How quickly Christmas arrived this year. It didn't sneak up on me; my eyes were wide open as the days flew by throughout the year. Anticipated events- births, weddings, vacations, milestones- all came and went. And so during these last few weeks, my world became a whirlwind of activity as I took part in Christmas programs, parties, dinners, shopping, quality time with friends...all jam-packed into my end-of-year holiday schedule. But it's been a wonderful month. I have been in such a holiday mood and spirit. I can almost compare this feeling of contentment to what I used to feel during the Christmas holidays as a young girl. You know, that feeling that rests just above the gut, right where a good belly laugh starts.
So while Kevin is out getting a haircut, I am sitting here in front of the computer, writing my last words for 2006. In an hour or so, we'll be driving down to Florida to visit family and add more pleasure to my holiday spirit. Kevin and I shared our own little "Christmas" last night. We laughed and hugged and said "Merry Christmas" and exchanged gifts. There was no sense taking our gifts down with us and have to bring them back. I really felt like a little girl. He had hand-wrapped all of my gifts, each corner lovingly folded, each bow attached just so. I am married to the most wonderful man, and not just because he showered me with gifts last night. He paid attention to all the little details, all the conversations we've had in the last year, to my needs and wants and desires, encouraging me in my hobbies and endeavors, and making them as pleasurable and relaxing as they could be. A heart monitor watch to allow me to get the best of my exercise routines, an FM transmitter so I can listen to TV programs when I run on the treadmill at the gym, wicking shirts to wear when I run outside during the winter months, a footbath to soak my achy feet after a long run, massage oil and sugar scrubs for my hands and legs, a bathrobe so soft I can almost melt into it, a kitty calendar to warm my heart while I work. He pampered me, literally, from head to toe. And he took pleasure and happiness in my delight.
I want the memory of last night to spill into my new year with Kevin. My plan is that we show that much delight in each other in the events we create and take part in, unfolding each one and watching each other's reaction with anticipation and joy. Whatever we encounter during the year and for the rest of our lives, let it be an experience based in trust and love. No matter if the experience is good or bad. It was a most magical night for me, the beginning of the end of Christmas 2006.
I wish you delight this Christmas. Whether experienced firsthand, or from watching your children squeal and laugh, or in the form of a "love squeeze" from a family member or a friend - however you experience delight this Christmas, may you find pleasure and joy in giving.
jueves, diciembre 21, 2006
miércoles, diciembre 13, 2006
I just met a girl named Maria...
Maria. That's the name of the sweet lady who cleans the offices at my company. She arrives every day around 4 in the afternoon, parks the yellow trolley at the bottom of the stairs and goes to the office cluster next to mine to get her little cup of black coffee. Then she comes over to my desk to say hello. She's quite the character. And does she take her job seriously! We all want to be on her good side because this 4-foot-ten, sixty-something merry maid can summon the wrath of the cubicle gnomes if we leave clutter behind. Of course, I'm the only one who can understand her rapid-fire ranting. And so she leaves me with special messages for my management. They need to organize the clutter so she can thoroughly clean their desks and remove all the impurities the dust mites leave behind. She even had me make a sign for her, informing desk occupants everywhere that their areas were going to be sterilized the next day. But alas, no one pays attention. And so she carefully removes piles, taking note of how and where they lay so she can return them to their exact spot. And no one is even aware of how she makes the environment purer, healthier, and easier to work in. Except me. I'm her little link to the world she cleans.
When my family and I moved from New Jersey to Florida, we hit the job market jackpot and got a contract to clean two banks after hours. Woo-hoo, I thought I was going to have my evenings family-free to talk on the phone and watch TV. But no, I too was expected to join the family, pick up a mop and a rag, and pay the bills. I thoroughly disliked having to interrupt my evening homework time to empty ashtrays, vacuum, and clean bathrooms. But my parents took a major cut in pay when we moved south and this contract helped offset some of the bills we as new homeowners were now responsible for. Sometimes I wondered what the lives of these bankers and tellers were like. I learned their names and the faces of their children, and had conversations with them. Some were really dirty and left all sorts of grimy matter behind on their desk and floor. I probably learned more about these people in that year than close friends knew about them.
That's why I respect Maria so much. Not only does she make me laugh, but she is also uncannily perceptive about the characters of those whose trashcans she empties. The environment and clutter we leave behind long after we have departed says a lot about who we really are. And I'm not talking about death here. I'm talking about short departures, like when we leave a room. In the space of a few seconds or minutes, when my words and actions probably still linger- what kind of impression do I leave others with after a meeting or a casual conversation by the copier? Is my life and talk one such that would force the cleaning lady to leave me a note asking me to tidy up my act?
Maria likes me. Not just because I talk to her and ask her how she feels or how her children are. Or because I leave my desk tidy and in good form. I don't know why Maria likes me, but I would really like to know. She brings me "arepas de queso" (Columbian quesadillas) every week and I know she enjoys my company. And she wouldn't hesitate to tell me to clean up my act if I should fall into bad habits. Funny, knowing that she comes by every day, forces me to straighten up and be mindful of what I throw in my trashcan.
When my family and I moved from New Jersey to Florida, we hit the job market jackpot and got a contract to clean two banks after hours. Woo-hoo, I thought I was going to have my evenings family-free to talk on the phone and watch TV. But no, I too was expected to join the family, pick up a mop and a rag, and pay the bills. I thoroughly disliked having to interrupt my evening homework time to empty ashtrays, vacuum, and clean bathrooms. But my parents took a major cut in pay when we moved south and this contract helped offset some of the bills we as new homeowners were now responsible for. Sometimes I wondered what the lives of these bankers and tellers were like. I learned their names and the faces of their children, and had conversations with them. Some were really dirty and left all sorts of grimy matter behind on their desk and floor. I probably learned more about these people in that year than close friends knew about them.
That's why I respect Maria so much. Not only does she make me laugh, but she is also uncannily perceptive about the characters of those whose trashcans she empties. The environment and clutter we leave behind long after we have departed says a lot about who we really are. And I'm not talking about death here. I'm talking about short departures, like when we leave a room. In the space of a few seconds or minutes, when my words and actions probably still linger- what kind of impression do I leave others with after a meeting or a casual conversation by the copier? Is my life and talk one such that would force the cleaning lady to leave me a note asking me to tidy up my act?
Maria likes me. Not just because I talk to her and ask her how she feels or how her children are. Or because I leave my desk tidy and in good form. I don't know why Maria likes me, but I would really like to know. She brings me "arepas de queso" (Columbian quesadillas) every week and I know she enjoys my company. And she wouldn't hesitate to tell me to clean up my act if I should fall into bad habits. Funny, knowing that she comes by every day, forces me to straighten up and be mindful of what I throw in my trashcan.
lunes, noviembre 27, 2006
In Gratitude
Gracias. Thank you. Merci. Grazie. Obrigado. No matter what language I use, the word "thanks" conveys a meaning that is far beyond just a few consonants and vowels. It can be powerful, full of emotion, or a simple polite courtesy. Here in America, we have a whole federal holiday devoted to this action-word. It brings families and friends together for fellowship and a meal. Across the country, people hold hands, share stories, kiss babies and cry over recently and not-so-recently lost loved ones that aren't present to share in a day of thanksgiving. But do we always have to be thankful for something? Can we just be thankful, period? Is thanksgiving something we can experience without attaching it to a moment, a person, and act? I don't know.
Why am I thankful? Prior to my near-death experience last year, was I truly just thankful? My experience with carbon monoxide changed my whole life forever and it has tainted my thanksgiving forever, literally and symbolically. Literally, I am thankful because Thanksgiving Day 2005 I lay in an oxygen chamber, breathing pure oxygen in super gulps, trying to expel the carbon monoxide molecules that had obtrusively attached themselves to the hemoglobin in my red blood cells. Symbolically, I am eternally thankful because I was given a renewed contract on life. Literally, I am thankful because a few days after my accident, I couldn't even run a few miles without feeling like my lungs were going to explode, even after having run 15 miles the week before. And just this past Thursday, on Thanksgiving Day, I broke a personal record and ran the Atlanta Marathon (1/2 marathon course) in 1 hour and 55 minutes. The whole time I ran, I was thinking "At this exact time last year, I was in the hospital!" and here I am, free, running, my powerful lungs intact. My hubby, also having been exposed to CO and in greater danger than me that day, was waiting at the finish line with open arms and the biggest smile on his face. (Also waiting for me at the finish line was my buddy, Arjeany, who got up with us at 4 a.m. to see me off and then stayed up the whole 24 hours that day when we went shopping at midnight!!!) This race was so special to me. Personal record or not, I was celebrating life with every step.
So, because of my experience, I can't just be thankful. I have to be thankful "to" and "for". Thankful to God for giving me life, eternal life that is. Whether my life would have been terminated a year ago or twenty years from now should not matter. I am grateful because I have the knowledge that I am loved and I have been saved by He who shapes my future and holds my past. I am and will always be, eternally grateful.
Why am I thankful? Prior to my near-death experience last year, was I truly just thankful? My experience with carbon monoxide changed my whole life forever and it has tainted my thanksgiving forever, literally and symbolically. Literally, I am thankful because Thanksgiving Day 2005 I lay in an oxygen chamber, breathing pure oxygen in super gulps, trying to expel the carbon monoxide molecules that had obtrusively attached themselves to the hemoglobin in my red blood cells. Symbolically, I am eternally thankful because I was given a renewed contract on life. Literally, I am thankful because a few days after my accident, I couldn't even run a few miles without feeling like my lungs were going to explode, even after having run 15 miles the week before. And just this past Thursday, on Thanksgiving Day, I broke a personal record and ran the Atlanta Marathon (1/2 marathon course) in 1 hour and 55 minutes. The whole time I ran, I was thinking "At this exact time last year, I was in the hospital!" and here I am, free, running, my powerful lungs intact. My hubby, also having been exposed to CO and in greater danger than me that day, was waiting at the finish line with open arms and the biggest smile on his face. (Also waiting for me at the finish line was my buddy, Arjeany, who got up with us at 4 a.m. to see me off and then stayed up the whole 24 hours that day when we went shopping at midnight!!!) This race was so special to me. Personal record or not, I was celebrating life with every step.
So, because of my experience, I can't just be thankful. I have to be thankful "to" and "for". Thankful to God for giving me life, eternal life that is. Whether my life would have been terminated a year ago or twenty years from now should not matter. I am grateful because I have the knowledge that I am loved and I have been saved by He who shapes my future and holds my past. I am and will always be, eternally grateful.
Facing Mediocrity, an addendum
In my last post I shared with you how during my childhood I came to terms with my mediocre vocal talent. Somehow since my last posting, I had "forgotten" about this inability of mine - and I traversed time and memories to that same place 26 years ago where I was an undiscovered star, ripe with talent.
Every year, my friend Sheila and I direct and produce the children's Christmas musical at church. These kids are precious - their eager faces, strong lungs, happy but slightly off-pitch voices penetrate the church walls and fill my heart with Christmas cheer. And every year I record the whole play, acting out the parts and singing all the songs so the children can practice during the week. It's a grand production, and I usually have my friend Yessica help with the acting and singing. Yessica moved to Miami this summer, so Sheila and Alfie came over to help me record the play. The kids love their CD's, and anxiously wait every Christmas for their copy. I usually put a tribute at the end of the recording, babbling stuff about the actors and singers to make the kids laugh and enjoy the "show". This year, I was pressed for time, so I decided to begin the recording process by myself. I grabbed the microphone and was transported in time to an era in my life, of pigtails, bobby socks and Mary Janes. I was a star again! The song was "Silent Night! Holy Night!" - and it was way out of my vocal range. But I gave it my best.
