Awards

When I was a senior in high school, I attended the Idaho high school yearbook and journalism convention in Boise for the third time. In the morning at this convention they scheduled contests in various categories. Photographers were given a roll of film (to date myself, this was shockingly before digital cameras), a theme, and a couple hours to shoot. Writers were given a prompt, paper, and a couple hours to compose. I took part in a competition to develop a theme for a yearbook along with a layout and ideas for carrying it through the composition.

In the afternoon, the winners of the competitions were announced along with advisor of the year and yearbook of the year. I sat next to my advisor, with whom I was close and shared many inside jokes. He had a history with the organizers of the event, many of whom had spurned him in some way in prior years. We joked quietly about the yearbook "bigwigs" sitting at the front. When the results of my theme category were announced I received nothing -- not an honorable mention or a participant award. Nothing. Whereas before I held back in the jabs directed at the organizers, my restraint evaporated after my category passed without my name being announced.

"What do these people know about yearbook, anyway? I've gotten honorable mention and at least some sort of recognition the last two years at this thing. I am the editor-in-chief of our yearbook! I've got to know more than some of the people that were in my category! Right? Am I right? What do these people know?"

I kept going, the sarcasm dripping deliciously.

"I know, I know what the problem is. They invented a new category that they're going to announce at the very end -- a best in show category. With a cash prize! That's it. They're saving me for that. That must be it."

I continued on like this for the remainder of the presentation, and my advisor and I continued cracking jokes. If we were going to be spurned, we were going to enjoy ourselves, darn it.

Then they announced the advisor of the year. As they listed the accomplishments of this yearbook teacher, I knew it was my advisor they were describing. He had started the yearbook program from scratch just a few years before. He had helped students produce some award-winning annuals. It was him. Sure enough, when they reached the end of their speech, they said his name. He peered at me sheepishly as he went forward to receive his prize. These organizers, what did they know? They knew that my advisor was excellent, even if he didn't care for them. He returned to his seat, humbled. I felt it too, though even with his award, I still felt personally slighted.

Then the announcement came: There would be one final award this year. A new one. With a cash prize. For "Best in Show," comprising the best entry in all the competitions. Wouldn't you know it, those organizers, the ones I couldn't stop criticizing minutes before, well they knocked me from my preachy perch alongside my advisor. I won. I won the most humiliating award of my life. After spending the better part of an hour bagging on the people who had allowed this event to happen, my advisor and I both had to walk to the stage to accept recognition that we didn't deserve based on our behavior. Pride overtook us, but humility reminded us of our imperfection even in our achievement.

I share this story because on Tuesday I received another award, this one coming from my peers and faculty at the seminary who named me the winner of the St. Michael the Archangel Award. This time I was not dismissing the event organizers of our Annunciation Dinner, but I had a similar feeling of honor and unworthiness to be distinguished among such fine people. Though seminarians struggle in real and personal ways as a typical human being, every person who comes here to study, discern, and grow is giving this time to the Lord and the Church. Each is deserving of accolades that are not possible to hand out at awards ceremonies. For every authentic prayer, sacrifice made, hour spent studying, and investment in formation, I am grateful to my brothers for walking the way with me and showing me how to become a better version of myself.

The St. Michael the Archangel Award recognizes "that person who has contributed significantly to the life of the seminary by establishing something new and beneficial or, through exceptional fidelity, commitment, creativity, and good will, has furthered something already established." Without knowing why people listed me for this award, I speculate that it was for my work as the soccer coach and as a contributor to our Mount Angel Seminary Journalism program. I spent a fair amount of time with both projects this year and enjoyed each. If I can contribute to the life of my community doing things I enjoy and receive an award as a result, I am thoroughly blessed.

In addition, two close friends were also award winners at the Annunciation Dinner. My seminarian brother Michael was recognized with the St. Benedict Award for exemplifying the ideals of formation as a student, man of prayer, and servant leader. My journalism instructor and Writing Center advisor Sr. Hilda Kleiman, OSB, received the St. Bonaventure Award for faculty achievement and excellence. Both were deserving, both celebrated with me, and both helped me along my way the last two years. Sharing the joy with them made the award even more special.

