It had been nearly twelve years since my brother had been baptized, and nearly a two years since I last stepped foot in a church. Things in my hectic life have gotten the best of me, and by the time Sunday rolled around, all I wanted to do was sleep. Since I have been in school however, things have started to become cloudy, and I felt as though going to church to seek some guidance would help. So I enlisted the help of the massive Yellow pages. I came across the nearest Catholic Church I could find, St. Mary’s Catholic Church on 14th and K. A quick ten minute drive across town landed me at one of the most beautiful churches I have ever laid eyes on. With its cathedral style architecture, snowy white bricks, stain-glass windows, and red oak doors, the church was simply a masterpiece.I walked in to see all the incoming church goers shuffling around trying to find a seat within the pews, greeting each other, some heavy eyed from lack of sleep. Most of which were parents, trying desperately to keep their children from running throughout the sanctuary. Seeing this, I am suddenly reminded of all the Sundays with my grandmother. As I enter the sanctuary, I am greeted with the vocals of the choir singing a hymn, and candles near the pulpit, the warm glow lighting the way to my seat. After receiving a program and sitting down, the thoughts of my grandmother begin to whirl around me. Suddenly, they were interrupted by a swift kicking to the back of my seat. I turned around to find a young boy, of about 7 years old, with a very determined look on his face. His mother deftly grabbing his shoulder, telling him to knock it off, telling him to apologize for being so rude. He replied with a quick “No,” and that is when I saw it. The look. The look that I remember seeing so often, the condescending look that made me feel as though I was a foot tall. His face suddenly changed, he mumbled “sorry,” and immediately folded his arms, defeated. I turned around, with a warm smile on my face, and unexpectedly felt terribly homesick. I felt comfortable at the church, but I did not see any familiar faces, any particularly warm greetings, or hugs.
Soon, it was time for the sermon to begin, promptly at 8:00 everyone had piled into the sanctuary, and it was absolutely packed. My nose is filled with many different scents, but once particular fragrance stuck out to me: Old Spice. This man however, felt the need to bathe in it, rather than just splash it on. Yet the more and more I smell it, the more I realize that that is a fragrance that is all too familiar to me. It is a scent I have not smelled in years, but it is one I hold very dear to me. My grandfather wore it after every shave, and I can almost feel him near me as the scent engulfs me. As I was taking it all in, the priest began his sermon, “Procrastination,” oddly appropriate considering that it was something I had been doing notoriously. I instantly became transfixed upon his words, and found myself reflecting on every word he spoke. “Do we have any procrastinators out there this morning? I don't know about you, but I have been known... on occasion... to procrastinate just a bit.” “By nature I'm a pretty punctual individual, but I have been known to have things that I know I need to get done, and I wait until the last minute to do them. Sometimes it's just fine. They get done with no harm. However, other times it leads to a good deal of unnecessary stress…” he trailed off. I could not help but agree with everything he said.
I began thinking about all the times I have been told that procrastination was a bad thing. I mean, a couple hundred years ago. Benjamin Franklin shared with the world the secret of his success. “Never leave that till tomorrow, he said, “Which you can do today.” This was the man who discovered electricity; you would think more of us would listen to what he had to say. I don’t really know why we put things off, but if I had to guess, I would say it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of pain, fear of rejection, and most importantly fear of failure. Sometimes, the fear is just of making a decision. Because what if you are wrong? What if you are making a mistake you cannot undo? Whatever it is that we’re afraid of, one thing holds true, that by the time the stress of not doing anything, gets worse than the fear of actually doing it, we can feel as though we’re carrying around a giant weight. Something that outweighs us. And for me, that is the weight of my future. Everything that I do from here on out will impact my future, and for someone who has had parents to look to for instruction, that can be a horrible feeling. And many of us will make mistakes along the way, but that is how we learn to not procrastinate. But for me, I need to learn my own lessons, make my own mistakes, and sweep tomorrow’s possibility under tomorrow’s rug until I cannot anymore. Until I finally understand for myself what Benjamin Franklin really meant: that knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping, and that the biggest failure, even the worst, most intractable mistake, beats the hell out of never trying. “In the name of the father and of the son and the Holy Spirit. Amen,” he finished. And I was suddenly brought out of my reflective state with a new feeling of enlightenment and understanding. The feeling that I had been searching for since I have been here, while desperately trying to transition from high school to college, and grow up. I am not an extremely religious person, nor do I fully know what I truly believe in, but I feel as though there was a reason I was supposed to go to that church on Sunday. An assignment that I felt was going to be just a time consuming task turned out to really be something that completely changed my perspective on the way I was living my life and I am really very thankful for that.
