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Before I forget&
"There are three things you have to do to be an effective pastor: love God, love the people, and sign the checks." Those were the words of Father Bill when I was assigned Saint John the Baptist as my teaching parish. Oh, by the way, my name is Terry Beeson. I am a first year seminarian at the Saint Paul Seminary. On top of studying theology and other seminary formation, I am to learn the practical aspects of being a pastor through the teaching parish. For the next three and a half years, my journey to the priesthood goes through New Brighton. My wish is to get to know all of you in the parish, and learn from you as you walk with me on my journey. But for me to know you, I must tell you who I am, and how I got to this point.
I am the youngest of seven and grew up in Fargo, North Dakota. Both my parents worked in order that all of us could get a Catholic education growing up. My dad took us to mass every Sunday. My attitude toward going to church changed when I got out of high school. I thought then that my belief in the Lord was good enough and I did not need religion. Besides, going to church wasn't cool. I still loved God and I knew God loved me.
I went to college at Moorhead State. Even though my talent was in mathematics my interest was in broadcasting. I spent most of my time at the college radio station. After freshman year, with poor grades, I decided to move to Minneapolis where I got a job waiting tables at a restaurant by the name of the "The Restaurant." In the fall, I went to Brown Institute to learn radio broadcasting. Ten months later, I graduated with my FCC first class license and my Brown Institute diploma. I finally got my big radio break, a country station in Carrington, North Dakota hired me full time paying $700 a month. The local paper had an article about me, the new jock on KDAK. Both U.S. Senators from North Dakota, Mark Andrews and Quenton Burdick sent me letters of congratulations on my new position. Unfortunately, my bad work habit of reading copy cold showed how bad I sounded on the air. I was fired after six weeks.
With nothing left in Carrington, I moved back in with my parents in Fargo. That was painful to do, since I loved my independence. I got a job working the graveyard shift cleaning up the Elks Club. I didn't want to be in that nowhere job forever. I needed to do something with my life that provided training, job security, and confidence. I enlisted in the United States Army. I went into basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I went to church on Sunday, but my motives were not religious. I did it to get away from the barracks and meet girls.
The drill sergeant said I would not make it in this man's army. For a while, he might have been right. I couldn't march right. I couldn't shoot straight. I was overweight. I could only do ten push-ups. With all my shortcomings, the drill sergeant wanted to discharge me. I told him my life would be ruined if that happened. I looked back to what led me to that point: The restaurant fire leaving me without a job; living in poverty and unable to find work; my failure in my radio career; going nowhere fast in a janitorial job. I couldn't take another set back. I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to be a failure any more. The sergeant said he didn't want to be responsible for ruining a man's life, so he had me redo two weeks of basic with another company. I had to have a never-give-up attitude. Failure was not an option. Eventually, I lost weight, I qualified with my rifle, and I passed the physical training test. I still marched like I was stomping out bugs, but that was O.K.
GET THE REST OF THE STORY IN NEXT WEEK'S BULLETIN...
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