A Time For Joy

New Beginnings

2012-02-11T15:19:00.001-05:00

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." -Dr. Seuss

Yesterday I moved my work possessions from my old desk to my new work area. It was an event that had somewhat of a spiritual significance to me. As I combed my way through files, documents, office supplies, and other sundry items that I don't remember hoarding, I caught glimpses of my growth over the years spent in my department. And what can I say about myself for the last 12 years? Well, I think I care a lot about those who work with me and have worked for me. My employee files were filled with notes and events showing how much I planned for their professional development. My work files detailed the processes I created so that my succesor can take over without too much explaining. That made me happy.

And I love food. I have olive oil, many different kinds of tea, sugar, even flavored syrup in my desk. I have a whole little drawer full of side items to enhance my breakfast/lunch. That made me smile.

All throughout the week, I received texts, emails, cards, cupcakes, hugs and smiles, and goofy gifts from my colleagues as they expressed their sincere thoughts about our time together. I'm only moving across the office area, but I'm going to dearly miss the daily interactions, the cutting up and total loopiness that have made work seem less like work and more like fun. Teams like that take a while to develop, if at all. That made me feel nostalgic.

Affirmation that my decision is following in God's will for me came from my employees, as they expressed their gratitude for working with me and for me, reassuring me that I'm being fashioned for something else. I am honored to be shown such kindness and love. This makes me feel humbled.

Change comes at a price. I think I've gotten a great deal.

For such a time as this...

2011-12-16T20:49:00.000-05:00

Eleven months ago was the last time I wrote in my blog, I'm ashamed to admit! Eleven months of challenges, some heartache, and lots of growing up. And no blog posts to document the adventure. Oh well, at least I have Facebook to look back on. :)

The mortality of life is so obvious to me now. Not that I've been faced with death or anything in the last 11 months, but I am so much more aware of how fragile we are, heartbeats away from non-existence. Aging fascinates me more. I watch others age. I take in other's physical attributes as they change over time and compare it to what's happening to my body and mind. I pray my body is kind to me as I get older.

Encountering crossroads has been my favorite habit this year. Life altering decisions keep popping up to the point that they just make me want to crawl back into bed and be 4 years old again. And still some decisions keep being put off. Maybe if I keep dragging my feet, it will be too late and life will continue down Humdrum Lane. But that's the coward's way of handling tough situations. And I'm no coward. And I don't live on Humdrum Lane.

So I took a leap of faith a few months ago. Unhappy with the lack of development and support in my small department, I applied for a position within my company that is right up my alley and away from what I've been doing for the last 12 years. And I was honored with an offer. The years of schooling, as diverse and long as they have been, was part of why I was considered for the position. If someone would have said to me 15 years ago that a Chemistry, accounting, and a teaching degree would land me as qualified to join a training and development team with a leading automotive manufacturer, I would have laughed in her face. But there's a reason for the round-about approach to my career. Every job I've had since I began my working career at the ripe-old age of 18, God has miraculously placed me. In retrospect, I can trace an invisible but firm hand lead me from company to company, team to team, city to city. And now, in 58 days I will join yet another team.

I pray that I make a difference here, not just in what I do for the company, but in how I do it and why I do it. My legacy will not be based on how many projects I successfully complete, but in how many lives I impact in a positive way, a Godly way. For who's not to say that I have been prepared all my life for such a time as this.

When Fina was forty...

2011-01-22T15:21:00.004-05:00

Lately I've wondered what my mom was like when she was my age. The thing is that I remember when she was this age. When Fina was forty, she left behind a town full of old friends and relatives and ventured into the jungle of dreams and fortune that Florida offered. My parents, my 12 year old brother, and I, at the wise age of 17, packed up a huge truck with all of our belongings, said good bye to the ghetto, travelled over 1000 miles so that for the first time ever, we could be homeowners, proud of the accomplishment that blood, sweat, and lots of tear had gotten us. Decades of hard work had finally paid off. We left our heavy coats behind, a lifetime of friends, and countless memories to begin a new life full of dreams and adventure. Fina was forty then. I am forty now. She had two children, almost grown (I swore I already was), first time homeowner, and wife for 18 years. That was pretty much it. Doesn't seem much, but she had a good life and was happy.

I am 40 now. I have no children, been a wife for 16 years, a homeowner for 10 years, have an extensive college education, a decent job, and have travelled some of the world. I don't know if I can pack up and move far away like she did, but if it's in God's plan, I hope I would be okay with that. Do I have the same level of contentment that she had when she was forty? I don't think so. I think I question more and therefore I am much more restless. I long for simpleness but complicated is all I know. My mom doesn't question God's will for her, she just goes with the flow. I, on the other hand, need to know why and when and where and how. Too impatient, too controlling.

Fina just turned 64. She is older and wiser. She still lives in that same house we moved into 24 years ago, and has made another lifetime of friends and countless memories since then. I hope I've reached her level of accomplishments and contentment when I turn 64. And I hope she's around so we can laugh and talk about it all. Just like we do now.

Psalm

2011-01-12T20:55:00.002-05:00

As I get older and experience life's realities, I appreciate more how David the Psalmist expressed his joys and sorrows. He wrote from his wrenching gut; his anguish spilling over the parchment as he wrestled with God. He marveled and cried, he sang and danced, he pulled his hair and ripped his clothes and wept. He was a maniac, emotions swinging left and right as a crazed pendulum; jumping from fear and anger to disbelief and awe. And yet he connected with God in a very personal, public way. I can relate to all his emotions, I've experienced so many in the last 6 months of my life. Grant it, I'm not physically persecuted by my enemies, but I do feel as though the enemy is pursuing me, my family, my home, trying to close in on me and bring me down. I wrestle with God: show me, help me and yet I know His will requires action. But which way, where? How do I know? How did David know? As I rummage through the corners of my heart, I listen.

My Lord, You long to be my Protector and Provider to my every need.
Trust me, You say.
Don't get so caught up with what's important to those around you.
I argue that my plans are quite ordinary. They are simple. I don't ask for much.
But you can't see, He answers,
That My vision for you is beyond the imaginable.
It's not that you will be famous or well-known or well-liked.
Your achievements are not to be measured by human standards,
That is not how I work.
My plan requires for you to wholly and completely submit yourself to Me,
Because I know your full potential.
And because only I can convert your potential into actuality.
Release your fears to me.
Include me in your every decision.
Consult Me. Talk to Me. Cry to Me. Shake your fists at Me.
I will not let you down.
I will teach you how to accept My will.
And the fulfillment of My plan will be your destiny.
Trust.

Hands

2010-08-14T19:36:00.006-04:00

"Who touched me?" He asked. It seemed like a ludicrous question, especially since the crowd was thick and pressing. But it was a different type of touch. Her faith was revealed as she simply reached for the hem of His robe and gave it her last shot at complete healing. And her faith was rewarded. No words were spoken, but her life was forever transformed because her hand reached out to God.

Hands are amazing instruments. They can express emotions louder than words: screaming anger, whispering comfort, silently crying, or writhing in pain. With my hands I can tell you that I love you, by hugging you when you're in need of a friend. Or by cooking you a meal when you're down and out, writing a message with encouraging words, giving you a high-five when you've jumped a hurdle. Putting my hands together, I can pray for you, asking the Lord to cover you with His peace.

With my hands folded under my cheek, I sleep peacefully at night, surrendering my fragility to His care and resting in the hope of tomorrow. With my hands, I reach up and let You lift me, pulling me from depression and sluggish surroundings. With my hands I plead my case, knowing that you have already saved me, justified me, and what I'm experiencing is just part of the process of sanctification.

I wonder what my hands will look like in heaven. No more sickness, pain, and sin. My hands no longer pleading, instead relishing eternal love.

Dejected

2010-07-22T17:45:00.003-04:00

There are two rules I try to follow when I write and it spills over into how I try to live my life. Number one, don't start a sentence with the word "I". Number two, make the message as positive as possible, even if it means rewriting and it takes twice as long to draw it out of my heart. Applying these rules to my life means that I try to not talk so much about me, about what's going on in Joy's world, but more about how Joy is interested in what you have to say and what you're involved in. What makes you tick. Every time we connect, it would be so awesome if when we parted ways, you would feel so uplifted that your problems would bring on a different perspective and life would seem just a tad better.

I want to break my rules today. I need to talk about me and how my heart is hurting and feels empty. I'm always looking for the approval and friendship of everyone around me and so I don't take rejection well. The enemy knows this and is using it as his weapon of choice. So much hurt and chaos abounds and it's dragging my spirit, clawing at my heart, infiltrating my thoughts. My mind spins when I sleep. Questions. Distance. I want to solve problems and make everything better. Even now I don't say how I really feel. If I did you wouldn't recognize the author. Expletives, doubt, fear, loneliness. How could someone so full feel so empty? I know the solution but there...is...no...energy...left...

Plugging In

2010-04-10T18:19:00.002-04:00

The mind is a lonely place for thoughts. Think about it. Unless they're transported through some medium such as art, music, writing, or just talking to your best friend, those thoughts are just stored up in our brain, taking up space that could be used up by... more thoughts! That's a problem I have. I think too much. And the older I get, the more I think. And since I'm getting older, I'm supposed to be getting wiser too, so that means my thoughts should be thoughts of wisdom, sense, and quiet strength. Not always the case, let me tell you.

