found myself in church, praying. Almost randomly, I began to think about my Lolo, and how poorly I had been treating him. In the most genuine prayer of my life, I asked God to allow me to see him at least one more time. Just one more day to spend with him and tell him all the things I should have said: that I’m sorry and I love him so much. I felt as if my words truly reached God in that prayer and I left church in tears. And exactly one week later, my mother told me that my Lolo had died.

            I struggled with my faith for over a year after this. I had come to God and asked with my entire being for something I truly needed. And in just a week, I had been denied. Now, I had never believed in the absoluteness of prayer; just because someone prays for something, God is not obliged to grant it. But I did believe that if someone comes to him with true humility and selflessness that He would listen. This did not seem to be the case anymore.

             Shortly after the anniversary of his death, I essentially was forced by my parents to attend a Youth for Christ retreat. I was more than hesitant to go. In retrospect, I must have seemed antisocial to the other kids. It did not take long, however, for me to open up to this group of amazing kids. Through their support, friendship, and perhaps through their prayers, I gradually decided to reopen communications with God. During an intense prayer session, one that must have rivaled my initial request one year earlier, I had an epiphany. Until that point, I had been questioning why my request had seemingly been ignored. During the retreat, I had prayed for the wisdom to understand why. Instead, I received the realization that I had been foolishly focusing my energy on something that could never be understood by simply thinking about it. In doing this I inadvertently deserted a part of my life that had previously been so intrinsic to my being.

It was something that should have been so simple to grasp, but in my stubborn need for explanation, I had been blind to it. It took the supportive, open atmosphere of the retreat for me to realize this. Seeing the joy and faith in the faces of my newfound friends reminded me of His goodness. Not only that, it gave me hope for the future. One event, no matter how horrible, should not shut me out from the happiness to be found with Him.

The experience taught me to never let the negatives engulf you vision of life. Focusing on the tragedies of life will not allow you to move forward to a better life. It seems obvious, but as I look around, many of my friends and family tend to do this from time to time. This does not mean to ignore or forget about these events, but merely to acknowledge that things will get better. I was fortunate enough to find this kind of hope.

Grr... I woke up way too early today... And now it's not even worth going back to sleep. I think my point is, I'm bored and so I'm actually posting?

Oh man, junior year's been insane. If you don't know about everything leading up to this point, then that sucks, because I don't feel like explaining it. But there are some things bothering me that I'd like to get out there.

So, this girl right... I think she likes me... Actually, I know she does... a lot. And I know that I really like her too. I mean, getting to know her these past few months has been amazing. Well, it was complicated at first, but that was mainly me being dumb. But now everything's been worked out, er at least I think they've been. I definately get the feeling that she's still worried about things. Basically, she was(was? is? idk) worried that I didn't like her as much as she liked me. And we talked about all of this, and I tried to explain to her that that wasn't the case. But I think she still has her doubts.

I've never been one to be at a loss of words, er at least until now. I don't know. I've never had any real trouble telling someone the way I feel. But everytime I try to with her, I can't find the words I want/need. I'll attempt to start, but then all of the words just fall apart and get jumbled together as nonsense. I know what I want to say to her... er, maybe not, but I know what I feel. Putting my thoughts and feelings into words has never been too hard for me. And it's never made me this nervous.

I mean, this girl's crazy about me, so what the hell am I afraid of? Come on Chuck! Just tell her that you think she's wrong. That you're crazy about her too. That everytime you're on the phone with her, it makes you miss her so damn much. That spending time with her is what you look foward to the most each week. That when you are with her, you're the happiest you've been in a while. That even just holding her hand makes you take in a deep breath to try to hold on to that one moment. That that one moment makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. And that you want so bad to be with her.

Wow. Now why can't I tell her these things myself? No, instead I can only come up with, "I really do like you... a lot. And...asdfghjadsfg..." And now I have her worried about being a rebound girl or a chick on the side or whatnot. Whether or not this whole thing's mutual. Or if she's making a mistake by putting herself out there with me. I want to explain to her that none of that is true. I mean, I've tried to. It obviously wasn't too convincing, because even I can see that it didn't work.

I just want her to know how I really feel about her. And I'm having trouble saying it. I know what she needs to hear from me, so why is this so hard?