I play a little game with my kitty cat, Lolita. To get her to come to me, I'll whine and cry at a high pitch, to which she'll come running through the house, come straight to my face, concerned and worried that something's wrong. During my rendition of "Silent Night", as I rounded "the yon virgin" and ended the first verse, Lolita comes galloping through the house. She jumped on the computer table, and got right in my face. She had that "Oh no, something's wrong with Mommy" look. She started sniffing my face, and even though I would try to ward her off, her concern would not let me continue the song. It didn't dawn on me right away that my singing sounded like the whiny-crying game that she and I play. After about four attempts at recording, I finally gave up and took Lolita to the room where Kevin was hiding, I mean, hanging out. We laughed about it, and I sheepishly went back to recording, humbled once again, remembering what I had written about a few weeks ago but conveniently forgotten.
I guess I continue to hold on to that dream that I will one day sing and everyone will listen in wonder and awe at my talent. But Lolita reminded me that even after 26 years, the time has not come. I think I'll go and play the piano for a while...
Every year, my friend Sheila and I direct and produce the children's Christmas musical at church. These kids are precious - their eager faces, strong lungs, happy but slightly off-pitch voices penetrate the church walls and fill my heart with Christmas cheer. And every year I record the whole play, acting out the parts and singing all the songs so the children can practice during the week. It's a grand production, and I usually have my friend Yessica help with the acting and singing. Yessica moved to Miami this summer, so Sheila and Alfie came over to help me record the play. The kids love their CD's, and anxiously wait every Christmas for their copy. I usually put a tribute at the end of the recording, babbling stuff about the actors and singers to make the kids laugh and enjoy the "show". This year, I was pressed for time, so I decided to begin the recording process by myself. I grabbed the microphone and was transported in time to an era in my life, of pigtails, bobby socks and Mary Janes. I was a star again! The song was "Silent Night! Holy Night!" - and it was way out of my vocal range. But I gave it my best.
I play a little game with my kitty cat, Lolita. To get her to come to me, I'll whine and cry at a high pitch, to which she'll come running through the house, come straight to my face, concerned and worried that something's wrong. During my rendition of "Silent Night", as I rounded "the yon virgin" and ended the first verse, Lolita comes galloping through the house. She jumped on the computer table, and got right in my face. She had that "Oh no, something's wrong with Mommy" look. She started sniffing my face, and even though I would try to ward her off, her concern would not let me continue the song. It didn't dawn on me right away that my singing sounded like the whiny-crying game that she and I play. After about four attempts at recording, I finally gave up and took Lolita to the room where Kevin was hiding, I mean, hanging out. We laughed about it, and I sheepishly went back to recording, humbled once again, remembering what I had written about a few weeks ago but conveniently forgotten.
I guess I continue to hold on to that dream that I will one day sing and everyone will listen in wonder and awe at my talent. But Lolita reminded me that even after 26 years, the time has not come. I think I'll go and play the piano for a while...
sábado, noviembre 11, 2006
Struggling with Mediocrity
What happens when you mix dreams of grandeur and success with the reality of mediocrity? What's the result? Frustration? Defeat? Deflated-ness?
For as long as I can remember I have always loved music. My dad put that love in my heart. He has a rich, baritone voice, and has great rhythm, an ear for harmony, definitely a born song leader. As a young man searching for purpose in life, he walked by a church and was enraptured by the melodies and chords from the hymns that were being sung. He had the church pianist teach him how to read music so he could improve his talent. When we moved back to NJ from Puerto Rico, one of the promises he made to me to ease the transition of leaving family and friends was piano lessons. I was so excited! He had dreams for me to learn how to play well enough, so I would accompany him at church, playing hymns and songs to praise God. That was to be my ministry in life.
I loved to sing too. That cute little voice we all have as a kid - slightly nasal but that brings so much joy to our families when we boldly burst into song. My dad organized a singing group when we moved back to NJ. For one of the songs they sang during concerts, he had my friends and I join the group and sing with the adult members. I was an alto, and he paired me up with the lead alto. I quickly learned my part, and proudly wore my navy skirt and white blouse. My outfit was complete with bobby socks, Mary Janes, and pigtails. I was ready to begin my singing career! Noelia, the lead alto, told my dad how well I sang and learned my part. I was so proud! I envisioned myself singing solos, playing my piano, captivating audiences. I was enroute to stardom for sure!
Then one day my dad brought home one of those tape recorders that play a cassette on one side and, with a microphone in hand, I could record my voice with the music of the original tape. How exciting - my very own recording studio. I remember pulling out one of my Amy Grant tapes. The song was "El Shaddai" and I belted all of my heart and soul into that song. I was positive I sang better than Amy did - I always did. I remember hitting the rewind button, and sitting in anticipation to hear my stellar voice float magically through the airwaves. I was my dad's daughter after all, music was in my blood and for sure that musical talent had infiltrated my very core. I listened to myself and thought "Oh no! I can't sing!! That sounds horrible!" It was nasal, kind of breathy. There was nothing special or magical, rich or enrapturing about my voice. It was quite ordinary, slightly below ordinary. Mediocre. My little ego deflated, I accepted the fact that this was not my talent. Perhaps it would be best to go downstairs and practice the piano more. With the piano, I could probably cross the line of mediocrity and have more of a chance to do better for myself.
I remember that first feeling of mediocrity so well, when I realized how not special I was. We always feed our children with comments and thoughts about how smart and beautiful, how intelligent and super they are. Then there's that point when we grow up a little and realize that we are not the center of the universe, and there are so many like us, around us, who are just like us, and even better than us!
I have always felt that I have a very special station in life, a purpose that is on the grand scale. I don't think I'm there yet and I keep on hitting bumps in the road that make me face my mediocrity. At work, at play, at home. Constantly I ask God to make me humble, because I also realize that whatever that special purpose is, it's to glorify Him and I need to remove myself from the equation. And so I come face to face with my mediocrity.
For as long as I can remember I have always loved music. My dad put that love in my heart. He has a rich, baritone voice, and has great rhythm, an ear for harmony, definitely a born song leader. As a young man searching for purpose in life, he walked by a church and was enraptured by the melodies and chords from the hymns that were being sung. He had the church pianist teach him how to read music so he could improve his talent. When we moved back to NJ from Puerto Rico, one of the promises he made to me to ease the transition of leaving family and friends was piano lessons. I was so excited! He had dreams for me to learn how to play well enough, so I would accompany him at church, playing hymns and songs to praise God. That was to be my ministry in life.
I loved to sing too. That cute little voice we all have as a kid - slightly nasal but that brings so much joy to our families when we boldly burst into song. My dad organized a singing group when we moved back to NJ. For one of the songs they sang during concerts, he had my friends and I join the group and sing with the adult members. I was an alto, and he paired me up with the lead alto. I quickly learned my part, and proudly wore my navy skirt and white blouse. My outfit was complete with bobby socks, Mary Janes, and pigtails. I was ready to begin my singing career! Noelia, the lead alto, told my dad how well I sang and learned my part. I was so proud! I envisioned myself singing solos, playing my piano, captivating audiences. I was enroute to stardom for sure!
Then one day my dad brought home one of those tape recorders that play a cassette on one side and, with a microphone in hand, I could record my voice with the music of the original tape. How exciting - my very own recording studio. I remember pulling out one of my Amy Grant tapes. The song was "El Shaddai" and I belted all of my heart and soul into that song. I was positive I sang better than Amy did - I always did. I remember hitting the rewind button, and sitting in anticipation to hear my stellar voice float magically through the airwaves. I was my dad's daughter after all, music was in my blood and for sure that musical talent had infiltrated my very core. I listened to myself and thought "Oh no! I can't sing!! That sounds horrible!" It was nasal, kind of breathy. There was nothing special or magical, rich or enrapturing about my voice. It was quite ordinary, slightly below ordinary. Mediocre. My little ego deflated, I accepted the fact that this was not my talent. Perhaps it would be best to go downstairs and practice the piano more. With the piano, I could probably cross the line of mediocrity and have more of a chance to do better for myself.
I remember that first feeling of mediocrity so well, when I realized how not special I was. We always feed our children with comments and thoughts about how smart and beautiful, how intelligent and super they are. Then there's that point when we grow up a little and realize that we are not the center of the universe, and there are so many like us, around us, who are just like us, and even better than us!
I have always felt that I have a very special station in life, a purpose that is on the grand scale. I don't think I'm there yet and I keep on hitting bumps in the road that make me face my mediocrity. At work, at play, at home. Constantly I ask God to make me humble, because I also realize that whatever that special purpose is, it's to glorify Him and I need to remove myself from the equation. And so I come face to face with my mediocrity.
viernes, octubre 27, 2006
Straight to my heart
"Do not look at his appearance or at his physical stature, because I have refused him. For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." 1 Samuel 16:7
There have been countless times over the 3.5+ decades of my life where I have judged someone because of how they looked. I'm ashamed to write this, but it's true. Appearance may share some relevance with how a person acts, and this may contribute to how stereotypes are formed. The beautiful are arrogant; the unattractive have self-esteem issues and are less sure of themselves. Or the opposite may occur; we overcompensate for our insecurities and give the front of being something we're not. How many friendships and heart-moments have I passed up because of my unfair prejudgments?
I remember a boy from my second grade class. He was tall for his age, and had long 70's hair over his shirt collar and bangs over his eyes. Freckles too. He was a quiet boy, reserved, intelligent, never said much and didn't have friends. I know now that he must have had some medical condition that caused his body to expel a particular scent. It wasn't that he didn't groom or bathe; the scent wasn't foul. But it was strong enough to cause a bunch of 8 and 9 year-olds to poke fun and humiliate him. He intrigued me because he never fought back. To me he was a gentle giant. Memories come to mind of having to stand in single file in the hallway and no one wanting to stand next to him. I sometimes wonder what became of him, if the ridicule that he experienced day after day broke him or made him stronger. I wonder if he ever found medical treatment to either mask his scent or eliminate it completely. I regret that I didn't try to make friends with him; I would have learned so much from his patience and humble demeanor.
Aren't we blessed to know that God doesn't put any weight on our physical traits? It's not important to him at all. Throughout the Bible and history after that, He has used the underdog to champion His redemption plan. The unattractive, the outcast, the ones who struggle financially, the unintelligent, the poor in health. And He transforms these individuals to the point where it's so obvious that it's Him working through them. There's no question about it, God worked a miracle and through this person everyone is blessed. He uses beautiful, intelligent, wealthy people too, don't get me wrong. Esther, Nicodemus, Paul all come to mind. But the common factor is that God saw their heart and knew they were malleable. I am so thankful that God doesn't pay attention to my appearance. He goes straight to my heart. And hopefully He sees potential there, enough to say, "I will form her and use her to do great things in My name."
There have been countless times over the 3.5+ decades of my life where I have judged someone because of how they looked. I'm ashamed to write this, but it's true. Appearance may share some relevance with how a person acts, and this may contribute to how stereotypes are formed. The beautiful are arrogant; the unattractive have self-esteem issues and are less sure of themselves. Or the opposite may occur; we overcompensate for our insecurities and give the front of being something we're not. How many friendships and heart-moments have I passed up because of my unfair prejudgments?
I remember a boy from my second grade class. He was tall for his age, and had long 70's hair over his shirt collar and bangs over his eyes. Freckles too. He was a quiet boy, reserved, intelligent, never said much and didn't have friends. I know now that he must have had some medical condition that caused his body to expel a particular scent. It wasn't that he didn't groom or bathe; the scent wasn't foul. But it was strong enough to cause a bunch of 8 and 9 year-olds to poke fun and humiliate him. He intrigued me because he never fought back. To me he was a gentle giant. Memories come to mind of having to stand in single file in the hallway and no one wanting to stand next to him. I sometimes wonder what became of him, if the ridicule that he experienced day after day broke him or made him stronger. I wonder if he ever found medical treatment to either mask his scent or eliminate it completely. I regret that I didn't try to make friends with him; I would have learned so much from his patience and humble demeanor.