So let me share my thoughts from today. I was not very proud of myself, because my thinking was heavy and sad. As beautiful as the day promised to be: Sabbath, spring in full swing, fellowship with friends, an energizing sermon- I unfortunately have not been nourishing my soul to help me dispel the loneliness that accompanies a person who is not connected to God. Though I have money in the bank, a beautiful brand-new roof over my head, a caring and loving husband, parents in great health, a well-paying job; I have health and education, freedom of speech and religion. Though I'm not too bad looking and funny & witty at times, that vacancy in my heart that I've filled with so much keeps opening up like a sink hole. The only thing I know that sticks in it is God. And God has been absent from my life for some time now. I get a little bit here and there - from a good sermon or 30 minutes of reading a week. But I have not been delving, pouring myself, ruminating. And it shows. My attitude stinks and I find no pleasure in what I do.

So instead of sulking over the emptiness that has taken a hold of my joy, I walked to the small park 2 blocks from my house. I grabbed a blanket, a book, some crocheting, and put together a playlist of encouraging songs to drown out the lovely sound of children screaming and having fun. :) And I wrote in a journal. I wrote things that I wouldn't tell anyone because I don't want to offend, because I don't want you to know how mean and stinky I can be. Except Kevin - he unfortunately gets the brunt of my bad attitude and tantrums. So he's already experienced some of what I wrote. But my thoughts - that's between me and God. But I will share this post today to keep me accountable. If I'm to bless and be blessed, I need to be fed. And that means not "drinking Diet Coke with a meal full of fat calories" as the preacher said today. It means plugging to God's Word daily and filling that void with His love so that when darkness and solitude and depression threatens my joy, I am connectedly full and able to dissipate the clouds of selfishness. I need to practice what I preach. Life as I know it, as good as it seems, will not always stay that way. And only those who have sought strength and experienced first-hand God's bounty and grace will be able to come out triumphant. Peaceful. Loving. Merciful. Caring. I want to be all those things.

I have challenged myself today, after spending the afternoon in the bliss of spring and good music, and after turning inward and realizing that what I've seen, I don't like. I have challenged myself to pour some serious God-ness and fill that sinkhole for good. As much as I train my body to run long distances, I have a race that I'm currently running that requires some serious training. And this crazy junk food diet I'm on is not going to cut it.

Help me, Lord.
I'm calling out to you.
I can't do this alone.
In Jesus' name.
Amen.

Traversing Through Thoughts

2010-02-27T16:09:00.003-05:00

Four years have passed since I began writing and sharing with whomever has a few minutes to read my ramblings. Since then, so much has happened in my life. I've gone back and read all of my posts from this blog, gone through old pictures from my childhood, and even read the first and only journal I've ever kept. There was this one poem that I wrote back when I was 19 years old. I was suffering from a broken heart (aka ego) and just turned those dark thoughts into a poem. A very bad poem. Hopefully I won't look back to this blog many years from now and think wow - what was I thinking?

The last few months, I've felt very melancholy and my thoughts have turned inward, hence the infrequent posts. I only have five months before the most monumental birthday I've ever had. Of course, every birthday is monumental. But this one ends with a zero. The last time this happened, I woke up in a foul mood that, thanks to my sweet hubby, turned heavenward. He surprised me with a parasailing trip in coastal South Carolina. I have never experienced peace like I did that morning sitting in that chair 300 feet in the air. The birds were singing, the water like diamonds, sparkling from the rays of sunshine, and I felt God's presence in my heart.

Almost 10 years later, I feel mature but mischievous. My face has new lines from smiling and thinking. My mind is more determined and my life is overfilled with activity. I have learned to treasure moments when the world stands still and I can hear God whisper, "Pssst. Over here. I love you. Let me show you something." And my kitty curls in my arms and I'm filled with peace. Or my ears tune out the traffic and I hear the breathless song of the wind on the treetops.

I am truly thankful for life and the opportunities I've been given. Not everyone has been so blessed. I've realized that more and more as I listen to those around me. And once again, my heart turns heavenward and I long for the day that peace reigns for eternity.

My Way Was The Highway

2010-02-27T15:38:00.004-05:00

The journey loops and a road is carved.
Seeking a destination, my heart travels through dreams in desperation.
The road is marked with signs and markers.
Turn here, slow down, yield.
Which way to follow, fast or most scenic?

Choosing a path filled with sunshine,
Smooth with straight roads, or so it seems.
Alas, there is no place to fuel.
Instead the signs point to an overgrown path
Too treacherous to follow.
Or so I think.

Wild and unkept, resembling my heart,
The path is filled with wonders,
Awesome but not frightening.
Fueled by trust, reliance, and amazement
at beauty that spills onto the road,
I realize that no longer am I driving.

Somewhere along the way,
That way which began as mine,
Down the highway of my life,
I chose a different path.
And that choice became my salvation,
The scenic route.

True

2010-01-15T22:49:00.004-05:00

True...
I am selfish, but I care. My world is important, but I am aware of your world and will do my best to make your world a better place, especially if I see you make an effort to improve.
True...
I believe in speaking my mind. But words cut to the core and must be chosen carefully. I'm not very good at choosing words when speaking. Writing is a different story.
True...
I believe in responsibility, in paying back what I owe. I respect your work and sacrifice, and because I value your efforts, I give it back.
True…
I believe in sacrifice - that sometimes I have to postpone my dreams for the sake of responsibility. Sacrifice means that in order to achieve a dream, I have to work hard to get there. Sometimes the beginning is the only place to start. A dream is a journey not a destination.
True...
I abhor those who shirk responsibility and disguise laziness with flattery and prose. Lip service and feigned interest are revealed in the presence of hard work and sincere effort, like the red in litmus paper dipped in acid.
True…
Happiness is temporary but joy comes from within. The things of this world, that which is material and destructible, will ultimately leave me an empty shell. The present is fleeting, the past is overwhelming, the future is daunting. The peace and joy that everyone is searching for is not found in anything. Peace and joy can only come from God.
True…
I have nothing. What I owe should be repaid. Because I love and respect you, I will repay you. In turn I will earn your respect and trust.
True…
The disdain I feel for those who leech, parasites that use others for a free ride, sometimes overtakes my thoughts and emotions, to the point where mercy and grace have been displaced from my heart. I do not want to become bitter and jaded. My desire to help the helpless has been tainted with suspicion and cynicism. I want to see the idealist who used to stare back at me in the mirror.
True…
My smile is real. God is the fountain for my joy. But my well is running dry…
True…
Being true to myself means caring for others, saying what I mean, being responsible, sacrificing and working hard for my dreams, not stepping over others as I journey through life, confronting my faults and weaknesses. I am an empty shell seeking to fill cavities and crevices that can only be infused with God’s love.
True…
When will I get it?

Escape

2009-12-11T20:01:00.007-05:00

A poem inspired by my sweet kitty, Tito, who enjoys to play with danger. He escapes, only to be sought with love and brought home again. Reminds me of how our Heavenly Father does the same with us.

Escape

A crack, the light, welcoming,
Curiously, to peek.
A chance to explore from what's confining,
To break free from what seems bleak.

Pry with determination,
The door suddenly ajar.
Racing towards the future,
The desire growing to reach afar.

The cold, the rain, the darkness
All greet loudly with a sneer.
The hope, the courage all soon falter
And long for what was dear.

The warmth, the familiar, softly tender,
In memory short and fleeting.
Fright in panic, a cry in parting,
The heart rapidly beating.

A coo, a whisper, hope returns;
Timidly the eyes meet.
A shiver, a step to leap,
The scoop in arms, the kiss so sweet.

When God answers prayers...

2009-11-11T21:03:00.003-05:00

Ever notice that when someone exclaims "God answered my prayers!" it's usually because the prayer was answered in the way that that person wanted it answered? Seldom do we hear "It's totally opposite of what I wanted, but God answered my prayer." "Praise God, I wasn't healed!" or "To God be the glory, my life is falling apart!" When I watch the news about a catastrophic event where lives were lost and innocents suffered, and I hear that one particular person exclaiming their adoration for God because she survived, I wonder how many family members of the non-survivors are praising God at that same moment. It seems somewhat unkind to say "I’ll pray for you, not for what you want, but for what God wants for you". Are you ready to receive the blessing, even if in reverse? Am I expecting a miracle because I claimed a promise? What if I suspect that God’s response is the one that I don’t want and so I keep the problem and try to handle it myself? Where is faith in all of this?

I strongly believe there are consequences to our actions that we must pay. There is a thing called mercy and grace, and it does abound. But I’m such a realistic, black-n-white kind of person, that sometimes mercy and grace become lost in the deserved penalty. Recently I had two personal episodes, both related, that made me question my superwoman abilities. I try so hard to hold it together, in private and especially in public. In my profession, my job is to point out things people are doing wrong. And so when I show signs of weakness or normality, it’s devastating. Too much pressure for a simple, want-to-fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. And so to counter my apparent perfection, I do stupid things. Twice in one month this time.

My heart sank through my stomach and I lost it. Sobbing. I’m such a failure. Should I pray about it? Why would God want to hear me? Perhaps my human nature is what keeps me from believing that God has enough time to help me with what weighs heavy in my heart? Why should I bother Him with such insignificant problems that stem from the root of my carelessness, my pride? Surely He’s got better things to do, people to heal (or not), children to feed, nations at war, empty hearts starving for love and acceptance… I meditate on His beautiful miracle of deliverance from my sin and wonder why He would consider my speck of worry and trouble? Is it because my heart is heavy and my soul is troubled? Perhaps He knows how much a positive outcome to my foolishness would mean to me. And there’s that thing called mercy and grace that He seems to be so good at. This state I'm in is because of my own doing, stupidity in its most educated form, carelessness, pride – I don’t deserve deliverance, but I long for it.

