Best Friends?

I had an interesting experience the other day to end my job at Passport. At every formal dinner at Holy Cross there is a priest to say grace before the meal. The director of the program forgot to book a priest for the closing dinner though, posing a problem. She came to me, reasoning that because my faith is important to me that I would say the grace. I’m not a huge fan of speaking in front of big crowds, but I agreed. What struck me is that one of my friends commented on my prayer saying “Tay Tay, it was really funny because you prayed like you actually know God.” God offers each one of us a personal relationship with Him; imagine that, having a close relationship with your Creator! Even so, I still feel light years away from God, I wish we were as close as my friend claimed. Why is it that we constantly seek things that won’t fill us up? Why do we constantly pine for things that either aren’t meant to be or will be prescribed to us when we are ready? I desire skill in baseball, money, and social status. Not that those things are bad, but are they fulfilling? Will the ability to drive a ball 400 feet, or invitations to the best parties really make me happy? No, of course not—but why do I crave those things and feel sad and lost when I don’t get them? If I am the picture of contentment to my friends, if I am the ideal of closeness to God then I hope that they see someone far greater than I. I love God, I really do. It can be so hard to live that statement out, it can be so hard to be close enough to God to let it really shine out in my life. What do I want from myself this year? Not just a wide group of friends, a starting spot on the baseball team, and a job with a newspaper. I also (and mostly) want my relationship with God to grow, for His love to shine out to others, for His love to bring confidence to a life that really needs it. Are God an I close? It may seem so to those around me (and in that I can take pride knowing that God is working through me) but still, I want to be a lot closer to Him.