Aren't we blessed to know that God doesn't put any weight on our physical traits? It's not important to him at all. Throughout the Bible and history after that, He has used the underdog to champion His redemption plan. The unattractive, the outcast, the ones who struggle financially, the unintelligent, the poor in health. And He transforms these individuals to the point where it's so obvious that it's Him working through them. There's no question about it, God worked a miracle and through this person everyone is blessed. He uses beautiful, intelligent, wealthy people too, don't get me wrong. Esther, Nicodemus, Paul all come to mind. But the common factor is that God saw their heart and knew they were malleable. I am so thankful that God doesn't pay attention to my appearance. He goes straight to my heart. And hopefully He sees potential there, enough to say, "I will form her and use her to do great things in My name."
martes, octubre 24, 2006
Like rain on a tin roof
Rat-tap-tap-tap. That sound evokes the earliest memory from my childhood that I most vividly remember. Most people will associate a smell with a memory, like the aroma of sofrito simmering quietly on Mami's stove. Or the clean scent of her Maja powder that she would dab on her face to dull the oily sheen that was ever-present from the hot Puerto Rican sun. Those are memories for me as well, but not the first one that was etched into the little crevices of my brain. Rat-tap-tap-tap. That's the sound rain makes on a tin roof. Not a submissive pitter-patter. But a persistent tap that just forces me to confront the fact that I might as well deal with it and make the best of the next half hour.
Mami was in her mid-twenties when my dad sent her back to Puerto Rico to go to college. He was going to remain in New Jersey and work to support us so she could fulfill her life dream to finish her education. I was about two-and-a-half and quite the talker and entertainer. We moved in with my uncle and his family, Tío Yoyo, Tía Mimi, and their two children Katy and Noel. My cousins were around my age too so you can imagine the laughter and screams that filled that household as the three of us would get together and play. My grandmother, Abuelita Chon, lived across the driveway in a little wooden house. I remember going to visit her all the time and she would always give me a Malta, my favorite beverage in the whole wide world. To this day, nothing takes away my thirst, after a hot day in the sun, like a nice cold Malta flowing from the long-neck brown bottle down into my long-neck brown throat. Mmm, it makes me thirsty just writing about it! My cousins and I would play hide and seek, only we didn't call it hide and seek because we only spoke Spanish. One of us would say, "Go hide and I'll try to find you." No counting, just waiting, hiding, giggling, squirming. When it rained, that was really the only game we could play. Somehow we always ended up in the back room where my mom and I lived. That's the room that had the tin roof. The rain song always lulled me to sleep. It was like magic. Hiding, I would end up under the bed, or inside the hamper, then in a split second I would find myself on top of the bed, and the rain song would slowly weigh on my eyelashes until I could no longer resist. Surrendered.
When it stormed, the sound was deafening, but not scary. A shrieking excitement would overcome us and we would jump and run, waving our arms in a crazy dance routine. But as the storm would pass, that rat-tap-tap would convince me once again that a nap would be a wonderful idea.
I remember hiking through the creek behind "la finca de Tío Cheo" (Uncle Cheo's farm) with mami and my cousins. I remember fussing because it was hot and I didn't feel like posing for a picture to send to Papi. I was standing on a rock and was wearing my pretty white and red dress. My golden locks were combed and my lips were pursed into a pout, hands on my hips and eyes flashing. Another time, I remember irritating my mom while she was outside hanging freshly washed clothes on the clothesline. She sat me down in time-out, probably wondering how much longer she could stand being away from my dad. I remember sitting there, watching the ants crawling down my legs, crying and yelling at my mom. She didn't realize that I had sat on a nest of red ants and they were feasting on my skin like if it was "caramelitos". Surprisingly I was obedient and didn't get up until she came over and frantically swatted them away. Welts and bites, tears and whimpers. She soothed me with hugs and kisses and made me feel all better. But I still remember those ant bites. Funny how we don't forget.
All those memories. Fun, happy memories. Memories from my childhood. The rat-tap-tap of rain on a tin roof. I had the opportunity to experience that sound once again last Christmas when we went to the Dominican Republic. Mosquito nets, flying insects, hot, humid, happy. As I lay in bed and listened to the raindrops colliding with the metal, I was transported back in time to another island nearby, when a child blissfully closed her eyes and surrendered.
Mami was in her mid-twenties when my dad sent her back to Puerto Rico to go to college. He was going to remain in New Jersey and work to support us so she could fulfill her life dream to finish her education. I was about two-and-a-half and quite the talker and entertainer. We moved in with my uncle and his family, Tío Yoyo, Tía Mimi, and their two children Katy and Noel. My cousins were around my age too so you can imagine the laughter and screams that filled that household as the three of us would get together and play. My grandmother, Abuelita Chon, lived across the driveway in a little wooden house. I remember going to visit her all the time and she would always give me a Malta, my favorite beverage in the whole wide world. To this day, nothing takes away my thirst, after a hot day in the sun, like a nice cold Malta flowing from the long-neck brown bottle down into my long-neck brown throat. Mmm, it makes me thirsty just writing about it! My cousins and I would play hide and seek, only we didn't call it hide and seek because we only spoke Spanish. One of us would say, "Go hide and I'll try to find you." No counting, just waiting, hiding, giggling, squirming. When it rained, that was really the only game we could play. Somehow we always ended up in the back room where my mom and I lived. That's the room that had the tin roof. The rain song always lulled me to sleep. It was like magic. Hiding, I would end up under the bed, or inside the hamper, then in a split second I would find myself on top of the bed, and the rain song would slowly weigh on my eyelashes until I could no longer resist. Surrendered.
When it stormed, the sound was deafening, but not scary. A shrieking excitement would overcome us and we would jump and run, waving our arms in a crazy dance routine. But as the storm would pass, that rat-tap-tap would convince me once again that a nap would be a wonderful idea.
I remember hiking through the creek behind "la finca de Tío Cheo" (Uncle Cheo's farm) with mami and my cousins. I remember fussing because it was hot and I didn't feel like posing for a picture to send to Papi. I was standing on a rock and was wearing my pretty white and red dress. My golden locks were combed and my lips were pursed into a pout, hands on my hips and eyes flashing. Another time, I remember irritating my mom while she was outside hanging freshly washed clothes on the clothesline. She sat me down in time-out, probably wondering how much longer she could stand being away from my dad. I remember sitting there, watching the ants crawling down my legs, crying and yelling at my mom. She didn't realize that I had sat on a nest of red ants and they were feasting on my skin like if it was "caramelitos". Surprisingly I was obedient and didn't get up until she came over and frantically swatted them away. Welts and bites, tears and whimpers. She soothed me with hugs and kisses and made me feel all better. But I still remember those ant bites. Funny how we don't forget.
All those memories. Fun, happy memories. Memories from my childhood. The rat-tap-tap of rain on a tin roof. I had the opportunity to experience that sound once again last Christmas when we went to the Dominican Republic. Mosquito nets, flying insects, hot, humid, happy. As I lay in bed and listened to the raindrops colliding with the metal, I was transported back in time to another island nearby, when a child blissfully closed her eyes and surrendered.
viernes, octubre 20, 2006
The "Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary" Formula
Every now and then on Fridays I read reviews on movies that will be making their debut over the weekend. Not that I'm an avid fan of the cinema or anything like that. I still pride myself on being the only person on this planet who has access to the Internet, cinema, videos, etc. who has not seen "Titanic". But I do enjoy catching the rare and not-occasional film that leaves me pleasantly satisfied - a film worth every minute I spent engrossed in its plot and surrounded by characters I could relate to. I was reading the review for "The Prestige", a movie about two dueling illusionists who start off as friends, under the tutelage of the same man. Their mentor, who actually builds hardware for the illusion industry, reveals the formula he has created that turns a mere trick into a worthwhile experience for the audience. The formula has three components. It starts off with "The Pledge". "I will make a furry bunny with big floppy ears appear from this hat!" The Pledge is the setup, based on the premise that by using ordinary materials something grand will happen. Then comes "The Turn". To me, this is flair in its highest form - the wave of a black satin cape lined with soft, red velvet. A wand as it slices through the air. And then, ta-dah! "The Prestige" - the revealing moment when something ordinary miraculously becomes extraordinary. I like formulas, and with this one I can follow the logic and understand the meaning behind each of its components. So I started rummaging through my mental files to see if this formula held a personal meaning for me. Of course it did. It wouldn't have become a blog post if it didn't!
This formula, which I will take the liberty to call the "Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary" Formula, was really created by God. He used it at Creation. There was no flap of a cape or wave of a wand. He merely spoke, took the ordinary and out came Eden, a wondrous creation that only an Artist with His love and power could ever bring to life. Story after story, event after event, He took humanity's mistakes and heartache and created beauty and purpose. His ultimate sacrifice was the final validation of the formula. Our weak, sinful, powerless souls, with His blood, have been given eternal life. He did it all because of love. Not because He wanted prestige. He's God! He did it because He wanted me there by His side for all eternity. Now I have been given the power to use the formula. But it only works if God is "The Turn" component, the action that creates and breathes life.
This formula, which I will take the liberty to call the "Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary" Formula, was really created by God. He used it at Creation. There was no flap of a cape or wave of a wand. He merely spoke, took the ordinary and out came Eden, a wondrous creation that only an Artist with His love and power could ever bring to life. Story after story, event after event, He took humanity's mistakes and heartache and created beauty and purpose. His ultimate sacrifice was the final validation of the formula. Our weak, sinful, powerless souls, with His blood, have been given eternal life. He did it all because of love. Not because He wanted prestige. He's God! He did it because He wanted me there by His side for all eternity. Now I have been given the power to use the formula. But it only works if God is "The Turn" component, the action that creates and breathes life.
martes, octubre 10, 2006
A gazellion reasons why I run...
Running. As my feet connect with the pavement, my mind soars. It's the only time during the day that I experience true freedom. I treasure this time like no other, even sleep doesn't compare. I love the fact that I always meet a goal at the end of my run. I finished a run! - whether it's only a few miles or the more challenging 10-plus distances, it doesn't matter. I think about so many things when I run. One mile, twelve to go. Why did I eat jalapeños for lunch? Eeew, something's decomposing somewhere around here. Ah, I love the trees in my neighborhood and admire their vertical strength. My running route is full of trees and branches that offer me shade in the summer and beauty in the fall. I'm not your typical runner though. I used to keep track of how fast I could complete a mile. After my little carbon monoxide accident last year, I deeply appreciate the effects running has on my health, and so I take it more in stride (no pun intended!) And I take in the scenery that comes with it. So if I spot the cutest little kitty cat, I stop and pet her. I oooh and aaaah when a bunny rabbit hops across my path. And I giggle when squirrels run in frenzy around me, trying to get away from the sounds of my big, clumsy feet. I even stop and smell the flowers blooming on bushes. I purposely run through the sidewalks of the homes that have the sprinklers turned on. To the little kids who are playing and chalking the sidewalks, I wave and smile. That young man who is mentally retarded and takes his evening strolls around my route, I give him a really big smile because he always greets me with one. I admire the plump men and women who don their athletic attire and with a spring in their step, conquer the Hub City Trail. Way to go! Keep it up! I talk to Jesus when I run too. Not my papi, Jesús, but my Big Daddy Jesus. I tell Him about my day and my struggles. I pray for that girl in the billboard who has cancer. I pray for my family, all of them by name, asking for good health and peace of mind. I pray for friends and their love lives, for comfort when loneliness creeps in, unexpected hugs, kisses, and good food.