And so my prayers were answered. The answer was not a positive outcome. There were consequences that I had to pay for my actions. But I needed deliverance from something bigger than consequence – I needed deliverance from myself – my self, that self that gets me in trouble every time, the self that is the beginning part of selfish. I prayed that I would accept, with a joyful heart, whatever outcome God declared was the best for my growth and journey with Him. I grew and I continue to journey. At peace. A prayer answered.

Inspiration, apprehension, and me

2009-09-05T14:29:00.002-04:00

"Tell two truths and one lie about you." That's how my professor began her class this past week. I was person #3 and had mere seconds to quickly come up with something interesting enough that would entice my fellow classmates to further explore my coolness, depth of thought and overall winning personality. I failed miserably, sounding totally vain and materialistic instead. I mentioned my cars, the number of colleges I've attended, and the number of years I've been married. Blah, blah, blah. Who cares that I get a new car every 5 months. Or that I've attended 6 colleges and universities. Smart and rich, which I'm really not, is how I came across. The other students had much more interesting things to say. One young lady was a child stroke survivor. Wow - it took her 6 months to learn how to use the right side of her body again. Another was a kindergarten teacher with 24 students. Another was a retired army paratrooper and had made over 50 jumps. Definitely people I would enjoy talking to and getting to know better.

So let me take another stab at this. Two truths and a lie. Okay, I think I'll skip the lie. Two truths about me that I would like to be known by. I enjoy having the sun caress my face. That's why I love convertibles, walking, running, and leisurely riding my bike. Sitting on a park bench, laying on the beach, walking on the sidewalk - are all activities that relax my mind and slow my heart. I commune with God the most when I'm outside. I don't have to necessarily be out in nature, just being outside is enough for me. And the second truth - I'm grateful for a second chance at life. I don't think about it as much as I used to, but after surviving that carbon monoxide accident from almost 4 years ago, life is precious to me. Not just my life, but my husband's, my brother's, my parents', my in-laws', my friends'. I value life and most importantly its Source.

The Scents of Running

2009-08-03T12:53:00.002-04:00

To some, running makes no sense. When I mention that I'm somewhat of an avid runner, some have retorted "Well, you better start running real fast if you ever see me running. That means someone's chasing me!" Or my favorite, "I only run if I'm trying to catch the ice cream truck!" Cute. To me, running makes all the sense in the world. It's my way of destressing after a long hard day at work and school. I also enjoy communing with God, talking to Him, listening to Him speak to me through the songs I listen to on the iPod. There are bunnies I encounter on my path, kitties, even horses sometimes that speak of His creativity and love. Flowers, trees, beautiful blue skies - a work of art created for my enjoyment.

And so it makes perfect sense to run. How else would I enjoy this scenery? And then there's the scents attributed to running. Every day I encounter new and interesting variety of smells that add a whole new dimension and texture to the landscape of my favorite pastime. Some are pleasant, some make me gasp for air, others revolt my stomach, and there are few that make me stop dead in my tracks and take it all in. There's the occasional dead squirrel, decomposing in the hot Southern air. The smell of freshly cut grass on a humid day - it's invigorating. One of my favorites is the smell of the wet earth in the morning as the sun begins to sip its moisture. There's honeysuckle and blossoming trees in the spring. And then there are the dump trucks on the other side of the trees - being downwind when they're parked in the evening always makes me run just a little faster. I encountered a new smell the other day - cigar. Wow - someone exercising and puffing away. I can't understand the logic in that one but it did make me run faster to get away. I can always count on Ricky's Drive-In for some good southern greasy smells. Add the smell of the dumpster next to the restaurant and that explains why I've never had the urge to eat there. There's a candle/lotion/soap-making plant on my trail and occasionally in the evenings as they mix their concoctions of the sweetest nectar, I get a whiff of synthetic beauty.

All five senses play into my running routines. But somehow my nose always sets the pace.

Restlessness

2009-04-18T13:51:00.004-04:00

Nothing to write about, no intense words to share, but I still feel a burden in my heart to pen a phrase or two. Every once in a while I feel the need to evaluate my life and accomplishments; not necessarily at the end of the year like most people do. And I’m coming up a little empty lately. Living from deadline to deadline, timelines, project gateways, due dates- is that how my life is defined now? I remember someone using the illustration about not remembering every single meal his wife prepared in the 30-plus years of their marriage, but he was strongly assured that they were deliciously nutritious because he was healthy, nourished, and happy. I try to apply that lesson to my life and wonder if I am leading a fulfilled life, even though I can't remember many extraordinary events besides big ones like my baptism and wedding (which actually were 2 weeks apart!)

Speaking of extraordinary events, I’ve had a horde of friends and acquaintances announce pregnancies and have babies in the last 12 months. I wonder if this has anything to do with my restlessness. Yeah, that’s a good word. My state of mind is not centered around unfulfilled dreams or discontentment. It’s restlessness in my heart, an impatience if you will, similar to when a piece of clothing doesn’t quite sit well and for the whole day you feel disturbed. Maybe it’s because I’m 38 years old, a healthy and emotionally strong woman who has a nurturing and happy spirit and has decided that having children is not her thing. Nothing wrong with that, a lot of people tell me. But they still ask: why, when, how come? Why can’t I just be me without being compared to someone else? Even I am guilty of this – I compare myself to those who are having / have had babies all around me.

I can’t explain it – my biological clock doesn’t tick. I can hold and love a baby for hours, give him/her back to mommy and not feel the need that I have got to have one. And I’m good with kids – they like me and seek me out. So why this feeling of restlessness? It’s because I don’t like being told what to do and when to do it. Enjoy your moment, but don’t ask me why I don’t want to share in your moment. I’ll have my moment on my own terms, when I’m good and ready.

So let me bask in your pregnancy glow. I’ll go to your showers and ooh and ahh over the cute and sweet gifts. I’ll visit and hold your precious little baby, have him/her wrap their perfect little fingers around mine and kiss their soft skin. I’ll pray for you, for wisdom and patience and restful sleep. But don’t ask me why and when. Let me deal with my restlessness and come to terms with the plans God has for my life.

Where has my heart gone?

2009-01-09T18:31:00.003-05:00

12,182,400 seconds. That's how long it's been since I've last sat down and written down thoughts for my enjoyment. Way entirely too long for someone who likes, okay needs, creative outlets for day-to-day frustrations. Calculating the amount of time since my last blog post until today was no easy feat. But doing so made me ask "What did I do in the meantime?" Even my running has dwindled to a minimum since that time. The skeins of yarn lay quietly near my bed anxiously waiting to be twisted and twirled into a treasured gift. How in the world have I maintained my sanity? I don't know. This has been a hard 4.5 months. Challenges at school and work, living among kitchen renovations and all the chaos - it has not been easy. And Joy has not lived by her blog title and has not indulged in her simple pleasures that slow the heart rate of her inner peace. Sounds like a good start for the year, don't you think?

Nostalgia with questions

2008-08-21T18:42:00.003-04:00

When did life get so complicated? I'm racking my brain, trying to remember how old I was when I woke up and simplicity left me completely. When did stuff begin to matter? I remember wearing orthopedic shoes and socks up to my knees and not caring that I looked like a complete dork. Inwardly I knew I was cute regardless of what I wore.

When did people begin to matter? I remember having a yellow bean bag doll that was my best friend. And I remember the first time my heart was broken by a friend who left me for another friend. Dissed. Playing with snow, laying on the beach with sand in my bathing suit, chasing wishes in the wind. Remember the wishes? They were weeds that were caught up by the wind and if you managed to grab one and made a wish, it would come true! And I believed it wholeheartedly.

When did I stop believing? The idealist who would be president, feed the hungry world, and run free, that was me. When did a paycheck become a necessity and paying bills an obsession?

I long for days of beauty, complete beauty, from start to finish. A glowing peace deep within my soul, assurance that what people say doesn't matter, money is not an issue, laughter abounds in plenty, and family will always uphold me regardless of my beliefs.

Sabbatical = Writing Funk

2008-08-01T20:52:00.003-04:00

Call it lameness, a reprieve, life happens, whatever - I can't think of any good excuses why I haven't kept up with my blog writing. It's not that I don't enjoy it - for me, writing is therapeutic. So during my very therapeutical run through my neighborhood this evening, words were flying left and right through the short diameter of my brain and I was determined to sit down and write a few sentences that were so full of meaning that I would leave everyone speechless. And then I remembered that there is no everyone! Nobody keeps up with my blog anymore because it's been a very long 3 month dry spell. Except for my faithful ex-neighbor Jo Ellen who asked if I minded if she linked my blog to hers. Minded?! It's exactly the push I need! It's spelled a-c-c-o-u-n-t-a-b-i-l-i-t-y (wow, that was hard to type like that!). Thank you, my neighbor-from-very-afar, you have resurrected my desire to express and rant and rave about life. I will not let you down, my audience of one! From here on out, I will publish witty stories, pensive poems, words of wisdom and meaning that will color your literary world with goodness and mirth. Right. Always the overachiever. Let me just shoot for a paragraph or two of my very boring happenings and how I interpret life through them. That I can do. Thanks JEB!

Poetic Oracles from Malachi

2008-04-05T15:04:00.004-04:00

A poem written by Joy, taken from the four chapters of the book of Malachi...

