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."

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.

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.

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.

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.