Some laugh at my last 10 seconds of a run, when I sprint into my Gazelle Mode. It's become my signature. I picture myself as a gazelle, graceful and fast. Here’s the scenario playing in my head: wheat grass is swaying in the wind, the sun high in the plains. Not a care in the world. No one is chasing her but she leaps and strides with sheer joy. That’s me: arms pumping, legs reaching, heart pounding, cheeks flapping, nostrils flaring. And I run at tremendously high speeds – it feels like 100 mph for sure. And when I come to a complete stop, I thank God. It’s He who has made my run possible. I go down the list of organs that have just contributed to my very successful run – my heart, lungs, brain, spine and all the bones, the muscles and nerves. Though not perfect, they work perfectly together to give me 45 minutes of pleasure and peace.
Running. As my feet connect with the pavement, my heart soars.
Some laugh at my last 10 seconds of a run, when I sprint into my Gazelle Mode. It's become my signature. I picture myself as a gazelle, graceful and fast. Here’s the scenario playing in my head: wheat grass is swaying in the wind, the sun high in the plains. Not a care in the world. No one is chasing her but she leaps and strides with sheer joy. That’s me: arms pumping, legs reaching, heart pounding, cheeks flapping, nostrils flaring. And I run at tremendously high speeds – it feels like 100 mph for sure. And when I come to a complete stop, I thank God. It’s He who has made my run possible. I go down the list of organs that have just contributed to my very successful run – my heart, lungs, brain, spine and all the bones, the muscles and nerves. Though not perfect, they work perfectly together to give me 45 minutes of pleasure and peace.
Running. As my feet connect with the pavement, my heart soars.
domingo, octubre 01, 2006
Murmurs, Whiners, and Big Grapes
One thing that has always amazed me when I read the story of the Hebrew children in the Old Testament is how they just never got it. Time after time, they witnessed such wondrous, miraculous events and still they complained. I was reading today about the story of the 12 spies that went into Canaan to size up what they may be up against when they entered the Promised Land. I could imagine the excitement in those men. Very James Bondesque. Mission Impossible. Alias. No black, tight fitting, flame retardant clothing with cool gadgets to help them escape, though. They had their tunics and sandals and probably a walking stick or a slingshot. They came back with stories about the walls of the cities, how thick and tall they were. Totally unconquerable to a motley crew of tent dwellers. And the size of those grapes they carried back! Two men had to carry the clusters back to camp, on long sticks between them. I imagine they were the size of tomatoes - the beefy ones. The girls and young women were probably hanging on to their every word. The romance of it all! What girl isn't attracted to the danger and excitement of men spying in the night, almost losing their lives, barely escaping danger? And what guy wouldn't embellish their story a little, caught up in the storytelling moment. For once they have the attention of their whole camp and so they add details - the giants are way taller, the city walls are impenetrable - it's a rogue land and we barely escaped! But then the people start feeling helpless and frantic. How in the world are we going to stake our claim in the Promised Land? It's impossible! And it spreads like wildfire. But wait, two of the spies speak up. Look, haven't we witnessed miracle after miracle? God will protect us - He will make this happen because He has promised! Their supplications fall onto deaf ears. It doesn't matter - the crowd has been worked up into a frenzy and they can't see beyond what's in front of them. God could have obliterated them right then and there. Zap. But no, instead He pronounces His judgment. They will wander in the desert for many years. And everyone who was not a child will not enter the Promised Land. Only Caleb and Joshua, and their families.
Something struck me when I was reading this. Caleb and Joshua also felt the repercussions of the punishment. They also had to wander for many years. But did they complain and whine about their fate? No. The people did. Loudly. They murmured and complained even more. They weren't truly sorry for what they had done - that they had doubted God's protection and Word. You know, had they been truly sorry, God wouldn't have executed the punishment. He would have taken it back. He did that with Nineveh. That city was supposed to have been totally destroyed. But the Nineviahns (I made that name up) sincerely, heart-wrenchingly asked for forgiveness and changed their ways. And God spared them because of it. The Hebrew children were more worried about their punishment than what caused them to receive the punishment in the first place. And so the sentence was carried out. Forty long, dusty years going round and round and round.
Wow. As I look back at my mistakes and sins, have I sincerely and humbly asked for forgiveness? And when I'm sorry, do I accept the results of my actions with a humble heart or do I kick and scream and blame my Friend for what I've done to myself? I'm no better than the Hebrew children, but at least I have their stories to read and apply and learn.
Something struck me when I was reading this. Caleb and Joshua also felt the repercussions of the punishment. They also had to wander for many years. But did they complain and whine about their fate? No. The people did. Loudly. They murmured and complained even more. They weren't truly sorry for what they had done - that they had doubted God's protection and Word. You know, had they been truly sorry, God wouldn't have executed the punishment. He would have taken it back. He did that with Nineveh. That city was supposed to have been totally destroyed. But the Nineviahns (I made that name up) sincerely, heart-wrenchingly asked for forgiveness and changed their ways. And God spared them because of it. The Hebrew children were more worried about their punishment than what caused them to receive the punishment in the first place. And so the sentence was carried out. Forty long, dusty years going round and round and round.
Wow. As I look back at my mistakes and sins, have I sincerely and humbly asked for forgiveness? And when I'm sorry, do I accept the results of my actions with a humble heart or do I kick and scream and blame my Friend for what I've done to myself? I'm no better than the Hebrew children, but at least I have their stories to read and apply and learn.
viernes, septiembre 22, 2006
The Coat Giver
I have been recharging. My batteries are still low - but I feel the spiritual energy kicking in. It's great. I have been studying the subject of righteousness and judgment. Yeah, it's pretty heavy for my first week. But I like to jump straight to that which will stick to my ribs and not merely tease my palate. As a way to summarize and illustrate in my own words what I have learned, I wrote a poem. It doesn't rhyme. My poems stopped rhyming after high school. But it's my poem - the first one I've written in like 15 years, and I want to share it with you. Here it is...
The Coat Giver
Naked and exposed, I stand before the throne.
I think, "I don't deserve this,
Nothing I do will make my sin go away."
And I'm right.
So undeserving.
My selfish heart, my prideful spirit, the anger and hunger...
I'm so ashamed.
And as I stand before Him,
His eyes pierce through my soul.
He smiles and brings me a coat, tailored just for me.
"Put this on" He says.
"It will keep you warm and safe."
"She doesn't deserve it!" my accuser screams.
I hang my head, defeated.
I agree.
"Look at her, look at what she's done!
She has done nothing to deserve this,
And everything that goes against who You are."
"You're right," my kind Benefactor states, so matter-of-factly.
"But look at what I have done.
My sacrifice carries her to eternal life."
So, tenderly, cautiously, trembling, I put the coat on.
His righteousness covers me and I am so grateful.
I must tell others.
The pride turns to humility.
I hunger to share.
Selfishness disappears and in enters giving.
I choose to wear my coat today.
As I slip it on, I say a prayer,
A prayer of thanksgiving.
And I look forward to today.
How through my actions can I represent the Coat Giver?
He whose name is on the label-
The Designer and Tailor?
How can I model the coat He's given me
Through the runway called life?
I can hardly wait to get started.
Hey, let me tell you about the Coat Giver...
The Coat Giver
Naked and exposed, I stand before the throne.
I think, "I don't deserve this,
Nothing I do will make my sin go away."
And I'm right.
So undeserving.
My selfish heart, my prideful spirit, the anger and hunger...
I'm so ashamed.
And as I stand before Him,
His eyes pierce through my soul.
He smiles and brings me a coat, tailored just for me.
"Put this on" He says.
"It will keep you warm and safe."
"She doesn't deserve it!" my accuser screams.
I hang my head, defeated.
I agree.
"Look at her, look at what she's done!
She has done nothing to deserve this,
And everything that goes against who You are."
"You're right," my kind Benefactor states, so matter-of-factly.
"But look at what I have done.
My sacrifice carries her to eternal life."
So, tenderly, cautiously, trembling, I put the coat on.
His righteousness covers me and I am so grateful.
I must tell others.
The pride turns to humility.
I hunger to share.
Selfishness disappears and in enters giving.
I choose to wear my coat today.
As I slip it on, I say a prayer,
A prayer of thanksgiving.
And I look forward to today.
How through my actions can I represent the Coat Giver?
He whose name is on the label-
The Designer and Tailor?
How can I model the coat He's given me
Through the runway called life?
I can hardly wait to get started.
Hey, let me tell you about the Coat Giver...
lunes, septiembre 18, 2006
Recharged, how I love to proclaim it!
Story Part I - I was heading into town, meeting my friends Tracy and Arjean to go to the Greek Festival Sunday afternoon. I had just gotten out from my church piano job, and as usual, was running a little late. But I had the hindsight to bring the cell phone. Yes, as most of you know, Kevin and I bit the bullet and joined the 21st century last month - we got a cell phone. So I turn on the phone to call Tracy and tell her that I'm on my way. The phone dies on me!! The battery was totally dead. I mutter under my breath, having a cell phone is not really convenient when I forget to charge it. What's the use - I'm in the same boat I was a couple of months ago - running late and nobody knows why because I don't have a cell phone!
Story Part II - It's still Sunday. The Greek Festival was fun - food was as yummy as I remember it from last year. And the pastries are in my kitchen waiting on me to finish my run. I was happily trotting away on my long run - 9 miles. I'm half way through my run when my iPod dies on me. That's two electronic thingies that have died on me. Again, I had forgotten to recharge it after my last run. So I have the remainder of my route, 4.5 miles to be exact, to entertain myself with my thoughts. This could be dangerous. But this time I turned my thoughts upward. I started thinking about these two gadgets and how it's my responsibility when I use them, to make sure they have enough life to get me through the day's activities. And wow, how true is that when I make the same comparison to my life. If I don't "charge" myself, how am I expected to get through the day's activities with a positive attitude? And what about when I run into those major road blocks and I don't have enough juice to even assess the situation? That was twice in one day that a gadget died on me - I think God wanted me to make that connection and learn from those two simple experiences. I need to recharge myself every day - spending time with Him in study and prayer so I can face life, well equipped and healthy.
I want there to be a Story Part III. But I need to learn from parts I and II. And I'm going to make myself accountable to the world. This is it. I'm writing it down for all to read. (All five of you that read my blog!) I have a slot of about 45 minutes from when I get home from work and when Kevin gets home. I hereby dedicate that time to spend in prayer and study. That's going to be me, plugged into an outlet, recharging myself in God. I will start tomorrow. And I will let you know how I do with this during this first week. Hold me accountable, okay? Write me back periodically and ask me how I'm doing. I'm not a morning person, so reading in the morning doesn't work. Tried it. Studying at night makes me sleepy. But studying in the late afternoon would be a great start until I'm so immersed that it will spill over into the night and morning. Pray for me as I begin my new journey. I need to be recharged!
Story Part II - It's still Sunday. The Greek Festival was fun - food was as yummy as I remember it from last year. And the pastries are in my kitchen waiting on me to finish my run. I was happily trotting away on my long run - 9 miles. I'm half way through my run when my iPod dies on me. That's two electronic thingies that have died on me. Again, I had forgotten to recharge it after my last run. So I have the remainder of my route, 4.5 miles to be exact, to entertain myself with my thoughts. This could be dangerous. But this time I turned my thoughts upward. I started thinking about these two gadgets and how it's my responsibility when I use them, to make sure they have enough life to get me through the day's activities. And wow, how true is that when I make the same comparison to my life. If I don't "charge" myself, how am I expected to get through the day's activities with a positive attitude? And what about when I run into those major road blocks and I don't have enough juice to even assess the situation? That was twice in one day that a gadget died on me - I think God wanted me to make that connection and learn from those two simple experiences. I need to recharge myself every day - spending time with Him in study and prayer so I can face life, well equipped and healthy.