He says, "I have loved you..."
And yet I have defiled His altar.
"I will open for you the windows of heaven..."
But time and time again I profane His Name,
A Name that should be great among the nations.
Why, O Lord, when You offer me eternity do I turn my life away?
All You ask is for my heart
As a token sacrifice for Your love.
Instead, I bring you blind choices,
Lame excuses, a blemished and diseased heart.
You, Lord, are the Sun of Righteousness
And You arise with healing in Your wings.
"Become Mine," the Lord of hosts pleads.
"I will make you My jewel.
Return to Me, and I will return to you."
In what way can I return, O Lord?
"Come, and I will refine you in My fire,
I will launder you with My soap,
I will purify you and make you shine like silver.
Offer yourself to Me
And I will pour out such blessings
That there will not be room enough to receive them all."
Yes, my faithful Father,
Write my name in Your Book of Remembrance.
I will be Yours.

Diary of a Novice Runner

2008-04-04T19:50:00.005-04:00

Running has been a part my life for the last two and a half years. I went back and read a journal I had kept when I first started running. It's amazing how far I've come along in my little sport. There was all this writing about routes and minutes. Before I had discovered Gmaps pedometer by Google, I used to drive my car and reset the counter to see about how many miles were in each of my routes. And I was so determined on running faster and harder. There's an entry in parentheses that says "stopped to pet cat" and that made me laugh. I used to do that a lot. And stop to smell flowers. Squeal at hopping bunnies. Then there was the Glendalyn Circle mountain that took me - no lie- about 3 months to conquer. It wasn't really a mountain, but let me tell you that it left me gasping for air every time I ran it. Funny, I don't run it anymore. And then another feat - running on a treadmill. I was deathly afraid of treadmills and breaking my neck - coordination is not my thing but I managed to stay on for 5 whole miles the first time I tried it. Now I can run on the treadmill and watch TV at the same time! That took me about 2 years to conquer. I even wrote down the day when I registered for my first race: September 20, 2005. That was big. I went from running one or two blocks at a time to setting a goal to run 13.1 miles in one swoop. And I trained hard during those next months. The journal is filled with accounts of black toenails and blisters, sore muscles, hip pain, and bad shoes. Little by little I increased my distances until I was able to run for a whopping 13 miles without stopping. All in a matter of 5 months!

I want to share my journal entry on the night before the day of my big race. "It's Race Day Eve-Eve!! I did my last run thru the neighborhood as an amateur. The next time my feet hit this pavement I'll be a seasoned pro!! LOL My brother called and left a message for Flo-Jo. :) I'm going to have quite the cheering crowd in ATL - Kev, Stevo, Jay, Amy, Christopher & Tracy too!! Awesome! Everyone's going to think I'm an elite runner!"

And then the unthinkable happened. That same night after I had finished journaling and packing for the most extraordinary sporting event of my life, Kevin and I were overcome by carbon monoxide in our home. And I spent race day, by the grace of God, in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber at the hospital. After being able to run 13 plus miles at a time, five days later I went back out to run and couldn’t even finish 4 miles. I had said that the next time I ran through my neighborhood I was going to be a seasoned pro. Instead, I was a humbled runner, grateful to be alive, my lungs weak but miraculously healthy.

I just ran my 6th race this past weekend. Back in my beloved city of Atlanta. I didn’t break any records or stop to pet any cats. I ran with 14,000 other runners who had stories of their own to tell. Funny, it’s a routine with me now - I always think of my Race Day Eve-Eve experience as I wait at the start line to take off running. And a prayer always escapes from my lips as the feet take off and the adrenaline starts pumping. “Thank you Lord for letting me live to run yet another race”.

Joseph and the falafel

2008-03-07T18:46:00.007-05:00

What do these two things have in common? Biblically, nothing really. Though I'm sure being of Middle Eastern origin, the falafel may have been around during Joseph's time. The intent of this post is not to discuss the theological or historical connection between Joseph and the falafel, though I'm sure Veggie Tales could narrate quite a humorous story from the title alone.

If I only had two words to describe the outcome of my week, they would be "Joseph, Falafel". (I can't even say "and the" between the two because that would be more than two words.) I've always centered my work ethic and philosophy of life around the story of the life of Joseph. As I struggle with challenges at work, sometimes even slight persecution, I find unending comfort in a story that speaks of adversity and faith to such a high degree. Even when I'm up to "here" with work, just thinking about Joseph makes me feel triumphant. My prayer has always been "Lord, make me a Joseph in my job." Whether he was in charge of a household, a group of prisoners, or a whole kingdom, Joseph was always anchored to God, and he made a difference in everyone's life that he came in contact with. The job did not define him - his walk with God defined him.

Back in September of 2006 I was challenged to take my current position at work to a new level. I was uncertain and hesitant about these new responsibilities. But after much prayer and good counsel, I rose to the challenge. The task was not easy by any means and there have been many times when I honestly question the soundness of my decision. I've hit lows that probably don't quite match Joseph's stint with slavery and incarceration, but in the context of events throughout my life thus far, I did some hard time. Yesterday I was made second in command to the Egyptian kingdom. Okay, not really. Actually, my manager sat me down and presented me with my annual portfolio review. It was good. It was very good. Okay, it was fantastic, aside from a couple of "positive criticism" remarks that were only thrown in there because I obviously cannot be perfect. It was the highest rating I've ever received. And it came with a promotion. Not a huge promotion, but enough to reward me for the last 18 months of challenges and give me a good dose of confidence. I had not asked for a promotion. In fact, I thought it would be at least a couple more years before I would even dare ask how I could possibly get a promotion. And in the whirlwind of renovations, remodels, and reconstruction in which I live in, this blessing has come at the most opportune moment. Thank you, Jesus.

The falafel part of this success story came into play today. I love falafels - they are my absolutely favorite fried fritter. I rewarded myself today with a trip to The Pita House and a plate full of falafels to mash into my pita. Yum. As I sank my teeth into the grainy texture and contemplated on my small accomplishment, my heart was full of gratitude to God for seeing me through and showing me once again that hard work, honesty, kindness, sincerity and perseverance always pay off.

The Blossoming Fig Tree, a short story by Joy

2008-02-23T15:38:00.003-05:00

Inspired by a wonderful sermon I heard today from Pastor Carlos Molina...

Once there was a young fig tree with leaves happy green, surrounded by fig trees of leaves happy green. The garden where he lived was welcoming, enjoyed by many as a haven of beauty and rest for the soul. Paths were worn by the feet of friends, lovers, and even the solitary ones who came to hear nature, feel the earth, and breathe color. The fruit of the fig trees was delightful and sweet, its pulp desired by many, its nectar enjoyed by all who came to the garden. The time for blossoms had arrived and the fig tree felt the power of life surge through him, beginning at the roots, traveling through the trunk, making his limbs shiver. But alas no blossoms came. He shook his limbs and tried again. Surely that was only a fluke, he thought. The other youthful fig trees were blossoming around him. He searched deep within the core, wiggled his roots and concentrated on producing beauty. Nothing. Disheartened, the fig tree bowed his head and wept silently. Maybe next year. Time and time again, after dismal winter had passed, he would witness the life of spring as shrubs and plants, even stately trees would burst with flowers with such natural artistry that it would take even his breath away. And he prayed that he too could add to the array of color and wonderment, hopeful that he could be fruitful so that others could enjoy the product of his love. One beautiful spring day a visitor came to the garden, and walked quietly among the flowers with a book under his arm and a blanket draped across his shoulder. He laid the blanket on the carpeted grass underneath the blossomless fig tree with leaves happy green. He read from his book, with a voice rich yet gentle. “Though the fig tree may not blossom… Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.” (Hab 3:17-18) The fig tree heard the words and in amazement came to the quiet realization that the power to blossom did not come from within him, but from He who had created him. With humble acceptance, he meditated on the words he just heard, happy to provide shade to his friend. His troubled heart finally at rest, the young fig tree thought, “In spite of my circumstance, I will have faith in my Creator, at peace with my lot, rejoicing and sharing what I do have with all who come underneath my happy green leaves.”

“The Lord God is my strength; He will make my feet like deer’s feet, and He will make me walk on my high hills.” Habakuk 3:19

How Far Will You Walk?

2008-02-15T19:24:00.003-05:00

What motivates people to go through extraordinary measures for a cause? Is it love? Dogged determination and perseverance? Or are we spiritually wired with an inner resolve that transcends our mere existence and surfaces during times of hardship?

As my family and most of my friends know, I love to run long distances. It energizes and liberates me. I have no desire to run a full marathon- am quite content with the half-marathon distance and enjoy the challenge it brings without the strenuous training and time investments. I run for me and my health: physical, mental, and spiritual health. And I participate in "races" because I enjoy challenges and like to establish a few goals every now and then. But this year I thought about doing something different. Every year I try to find a race outside of my "area" - I ran in San Francisco the year before and just last year did a neat course in New Hampshire. So to continue tradition, I searched websites far and wide looking for that "perfect" location during that right time of year where training wouldn't take away from the enjoyment of my sport. I was searching hard and not coming up with anything that met my criteria for location, time of year and distance. Then I came across a flyer in the mail from the Susan G. Komen foundation. But it wasn't a half-marathon and it didn't require running. I was intrigued because if I do this, it will be the greatest physical and mental challenge for me EVER. It's called The 3-Day. We're talking 60 grueling miles over three days, and not running but walking. Walking, laughing, crying, singing with thousand of others. Walking for a cure to a cruel disease that every day snatches the vibrant lives of women around the world. This, I want to be a part of. I know I will get frustrated in the "slowness" of walking. I can run 13.1 miles in under 2 hours. But to walk 20 miles in one day - I don't know. We're talking 5 hours of straight walking, at a "fast" pace of 4 miles per hour. And by day 3, I'm not going to have the energy to walk at 4 miles per hour. But you know what? The women who have to undergo mastectomies, hair loss, pain, uncertainty- they go through so much more. At the end of the 3 days I can go home and submerge my aching body in a fragrant bubble bath and within days my body will be whole again. The inner and outer scars from breast cancer are with you and your loved ones forever. I can totally do this.

