INTRO – Alamo Libre

Brothers,

If you’re here, odds are you’ve felt that itch—that quiet ache of being a Catholic man adrift. Over one billion Catholics in the world, yet so often it feels like I am on an island by myself. Maybe you’ve been caught between the stiff collars of hardcore traditionalists and the laid-back, watered-down vibe of modern parishes. I get it. I’ve been there too. That restless pull, that hunger for something real and deeper, is what sparked Alamo Libre.

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m no saint, no preacher, no knight in shining armor. I’m just a guy—a sinner, a husband, a dad—stumbling along this road with you (a “work-in-progress”). I’ve got my scars, my weaknesses, and plenty I’m still figuring out. Back in my San Antonio days, I was a mess—chasing bars, women, and empty nights that left me hollowed out. Then came Ana, my wife, and our two little ones—a toddler and an infant. They flipped my world upside down, and somewhere in the chaos of diapers and sleepless nights, I started waking up to something bigger.

My dive into traditional Catholicism wasn’t some lightning-bolt moment. It crept up on me—a slow burn fueled by questions and wonder. Holy Mother Church standing tall for 2,000 years, despite us flawed humans running it? The saints who bled for this faith? Fatima’s crowds, the Shroud’s mystery—it all started adding up. Logic met awe, and I couldn’t look away.

So here’s what Alamo Libre is: a campfire. A spot to gather, warm our hands, and find some light in the dark. I’m not here to lead you—I’m here to sit with you. To share what I’m learning, wrestle with the tough stuff, and build a brotherhood of guys who want more than the world’s offering. To eventually stand as knights at the Alamo of our time. This is our ground. We’re works in progress, but we’re in it together.Lately, I’ve been leaning into fasting and prayer—trying to tame the flesh and quiet the noise. David Torkington’s Passport to Perfection has been a guide, but I’m far from perfect. Lent’s been a grind—one meal a day after 6 PM, black coffee as my crutch, aiming for the Templar meat-three-times-a-week rule. Some days, the cravings win. I’m up at 4 AM most mornings, but the daily office, rosary, and contemplative prayer I dream of? Spotty at best. It’s humbling. Keeps me leaning on grace, not grit.

At the heart of this is my motto: Discere, Vivere, Amare—Learn, Live, Love.

Discere (Learn): This faith is deep, brothers. There’s always more—saints like Joseph, who shows me how to be a husband and father as a man should be; the logic of doctrine; the wild history of the Church. I want us to dig in together.

Vivere (Live): It’s not just head stuff. It’s how we move through the day—praying in Latin, wrestling with virtue, even sorting out money with a Catholic lens. Faith has to hit the ground running.

Amare (Love): This is the fire—loving God, loving each other. It’s why we’re here, pushing forward together, picking each other up on this Templar path.

Everything I put out—tweets with a saint’s gut-punch wisdom, a blog on pinching pennies the Catholic way, a YouTube video tracing faith in random brands, or a ramble about the Latin Mass—ties back to those three. And it’s all for one thing: Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini Tuo da gloriam—Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to Your name give glory.

This isn’t about me standing on a soapbox. It’s about us—Gen X, Millennials, Gen Z—guys who know the tug of the world, the blur of modern life, the sting of being alone in this. I’ve felt it. But I’ve also tasted the strength of tradition, the pull of real faith, the brotherhood we’re missing. So let’s build it. Around this campfire, we’ll swap stories, share what works, and keep each other going.

Join me, brothers. Let’s learn, live, and love this faith—together.

Non nobis,

Orlando