I want there to be a Story Part III. But I need to learn from parts I and II. And I'm going to make myself accountable to the world. This is it. I'm writing it down for all to read. (All five of you that read my blog!) I have a slot of about 45 minutes from when I get home from work and when Kevin gets home. I hereby dedicate that time to spend in prayer and study. That's going to be me, plugged into an outlet, recharging myself in God. I will start tomorrow. And I will let you know how I do with this during this first week. Hold me accountable, okay? Write me back periodically and ask me how I'm doing. I'm not a morning person, so reading in the morning doesn't work. Tried it. Studying at night makes me sleepy. But studying in the late afternoon would be a great start until I'm so immersed that it will spill over into the night and morning. Pray for me as I begin my new journey. I need to be recharged!
jueves, septiembre 14, 2006
The Inevitable, Most-Dependable World of Change
How many times have you heard the expression, "Change, it's inevitable"? Is it true, though? Is the word "inevitable" part of the definition of the word "change"? When I think of change, I do so in the context of regularity, routine. I have a routine, something I do either in the same way or at the same time every time, and then WHAM! the monkey wrench rears its head and in barges Mr. Change. Can routine stay forever? Or will there always be change? I think there will always be change. I think change has always been around. We change from the moment we're conceived all the way past the moment we die. Our bodies are constantly changing. So it is inevitable. Is God a God of Change? I see Him promote change. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." Gen 1:1 And then He created light. And then He separated the water from the sky. And then dry land... Day after day, He created and changed, and added. But His word says that He does not change. “For I am the LORD, I do not change..." (Malachi 3:6) I am glad for that. He encourages me to change, to grow, to be Christ-like. To be like Him is the ultimate goal for me, and it's important for me that He doesn't change. So as long as I'm still this sinful, immature and selfish human, and I strive to be like my Jesus, change is inevitable.
So why this philosophical discussion on change? Well, maybe this post is not as philosophical as I would think, but more a platform to voice the ramblings in my head. I've been challenged with change this week. It's not comfortable right now. But like someone told me today, my goal is to be Christ-like, at work and in my personal life. I totally believe God is in control of my life. And the changes that occur, the opportunities that come my way must be viewed in the context of what God wants for me. If today's change will make me stronger to face tomorrow, then by all means, bring it on!
So why this philosophical discussion on change? Well, maybe this post is not as philosophical as I would think, but more a platform to voice the ramblings in my head. I've been challenged with change this week. It's not comfortable right now. But like someone told me today, my goal is to be Christ-like, at work and in my personal life. I totally believe God is in control of my life. And the changes that occur, the opportunities that come my way must be viewed in the context of what God wants for me. If today's change will make me stronger to face tomorrow, then by all means, bring it on!
martes, septiembre 12, 2006
Mi Tributo
September 11, 2001 took the lives of many loved ones. People we knew, people we might have known had they lived. We all felt the impact, the force of destruction and death, as it left us vulnerable and feeling so very mortal. There are two people I would like pay tribute to, on this somber five-year anniversary. One, a childhood friend. The other, the daughter of someone I was close to during those years when I was trying to make my way into the professional career-world.
The Mother and Daughter.
Mary Wainio had an easy, ready laugh. She had that sparkle in her eye that told you she was up to something. Whether it was bringing her famous brownies or chocolate cake to the office, or making me a pot of her famous Baltimore spaghetti, she loved life and those around her knew it. I met Mary when she moved down from Baltimore to Atlanta to work at the office of a group of research hematology-oncology doctors. I worked there too and we became fast friends. She always talked proudly about her kids, Tom and Beth. And she quickly made me into her surrogate Atlanta-daughter. I'm not one to pass up a surrogate mom, and we hit it off. During that awkward 6-week period between apartments and the wedding, Mary opened up her home to me, for free, and it was great to come home to her and her two sweet kitties. Mary too found love and was married to Jay soon after. Tom and Beth couldn't make the ceremony at the courthouse, so her Atlanta kids stepped in - Kevin and me. She later had a small, joyful reception and I had the privilege of meeting her children - I felt like I knew them so well. Honor Elizabeth Wainio had an easy smile, like her mother, that lit up her eyes. She had gone to college in Baltimore and I learned later was working for the Discovery Channel stores as a district manager in New Jersey. Beth did very well for herself and Mary was so proud of her. She had the opportunity to take a dream trip to Europe for two weeks to visit friends in Paris and Italy. She had just returned from this trip and was heading to San Francisco for a business trip. At the last minute, she decided to change her flight to take a direct flight to San Francisco, a decision that changed our lives forever. You see, she was on Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania. Her mom has lost that sparkle in her eyes. She lost it on that fateful day on September 11, 2001, when she said farewell to her daughter.
The Childhood Friend
He was a sweet boy, with the cutest freckles across his nose. I had just arrived from Puerto Rico to Perth Amboy, NJ and was so happy to see other fellow Boricuas in the classroom with me. Richie was in my classes from 2nd grade until high school. He was always friendly and caring, and an awesome drummer! I lost touch with him during high school when he went on to vocational-technical high school and then I later moved to Florida. Traumatized about what happened on September 11th, a few weeks later I was scouring the pages that listed the names of victims from the World Trade Center. I came across Richie's name and his picture and my heart stopped. I couldn't believe it was him. I quickly emailed old friends from NJ- Elias, Nanette, Migdalia to verify what I was reading. Yes, it was Richard. Though I hadn't seen him in over 16 years, my memories took me back to my second grade classroom and a sweet boy who befriended a non-english speaking girl in pigtails. I learned from the memorials written about Richard that he worked for the New Jersey - New York Port Authority. That he had turned into quite a worker for the community, working for the volunteer fire department and emergency squad, and as an instructor at the police academy. I was listening to NPR one afternoon in October 2001, when the commentators were interviewing police officers who were at the World Trade Center and had survived. One of the police officers was talking about those last minutes before the towers fell, and he mentioned the officers who were with him. He mentioned that Richard was behind him, as well as a few others. And it all came home to me that day, me sitting so comfortably and safe in my car, listening to the radio. At that moment I grieved for Richard and his family. And I gave thanks for his unselfish sacrifice.
The Mother and Daughter.Mary Wainio had an easy, ready laugh. She had that sparkle in her eye that told you she was up to something. Whether it was bringing her famous brownies or chocolate cake to the office, or making me a pot of her famous Baltimore spaghetti, she loved life and those around her knew it. I met Mary when she moved down from Baltimore to Atlanta to work at the office of a group of research hematology-oncology doctors. I worked there too and we became fast friends. She always talked proudly about her kids, Tom and Beth. And she quickly made me into her surrogate Atlanta-daughter. I'm not one to pass up a surrogate mom, and we hit it off. During that awkward 6-week period between apartments and the wedding, Mary opened up her home to me, for free, and it was great to come home to her and her two sweet kitties. Mary too found love and was married to Jay soon after. Tom and Beth couldn't make the ceremony at the courthouse, so her Atlanta kids stepped in - Kevin and me. She later had a small, joyful reception and I had the privilege of meeting her children - I felt like I knew them so well. Honor Elizabeth Wainio had an easy smile, like her mother, that lit up her eyes. She had gone to college in Baltimore and I learned later was working for the Discovery Channel stores as a district manager in New Jersey. Beth did very well for herself and Mary was so proud of her. She had the opportunity to take a dream trip to Europe for two weeks to visit friends in Paris and Italy. She had just returned from this trip and was heading to San Francisco for a business trip. At the last minute, she decided to change her flight to take a direct flight to San Francisco, a decision that changed our lives forever. You see, she was on Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania. Her mom has lost that sparkle in her eyes. She lost it on that fateful day on September 11, 2001, when she said farewell to her daughter.
The Childhood FriendHe was a sweet boy, with the cutest freckles across his nose. I had just arrived from Puerto Rico to Perth Amboy, NJ and was so happy to see other fellow Boricuas in the classroom with me. Richie was in my classes from 2nd grade until high school. He was always friendly and caring, and an awesome drummer! I lost touch with him during high school when he went on to vocational-technical high school and then I later moved to Florida. Traumatized about what happened on September 11th, a few weeks later I was scouring the pages that listed the names of victims from the World Trade Center. I came across Richie's name and his picture and my heart stopped. I couldn't believe it was him. I quickly emailed old friends from NJ- Elias, Nanette, Migdalia to verify what I was reading. Yes, it was Richard. Though I hadn't seen him in over 16 years, my memories took me back to my second grade classroom and a sweet boy who befriended a non-english speaking girl in pigtails. I learned from the memorials written about Richard that he worked for the New Jersey - New York Port Authority. That he had turned into quite a worker for the community, working for the volunteer fire department and emergency squad, and as an instructor at the police academy. I was listening to NPR one afternoon in October 2001, when the commentators were interviewing police officers who were at the World Trade Center and had survived. One of the police officers was talking about those last minutes before the towers fell, and he mentioned the officers who were with him. He mentioned that Richard was behind him, as well as a few others. And it all came home to me that day, me sitting so comfortably and safe in my car, listening to the radio. At that moment I grieved for Richard and his family. And I gave thanks for his unselfish sacrifice.
martes, agosto 29, 2006
I'm Going Back to Cali...
Remember that song? "Hmmm, I don't think so!" I promised some friends I would post some pictures of my trip to California last month. It was a great trip - we flew in to San Diego, took the train to LA, rented a car and drove up the Pacific Coastal Highway all the way to San Francisco. We made a couple of stops along the way, in Santa Barbara, Monterrey (CA, not Mexico!), and San Luis Obispo. We did the typical touristy stuff - San Diego Zoo, Gaslamp Quarter, Rodeo Drive, Walk of Fame, Fisherman's Wharf, Pier 39, Ashbury & Haights, rode the trolleys - I had a large time... And of course the gastronomy of it all - Italian, Persian, Indian, Mexican cuisine. We went to the cutest little muffin shop in LA and I had the yummiest muffin (and the largest/most expensive muffin I've ever had!) And we shopped - we hit Santee Alley in the fashion district in LA, Rodeo Drive, a 6-story Macy's and H&M in San Francisco. All that shopping was a bit overwhelming though - I have never felt so shopped out, but I hit rock bottom in SF. Driving up the coast was by far my favorite activity - the curvy roads, mountains on one side, the ocean on the other... the fog! :) And my favorite city? San Francisco!! I loved it there. Those streets, the restaurants, the constant activity. And public transportation - oooh, that was fun. Especially riding with my germophobe friend Alpa. Somehow the stinkiest, ugliest, and most hygiene-challenged people would find their way right next to Alpa and we would just die of laughter! I think it took her a whole week to unwrinkle her nose!
The cactus - most inspiring of the vegetation I saw. This was right off the road when we got off the bus to go to the San Diego Zoo.
Here we are lounging, with Alpa sandwiched between the two Joys (yes, my other friend's name is also Joy!). If you squint real hard, you can see the Hollywood sign behind us. Hmmm, maybe not - but it's there, I promise!
One of my favorite musicians, Tito Puente. Here is his star (and my dirty foot) on the Hollywood walk of fame.
The Rodeo Drive sign - this was one place where I refused to buy. We kept telling ourselves "It's not that we can't afford to, we CHOOSE not to buy!" Did you know there's a Gap and an Old Navy on Rodeo Drive?