Reading the news today, I came across a beautiful story about a father and his crippled child that convinced me that walking 60 miles is nothing. This family lives in Iraq and have never had the luxury of owning a wheel chair. So the father carried his son everywhere he went. A wonderful civilian contractor working in Iraq felt a deep burden from watching crippled children dragging their thin bodies all over Baghdad because they did not have wheelchairs. So he began a program that donates wheelchairs to needy families. The father of this crippled boy walked 6 miles with the boy in his arms to collect his wheelchair. Within 100 yards from his destination some tried to take the boy from his arms to help him out. He was adamant. "I've been carrying this child all my life. I can carry him the last 100 yards to receive his wheelchair." That brought me to almost uncontrollable tears. Pictures of my heavenly Father came to mind with the reassurance that one day all this pain and suffering will be over. And children will be able to laugh and run and be free. And the frail, diseased bodies of mothers and sisters and daughters and friends will be made whole once again.

Jesus walked to Calvary to save us forever. The Iraqi father walked 6 miles for a wheelchair for his son. I can definitely dedicate 3 days of my life to walk 60 miles for a cause I believe in. How far will you walk?

If you want to join me in my 60 mile quest, email me. I would love to have a group of sisters at my side and share in this beautiful experience.

Bothered and Bemused

2008-02-02T16:06:00.000-05:00

The older I get, the more persnickety I become. It's so funny how little things bother me to the point of insanity, like the pitch of someone's voice, dried toothpaste on the faucet, and little pieces of paper folded a million times. And because I know how much these unimportant things bother me, I have decided to become "slick-back". It's a new term I created that describes what I should do when I encounter a person or something about a person that drives me crazy. Butter my back and let it roll right off me. Life is too precious to let the fastidious 10% affect my essential 90%. So I put on my headphones, clean my bathroom, and throw little pieces of paper away, smile and tackle the real problems in life, like world peace, the environment, and my closet!

Jobos, Quenepas, Parchas and Tamarindos

2007-12-01T15:19:00.001-05:00

This week I received an unexpected package from one of my aunts who live in Puerto Rico. My family in PR knows how much I love the fruits and vegetables from the island and they try to periodically send me care packages with little edible mementos. I was in high heaven, sinking my teeth into a jobo grown on a tree in Tia Estrella's backyard. It's a fruit that seems to be a cross between a mango and an apple. In English, they're called ambarella and they grow only in warm tropical places. The skin peels like a mango and the flesh is somewhat crisp like an apple. The seed is like a prickly cactus. The flesh is sweet, almost honey-like and there are thick fibers that run throughout the fruit. Tia Estrella sent me about 10 jobos and I've been eating one a day, sad that after 10 days there won't be any more until this time next year.

My uncle, Tio Yoyo, sent me a care package a couple of months ago with quenepas. This is a very addicting wonderful fruit that again only grows in high tropical areas. It goes by different names in different countries, mamoncillos, gineps, mamones, Spanish limes. The outer shell is hard, like a muscadine. And the flesh is pink, soft and fuzzy and acidic. There is a large round seed in the middle. When Kevin and I were in Costa Rica for our honeymoon many years ago, I discovered that they grow there as well. Every single picture from our honeymoon has me with a brown paper bag filled with the fruit and my hand to my mouth, sucking on the sweet soft quenepa flesh. Life cannot get better than this.

I also receive packages with fresh parcha, aka passion fruit. My sweet aunt Tia Ada sent me a few this summer and I was able to enjoy fresh passion fruit juice, just like my mom taught me to make. There's an involved, careful process of removing the seeds so it won't taint the flavor of the fruit. Oh, but the juice is nothing like what you buy at the store. Tart but sweet and orange-yellow in color.

Then there's tamarindos. My mom sends me these from Florida. This fruit is like a big brown bean pod. The flesh is also brown and soft, very tart, and the seeds are hard and dark brown. I make bottles and bottles of fresh tamarindo juice, keeping the brown shiny seeds for mosaic mirror frame I plan to make one day.

I'm so grateful for my family and how they spoil me with delicious natural flavors from fruit trees that God has so lovingly created. When I sink my teeth into a jobo, or a quenepa, or drink the pulp from a parcha or tamarindo, I can close my eyes and let the flavors roll around my mouth, my heart full of love and appreciation for a caring family and God's culinary artistry.

Coal on my lips

2007-11-10T08:11:00.000-05:00

Our world market has been tainted with products that are less than desirous when it comes to quality. In the rush to produce more, questionable materials and practices are being used to produce goods that are potentially harmful to its consumers. And so we have lead in toys, tainted pet products, foods laced with illicit pesticides, even lead in lipstick. Now this was a shocker to me, since I've been painting my lips for the last 20 years. Fortunately my buttered rum lipstick shade that I faithfully get from my Avon lady isn't on the forbidden list.

Pretty much all my life I've been very conscious of what passes through my lips. My mom being the health conscious authority of the Tirado family has made it her life mission to ensure that we were kept on a healthy regiment full of legumes, nuts, fruits, and vegetables. Even during my rebellious years her image would miraculously appear on my shoulder when I would pass the sugared cereal section of the grocery store, admonishing me to keep on going and not give in to temptation.

I consider my lips to be a gateway to not just my stomach but also to my inner thoughts and feelings. Countless times I have blurted out thoughts - what in the world was I thinking of letting that out! Someone asked me a few weeks ago, "Where did you come up with that?" after I inadvertently said something that should have stayed right where the thought originated - in my head. If they only knew what actually never makes it out.

The Bible says, "For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks." Pretty wise words. And true too. Whatever we fill our hearts - what we see and hear, read and watch - that's what we'll talk about. That's why it's important to surround ourselves with things that are pure, noble, good, and virtuous.

And so as much as I watch the foods that pass through my lips, as much as I don't want lipstick tainted with lead to even come close to this important part of my body - I should take even greater care to watch that which comes in contact with my other senses. Like Isaiah of old, I identify with those unclean lips. And I desperately need live coal taken from the altar of the Most High to cleanse and purge my lips and take my iniquity away. (Isaiah 6:5-7)

A little can-can with my friends

2007-10-28T14:00:00.001-04:00

Star in Your Own JibJab! It's Free!

Bambinos A-Plenty

2007-09-24T20:04:00.000-04:00

There may be some truth to the phrase "it's in the water" when it comes to describing the phase in your life when so many people around you synchronize their reproductive systems and decide to have babies at the same time. I'm abstaining from water these days - please don't read into this and send Kevin your condolences. I'm literally only drinking bottled water and keeping away from neighboring water sources. No lie, for the next 6 to 9 months, I will be kissing and holding about seven babies from seven different friends/relatives. It's beautiful, really. Each so different, but all have 10 toes and 10 fingers and the cutest lips and chubby cheeks. Different skin colors and amounts of hair, but all will make gurgly noises and have that sweet bambino scent (prior to diaper messes, of course).

Babies don't scare me. I love babies, actually. Especially in the winter, when their warm bodies radiate all that heat that cold-natured people like me love to soak up. I faithfully crochet little hats and scarves or sweaters and baby afghans. And I lovingly count each stitch and pick out yarns that are soft and cuddly. It takes me forever and sometimes the handmade gifts don't arrive until the child has graduated from high school. But I try.

The newest addition to the Tirado family was born on September 11th and I can't wait to meet her and see the rest of my family. I hear my mom gush about how beautiful she is and what a proud big brother my 2-year old nephew has become, and already I feel the tug at my heart. These little creatures have tremendous power over me.

Kevin and I are seriously considering adding on in the distant-near future. I'm not talking about our house remodeling project, either. I can hear the gasps and see the stunned faces. Yes, we've talked about it and continue to talk about it. To me, being a parent is such an awesome responsibility and not everyone is equipped for the lifelong task. I see my husband interact with children and I think it would be great to let him try out his Donald Duck voice with one of his own. The decision is so scary, though- we both have a lot of baggage and bad habits that we need to rid ourselves of. Throw in the mix all the genes from generations past, society, environment, a 13.5 year-old marriage, independence, stubbornness, afternoon naps, little purses, too many shoes, frivolous spending, a convertible car - and I have created an environment where a normal child cannot be brought into. Yet, it's the spiritual factor that has convinced me that it can be done. If it weren't for God's grace, there would not be a happy child living in this world. That's the only way I can look at it without running away from the thought of having children. As long as God is the central focus of this home, all members present and future, will fall under the umbrella of His love and it will be all right.

Life full of bug splatter

2007-09-07T19:58:00.000-04:00

Smack...Splatter...Splat... I hadn't seen so many bugs on the front bumper of my car since my first experience with the love bug epidemic that hits Florida every year. Don't ever travel far and fast with a white car - it's nearly impossible to wash all the dead bugs off. I hand-washed my new white car with a rag and mild soap, attempting to recover the front end from the insect cemetery it had become. Kevin and I have just returned from a 2500-mile excursion through the northeast. Along the way, we managed to collect every species of insect imaginable. My car became an entomologist’s laboratory, a morbid collection of grayish matter and paper-thin wings. With my nose wrinkled and some warm sudsy water, I patiently scrubbed most of the bug particles from the front bumper, the hood, the windshield, and the side mirrors of my car.