Thanks to my seminary community for the opportunity to live, be formed, and work among you. Thank you for honoring my place in the community. Thank you for loving the Lord and His Church. And thank you for journeying with me each day.

Sr. Hilda Kleiman, OSB, and I show our medals and our joy.

Break

Spring break usually comes as the flowers bloom, the leaves return to their trees, and the outdoors become enjoyable again. But not always. This year our "spring" break from Mount Angel Seminary came at the end of February. For the most part, the weather felt like spring, with the one exception being a daunting drive from Boise that I detailed in my last post. Before that, I enjoyed an active time away from classes and responsibilities on the hilltop.

Two seminarian brothers and I planned many months ago to spend part of the break in Seattle exploring the city and doing the tourist circuit through Pike Place Market, the Space Needle, the waterfront, downtown, at St. James Cathedral, among local churches, and eating nice meals. Before our trek northward, the Mount Angel basketball team took part in the Rose City Classic, a four-team tournament hosted annually by Multinomah University on President's Day weekend. Last year our team finished just shy of the championship after leading most of the penultimate game, and we had set our ambitions to beat our rivals from MU this year.

In game one, we faced a scrappy Samoan team put together at the last minute. No worries for us, right? Wrong. They had one shooter who rarely missed. He hit ten three-pointers on his way to 48 points. But we won a tight contest. The next day in the championship game, we played Multinomah for the fourth time this season. The score was high -- they shot the ball well, and we used our size advantage to score most of our points in the paint. At half, we led 52-51. I had two personal goals for the game: To score in double digits and to hold the opposition's best scorer (who I guarded most of the time) to under 20 points. If I did those things, I thought to myself, we would win based on what we had done all year. Unfortunately, we could not stop Multinomah in the second half. I reached my personal goals, and we scored a season-high in points, but they had crafted a game plan offensively that we couldn't match with our man-to-man scheme. Plus they brought a varsity player down to face us, and he provided a big boost as an extra big man to counter our most significant advantage: size. Multinomah beat us again 105-96. Still, we had reason to be proud. Our limitations as seminarians make it difficult for us to compete against teams like Multinomah that have far more players, more practice, and more resources. Losing stings, especially after putting forth so much work during the season, but what we lack in victories, we can still make up in virtue. Being graceful in defeat is far more defining than being celebratory in triumph.

Photo by Ivan Garcia, Deus Photography.

We spent the night at the home of my seminarian brother Stephen's family, and the next morning departed for the Emerald City. Seattle treated us well -- sunny skies, welcoming friends, uplifting liturgies, and much to explore. We opted for the full experience of the Space Needle since a ticket to the observation deck is $20 by itself and a nice meal in the 360-degree rotating Sky City Restaurant is only a few bucks more. The clouds obliged with a clear, beautiful afternoon. This is a rare treat I only expect to have a couple times in my life, and to point out all I knew about Seattle with my seminarian brothers was thrilling.

Besides the Space Needle, I took Frankie and Stephen to see vendors throw fish at Pike Place, to walk beneath the towering new ferris wheel on the waterfront, to visit Stephen's cousins in the U-District, to devour my favorite bubble tea, to meet some of the beautiful people at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parish where I used to work, to poke around the holy grounds at St. James Cathedral, to capture the views at Kerry and Gasworks Parks, to drive the streets of my alma mater, Seattle Pacific University, to the many sites around Seattle Center, and to the home of our gracious host, Deacon Craig, to rest at the end of our site seeing days.

The last leg of our trip was to Boise for the Idaho Catholic Youth Convention. Four seminarians from the Diocese of Boise joined us, and we enjoyed a weekend to celebrate our shared faith with over 1,600 youth from around the Northwest. As seminarians, we are asked to serve at the liturgies, man the vocations booth, interact with youth groups, and lead the ongoing rosary. Each seminarian contributed uniquely and enjoyed the event their own way. The highlight for me was being the thurifer (incense-bearer) for the Eucharistic Procession on Saturday night. Hundreds of teens fell to their knees before their God, our God, the God of all. As thurifer I led the procession walking backwards with incense streaming and my eyes fixed on the monstrance that holds the true and living Jesus Christ. Processions like this convince me afresh that teens do not need to be entertained to be invited into the salvation story -- they need to be engaged. And what is more engaging than our God present to them in a tangible, mystical, and inexpressible way? Hearts were touched, lives were converted, and I got to play ever so small a part in God's revelation.