A very fun sign. It reads "NO THONGS except on feet". Needless to say, I heeded. :)
We took a ferry ride to Alcatraz Island in San Francisco and learned all about The Rock. It used to be a military base before it became a prison. We took the evening/night tour and that was cool. It was so cold though! San Francisco was very chilly. We had just left San Diego and LA where the temperature was in the 100's and we roasted. Then we hit San Francisco and we were forced to shop for sweaters and jackets. Brrrrr!! I did get me the cutest brown jacket at H&M. I wore it the rest of my time in San Francisco, except on race morning, when I ran the San Francisco Marathon (1/2 marathon).
The Rock
Inside the jail, Cell Block D
Joy T. looking scared during the audio tour.
The City by the Bay
Alpa and I trekked over to Golden Gate Park and went to the Japanese Gardens. All the bonsai trees and small bridges - very peaceful. A lot of love went into those gardens.
Alpa (without her wrinkled nose)
Me with my cute and warm jacket!!
After the race on Sunday, we treated ourselves to ice cream in Ghirardelli Square. I had the root beer float! Yummy!!
The cactus - most inspiring of the vegetation I saw. This was right off the road when we got off the bus to go to the San Diego Zoo.
Here we are lounging, with Alpa sandwiched between the two Joys (yes, my other friend's name is also Joy!). If you squint real hard, you can see the Hollywood sign behind us. Hmmm, maybe not - but it's there, I promise!
One of my favorite musicians, Tito Puente. Here is his star (and my dirty foot) on the Hollywood walk of fame.
The Rodeo Drive sign - this was one place where I refused to buy. We kept telling ourselves "It's not that we can't afford to, we CHOOSE not to buy!" Did you know there's a Gap and an Old Navy on Rodeo Drive?
A very fun sign. It reads "NO THONGS except on feet". Needless to say, I heeded. :)
We took a ferry ride to Alcatraz Island in San Francisco and learned all about The Rock. It used to be a military base before it became a prison. We took the evening/night tour and that was cool. It was so cold though! San Francisco was very chilly. We had just left San Diego and LA where the temperature was in the 100's and we roasted. Then we hit San Francisco and we were forced to shop for sweaters and jackets. Brrrrr!! I did get me the cutest brown jacket at H&M. I wore it the rest of my time in San Francisco, except on race morning, when I ran the San Francisco Marathon (1/2 marathon).
The Rock
Inside the jail, Cell Block D
Joy T. looking scared during the audio tour.
The City by the Bay
Alpa and I trekked over to Golden Gate Park and went to the Japanese Gardens. All the bonsai trees and small bridges - very peaceful. A lot of love went into those gardens.
Alpa (without her wrinkled nose)
Me with my cute and warm jacket!!
After the race on Sunday, we treated ourselves to ice cream in Ghirardelli Square. I had the root beer float! Yummy!!
jueves, agosto 24, 2006
Girlfriends
Every summer, three of my best friends and I take a roadtrip to the South Carolina coast to frolic in the sun, eat yummy food, laugh & giggle, paint our toenails, crochet, and just have a large time. I'm the only married one in the group (and the oldest!) but in 7 days Christi will join the missus club and it'll be 2 on 2 next year! Funny, she's already consulted with her hubby-2-B and everything's a go for the tradition to continue next year. (Thanx Matt- U'R a gem!) We celebrated five years of our fun-in-the-sun this past July. We came to the realization (after five years!) that all four of us don't have blood-sisters, and that probably has a lot to do with why this is so special to us. 
If you have any Puerto Rican friends, then you know that we give everyone nicknames. I am by far no exception and my friends have joined in the fun. Arjean, a.k.a. Chinola, is from the Philippines and boy, we've had a blast breaking her into the American culture and teaching her slang. We had an impromptu question and answer session with her this year that I won't delve into here, but I'll say it was quite the eye-opener for all of us!
Christi, better known as Chiquita, is the bride-2-B and the beach bunny of the group. Her parents met at Myrtle Beach and this year we drove past the house where she spent the summer when she lost her first tooth.
Tracy is Da Blonde, better known as Pichulina to her closest friends, smart and sassy, loves to cook, read, candle light dinners, walks on the beach... oh wait, wrong web site ;-) But in case you're interested, both she and Arjean would make someone very happy one day. Actually that would be 2 someones because it's not a package deal. They've made me happy and our relationship is totally platonic!!
What I enjoy the most is that we all have a Christian connection - reading devotions, praying, singing together. It's very special and I am so blessed to have them as well as my other girls (Shout-outs to Chelita, Deni, Shawn-Shawn, Naika, Sheilita, Lis, Isa, Maruka, Amyta )
I got this in an email, you know those emails that celebrate girlfriends and empower women. But I thought this was well said: "A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her can reach. When we began this adventure called womanhood; we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other."
By the way, my nickname? Pelusa - it means fuzz - quite appropriate, eh?
lunes, agosto 21, 2006
Mi Papi
The other day I was going through a storage box that fell out of my closet. It was one of those incidents where I was meant to go through that box, because it narrowly missed my head as it came crashing to the floor. I found an essay I had written about Papi, my Dad. The essay narrated the story of how my dad came to the US in the early 60's. I would like to share that story with you.
Jesus Tirado was born to a very poor family, to an illiterate father, Eustaquio Giraud, who worked the land in order to survive. His mother, Carmen Salas, died while he was still a child, and so he was forced to fend for himself at a very young age. Forced to leave Puerto Rico by his abusive father, Chuito, as he was lovingly called by his mother, saved his money for a plane ticket by shining shoes and catching & selling crabs in Luquillo, PR. The young adolescent arrived at New York City with just a few dollars in his pocket, naively thinking that he was coming to a town as small as the one he just left. Finding his sister would just be a matter of asking the first person he encountered when he arrived at the airport. Instead, he was swallowed by cement and skyscrapers, walking aimlessly through the city in the dead of winter, searching for his sister for two whole weeks. He did not find his sister, but did manage to catch a double pneumonia, with no thanks to his thin shirt and trousers that offered no protection against the cold weather. Sori Cardona, now married and with five children of her own, found her little brother. It was a miracle, really, and the story is still told at the table during family get-togethers. A friend happened to be listening to a radio station that aired out of New York City, as the announcer was listing names of people who were searching for loved ones. He announced in Spanish, "Jesus Tirado is looking for his sister. If anyone knows his sister, please inform her that he is being kept at..." and he named the hospital where Papi was staying. The friend immediately called Titi Sori (that's what I call her!), and she found her "hermanito" recuperating from the pneumonia that almost claimed his young life.
Papi did not speak English, and he had just a few dollars to his name. He immediately was enrolled in school and managed to learn enough English to get by. He got his certificate as a heating and air conditioner repairman. He came to know Christ, and fell in love with the message of salvation that offered him hope in such a cruel world. He met my mother at church, and together they started a Christian family based on the principles of love, respect, and hard work. Though we did not have much money, my father provided his family with enough to satisfy our needs plus a little more. He was faithful to his Lord and church, and God blessed us because of it. Papi sacrificed to put me through seven years of piano lessons, just so he could have someone accompany him on the piano when he sang. He has a beautiful baritone voice, and even now when I hear him sing, my heart swells with love and admiration. Why do I think my father is the person who has influenced my life the most? Because he has worked hard to provide his family with a nurturing atmosphere, unlike the one he had when he was a child. Because he did the best he could to educate himself, reading countless books, studying music theory so he could lead out in song service. Because he taught us to work hard for what we wanted; he taught us that nothing in life is given to you, but earned. And, because he taught us that the giving of ourselves to others is more important than what we own and possess. I am blessed to have had such a strong male figure throughout my life, especially in this day and age where having a full-time devoted father is scarce.
Papi has had some of his dreams come true. His children grew up and serve the community well. Jay and I went to college and now have families of our own. He has helped and organized four Hispanic Seventh-day Adventist congregations in the Central Florida area, devoting countless of hours preparing music, programming, sermons, giving Bible studies, raising funds, and visiting the sick and elderly every week. Papi still works hard, but is now enjoying the fruits of his labor. After working a grueling day at the air conditioning plant where he has been employed for the last 19 years, he comes home to water and take care of his trees, plants, shrubs, and flowers. Every year, his small quarter acre of land produces oranges, grapefruit, beans, pineapples, papayas, peppers, herbs, yucca, malanga, sugarcane, and more! I hope I one day grow up to be a third of the person my father is. When people tell me that I am so much like Papi, my heart once again swells with love and pride. The world is a better place because of Papi, and I hope I can leave as deep a mark as he has.
Jesus Tirado was born to a very poor family, to an illiterate father, Eustaquio Giraud, who worked the land in order to survive. His mother, Carmen Salas, died while he was still a child, and so he was forced to fend for himself at a very young age. Forced to leave Puerto Rico by his abusive father, Chuito, as he was lovingly called by his mother, saved his money for a plane ticket by shining shoes and catching & selling crabs in Luquillo, PR. The young adolescent arrived at New York City with just a few dollars in his pocket, naively thinking that he was coming to a town as small as the one he just left. Finding his sister would just be a matter of asking the first person he encountered when he arrived at the airport. Instead, he was swallowed by cement and skyscrapers, walking aimlessly through the city in the dead of winter, searching for his sister for two whole weeks. He did not find his sister, but did manage to catch a double pneumonia, with no thanks to his thin shirt and trousers that offered no protection against the cold weather. Sori Cardona, now married and with five children of her own, found her little brother. It was a miracle, really, and the story is still told at the table during family get-togethers. A friend happened to be listening to a radio station that aired out of New York City, as the announcer was listing names of people who were searching for loved ones. He announced in Spanish, "Jesus Tirado is looking for his sister. If anyone knows his sister, please inform her that he is being kept at..." and he named the hospital where Papi was staying. The friend immediately called Titi Sori (that's what I call her!), and she found her "hermanito" recuperating from the pneumonia that almost claimed his young life.
Papi did not speak English, and he had just a few dollars to his name. He immediately was enrolled in school and managed to learn enough English to get by. He got his certificate as a heating and air conditioner repairman. He came to know Christ, and fell in love with the message of salvation that offered him hope in such a cruel world. He met my mother at church, and together they started a Christian family based on the principles of love, respect, and hard work. Though we did not have much money, my father provided his family with enough to satisfy our needs plus a little more. He was faithful to his Lord and church, and God blessed us because of it. Papi sacrificed to put me through seven years of piano lessons, just so he could have someone accompany him on the piano when he sang. He has a beautiful baritone voice, and even now when I hear him sing, my heart swells with love and admiration. Why do I think my father is the person who has influenced my life the most? Because he has worked hard to provide his family with a nurturing atmosphere, unlike the one he had when he was a child. Because he did the best he could to educate himself, reading countless books, studying music theory so he could lead out in song service. Because he taught us to work hard for what we wanted; he taught us that nothing in life is given to you, but earned. And, because he taught us that the giving of ourselves to others is more important than what we own and possess. I am blessed to have had such a strong male figure throughout my life, especially in this day and age where having a full-time devoted father is scarce.
Papi has had some of his dreams come true. His children grew up and serve the community well. Jay and I went to college and now have families of our own. He has helped and organized four Hispanic Seventh-day Adventist congregations in the Central Florida area, devoting countless of hours preparing music, programming, sermons, giving Bible studies, raising funds, and visiting the sick and elderly every week. Papi still works hard, but is now enjoying the fruits of his labor. After working a grueling day at the air conditioning plant where he has been employed for the last 19 years, he comes home to water and take care of his trees, plants, shrubs, and flowers. Every year, his small quarter acre of land produces oranges, grapefruit, beans, pineapples, papayas, peppers, herbs, yucca, malanga, sugarcane, and more! I hope I one day grow up to be a third of the person my father is. When people tell me that I am so much like Papi, my heart once again swells with love and pride. The world is a better place because of Papi, and I hope I can leave as deep a mark as he has.
viernes, agosto 11, 2006
What's in your box?