I had been fussing under my breath, not enjoying my task, when a thought popped in my head. During my younger years, I had traveled on the fast lane, careening through life at high speeds, oblivious to the small obstacles that collided and splattered, leaving little marks here and there. It’s nothing, insignificant, that’s not going to matter later, or so I reasoned with the bad choices I made. But when life came to a standstill and I was left to assess the reason for my existence, the outcome from my collection of mistakes was disturbing. The worst damage was mental and emotional, not so much physical. I turned to God, the "Ultimate Carwash”, and He sat there, with a rag soaked in His blood, and lovingly washed away the debris from the mess I called my life. Not everything is back to being brand-spanking new, fresh from the factory, new-car-smell-kind of good. There are consequences to certain actions that we will always have to deal with. The good news is that God is here to help us deal with the consequences – and He empowers us with what I call measures: measures of faith, of love, of strength, of power – fueled by His Word through prayer, study, and daily communication.

I fall short so many times, running on empty, knowing what I have to do, how I need to connect, but being blatantly stubborn and lazy. Yet through simple tasks such as washing my car, God still tries to reach me, telling me how He has saved me and that He wants to empower me to live my life to the fullest.

A little break...

2007-08-23T20:23:00.000-04:00

Vacation... This powerful word has immobilized my creativity and ruined my work ethic. I've really been good-for-nothing these last few days. And I've yet to pack, clean, organize, and leave my affairs in order so I won't be too stressed when I get back. Kevin and I are leaving for our East Coast tour tomorrow afternoon. We have a huge adventure planned, visiting some family, and ending up in little coastal New England towns to rejuvenate our bodies and minds. We're strapping our bikes to our little Z-4 convertible, hoping we won't topple over from the height of our load. Big fun.

Won't be blogging any - in fact I'm looking forward to 10 days of no computer access. We'll see how long it lasts. Of course Kevin has to check up on his fantasy football team. I, on the other hand, will abstain from anything electronic, except ATM's, an electric razor, and maybe a phone.

Check back after Labor Day!

Expressions of Faith

2007-08-10T21:52:00.000-04:00

Coming to the realization
that there is hope,
that death is not final,
that love is forever;
That there’s Someone
who can heal wounds,
find the lost,
comfort the grieving,
instill peace during troubling times.
How can I express my faith?

So much to receive
so little do I give.
How can I express my faith?

Will a smile suffice,
perhaps a hug, a prayer?
Thanksgiving, gratitude,
mercy, commitment;
Is it enough?

After all, He devoted His life,
eternal as it was,
for my cause.
To give me hope
and save me from grave sadness.

That sacrifice, though so long ago,
gives hope anew
to all who accept through faith.

Love eternal,
love profound,
love with no beginning or end:
Unfathomable love.
How can I express my faith?

Expressions of faith,
not a one-time occurrence,
but a lifetime of giving,
and sharing –
forever loving.

More than meets the "I"

2007-07-27T21:16:00.000-04:00

Transformer makeovers. As a twirly little girl, I used to love playing makeover. I didn't have fancy clothes or feather boas to play with, but I would fantasize about one day being transformed from a nobody to a princess. Eliza Doolittle, Anastasia, Cinderella... Hollywood has capitalized on this very little-girl fantasy. But not all makeovers are an improvement. I was watching a talk show this week- I don't know why, but my dead brain cells must have resurrected as zombies and taken over the few good cells I still have. Anyway, it was a show on makeovers - pretty girl makeovers. The first candidate was a poster child for all the 80's fashion faux pas every American woman regrets. I'm talking bleached hair, with the 10-foot cemented bangs, bright eye shadow and ruby red lips, all topped off with spandex. She was transformed with dark flowy, natural hair and make-up, and well-fitted clothing. I was optimistic after seeing her transformation; this show may not be so bad after all. The feeling that I was not wasting time worshipping the one-eyed monster was short-lived. The rest of the transformations were complete with hair extensions galore, outfits suitable for music videos, and fake excitement. One of the women stood out - she was very attractive in a natural way. She had short curly hair, a healthy complexion, and cool glasses - a natural beauty that only needed a little steering. After her day at the salon, she was given long, straight auburn extensions and an outfit that cried, "Look at me!" I actually thought she looked better before her makeover. The stylists painted her in a different picture from what she truly represented. She didn't appear too ecstatic about her new look and I felt sad for her, almost like she had sold-out her real self in front of national TV. Her 10 seconds of fame were marred by an image of someone who didn't truly represent what she was about.

Thankfully, I let go of those little-girl fantasies. I've come to the realization that the beauty from within is what shines brightest from without. God has played the major role in my total makeover transformation. He knows what I need - and it's none of this over-rated, materialistic, temporary glamour. Superficial beauty fades with trends, time and age - but the sparkle in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, and the smiles that begin from the inside is what captures and transforms.

The Class of 87

2007-07-19T20:18:00.000-04:00

"She's a brick - house..." Reconnecting with the '80's - that's what I'll be doing this weekend. Watching Kevin's old friends relive, reminisce, and recount the highlight of their lives - high school. Kevin's stories from his high school era have increased greatly during the last month when we decided we would attend his 20th reunion. Hearing him talk about his friends and their escapades, I couldn't help but go down the "what if" memory lane. All the crossroads I encountered throughout that four-year chapter of my life, if I took a left turn instead of a right turn, how close would I be to where I am today? What if I had concentrated less on math and science, and more on literature and music? What if I had defied my parents and pursued the crush of my life? What if instead of moving to FL my senior year I would have stayed in NJ? What if... What if... What if?

How many people waste their lives pondering what ifs? It doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done and there's no going back and doing it differently. The choices we made are irreversible. But there is hope for the bad choices - they can be improved. Even as we pay the consequences from mistakes in our past, we have the choice to pursue a better outcome. By wisely choosing the best option, I can improve my situation. Improvement doesn't always have to be measured by how good things are -it may take a while to see improvement. Even if things don't look rosy - a good way to look at a situation is how not worse things have gotten. I choose to be positive, to expect good, and to be happy with how my life has turned out. It will be interesting to see how many people I encounter this weekend that feel the same way.

Musings of a Birthday Girl

2007-07-13T19:48:00.000-04:00

Birthdays are starting to be fun again. If I measured happiness in percentage across time, with each of my birthdays as a tick mark on the x-axis, I would have an inverted bell-shaped curve. (In non-statistic language, I guess that would be a "U".) I think I hit my low point right around 27 - having recently moved away from good friends and a city that I loved to inhabit. A decade later, I find myself more emotionally involved with situations removed from me, overtly conscious of my environmental imprint in this world, outspoken yet inwardly secluded. Gone is the Joy that wanted to be President and was voted most likely to succeed. Nowadays, I'm more content with fixing a yummy meal for my husband than climbing corporate ladders.

Having been born on the fourth of July, I've led a life pampered with birthday celebrations that always climaxed into fireworks. And no matter what day of the week it fell on, I always got a respite from the ritual humdrum of everydayness. For the longest time, I thought the whole world celebrated my birthday. Then I learned about American History and that bubble quickly burst.

I had a special birthday last week- it's the longest I've ever lived. My parents came to visit and I spent the day surrounded by people I love, taking part in activities that I enjoy. I actually celebrate birthday months now, and the good cheer follows me all the way to the 31st. My mantle is full of fun and sweet cards I've received from family and friends far and near. My heart is warm from the phone messages and e-cards I received, all the presents and pampering, and good cheer.

I have a hard respect for the life I've been given. I am blessed. I'm healthy and strong, smart and well thought of, I'm in love and loved by many. Gainfully employed, comfortably roofed, and fashionably attired. So many have so much less. Countless struggle exponentially. On this side of my inverted curve, I pray that I will share with the same delight of my childhood years that only a wise old woman can appreciate.

Sisters of my heart

2007-07-11T16:42:00.000-04:00

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted a sister. Don't get me wrong, I love my little brother to pieces and wouldn't trade him for the world. I had fun dresssing him up when he was little and clipping shower curtain holders in his ears so he could have big hoop earrings to go with the outrageous outfits I would make him wear. (Sorry Jay - I'll pay for any therapy you may need as a result of the mental damage I may have caused over the years.) There was just something magical to me, an invisible bond if you will, when you share your life adventures with a sibling of your same sex. My mom and her sisters share that bond - a quiet aura that surrounds their hearts and transcends oceans, lands, and time.

So over the years, I've built many friendships with other girls, searching for members in my hood of sisters. I have been blessed with many of these sister-friends, some with whom I still keep in touch, even after decades of life trials and experiences.

For the past six years, a small group of my sisters and I have enjoyed one long-weekend every summer to bask in the sun and curl our toes in the South Carolina sand. These weekends have evolved into a culinary affair, with delicious recipes being shared as we dance around each other in the kitchen, laughing and giggling as we prepare our meals. We eat our delicious meals together, walk and play on the beach, watch girly movies, and shop the outlets. Most importantly, we share a love for Jesus, evidenced when we pray together and share experiences with each other. We have a large time.

I don't know what the future holds for us. But I do know that this past weekend was wonderful and I treasure the friendship I share with each of these girls.

Here we are after church, enjoying the sunshine.

Don't we look cute with our bathing suits?

And then there were four... Arjean had to go to D.C. for work. We wore matching shirts (fun!)

Blossoming Tracy

Birds-Eye-View Tracy

Sun-kissed Tracy

Sheila in the shrubs

New friends, Sheila and Arjean

Timeless Sheila

Elegant Arjean

Snuggle Bear

Va-va-voom Arjean!

Always Smiling Christi

Cute Bathing Suit!

Arjean did a great job taking this picture of me...

Soaked but happy!

