"If You Don't Know What to Praise the Lord for, Praise the Lord for Me!"

As a little boy growing up in Festac, I learned to sing a jolly song. It went like this:

I am a miracle, yes - I am a miracle;

I don't know about you, but I'm a miracle.

If you don't know what to praise the Lord for,

Praise the Lord for me!

I used to frisk about, singing it all the time around the house. Skipping up the stairs, going fishing at the pond, walking back from school, or playing in the sand, I would chant, "If you don't know what to praise the Lord for, praise the Lord for me!"

I feel very grateful to be where I am today. It may not seem like much to some people, but when I think of the circumstances that brought me to this moment, I can echo the words of another song:

The waters of a river give joy to God's city

The holy place where the most high dwells

God is for us a refuge and strength

A helper close at hand in time of distress

So we shall not fear though the earth should rock

Though the mountains fall into the depths of the sea

And the waters roar and seethe

Tottering the hills with their heaving

God of Hosts is with us, our citadel is Jacob's God

I can also chant: "When I think of the goodness of Jesus, and all he has done for me, my very soul shall sing alleluia, praise God for saving me!" You guessed it, I am in a happy mood. I am feeling blissful today. It is because I am reflecting on the events of the past year or so. You see, last year was a difficult one for me. I was rounding off my first year in the PhD program at Chicago. I was becoming more and more overwhelmed with its demands as the days went by, and I knew I did not have the stamina or desire to finish it.

What I really wanted to do was train to become a priest, but I did not know where and how. I met and spoke with many vocations directors around Chicago, but none of them seemed willing to work with me. When I completed the year at graduate school on May 15, 2012 and my funding - which I lived on - expired, and I still had not found a seminary to join, I was fearful. Being on student visa, I obviously could not work, and without the funding coming from the PhD program, I could no longer afford to pay rent, buy groceries and support myself generally. I was in a tough spot. It seemed that heaven's door itself was closed against me.

The period from May 15 to August 8, 2012 was one of the toughest in my entire life. I found myself back on grocery lines again in Chicago, as I had been in the past when I was sometimes broke in Wichita. I lived solely on charity. I had ponied up the rent for July - almost every last cent I had. I knew I would not be able to afford the rent for August. My landlord knew this as well, and he began sounding the warning - I had to find somewhere else to go. But where? I couldn't go back to Wichita, there was nothing for me there. I couldn't stay in Chicago either. Where was I to go?

I have an uncle who lives in Baltimore. The last time I saw him in person was probably in 1985. But I had heard he wasn't doing too badly. I found his number off the Internet and gave him a call. I asked if I could come and stay with him for a while till I figured out what to do. He did not think it was a good idea. He had recently given up his house owing to a divorce and did not have ample space in his relatively small apartment. Bummer. I called a friend of mine who lives in Baltimore as well. I asked if I could come and hang out with him for a while. He too complained of limited space and resources. I was distraught.

Yet I could not continue to stay in Chicago. The landlord had made it clear. August 8 was to be my last day living under his roof, and as the day drew nearer I panicked. I called Nigeria and spoke to my brother, Chima. Now, this young man has a tough head on his able shoulders and is always a good one to share ideas with. I said to him: "This is what I'm thinking - I know Uncle said he doesn't have space for me in his apartment, but maybe if I simply showed up and he saw my situation with his own eyes, then he would probably reconsider." My brother thought a bit and said, "Well, it seems to me that's all you can do at this point - I mean, what other option do you have?" That being said, I resolved to go to Baltimore.

Everyone I knew in Chicago said: Don't go! I said, "But why?" They said, "Are you crazy? All the people you know in Baltimore have already told you not to come!" I replied, "But I can't stay in Chicago either - so what am I supposed to do?" To that they did not have an answer. And neither did I. I had to go to Baltimore, even though I did not know what would become of me there. I called an old friend of mine that lives in Houston. I asked him for money with which to buy a Greyhound bus ticket from Chicago to Downtown Baltimore, a place I had never been to before; a place I wasn't sure I was supposed to travel to. This old friend said to me: "So I guess you're proceeding with this crazy idea of yours to go to Baltimore, even though your uncle and our mutual friend that lives there have both told you not to come!" I said to him, "I have no choice. Please help me."