So here I am driving home on the interstate, tears streaming down my face as I listen to a lady on "This American Life" talk about her experience with her son. You see, her husband has a very degenerate form of dementia and their ten year-old son is having a hard time dealing with the loss. Because he is so young, the son does not have any memories of his Dad prior to the disease. So Mom got a box, an old tin box that belonged to her husband and filled it up with tidbits, little items such as a pocket knife, photos, a passport, an old work ID card, lots of small "throw-aways" that each tell a little story about her husband. She brings the box out and shares these memories with her son on a regular basis. He asks questions and begins to form a picture of his dad, before the illness stole his humor, his personality, and his affection. She described a situation with her son that really made me cry. He needed an extra $10 to buy some action figures, and they decided to use an old jar full of coins that Dad use to fill with coins from his pocket. After cashing in the coins and buying his toys, the son approaches his mom with tears and grief, realizing that those coins belonged to his DAD. And they are no longer in the house, coins he had touched and deposited in the jar. That made me cry. And it also made me think...
...about that tin box. I can picture my life memories in a tin box. Each little "throw-away" in my tin box is a little piece of my life, and the pieces combine to form a mosaic - my life. Do you remember seeing a mosaic where each little piece is a picture of someone? You stand far away from the mosaic and it's really a portrait of someone's face. But each little piece has a portrait all its own. That's it. That's my life. Everyone who has ever come in contact with me has gone away with a little portrait of who I am. My husband has a different picture. My mother, my father, my brother, my sister-in-law, my brothers-in-law, my mother-in-law, my colleagues past and present, friends from each phase and walk of life... I can go on. If each of these people had a little memory of me and they put in a box, what kind of portrait would I see? A smiling Joy? A compassionate Joy? A selfish Joy? A sad Joy? A Christ-like Joy?
That story really had an impact on me. My prayer is that as you walk away from the mosaic that makes up my life and look at the big picture, you don't see my portrait, but that of Jesus. Wow, there's a lot to be done on this work of art.
So, what's in your box?
...about that tin box. I can picture my life memories in a tin box. Each little "throw-away" in my tin box is a little piece of my life, and the pieces combine to form a mosaic - my life. Do you remember seeing a mosaic where each little piece is a picture of someone? You stand far away from the mosaic and it's really a portrait of someone's face. But each little piece has a portrait all its own. That's it. That's my life. Everyone who has ever come in contact with me has gone away with a little portrait of who I am. My husband has a different picture. My mother, my father, my brother, my sister-in-law, my brothers-in-law, my mother-in-law, my colleagues past and present, friends from each phase and walk of life... I can go on. If each of these people had a little memory of me and they put in a box, what kind of portrait would I see? A smiling Joy? A compassionate Joy? A selfish Joy? A sad Joy? A Christ-like Joy?
That story really had an impact on me. My prayer is that as you walk away from the mosaic that makes up my life and look at the big picture, you don't see my portrait, but that of Jesus. Wow, there's a lot to be done on this work of art.
So, what's in your box?
martes, agosto 08, 2006
Happy New Year!
I'm looking for some interaction here. And I need help. Since I'm done with school (for now, wink-wink!) No one believes me when I say I'm done with school! I need to review my life and account for my future actions. For those of you who know me well, you can attest that I am a highly goal-motivated person. Give me a challenge - any challenge - and if there's a goal to be attained, I will give it my all. That's how I have approached my education, my career, even my hobbies. When I run, it's because I'm training for a race. When I crochet, it's because I'm working on a gift for someone. When I play the piano, it's because there's a piece I want to learn or I have to play a solo piece for offertory or special music. So you can pretty much say without a shadow of a doubt, that goals motivate me. The goal to succeed, the goal to be happy, the goal to bring happiness to others. With school out of the way, I have new goals I need to set and old goals to revive. My evenings are freer now, so I can prioritize my time for these goals. It's like "Happy New Year, Joy! Let's set some resolutions!" Okay, I have a house to remodel. That's a goal. A real big goal. I have a hubby I would love to pamper. He deserves it, especially after putting up with my schedule and craziness these past two years. I have a God I absolutely need to devote more time to. He has sustained me and carried me through all of my craziness. And He has just been so patient with me, sitting on the edge of His throne-seat, waiting for me to put Him at the top of my goals. I have a new/old church I need to get involved with. New friends to make, sisters to relate to, families to love, ministries to embrace. Whew, I think I just filled up my schedule once again! But I think these new goals are more relationship-goals. To devote time with God, devote time with my hubby and family, devote time to get to know my church family and friends.
So, what are your goals and how do you go about setting/realizing these?
So, what are your goals and how do you go about setting/realizing these?
martes, agosto 01, 2006
Headlines: Miss Puerto Rico runs the San Francisco Marathon!
Hi!! It's been such a long journey - these last two months. I said I wasn't going to do anything but get through school, my half-marathon training, and minimal housework and then i would post again. So this is evidence that I did it! I checked on line today and yes, folks, I am through with school! I got my grades and this little nerd managed to keep her 4.0 GPA and get her degree supa-magna-hypa cum laude. (I made that up, really.) But wait, there's more. Let me tell you about my other accomplishment - I ran the San Francisco Marathon - the half marathon - this past Sunday. And I finished 1766th out of 3859 runners who ran the 1st half. Not bad for this athletically challenged girl who got hit on the head with her own fly ball as she ran frantically towards first base. (They called me out, the nerve!)
Let me tell you a little about my trip. No, let me tell you about the highlight of my trip. It wasn't running on the Golden Gate Bridge, or driving through the Pacific Coastal Highway and soaking in all that scenery. It wasn't riding the cable cars or feeding the pigeons. It was sitting at church, crying through every prayer, and being so happy to worship with fellow Christians, thousands of miles away from home but feeling like I was at home. The Sabbath before my race, I hopped on the bus and made it to the San Francisco Central SDA Church. I was spiritually hungry, feeling so different from my traveling companions who don't have a relationship with God. The church building was beautiful - all the dark wood, rafters, stone, the pulpit. The people were so warm and friendly and thoughtful. The sermon was inspiring and I soaked it in like a runner gulping down water at the end of the race. I left that building whole again, spiritually (and physically) fed. That's what got me through the race with strength and a smile. It wasn't the months of training I had endured. Training does help, but it's the connection with God that makes these accomplishments so worthwhile. If you're ever in San Francisco, check out the church there. To me, it was the highlight of my traveling journey.
I will be writing more now. So check me out from time to time. And write back, okay? I'm ready to delve into this blogger world and make new friends!
Let me tell you a little about my trip. No, let me tell you about the highlight of my trip. It wasn't running on the Golden Gate Bridge, or driving through the Pacific Coastal Highway and soaking in all that scenery. It wasn't riding the cable cars or feeding the pigeons. It was sitting at church, crying through every prayer, and being so happy to worship with fellow Christians, thousands of miles away from home but feeling like I was at home. The Sabbath before my race, I hopped on the bus and made it to the San Francisco Central SDA Church. I was spiritually hungry, feeling so different from my traveling companions who don't have a relationship with God. The church building was beautiful - all the dark wood, rafters, stone, the pulpit. The people were so warm and friendly and thoughtful. The sermon was inspiring and I soaked it in like a runner gulping down water at the end of the race. I left that building whole again, spiritually (and physically) fed. That's what got me through the race with strength and a smile. It wasn't the months of training I had endured. Training does help, but it's the connection with God that makes these accomplishments so worthwhile. If you're ever in San Francisco, check out the church there. To me, it was the highlight of my traveling journey.
I will be writing more now. So check me out from time to time. And write back, okay? I'm ready to delve into this blogger world and make new friends!
viernes, julio 07, 2006
My Superhero-ness
Your results:
You are Green Lantern
Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz
You are Green Lantern
| Hot-headed. You have strong will power and a good imagination.  |
Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz
jueves, mayo 11, 2006
New Beginnings
Sounds like the title to a commencement speech? Well, it is. My commencement speech. I finally graduated from college. Okay, officially graduated from college. After three different degrees, I had the opportunity to walk proudly, float down the aisle in an oversized gown, balance a silly cap, and wrestle with a white collar that would not stay on. 600 other graduates and I from Spartanburg Technical College walked last week to the the pre-recorded notes of Pomp and Circumstance. It was so much fun for me! Especially to have my hubby, two best friends, and three other church families clap and yell my name. Oh and hold up signs! Yes, my hubby, the ever graphic artist, created three signs from foamboard that shouted "Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!" I turned in my seat and laughed when I saw him holding the sign. Two other signs went up next to him and the other graduates around me laughed too. I felt quite special. Then the reading of the names began. Did I already mention there were 600 graduates? I was one of the first dozen ones because "Accounting" is part of the "Business School" which starts with the letter "B". I didn't realize that even those students who had completed a 1-year certificate program also had the opportunity to don a cap and gown. The welders and the clerks, the dental assistants and the automotive technicians. Tom, Dick, Harry, and Jane. I sat there for a long time, shifting in my chair, stomach grumbling, counting the number of pages of names left in the program. But then I felt ashamed. For most of these graduates, the certificate they held in their hands would be a symbol of the highest scholastic achievement ever. It wasn't a doctorate in physics, or an MBA. It was a simple piece of paper that showed months of hard work after probably having been out of school for decades! There were grandparents graduating, with their whole 20-member families hooting and hollering when their names were called. Indeed it was a crowning moment for an achievement so well deserved and earned. I quickly had an attitude adjustment, and instead of focusing on my tired back and hunger pangs, I focused on the big smiles and the proud postures, and I joined in their celebration. This realization became my commencement mantra that night. "Tonight we have proven that dreams can be realized, goals can be reached, hard work does pay off. For me, success is not defined as having big goals. I define it as having reached a goal, no matter how big or small. 600 graduates from STC and I had quite a successful evening on May 4, 2006." Of course, now I HAVE to finish the last 3 classes in my program this summer. Then my success will be complete.
jueves, marzo 30, 2006
The Young, Rich Ruler - A Different Twist
Ever wonder "what if"? What if I had never left New Jersey? What if I hadn't gone to Club Velvet on that summer night and met Kevin? What if I hadn't been born a Tirado but a Hilton, or a Kennedy? (God knew what He was doing on that one, that's for sure!) What if my mom would have died when she gave birth to my brother? What if... I sometimes wonder "what if" with the stories from the Bible. What if Adam hadn't succumbed to Eve's desire to be like god? What if Abraham would have said, "Forget it! I ain't leavin' Ur." Or David would have thought, "Oh snap! All I have are some rocks. I'm outta here!" How about the opposite. What if Saul would have trusted God and not vexed the Holy Spirit? What if Delilah would have been like the Proverbs woman instead of the seductress? What if the young rich ruler would have sold all his possessions and followed Jesus? That's where I want to take you. I wrote this monologue two years ago and want to share it with you. It's a little long, but it gives us a glimpse into the what if's that must have plagued this poor, rich man for the rest of his life.
Man, I’m poor! I don’t have possessions; nothing of houses, cars, a bank account. The clothes I have on my back are my only possession. And some days when I see an old beggar and I don’t have any money, I give my clothes, my coat, whatever I have on me. One day I even gave away my shoes and I had yet quite a distance to walk. Someone felt sorry for me and gave me another pair. But you know what? I feel so much joy when I share with others. I not only share my material possessions. Those that receive from me don’t always go away with a coat, a pair of shoes, or a coin. They take with them the message of salvation that is also a gift from our Lord Jesus Christ. Do you know him? Jesus? He’s awesome, WOW! He changed my life totally. I had the opportunity to know him and walk with him. I learned from Him. It was the experience of a lifetime, totally transforming.
