To Matt (and partially Matts Lady),

 

   

     May this message find you well. I can't pinpoint what it was that pushed me to write this for you, but know that I mean everything I have here. I remember the structure you implemented in the classroom, the bowtie for every occasion, your likeness for Taco Bell, and the care you had for every person you taught math to. There is more that comes to mind, but nothing I can say would capture the outstanding figure you are. In the ten years since I left your instruction, I've learned more about my faith, culture, and that I don't really care for math. This might disappoint you, but the time came for me to reteach myself long division and fractions when my electrical classes started. Algebra probably would've been easier too if you had followed me after elementary school. Oh, how simple things were for me then, how innocent I was that I thought you'd just be there until I left college! Yes, it's true, I have grown, and man, if you were there as I overcame the crucible that was the rest of grade school, well- I wouldn't be the person I am today. 

    Whether it was the environment of your teaching or simply the nature of the 5th grade that kept me straight, I report to you that I strayed far from that innocence once I left it. Color began to matter, words became tools for me to use against others, and I've committed actions that I can't speak of. Perhaps I was bound to go down the same route even if you were there, although I doubt it. Because of said growth, I wanted to talk, but I felt like I didn't have a good enough story to tell you, a position I held I'd be proud of updating you on. However, I know our time here is short, and although I'm not really at the top of the world yet, I'm content with what I've got. If there's one thing I won't forget about you, Mr. Allen, it's that you noticed the uncertainty I had of my own future. "Whatever you do, I know you're going to be great at it." Thank you. I don't remember if I thanked you after you said it then, but I give you my gratitude here and now.

    Maybe I would've visited you and Mrs. Allen if you two hadn't moved away. Although you two have every right to question that, since I couldn't even bother sending a text. Truly, I hope you both may forgive me for my silence. To ask myself what would've been can give me enough material to write endlessly, but I'm thankful for you giving me what I do indeed have. I trust that your current Padawans are shaping up to be great, and I pray that you and Mrs. Allen are sharing a fruitful life together. 

    Sincerely,

    Jose N. Garcia

I give thanks to my God at every remembrance of you.

- Philippians 1:3

Jose's Paraiso

 

    I'm aware that Dante is not the first source any Christian should consult when seeking to make sense of the afterlife; so with that in place, please consider my following rhetoric with an open mind. According to Dante, the second circle of hell is for those who struggle with sins of the flesh. I have no problem with letting this cat out of the bag, considering the oversexualized world we live in. Our Lady of Fatima even said that there are more souls in hell than for any other reason. My fight against this sin seemed impossible at first, but continuously educating myself about the value of our bodies and the seriousness of maintaining a clean soul has made quite a change. I say fight because navigating through the spiritual life can indeed be a battle; we usually have to fall and get hurt to truly know the value of being in a state of grace. The more we strive to get closer to that state, chances are that the enemy will throw just about anything to discourage us.

    With that being said, a nightmare I had last night was so notable that I felt the need to write about it after months of neglecting the Jose Of The Day blog. It’s a terrifying experience to be caught in a dream within a dream, and even more so to go through it four times. Each "waking" felt more real than the last, trapping me in a cycle of growing dread.

In the first dream, my room was turned sideways as if it were a Rubik's Cube. The ceiling light was on the wall, the floor on another. It was dark, but I could just make out my door. When I tried to open it, it wouldn't budge. Panic set in, and I woke up.

The second dream began without warning. I left my room for the bathroom and walked into an “Upside Down” version of the house — vines crawling everywhere, pumpkins scattered across the floor, paper pasted over the walls. When I stumbled back toward my bedroom, I began to vomit beside my bed. The physical sensations felt very real: my chest clenched, muscles burned, and my whole body heaved as if it were actually happening, not just imagined.

Then I woke up a third time. The house was quiet, but a deep sense of unease filled me. I grabbed holy water and began throwing it on the walls and ceiling. Instead of dripping down, the water stopped mid-air and formed spinning, circular globs in the corners of the room. Instinctively, I ran to my parents’ room. It was daytime there, a stark contrast to my dark room. Their room was like a maze of books, papers, and folders stacked in towers. My parents’ heads popped out from an ocean of paper where their bed should have been. I told them about the nightmare. My mom laughed, not believing me, which was so true to her personality that it made the dream feel even more real. My dad, ever the listener, encouraged me to keep talking. But by then, I knew this wasn't normal, and I woke up again.

The fourth time I awoke, the sinking feeling had become a deep, dreadful weight. I felt an evil presence was trapping me in this endless cycle. This is when I started to call out the name of Jesus. As I tried to navigate the house, the walls were covered in pictures, paintings, and symbols of Jesus, but my every breath became a gasp for air. At the same time, I was pinned to my bed. A low roar or a buzzing sound came from my bed, my stomach, and my head every time I called out. It felt as if my body was stuck, but my soul was crawling around looking for help.

I began to spit out any Scripture I knew. It was like I was drowning, but each scripture I recited was a coin that gave me a moment of air. (Kind of like how Mario gets a few more bars of oxygen when he collects coins while swimming). The hope I got from these coins was what started to convince me I had a winning chance. With each phrase I could get out, the buzzing got louder and angrier. I felt my heart pound with fear, but also with hope. I continued to praise Jesus and mock Satan, reminding him that he had already lost. This seemed to piss off the presence. I exclaimed, “Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life!” The roar got louder. With newfound confidence, I yelled, “Get back, Satan!” My voice was weak, but the words were clear. I followed up with a butchered Latin phrase (some of the only Latin I really know), “Vade retro satana!” A shriek echoed in the room, making me cry—but out of hope, not fear. Finally, with one last push, I screamed, “Long live Christ the King!”

I instantly shot up from my bed, this time for real. My hand went to my chest, feeling my heart pounding. I dropped to my knees and wept, not out of panic, but out of immense gratitude and joy. When I began to pray, I said the name “Jesus” without any struggle, without any gasps for air. Hearing myself say it so clearly made me cry even more, knowing I had been set free. All I could do was repeat, "Thank you," over and over again until my breath ran out.

Sometimes it feels as if God isn’t there because we don’t get a verbal or direct message from him when we pray. But please, trust that He is there. Hell is real—a place where no cry for help can reach Him, where His saving hand will not come. Like I mentioned in Dante’s vision, the second circle is reserved for those who surrendered to the cravings of the flesh. Here, the damned are swept endlessly in a howling, human hurricane. They are tossed from side to side, drifting without rest, never allowed to stand firm. I can't even say what I experienced is a fraction of such captivity. Whatever you are struggling with, know that you are not alone. You have friends in the angels and saints who watch over you, and a loving God who has experienced pain, temptation, and loneliness in their most extreme forms. Jesus loves you and wants a relationship with you. Repent of whatever is tainting your soul and be clean. Every time we can pronounce His name is a blessing. Every step we can take, every heartbeat, every breath of air, and every bite of delicious food—it is because the Lord has allowed for it. Seek to learn more about Him for your salvation and for all those we know who need it. May the Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on all of us.

“Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.” – Luke 13:24