He sighed, and then went online to the Greyhound website, and bought the ticket himself, then emailed the particulars and itinerary to me. I thanked him very much. He said no problem. Ticket once bought, there was no going back. I would be going to Baltimore. I began to gather my belongings together. It was emotional for me. I had lived in Chicago for a year and had enjoyed every moment of it. I had been a PhD student in Communication, having obtained the Master's from Wichita State University. I had been teaching Public Speaking as a Graduate Assistant, and it was in this manner I had supported myself financially. But it was all over. I had to move.

I washed the bathroom, swept the bedroom and readied myself to relocate. It was August 7. My bus was slated to leave Chicago the following morning. I knelt down at my bedside and prayed. I said, "O God, it was you who brought me this far. I don't believe you led me on just to forsake me. I have no one but you. You are my father and my mother. You alone know what I'm passing through. Please help me." And as I prayed, I shed a tear or two. My heart was very heavy. I got up from my kneeling position and looked out the window. I was leaving my beloved Chicago. I blew a kiss outside. I said in a whisper, "I love you, Chicago. I will miss you."

When I woke up the following morning, August 8, the first thing I saw were my bags all packed up from the previous day. I remembered at once what lay ahead. My heart sank, but there was no going back now. I had to go through with it. I sauntered to the bathroom, and brushed my teeth, washed my face and returned to the bedroom to say a prayer. Then I unmade the bed, collected the sheets for laundry and went to take a shower. Next, I had breakfast and packed up any last of my belongings. I didn't want to leave anything behind. Then, I gathered my baggage and walked out the door. I was resolute. I was going for the first time to Baltimore.

Baltimore is the largest city in the state of Maryland. It is cosmopolitan, and very diverse. Black, White, Hispanic and other populations cohabit together. There are many industries in the city, and its socioeconomic portfolio is large. Like Chicago, it is fast-paced and impersonal. One needs a sharp head on brawny shoulders to make it here. I had read a little about the city online, thanks to Wikipedia, and had made a couple calls to prospective landlords. None of the calls had yielded any fruit. Most landlords in Baltimore wanted a minimum of a six-month commitment, and definite proof of employment. Everything sounded very legalistic, and scary. To say the least, I felt very insecure indeed.

Just before the Greyhound bus I boarded departed Chicago, I called my uncle, the one who lives in Baltimore. I got his voicemail. I left him a message saying I was headed there finally, and would be very grateful if he could send a cousin of mine that lived with him to fetch me from the bus station when I arrived at such and such a time. Then I lay back in my seat and rode the bus all the way from Chicago to Baltimore. It was a very long ride, about ten or so hours. We passed city after city, town after town, and I sat there in the bus, through it all. My buttocks hurt terribly from having to sit for so long. O dear God, when were we ever going to reach our destination! Phew!

And then we reached the Greyhound bus station in Downtown Baltimore. At last. I immediately rang my uncle again - no answer. Rang a cousin of mine that lived with him - no answer. Rang the friend of mine that lived there - no answer. O goody - I was on my own. I searched my pockets; it seemed all I had in the world were the few bags of personal effects, and eighty dollars. I gathered my luggage about me and hailed a cab. I told the cab driver to take me to the cheapest motel in the area. He said I was to pay ten bucks. Ten bucks! Are you sure? He said he was quite certain. "Very well then," I said, "I will pay you exactly ten dollars. Let's just get out of here." We did, and he took me to the cheapest motel in the area. Believe me, the word "cheap" fit the motel he took me to perfectly. But cheap for Baltimore standards was forty bucks a night. I paid. I had to. The cashier at the front desk grasped the money in her hand, and it seemed as if she relished it. Then she had me fill out some forms, tender means of identification, and gave me my room key.

The room was typical for a cheap motel. Nothing fancy by any standard, but I could care less about the room. What was I going to do, for Pete's sake! By the next day I would probably be living in a gutter somewhere. I called my uncle again. No answer. Called the cousin of mine that lived with him. No answer. Called my friend. No answer. Then I called another friend, who lived in faraway Portland, Oregon. He picked up. I smirked. Of course he'd be the one to pick up; the one who could do nothing to help me would be the one to answer my phone call. Oh well. "Hello?" "Hello, Samuel. How far? Have you reached Baltimore?" I had told him I would be going to Baltimore and he like everyone else had told me not to go, but to find a way to stay in Chicago, even if there clearly was no way. "Yes-oh, I have reached Baltimore." "And how far with your uncle? Any hope?" "No hope, it seems-oh." "You see, I told you not to go. You know Samuel, you never listen. I told you over and over again-" I cut him short, complaining of an insect about to sting me. "Bye." Phew - what a relief. I hated hearing the dreaded "I told you so." Awful. Just awful.

