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.
lunes, noviembre 27, 2006
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.
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