The end of our journey over break was harrowing, but you can read about that in the post below. Spring break is over now. Midterms have begun. Please keep me in your prayers as I do you in mine. See you in the Eucharist, my friends!

ICYC Photos by Savannah Amyx:

Frozen

When I finally opened the door to my room last Sunday night, Sunday night had become Monday morning, and spring break was over. I spent the afternoon, evening, and night driving from Boise to Mount Angel, a trip that usually takes a smidge under eight hours by car. This drive took eleven.

The usual culprit for a delay between here and there is the Blues Mountains in Central Oregon, but besides a patch of thick fog, the roadways were smooth and temperatures above freezing. Driving at near the speed limit with two of my seminarian brothers, I thought we were in the clear after we passed Pendleton, but the adventurous trek back to seminary would continue for many hours.

In the Columbia River Gorge, the roadways started to freeze. We drove past four separate accidents with emergency lights flashing around us. I let the speedometer drop even though I didn't feel any slippage to that point. Slowly we crept at a steady 40-to-50-mile-per-hour pace, singing together and conversing. We counted down the mileage to Portland, and we skipped gas stops thinking it was better to get through the icy conditions first. Then we reached Hood River.

I have driven through this Gorge-side town dozens of times, but as I saw semis pull to the side and snow banks pile higher, I knew this time was different. We pulled off as well, debated about putting chains on the vehicle, checked the road report, and forged onward. A few minutes and a few slips up the hill, I veered to the shoulder, and we christened the set of chains I purchased in December. Thankfully my seminarian brother Stephen had put them on a car before because I was completely inexperienced, and the other seminarian in the vehicle, Frankie, is from Hawaii, so the situation was not one he had faced in paradise. With some cold hands and a few looks at an instructional video on my iPhone, we managed to secure the tires. We set off again. The only problem was that the iPhone wasn't with us. We had used it as a flashlight to see our way in the night, and when the screen had gone black, we forgot that the phone had been set in the snow. Oops.

With no smartphone and less than a quarter tank of gas, the ride was tense. We stayed at 15mph or less for about two hours from Hood River to Multinomah Falls, most of it through rugged ice caked on the roadway. Twenty or so vehicles sloshed through gingerly behind a semi, occasionally being passed by a fortunate motorist with four-wheel or all-wheel drive. The conditions finally seemed to clear for a few minutes, so we pulled off to remove the chains, which turned into a 45-minute endeavor because one had been attached improperly and had gotten ahold of the axel, which made it particularly difficult to remove, especially fumbling around blindly under the car along a dark roadway with impatient drivers zooming by. When we eventually escaped the chains, we sailed for about 15 minutes at 40mph when traffic stalled to a standstill. And still our gas tank was emptying.

I turned off the car. We sat for two, three, four minutes at a time. We moved a couple hundred feet. Car off. Wait. Turn the keys. Move a little more. Converge to one lane. Pass another accident. There were further roadway moguls to dodge once we found space to move until we passed Multinomah Falls. As we did, we seriously contemplated stopping for the night to wait out the storm and hopefully conserve our gas until we could safely reach Troutdale, the next place we could refuel. Thankfully, the temperature rose rapidly after Multinomah Falls and so did the speed of traffic. With plenty of fumes to spare, we glided gratefully into a Shell Station in Troutdale, filling the car's tank, emptying our own, and grabbing some 11:30 dinner at Taco Bell. The final leg to Mount Angel went swiftly, and we vacated the vehicle wearily knowing that Monday back on the hilltop was going to be long.

But we were safe. We survived the snow. We were grateful for the passageway home, discovering later that just outside of those tricky Blues Mountains a large pileup had closed Interstate 84 West an hour after we had passed safely through. Many were not as fortunate as we were.

Now I can laugh at the tension, the lost phone (I was due for an upgrade and purchased an iPhone 5C this week), the treacherous end to "spring" break, and the adventure endured. Such an occasion is quite a reminder to give thanks to the Lord for delivering my friends and me safely and for the abundance in our lives. I am immeasurably blessed.