Mala Unleashed

2007-06-16T00:05:00.000-04:00

Ever feel like throwing a tantrum just because you're in a funk? That's exactly what I did the other day. I don't know why I felt that way; I had gotten off from work at 11 a.m. and was going to enjoy a day of hard work around the house. But I was mean and totally disregarded the feelings of those around me (i.e. my husband). There's a term for my behavior, when I step out of my usual "joyful" attitude; it's called "mala". In Spanish, the word is defined as "bad". For me, I earned the label one hot summer morning at a train station in San Diego, California.

My co-workers and I were first in line at the Amtrak station in San Diego, where we had spent the first few days of our vacation together last summer. We were quite happy about being first in line, because we had just learned that the previous train had never arrived and we were probably going to wait in a long line of disgruntled travelers. As the arrival time for our train got closer, the line we had formed had grown exponentially and now snaked around the building. My attention was drawn to three young women who plopped against the wall, away from the line. They sat there listening to their music, smoking, chatting in Spanish.

As the arrival of the next train drew near, I overhead one of the girls ask her friends if they should get in line. "No", she said. "We'll manage to get in". And so she crept up and stood near the front of the line where we were standing. Her friends were obviously uncomfortable with cutting in line and stood back. I turned around and saw the long stream of people who were also waiting patiently in line. I couldn't believe the audacity of these girls, especially since I understood every word they were saying to each other, as they plotted and schemed. Someone behind me would probably not be able to get on the train after waiting in line in this unbearable heat, and here these girls refuse to stand in line and would probably make it on the train and comfortably travel to LA.

Ignited, I took up the charge of the underdog and I spoke up. I said to them in Spanish that if they want to get on the train they better stand in line with the rest of the people, that it wasn't fair that they cut in line, especially at the front of the line. That someone who has been waiting in line for hours would probably not be able to get on because of their rudeness and inconsiderate behavior. She fired back in Spanish that they didn't know that they needed to stand in line and that they had a plane to catch from LA for which they would be late. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. That in Spain they didn't have to stand in lines. I had news for them: this wasn't Spain! And actually I have been to Spain and spent a good time at the train stations standing in line. They whined and cried, argued and whined some more. The security guard came and started handing out tickets to those in line. I brought to his attention that these young ladies were trying to cut in line. He got two other guards and said absolutely not, that it wasn't fair to those who had been standing in line for hours. That's when the girls turned to me, "Eres una mala. ¡Desgraciada! ¡Mala!" I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Stick and stones... I told them that it's not that I didn't want them to get on the train, they just need to follow the rules, especially when they knew the rules and chose not to follow them. My traveling friends had been watching the whole situation unfold with curiosity and humor, not understanding what we had been saying to each other. They asked me what "mala" meant. And so I told them. They had witnessed a side of me that they had never seen at work, a confrontational, stand-up-for-my-cause-side of Joy that I keep hidden unless the underdog needs a hero.

We returned to work a week later, my coworkers telling the rest of my officemates the tale of Mala, the train-line superhero. And so the name was coined and is now used by all who sit near my cube. "Don't make me get mala on you!" is a frequent threat, all said with a smirk and sideways glance towards me. Mala hasn't surfaced since that hot summer day in San Diego. Until two days ago when I unleashed Mala on my poor unsuspecting husband. And it wasn't for a good cause this time. There was no reason or excuse for my behavior, except my selfish spirit taking over my joyful nature; probably an unusual mix of hormones and lack of sleep. I've apologized and tried to make up for my behavior. He was sweet and said I was allowed to have a bad day every once in a while. But still... Mala should only be let out when there's a cause that requires someone to stand up for others who don't have a voice. And I misused my gift.

What happened to the rude girls? They got on the train. With smirks on their faces, they got on the same car as we did, and found seats away from us. I was glad they were able to get on, as long as all the others standing in line were able to get on too. Plus my traveling friends had said they had my back.

In the Depths of Despair

2007-06-09T16:14:00.000-04:00

There is so much sadness in this world. Every day we hear of atrocities against children, abductions of innocent people, families being targeted and killed... death, disease, despair. I live surrounded by good things, a haven hedged by love and protection. And I can't even begin to fathom what it would be like to live in fear and sadness. I pray that if one day I have to be raked through those coals, that my God will keep my heart unscathed. My soul felt heavy this morning from a couple of situations in friends’ lives, and I sought solace in the Word. I started reading about the kings and rulers during the times of the Israel and Judah conflict, way back during the prophet Elijah's time (1 Kings 15 & 16, 2 Chronicles 13). I started in the book of Chronicles and then went back to reference the same characters in 1 Kings. That's when I began reading about Elijah in chapters 17 through 19.

I knew the stories by heart, but this time I was captivated by the smaller details which I had probably read too quickly through before. Elijah had just experienced victory over the priests of Baal, and rain was now pounding hard on the parched, scorched earth as undeniable evidence that Jehovah reigns supreme over all. An evil woman makes a threat that sends Elijah fleeing to the wilderness, tail between his legs, defeated, after mightily demonstrating God's power just a few hours before. What hope is there for me, when this powerful man of God feels disappointment and discouragement, even after experiencing firsthand a miracle of great proportions? Come on! He had been fed by ravens, given bread daily by a poor widow who used flour and oil that never ran out, witnessed the resurrection of a child after prayer and supplication. How could this man of God run so fast and hard from a mere woman who worshipped gods of stone? And yet there, in the depths of his despair, God sent an angel to nourish Elijah, to prepare him for a journey where he could hear the still, small voice of the Lord. This the part where I was most fascinated. The angel brought him bread and a jug of water. Twice. That was a total two small loaves of bread and two jugs of water. The heavenly nourishment he received that day allowed him to travel almost 200 miles for 40 days through wilderness non-stop. Wow. I want some of that bread. During this dark moment of Elijah's life, God personally fed him and nourished him enough to withstand 40 days of trudging through the wilderness. And the thing is that God can do that today for us. I haven't felt despair like Elijah has, but I have faith that if I ever do, God will bring me bread that will sustain me and get me through my wilderness. The nourishment is not intravenous - there needs to be action on my part. But God has held up His end of the deal and brings me bread to feast upon. All I have to do is take, eat, and get up.

Hiatus Largo Impromptus

2007-05-07T18:57:00.000-04:00

Grows sporadically in the spring, most frequently in areas where high volume of activity occurs. Actually, the title of this post has nothing to do with my botanical aspirations. It merely describes my prolonged absence in literary creativity. Not that I haven't been inspired by the daily lessons in life that so often come unexpectedly my way. There have been plenty of those opportunities- from the cute field mouse that was frantically trying to escape my clumsy feet the other day as I ran through my neighborhood- to my wonderment at the clusters of strawberries which grew and ripened in spite of the lack of sunshine, hidden underneath a plastic sheath. There just hasn't been enough time to sit down and take the millions of thoughts and words that float through my grey matter every day and transform them to word pictures worth sharing with my little world.

Writer's block. Lackluster novelty. Interest lost. I had nothing to say, plenty to think about, and no desire to share. But that's why it's called a hiatus - because eventually you come back. Refreshed.

Why walk when you can fly?

2007-03-31T19:20:00.000-04:00

"There I was on the side of the road, eyes fixed on the grass and trees that alluded me. I need to be over there. The lushness of spring is so inviting and there's no need to waste the little time I have walking this barren and dirty sidewalk." Those were the thoughts of a bird I saw the other day, walking on the side of the road. I know that's what he was thinking, because I'm talented in that way. He was determined to cross the road to where the trees, grass, and shrubs grew. The landscapes on either side of the road were so different from each other and I knew that bird was intent on reaching his destination. At first I wasn't quite sure what "it" was, because he stepped into incoming traffic and was attempting to cross the street on foot. Union Street is not that busy on Sunday mornings, but there are still enough vehicles out on the road to make crossing six lanes quite difficult. Especially when your legs are but a few inches long. The light had turned red and I was transfixed on the scene that was developing in front of me. I watched in horror as the bird attempted to cross, walking step by step. Oh no! Watch out!! I honked my horn as the cars on the opposite side began to accelerate, for the light had just turned green. I couldn't understand why the bird was trying to walk across the street. It was a large bird. With my urban and vegetarian upbringing in tow, I concluded it must be a wild turkey or something of that nature. One car swerved to the left to avoid hitting it, another did the same. I was glued to my seat, hands on my face, mouth shaped in an "O", heart beating fast as I waited for the explosion of feathers. But in a flash of a moment, the wings spread, the bird took flight, and projected itself upward away from the dangerous traffic. The bird was actually a duck, a large duck. With a sigh of relief, I remembered that the light had been green for some time and I needed to proceed before I became a sitting duck to some unobservant driver.

I asked myself why on earth would that duck not try to fly to reach his destination? Why attempt to cross the street on foot, when he possessed one of the most amazing of God's inventions: wings? Silly duck, I thought. His experience stayed with me most of the day, and though it's been over two weeks, I still think about this duck.

Funny, but I'm not that much different. How many times have I attempted feats of ordinary measures with talents that I do not possess? Instead of using the faculties that the Lord so graciously has given me, I stumble through life, walking and crawling instead of using the wings He has given me. How dangerous it is to cross the roads of life without using my head and the wisdom that the Lord provides. That duck taught me a very valuable lesson. And how awesome of God to illustrate it to me in person.