I sat on my bed in that motel room and felt the world had eventually come to an end. The Protestants and Pentecostals had been warning us of it for a long time now. They had repeatedly said the world would come to an end, that there would be an Armageddon, a period of great distress when the devil and his cohorts would claim for their own those left on earth, who had not been fortunate enough to levitate to the sky at the angels' trumpeting. These earthlings would, like me, be stranded in motel rooms with nowhere to turn: hungry, abandoned, lonely and sad. They would then be forced to bear the mark of the anti-Christ, the one whose number is 666. Wait a minute: I shook my head - what was I doing! Phew! But seriously, I was very sad. Very sad indeed.  I began to think, to really reflect.

Let's go down memory lane a bit. You see, sometime in 1999, I had applied and been admitted to the National Missionary Seminary of St Paul, Iperu. Right about that time, another missionary society had come from Baltimore to set up house in the same compound there. The priest who was sent from Baltimore to manage the House was a very kind man and, being part of the formation team at the seminary, was my spiritual director for the year I stayed there. I left in 2000, but he stayed on in Nigeria for four more years, leaving eventually in 2004 to return to Baltimore. In the meantime I had gone back to get a college degree and continue with life in the secular world. It was 2012 now as I sat in the motel room going down memory lane and remembering this kind priest, and I had not seen him in twelve years.

There is a phenomenal thing called the Internet, created and entrusted to humanity by outstandingly smart scientists. I went on there and searched the priest out. As fate would have it, in the period from 2004 when he left Nigeria and 2012 when I found him on the Internet, he had become the Superior of the entire missionary society, the same one that had sent him in 1999 to build a house of formation in Nigeria, where I first met him. I called the number listed on the webpage. It rang. My heart beat synchronously with the ringing. Then a lady's voice came on the line, the secretary's. I told her who it was I wanted to speak to after we had exchanged pleasantries, and she transferred me to the priest. I brought him up to speed: I was his old spiritual directee back in Nigeria; I had lived a bit in Wichita and in Chicago. I was currently in Baltimore and since he lived right there, could I come and see him? "But of course, Samuel. Come and see me." Just like that. Amazing.

I coughed up all the money I had left in the world - probably 15 or so dollars at this point - and hailed a cab that took me to the address I had found on the website. When I got to my destination, I was impressed. I was standing in front of the Motherhouse of the entire society, of which my priest benefactor was Superior. I rang the bell and was ushered in. He hadn't changed since when I knew him! We locked briefly in friendly embrace, both of us smiling from ear to ear like Cheshire cats. "Wow - Samuel! How have you been!" How had I been? A tricky question. I told him everything, everything I had been through; everything I was still passing through. And then I insisted I wanted to be a priest. He joked, "Are you sure you don't have a wife and children tucked away somewhere?" I laughed and in a similarly light-hearted manner said, "Ah, you've found me out, father!" He laughed. "What would you like to drink?" "Just water would be fine." He went to fetch the water. I looked around his room - impressive.

"So tell me why you want to be a priest." Was this an interview or something? Usually, the process of application to a seminary was like this: Imagine you wanted to enter formation say, in August 2014. You would apply as early as September 2013 - it was a year-long process - and wait for a reply. Sometime after your initial application you would be called for a come-and-see weekend, often in October. After a 3-day mingling with other prospects and the Holy Spirit, you would be asked to write a report as well as an autobiography, telling how the Holy Spirit was tugging at your heart and whispering in your ear that somehow you were destined to be a priest. Then the vocations director of the seminary would put you in touch with a spiritual director for many months, who would walk with you along your faith journey. The next stage would be an invitation to make a formal application. For an initial application made in September 2013, this formal application could be arranged for February 2014. Following that, there would be three sets of interviews, in addition to a medical check-up and a psychological evaluation. You would collect many references; do a criminal background check, multiple finger-printings, and sign consent waivers. Being admitted to the seminary is one of the most involved processes in the history of humanity. Believe me, I know.

