Four times did I wrestle with the question of becoming a priest.

The first time, I wasn’t yet at Stanford. I had just been admitted. I was still in Costa Rica, where I was born and raised. I had become a Catholic about five years prior because two kids at my high school, three years my seniors, became models for me. They were joyful, great friends to one another, and hilarious, but also respectful. I followed them into an ecclesial movement. I wondered if I should follow the path of the consecrated men in this group. One of the men brought up the point with me directly. The answer came back, plainly, “No.” I had a golden ticket to Stanford in my hand. I had always wanted to attend college in the United States. So I told God, “Later, I need to go study.” And He said, “Yes.”

The second time was around my junior Spring at Stanford. I had chosen to become a SymSys major, which was an excellent fit for me. However, I was having an identity crisis while taking classes for my Artificial Intelligence concentration. I quickly realized that I did not actually want to work as a Machine Learning Engineer. What should I do instead? I could become a Dominican, like the chaplains of the Catholic Community at Stanford. I yearned for a deeper intellectual life, lived out in community and then shared; I cared deeply about the liturgy and wanted to provide the saving graces of the Catholic faith to others. Again, the answer to this question was “No,” or at least, “Not yet.” I was struggling through my AI classes due to several faults of my own: distraction, emotional avoidance, and procrastination. I didn’t want my departure from the world to feel like an escape when things weren’t going my way. I figured graduation and a change of setting were what I needed. So I told God, “Later, I need to go work.” And He said, “Yes.”

The third time, I was two years into a good job in the tech industry. I found a role that utilized my fluency with technology but also leveraged my interpersonal skills. I was improving my time management skills, learning a lot on the job, and thriving both in and out of work. The circumstances that had made me ask God to wait were gone, so I called the Vocations Director for the Western Dominican Province. I visited the Priory here in Oakland. As I experienced how the student brothers live, I realized that there was something else on my heart. I really, really wanted to experience being in a serious romantic relationship. So I told God, “Later, I want to go date.” And He said, “Yes.”

The fourth time was not long after I finally experienced healing from a particularly tough breakup. This relationship lasted about ten months, but it was serious enough for us to talk about engagement. I had never had my heart broken, but I had some intuition of what constituted a “reasonable” level of pain. I was fairly certain I was beyond “reasonable.” So I got some professional help—therapy and spiritual direction—and dared to ask the question, “Why did this hurt so much?”

It became clear that I had many distinct desires riding on the success of this one relationship—most of which I was unaware of. Some of these, viewed individually, were easily identified as thin desires. These didn’t really drive me. For instance, there was a desire to be seen by others as someone who had figured out his life early, and a dream of having the perfect kitchen in a home I own. Others were thick desires with roots deep in my heart. Of these, I identified three primary ones. First, the desire to experience for myself the family that my parents weren’t able to give me. (My parents separated when I was very young.) Second, the desire not only to be generous with the things I own, but to be myself a gift, given in vulnerability and gratefully received. Third, the desire to be a father to others, as good as my father was to me—especially a father to daughters.

It was immediately clear to me that this newfound self-knowledge was grace. The insight to name these desires was (and still is) far beyond my usual level of emotional keenness, especially as it pertains to my interior life.

I came to understand that God not only tolerates but even delights in these core desires of our hearts. Who but Him put them there! He just may not fulfill them in the way we might expect. In my case, this meant loosening my grip on marriage and a natural family as the only possible way to secure my happiness. I had seen the priesthood and religious life as something God might want me to do, but I had to resist if I wanted to be truly fulfilled. Recognizing that my fundamental desires were compatible with a celibate life altered my perspective.

Through the example of many great priests I knew, I was sure that a priest is a true spiritual father. Priestly celibacy affords his fatherly love a kind of breadth and universality that was and is deeply attractive to me. I attended several ordinations and was deeply moved by the moment during the Mass when the community expresses its desire to have this candidate raised to the priesthood. The priest really is a welcome gift to the people he serves.

My desire for a natural family was the most difficult to reconcile. Religious communities, such as the Dominicans, live a common life that is akin to that of a family. However, it was clear to me that this was no direct substitute. I needed to ask why I so wanted a wife and kids. Was it because a family seemed like the ideal setting for me to learn to give my life away in loving service to others? If so, then full speed ahead, and I should date again! Or was it rather that I thought marriage was the only way I could make myself whole, by healing old wounds related to my family of origin? I had to admit that I had much of the latter motivation. But of course, no one makes himself whole; all healing is from God. Had I asked Him whether marriage and a natural family were in His plans to help effect that healing in my heart?

When I did, the answer seemed to be negative. And when I asked myself how I could best serve in this world, given my talents and aptitudes and what I enjoy doing, the answer was always clear: “Become a Dominican priest. That’s what you are meant to do.” So, I contacted the Dominican Vocations Director again. I went back to Oakland for a second visit and then for interviews. The next step would be a battery of tests and a formal application. But a part of myself was extremely reticent. “What if I’m wrong, and I’m headed towards a life of cold, unfeeling loneliness? Shouldn’t I maybe wait another year to make sure this is all settled?” I told God, “Later.” And He said, “No.”

“No?” “No,” continued the Lord, “if you make me wait another year, I just might call someone else.” Like all the words I’ve mentioned, I did not hear these audibly, but only silently in my heart. Still, this wasn’t what I expected to hear from God, who had been nothing but patient with me for more than a decade. The “No” made sense to me—I didn’t even give a reason after my “Later” this time. What surprised me was my immediate response to the rest of what God said. “Lord, I don’t want You to call someone else.” As I spoke those words, I knew that I wanted to follow Christ in His call. My reticence was due to a completely reasonable and understandable fear.

There are times when fear should be acknowledged, even thanked, before doing what one fears to do anyway; fear never sees the whole picture. That was one of those times. I am now in my third year of formation with the Dominicans of the Western Province. I am still the same man I was before—no miracle has cured me of my foibles. However, I can testify that the Lord has continued to work on my heart as intensely as He did during my season of heartbreak. This makes me all the more optimistic about what God can continue to do in the five years leading up to my ordination.

As a priest, I will be assigned to full-time service at one of our parishes or university ministries. I could be sent to Stanford. This would be a source of great joy! I am increasingly convinced there’s something special about the culture at our alma mater. Fr. Chrysostom, assigned to Stanford in July, reported back to me his first impressions after a couple of weeks on campus: “Everyone I’ve met seems to be a different version of you.” Does Stanford select us all in some way alike? Or are we all shaped by our time spent where the red roofs rim the blue of the sun-steeped skiеs? Perhaps both these things are true.

What the Stanford student seeks in the Catholic faith hasn’t changed since I was last an undergrad in 2018. Amidst a contemporary culture starved of meaning, they seek the perennial wisdom of the Catholic intellectual tradition. They seek the kind of friendship where two or more gaze together at the True and the Good and the Beautiful. Flooded with distractions, they seek the timeless experience of the Catholic Mass, where God Himself is made present in the Holy Eucharist. They will accept no substitutes for a life lived according to God’s eternal intention.

These aspects of our faith, which I deeply yearned for during my time at school, are now more prominent in the Catholic Community at Stanford. I see the beginnings of a profound renewal of Catholic life on campus; I am so optimistic about the direction of the community. As this year comes to a close, let us pray that the Holy Spirit may continue to set Stanford hearts on fire with love for God and neighbor. May others see their joy and follow them to Christ, the source of every blessing and fulfillment of all desire.