Before The Great Collapse...

I know it's been awhile since I last wrote in the blog. I know I am more than slacking, my friend. I've been replete with work, but I thought I would crank out a post or two for my mama, my sister, and like two other readers.

Ah...topic. Great. Got one.

A few weeks ago, I made a commitment to be more positive, a commitment to be more stronger in my faith. I have to say, thus far, it's worked. One, I won an all-important election to the Presidency of a esteemed organization at the law school. Two, I got a Moot Court team. Three, I was named to the Moot Court Governing Board. If I am able to finally succeed in that journal competition (I am going to give it another shot), I think I will have one heck of a resume. It's not all about the resume, but why else do we seek to do all these things? If it didn't increase job prospects--I have to exclude the Presidency because I genuinely care about the direction of my people--why in the hell would I do all these things in the first place? If not, I would just take my ass to class, read, exercise, walk around my house for no reason, and then fall asleep around 3am.

The Raul Casanova (that's my name today) has a new companion friend too. She's great. More on that later.

It is a weird coincidence that I would reconnect with my faith and then all these good things would just magically happen. I've always been near the agnostic-line for sometime. I've believed, but when struggles came, I had my doubts. I think things started going downhill when my grandma passed away in 1996. At that time, my family had been evicted, my sister had almost died (due to my 3-year brother inadvertently giving her a grape while an infant), and my father was on drugs--I mean, dude was really cracked out. My grandma would always tell me to pray, keep faith, and with patience, things would get better. We moved in with her in November 1996. She was dead in December 1996. 15 days before Christmas. Three days after Christmas, we were evicted again from my grandma's house. My sister, while she had recovered, was still struggling with properly breathing. My family had cut us off during our last few days in my grandma's house (all her bills were in my aunts' names because they helped paid them). The water was turned off. We had to use the restroom in a bucket and go dump it outside in a nearby alley. Me and my brother had to share bath water. The phone was turned off. Electricity and heat all turned off. I had to bathe in ice cold water before departing for school. My father was nowhere to be found. The more I prayed, the worst things became. I was mad, I was angry--I hated God.

But, I MADE IT (or at least, I am almost there after graduation). Through it all, I kept things in perspective. Throughout my life, I have always viewed my life as one of constant progression. I have had numerous tragedies and survived it all. I mean, grandma story aside, I was not supposed to be here at all in the first place. I was born without breathing...technically, I came out dead. I MADE IT. I've been given the gifts of perseverance, determination, and intelligence (now, this latter gift comes at varying levels depending on who you ask). The question was how was this all possible?

A few weeks ago, I talked candidly with my awesome companion friend (who is amazing when it comes to matters of faith) about how I felt about God and faith. I told her that I was angry, that I carried spite toward God. That I had my doubts that there was this mystical force in the sky. Were we simply sheep believing in delusions? To believe in God was not rational. When I did ask for help, where was this exalted God? I talked about the hurt. The lingering doubts. I thought I was forsaken. She didn't prejudge, just listened. As we finished the conversation, I asked her, "One thing, I've never asked myself was how this was all possible. Why didn't I fail?" After the phone call, I cried.

It was HOPE. It was FAITH. It just took time for me to (re)-believe in myself, do my best, and let God handle the rest. I think the last few weeks have put in all in perspective. In my darkest hour, I always had this hope that things would inevitably get better. When grandma died and all the subsequent things occurred, as mad as I was, I always had this hope that things would get better. When I started law school with high expectations and took it on the chin with law journal, I always had this hope that things would get better. A few days prior to the election and Moot Court selections, I opened up and read a few passages of the Bible. Not because of the election and Moot Court, but because I told myself that I was going to have more faith, be more positive. As I was flipping through my Bible, I paused on this passage from Deuteronomy 31:6:

"Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."

I made my peace with God. Everything else, as you can see, is falling in line. It took a great collapse, before it became evident that it was the foundation that need to be rebuilt.