"So why do you want to be a priest?" Perhaps it was an interview after all. "I want to serve people. I want to be the one to show charity to the needy. I want to pray for the world." "Well then, it seems you have the right intentions." Do I? I mean, I kind of need a place to live, and my uncle won't return my calls; plus I have no prospects and I'm pretty much stranded - but I didn't say this. I simply said, "Yes, definitely the right intentions, father." "Good. Where are you staying?" "At a cheap motel nearby." "No, you can't do that. I'll tell the Vicar to take you to bring your things over. You're going to stay with us for tonight, and then tomorrow I'll take you to the seminary in DC." Oh no, he didn't! He did not just say this - are you freaking kidding me! What! Wait a minute - what! Amazing. I had never heard of anything like this in the history of the world - was I being punked? Ashton Kutcher, where are you hiding? Where are the cameras at?

On the drive to fetch my things, the Vicar gave me a crash course in the history and mission of the society. He also told me about the seminary I would begin attending the next day. All I could think about was whether the people at the motel would give me my money back. I smiled and nodded periodically to the Vicar, even as I crossed my fingers and silently prayed: Please God, let them give me my money back at the motel. They did - they actually gave me my money back, after I had asked nicely. Apparently then, the world was not coming to an end. Things were beginning to turn around. I hauled all my things out of the room and into the car, and we drove back to the Motherhouse. It was just about time for evening prayer when we arrived. We filed into the chapel and prayed the breviary. Then we went to the refectory for dinner. After dinner, they gave me a room and I slept peacefully in it for the first time in a couple of days.

Early the next morning, the Vicar came to my room and said the Superior was waiting downstairs to take me to the seminary. I hurriedly got ready and rushed downstairs to meet my priest benefactor. "Oh, morning Samuel - how did you sleep?" "Oh, very well thank you, father." "Set to go to DC?" "Yes father, thank you." We hopped into his car and drove for about an hour and a half from Baltimore to Washington DC. As we drove, we talked about the old days, about Iperu and Nigeria, and Africa. We talked and talked and talked, and we drove on till we reached the seminary. "Well, here we are, Samuel! Leave your things in the car; one of the seminarians will fetch them." With pleasure I obeyed. A couple brothers came, carried my luggage and brought everything I owned in the world to one of the dorm rooms upstairs. And I and my priest benefactor marched into the Rector's office.

"Do you have a copy of your transcript from Wichita State?" "Yes, I do." "Give it here. Ah, you actually graduated!" I laughed. I loved the rector immediately. "Well, we're going to enroll you at Catholic University. I think classes start in a couple of weeks." I nearly fainted. Perhaps I did actually faint and then wake up again - I really don't remember. I had thought the best case scenario was that I would be asked to wait the fall semester out, and begin in January. Rather, I was starting Pre-theology on August 20 at Catholic University, barely 10 days later. I was completely stunned. It was clearly and undeniably a miracle.

The enrollment process was smooth, and come August 20 I did resume classes: philosophy, Latin and scripture. And I have lived in the dorms since then. On August 10 this year, it will be exactly one year since I began to live here. I love my dorm room. I love the food - yum! I love my school - oh, how I love Catholic University! My professors are crazy smart and talented, and my seminarian classmates are funny. I love the seminary life, and the prospect of someday serving God as a priest. I feel very grateful to be here - now, don't worry: I eventually completed all those requirements, you know - the medical and psychological evaluations, the criminal background check; the finger-printings; the Virtus Seminar; the collection of many references - I did everything, while taking classes daily at Catholic University. I can't wait for second year to begin on August 26 - I'll be starting Spanish this year. Awesome.

But more seriously, I am full of gratitude. God clearly worked a miracle with me. Of this I am sure. He let me exhaust my options. He brought me right to the mouth of hell and, when it seemed that there was nowhere else to go, he delivered me. "For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future" (Jer 29:11). Indeed, I chant like the song-writer: "We bless you father, Lord of life, to whom all living beings tend; the source of holiness and grace, our first beginning and our end." So yes, I am a miracle - I really don't know about you, but I am a miracle. And please oh please, if you don't know what to praise the Lord for, then why not praise the Lord for me?