Some major life changes don’t happen in packed churches, at grand conferences, or in epic moments with music swelling in the background. Sometimes they happen in a refrigerated warehouse, shifting twelve-kilo crates of milk while someone shouts at you in a language you can barely understand.
It all began when Cabo landed in England, thinking he was going to work in Manchester. But the moment he arrived, the company rang him: “No, don’t go to Manchester, go to Northampton.” He ended up in a “grotty” house, the door opened by “two enormous Romanians, built like tanks, with a machete by the entrance.” And there, amongst Poles, Spaniards, Romanians and Bulgarians working to support their families, he began to notice something uncomfortable: he had received a lot in his life, and he had taken it for granted.
While others were just getting by, struggling to support their families, he was there “for the experience.” That shook him.
After another tough day getting lost in England, I felt God telling me: ‘I am with you.’
The days were gruelling. Missed buses. Impossibly early starts. Trudging through snow-covered parks at six in the morning to get to the factory. But amidst all that chaos, he began to feel something unexpected. “I am with you.” Those words kept coming back to him. Lost in the middle of England, he sensed that God was with him in his exhaustion, cold, and uncertainty.
He returned to Spain a changed man, with a clear conviction: “God has given me so much, and I have to give a lot back.” The inner struggle that followed was more difficult than the physical labour at the factory. He had a girlfriend he loved and he was just beginning his professional life. But he kept hearing that voice, and he felt that God was asking something greater of him: a life of committed celibacy.
He will never forget what happened when he told his girlfriend. “She said that it pained her, but that she was glad for me because I was being brave.” He walked her home and waited until she went in the door. Then he fell apart. “I started crying like a baby in the middle of the street.”
And yet, strangely, alongside the pain came an immense sense of peace.
Today he speaks of celibacy as a way of “loving like Jesus Christ loved:” giving his life for others, supporting young people, listening to and helping them, and “trying to be a light in the middle of the world.”
After all this, he says, “what I know for sure is that giving your life for others is worthwhile.”