1996: Jumping Over the Hurdles of Life
In which Teófilo checks his bearings before further proceeding to live.
There's no question the year 1996 was another doozy. My spiritual life was in disarray and my sense of youthful immortality, destroyed in the car accident. That was a bad combination, a 1-2 knockout. Still, I got off the ground and continued living.
In fact, that was a time in which I conceived life as an Olympic race with hurdles. In this "race of life" one runs nonstop, each challenge a hurdle to jump over. One falls, picks oneself up, and resumes the run.
Moving to another St. John the Baptist and living a quieter religious life seemed like the best way to go forward. I thought doing so would cure me from the sudden instability I faced at Christ the Saviour's.
By living a quieter life, I mean I dialed back my religious-related activities on the Internet. At the time I was running a pro-blog named Diakonía, to document my Orthodox experience. I also answered questions and debated others about the faith. Little did I know there was an Orthodox paper publication of that name. Because of this coincidence, His Grace thought I represented the paper newsletter. He also had great reservations about it which he transferred to me. Once again, I found myself unable to explain without looking guiltier still. I kept quiet, and raised no defense.
The memory of my second conversion in my spiritual life, dimmed.
Surviving the accident gave new momentum to live and move my family ahead. But it also resulted in me eating too much and exercising too little. I got fat and began to feel the effects. I fatigued after climbing short flights of stairs. I got tired after doing yard work. And my self-esteem took a plunge.
Not that my Mercie objected to my more voluminous self. She loved me more every day as I did her. The boys didn't notice.
All these shocks would collide further ahead, when I would reinvent myself yet again.
Meanwhile, the weeks of back-to-back travel and work continued without relent. I welcomed the routine as something to keep my mind away from Big Thoughts. Always, at the end of the day, what I wanted most was to be home with Mercie and the boys.
Those Were the Good Ole Days
Those were the days of maximum effort for us. We were raising Chris and Jon, working in our house, improving ourselves. Despite everything that had taken place, those were our Golden Years. The two kids who had fallen in love in high school had married, made a family, owned property, and looked ahead to whatever the Lord had in store for us. We’ve done some good, and we intended to do some more.