I haven’t always been poor. I was born into a prominent family. I had quite the happy childhood, full of love and opportunities. I traveled to far away places as a child. I was educated by the best professors and in the most prestigious schools. At the university, I was president of the debate club. All my professors would tell me that in the history of the institution, I was the student that had the brightest and most promising future. My dad died when I was young and left me a fortune. I missed him a lot and felt lonely at times. He was such a wise man, just, full of compassion and happiness. He challenged me to break the mold, to be a man of integrity and not to follow common traditions just to agree with the majority. He challenged me to think for myself. A few months after he died, I met a Man who reminded me so much of my dad. He was a teacher and large multitudes followed him everywhere he went. They followed Him because of the miracles He performed and because of his teachings. He challenged my thinking. He clarified doubts that I had in my heart, he illuminated my mind. And he did it in such a way that was so simple, mere stories! I went to all his lectures. When his eyes came to rest on me, it felt like He was looking into the depths of my soul. That made me feel uncomfortable, because I was a proud young man. I felt proud of my status, my wealth, my intelligence.
One day I came to him and asked him, “Professor, what good can I do to obtain eternal life?” I anticipated his response and I was ready with my next comment. I knew that he was going to mention the law. Since a child I have kept the law. But I wasn't prepared for what he was going to say. His response left me speechless. He could see the pride in my heart and wanted to yank it from its root. He told me that I had to sell all of my businesses, my houses, close out my bank account, sell my stocks, sell my beach house, yachts, everything!! And give it all to the poor. How could that be? Was he crazy? This empire that my dad with the sweat of his brow had built from the ground? How could I sell it all and give it to the poor? I got so sad. I went that night to my house and tried to sleep. But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and turned and tossed. Restless. My heart and my mind were restless. I got on my knees and started praying. I wondered what my dad would have done. I thought of what my future would look like without my material possessions. Leave everything and follow Christ. Keep my fortune. Hmmmm. I prayed more and more. All of a sudden, my mind cleared up! What good would my possessions be to me if I can’t find peace? Salvation? Eternal life? When everything is said and done, what would others say of me? I was a successful man and I had lots of “things”. Or I was a man of integrity, sincere, kind, generous. I knew in my heart the decision I had to take. And you know what? It didn’t cost me a thing! In fact, I gained! It wasn't the poor who were so excited to receive my money and clothes that profited from my generosity. The one who gained was me! I was victorious! I walked with Jesus, listened to his teachings. It was with Him and in Him that I found true wealth.
And so here I am. You ask me if I have ever wondered what would have happened if I had made a different decision. Yeah, I have asked myself that question. I think I would have turned into a bitter, unhappy, unstable, desperate man, still looking for something to fill my empty heart. And you know what? I don’t envy him. I don’t envy that man with his material possessions. The man that I was. I have salvation. Salvation doesn’t have a price that I can pay. It’s free, thanks to the blood that Jesus shed on the cross for me. And you.
Man, I’m poor! I don’t have possessions; nothing of houses, cars, a bank account. The clothes I have on my back are my only possession. And some days when I see an old beggar and I don’t have any money, I give my clothes, my coat, whatever I have on me. One day I even gave away my shoes and I had yet quite a distance to walk. Someone felt sorry for me and gave me another pair. But you know what? I feel so much joy when I share with others. I not only share my material possessions. Those that receive from me don’t always go away with a coat, a pair of shoes, or a coin. They take with them the message of salvation that is also a gift from our Lord Jesus Christ. Do you know him? Jesus? He’s awesome, WOW! He changed my life totally. I had the opportunity to know him and walk with him. I learned from Him. It was the experience of a lifetime, totally transforming.
I haven’t always been poor. I was born into a prominent family. I had quite the happy childhood, full of love and opportunities. I traveled to far away places as a child. I was educated by the best professors and in the most prestigious schools. At the university, I was president of the debate club. All my professors would tell me that in the history of the institution, I was the student that had the brightest and most promising future. My dad died when I was young and left me a fortune. I missed him a lot and felt lonely at times. He was such a wise man, just, full of compassion and happiness. He challenged me to break the mold, to be a man of integrity and not to follow common traditions just to agree with the majority. He challenged me to think for myself. A few months after he died, I met a Man who reminded me so much of my dad. He was a teacher and large multitudes followed him everywhere he went. They followed Him because of the miracles He performed and because of his teachings. He challenged my thinking. He clarified doubts that I had in my heart, he illuminated my mind. And he did it in such a way that was so simple, mere stories! I went to all his lectures. When his eyes came to rest on me, it felt like He was looking into the depths of my soul. That made me feel uncomfortable, because I was a proud young man. I felt proud of my status, my wealth, my intelligence.
One day I came to him and asked him, “Professor, what good can I do to obtain eternal life?” I anticipated his response and I was ready with my next comment. I knew that he was going to mention the law. Since a child I have kept the law. But I wasn't prepared for what he was going to say. His response left me speechless. He could see the pride in my heart and wanted to yank it from its root. He told me that I had to sell all of my businesses, my houses, close out my bank account, sell my stocks, sell my beach house, yachts, everything!! And give it all to the poor. How could that be? Was he crazy? This empire that my dad with the sweat of his brow had built from the ground? How could I sell it all and give it to the poor? I got so sad. I went that night to my house and tried to sleep. But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and turned and tossed. Restless. My heart and my mind were restless. I got on my knees and started praying. I wondered what my dad would have done. I thought of what my future would look like without my material possessions. Leave everything and follow Christ. Keep my fortune. Hmmmm. I prayed more and more. All of a sudden, my mind cleared up! What good would my possessions be to me if I can’t find peace? Salvation? Eternal life? When everything is said and done, what would others say of me? I was a successful man and I had lots of “things”. Or I was a man of integrity, sincere, kind, generous. I knew in my heart the decision I had to take. And you know what? It didn’t cost me a thing! In fact, I gained! It wasn't the poor who were so excited to receive my money and clothes that profited from my generosity. The one who gained was me! I was victorious! I walked with Jesus, listened to his teachings. It was with Him and in Him that I found true wealth.
And so here I am. You ask me if I have ever wondered what would have happened if I had made a different decision. Yeah, I have asked myself that question. I think I would have turned into a bitter, unhappy, unstable, desperate man, still looking for something to fill my empty heart. And you know what? I don’t envy him. I don’t envy that man with his material possessions. The man that I was. I have salvation. Salvation doesn’t have a price that I can pay. It’s free, thanks to the blood that Jesus shed on the cross for me. And you.
viernes, marzo 24, 2006
My World Is Aging
Do you feel it too? I remember the day I realized that I was aging. Not that I'm a self-centered person. Well, we all are, really. But I remember looking in the mirror and seeing my laugh lines, little crows feet around my eyes, my pores were getting a little bigger... I didn't freak out. In fact, I kind of liked what I saw: a woman with character and personality, and some experience under her belt. Wow. I didn't look like a teenager anymore. Or like I was in my early twenties. I haven't started feeling the aches and pains of aging yet. Well, I guess the bursitis in my IT band from not stretching before I run is probably an indicator that my muscles are not as flexible and strong as they used to be. But I'm trying to do better with that now. I do notice how much older my parents are getting. The aches and pains they suffer. They seemed so untouchable when I was younger. Like they would last forever. But now they look so vulnerable. And I pray for them so much. I pray for good health, and happiness and peace. I pray for a sound mind and healthy bowels, and a strong heart. God, please keep them safe from disease and viruses. My mom is really a health nut. She's been a health nut all my life, making my brother and I eat all sorts of healthy weird stuff. But it's paid off for me. And I pray that all the hard work preparing home cooked meals with little fat, good protein, lots of vitamins and minerals... all those hours... may they be blessed by God. My dad is a lay pastor for a Hispanic SDA congregation in Central Florida. And he's always giving Bible studies and organizing the programming at the church. Always on the go-go-go. And I pray for him too. He just had a birthday earlier this month. 59 years strong. But now his back is bothering him. All those years slaving away in a production line are taking their toll. Lord, keep him healthy so he can enjoy his retirement. The decades of working for his family, providing for us: food, a home, leisure trips, my piano lessons, my brother's braces...may he enjoy the fruits of his labor for a long time. My parents are awesome and I thank God for them and their quirks. They made me who I am and I'm proud to be their daughter. I hope that as I get older, I'll be like them. Aging gracefully, beautifully, active, setting goals well into my senior years.
miércoles, marzo 01, 2006
Quintessence
I learned something new today. I try to learn something new every day and if I really pay attention to life and what surrounds me, I usually learn a lot. Today, my day started with a lesson. Did you know that a long time ago, people believed the earth was made up of water, earth, fire, and air, and that everything else in the universe such as the planets and stars was made of an unknown fifth element? Quinta essentia in Latin it was called, hence the word quintessence. And because of its importance, if this quintessence could be captured or isolated, it could cure all diseases. So this makes me think, what's quintessential in my life? Besides the water that hydrates and cleanses me, the fire that burns in my heart when I learn and open my mind, the earth my feet trod as I seek to make a difference in my little world, the precious air that strengthens me... What is that fifth element in my life that if captured and isolated could cure me of all disease? I know an element above all elements, the Creator of Elements, the Periodic Table Himself whose main desire is to cure me. Funny thing is that I don't need to capture or isolate Him. He's right here beside me waiting for me to acknowledge Him as the pure Essence in my life. But here's an interesting twist about the word quintessence. Modern physicists have given the word a new meaning - "dark energy" which is what makes up 70% of the universe. You know, it's just like the enemy to try to inch his way into something pure and murk it all up. It's the age-old conflict between good and evil all over again. Today I make the choice to make God quintessential in my life. And I hold on to the promise that He will one day vaporize the dark energy forever and take me to live with Him for all eternity.
martes, febrero 21, 2006
Inside Out
A few weeks ago I embarked on a sewing adventure. Yes, I took on the monumental task of putting together a crib bumper, crib sheets, curtains, a bedskirt, quilt, and a pillow for a dear friend of mine who did not like the baby designs out in the market. So as a gift to her and her child, I volunteered to put together a baby set for Skye's room. The curtains and crib sheets were not a problem. That was simply cutting out rectangles and putting little touches here and there. Now the crib bumper was a different story. I used 5 different fabrics, created my own trim with double piping and ruffles... the end result was beautiful. The problems arose when I was sewing all the pieces together, the trim and the tie straps, the front and the back, batting here, batting there. Since it was circular, I had to leave an opening so I could turn it inside out and then baste the opening by hand. I was quite proud of myself when I got to that point - no major mishaps. And then came time to turn it inside out. Remember it was circular. So I'm pulling from one end and pulling from the other end. The result was a tube inside another tube - tubular infinity! No matter how much I pulled it would never result back into a circular tube. The opening I had created was located on the wrong side of the tube. I had to cut the tube, turn it inside out and then connect it again by hand. After countless hours, many finger prickings, and a bucket of frustrated tears, the bumper was complete, ready to be installed in Skye's crib to protect her little head from unprecedented bumps. And it was beautiful. The tubular incident made me think of my relationship with God. How He deals with me and my controlling attitude. I'm pulling from this end, pulling from that end, frustrated with the results, a tube inside a tube. I'll never be that continuous tube He wants me to be. But then I let the Master Sewer cut me, pull me inside out, lovingly stitch me back to become the useful human He envisioned me to be. Somehow I manage to turn myself outside-in again and the process starts all over again. A work in progress. Ah, but He is so patient and skilled.
viernes, enero 27, 2006
Testing...1...2...3...
Thought I would give this a try - i enjoy reading other people's blogs - why not write my own?!
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