An Encounter With God

2007-03-26T10:22:00.001-04:00

Thousands of bodies were pressed together, adrenaline pumping through our veins, I could smell the anticipation as we anxiously waited the "1...2...3...GO!!" from the MC at the microphone. A blue hue was emerging from the dark sky as the sun attempted to break the darkness. My mind was racing and my heartbeats were erratic, but I took a moment to look up to the dark sky and thank God again for allowing me to be healthy to train for yet another race. These last three months were more physically taxing than my preparation for past races. I had suffered through an inflamed IT band and a swollen bursa sac. New responsibilities at my job and personal life have increased my stress levels, and my body has felt the effects of having a busy and a very much "grown-up" life. God knows how much running means to me, how I connect with Him through prayer and song while I run. And yet, I refuse to allow running to become a god to me, for I will not have any other gods before Him. I pray that if my body image, my interest with my health, and the "high" I get from running ever become more important than my relationship with my Savior, then please Lord, keep me grounded, whatever it may take.

It's so easy for us to lose focus from God. As fallen humans, over the thousands of years that we have populated the earth, we have idolized everything around us. It's so easy to get captivated by the magnificence of how our bodies work and then we take credit for its beauty, its artistic and scientific intricacies. As I waited in that crowd of 15,000 strong, empowered athletes, the voice flowing from the speakers called for our participation in a non-denominational prayer. A local minister who was also running the race was invited to lead the athletes into prayer. He began with a few words of encouragement, inviting the athletes to an encounter with God during the race. Two men beside me scoffed at the invitation. Through my ears and eyes, their laughter was one of mockery. "Yeah, let's encounter 'God' as we run", they said. A man and woman beside them laughed heartily also, then added disbelief that this prayer was actually taking place. "I can't believe this is happening. It is the south, after all" I heard them say. Again, my heart felt heavy with sadness. Who are these people, who are we, that we may laugh in mockery before God, denying His existence? He created us: our lungs, our legs, the veins and arteries, which are our byways and highways to the powerful heart He carefully crafted. From the heavenly perch, I can imagine God sitting on His throne looking at this microscopic speck of a crowd of 15,000 people, hearing the laughter and mockery, a look of sorrow on His face. "I made you, I died for you, and I want you to live with Me forever. Whether here on this race course, or somewhere else in the course of life, I do want to have an encounter with you and offer you eternal life!" As I crossed the start line, I responded to Him "I accept, lead me on!"

I did very well on my race. My chip time at the finish line was 1:56:36 (pace time: 8:53), and I was #146 out of 2020 females in my age bracket (30-39). I ran this race harder than any of the others I have done. I'm pretty sore today, but my heart is full. And I'm feeling thankful and humbled that the Lord has granted me endurance, good health, and a supporting husband. Speaking of husbands, check out Kevin's blog for some great pictures he took of the event. I told him he stole my thunder by beating me on blogging about the race last night!! When it comes to blogging, Kevin is hands-down the winner!

The Music of Friendship

2007-03-16T19:30:00.000-04:00

For as long as I can remember, most of the individuals that make up my circle of friends have a common denominator: music. It all started with my best friend's sister, Maribel. I had been taking piano lessons for about two or three years. I hadn't really played in public, except for an old Spanish bolero song or two that the occasional pleading family member or visitor who would force, I mean, request me to play. I had been practicing daily, fascinated by the mathematical logic that comprises music, the Italian terms rolling off my tongue as if I was a native speaker, and the black specks called notes that danced in front of my eyes as I interpreted their meaning on ivory keys. For two years, my growing talent was a well-kept secret. That is until my best friend, Nanette, told her older sister that my piano playing was getting pretty good for a ten year-old. She wanted to sing at church and asked me to play for her. So I did. I played straight from my little heart, somewhat scared, but I managed to keep my eyes on the music and block out the people around me. I became the background: the small, insignificant details that surround a model in a painting. Yet without those details, the model's imperfections are brought to light. I was the adjectives and adverbs, the euphemisms and metaphors that support a storyline. Without them, the narrative is bland and not worth telling. I enjoyed playing so much that I decided I would always play for others to sing. And so began a life-long journey of musical friends: Broadway, hymns, jazz, Gospel, sacred, and contemporary Christian. I've played it all, for others to sing. And I love it.

I have a group of friends from church, and we've been getting together since October to sing- harmonizing, arranging music, laughing. It's a lot of fun and also a lot of work. We've performed at our local church a few times already and our sound is pretty good. Tight harmonies, the melodious intonations of female voices floating through the air, the words praising our risen Savior, all of it makes the time and effort we put into learning music together worthwhile. It's sweet to the ears, light on the heart, and lovely to behold. That's what music is to me. At certain moments, some of us have experienced goose bumps and realized that a song has touched us; the harmonies sung just right, the meaning of the words impacting our hearts. Ministering to each other through laughter and prayer, the occasional kind word of support, and ministering to others who listen to us - that's what this group is about. And the friendships I'm developing with each of the girls, especially the ones I don't know that well, are becoming important part to me.

Here are some pictures of a vespers service we presented at a nearby church last weekend. We shared from our hearts, through spoken word and song.

Here is the talented and beautiful D, always enjoying herself as she shares her love for God and His music.

The "trio": mother & daughter team Melanie and Megan, and long-time friend Jennifer

Jennifer singing "O Calvary's Lamb", a beautiful song about our Savior.

Arjean and I practicing before her big "American" debut.

Simple Words

2007-02-21T16:55:00.000-05:00

Defeated and dejected, I slowly made my way back to my desk. It had been a challenging morning, and I couldn't seem to get motivated and excited about the projects I have been working on. With no end in sight to the madness that makes up my corporate world, I admitted failure and plopped in my chair. The light on my phone indicated yet another voice mail that had to be answered, another request I wouldn't be able to complete on time or correctly. Inwardly, I let out another "Oy vay!" and picked up the receiver. The message was from an unknown caller, and I perked up when I heard the greeting. "Hi Joy, it's Lisa!" My friend Lisa from Florida had called. With her mellow voice and distinct Boston accent, she recounted how enchanting her daughter looked on her first birthday party, wearing the simple but lovely dress I had bought her for Christmas. She looked absolutely beautiful and everyone gushed over her threads. "Thank you for the gift," Lisa said. Simple words, but my spirit and spunk rebounded and I sat straighter in my chair, with a new determination to make the most of my day. Little did Lisa know that her sweet, short message made all the difference for me that day. I listened to her message twice, wishing I had been there to see and hug that little one year-old miss with the cutest dimples I've ever seen.

So the next time I get the urge to call and leave a message for someone, I think I will. I'll remember what a difference Lisa's message had on me yesterday and how a few simple, but thoughtful words really perked my spirit up.

Joy's Spot of Pride

2007-02-15T19:12:00.000-05:00

There's lots of construction taking place on the streets near my house where I usually run. I noticed this the other day as I sat in traffic forever, thinking how unusual it was to have so much traffic at this time of day, on this particular street. As I approached the bottleneck, I saw the culprit. A “Spot of Pride” was being built. Yup, these are areas in the medians all throughout the city streets of the town I live in that have been created as community projects for companies and organizations to maintain the landscaping. Some areas are pretty small, about the size of the front yard in a tight subdivision. Others are bigger, like a tiny park. They all have the wooden sign "Spot of Pride" with the name of the organization that is responsible for its upkeep. And they have small trees, cute little shrubs; some have seasonal flowers, mulch, and an occasional sprout of monkey grass. I think it's a great idea, giving the community a clean, green look and providing organizations the opportunity to give back to the neighborhoods in the area.

After I noticed that the traffic was due to the construction of the new spot of pride in the median, I reflected on the name "Spot of Pride" and its meaning. Do I have "Spots of Pride" in my life? But of course I do! And they have little signs with the names of friends and families that contribute to the upkeep. My favorite pastime, running, is a spot of pride. Kevin, my sweet hubby, is one of the contributors to this spot, encouraging me to maintain an active lifestyle, massaging my legs after a particularly hard run, clandestinely dropping a water bottle off at a predetermined location just so I could be refreshed near the end of a route. My love for music is a spot of pride that has been developed and maintained all throughout my life. There are lots of volunteers contributing at this spot – dozens of friends past and present, my parents, church congregations in many locations and of different denominations. This blog is a spot of pride – a new one for me- where I have enjoyed sharing my ramblings, coherent or otherwise, with friends and family, strangers, and the occasional googler who happens to click upon my written thoughts. I have rediscovered my love for writing and used this blog as an outlet for those thoughts that are either afraid of being spoken or for some reason may not fit into the topics of conversations around me. My joy is another spot of pride. No pun intended here, but the happiness and peace I experience is a result of the relationships I share with Jesus, my husband, my family, and my friends. Lots of work, prayer, and tears have been invested in my joy-spot.

One realization that I have come to as I type my thoughts is that for this hobby, talent, memory to be a true “spot of pride”, it has to be maintained by someone else. Someone else, not just me, must contribute to its upkeep. If we don’t experience these moments and activities with others, there’s no real happiness, no satisfaction that life has been worth the experience. I invite you to contribute to someone’s spot of pride. You’ll be pleased to see how our spots intermingle and bring happiness to even the occasional passer-by.

Farewell, My Purring Dove

2007-02-12T17:14:00.000-05:00

"My beloved Zion has departed and now there is an emptiness in my heart." No, this is not a verse from the book of Lamentations or Jeremiah. This is really what's going on in my life today. Zion was my sweet, sleek kitty until yesterday, when I relinquished parental rights to his original daddy. Ours was a tumultuous relationship, but it grew into sheer love and respect for each other all the way until our last day together. Zion is a loner, a hunter, with a mean glare and a thuggish swagger. He could subdue even the most alley-ist of cats to a pitiful whimper. He has a large, aggressive head, a furrow of eyebrows that stare and induce fear in all. But then one nuzzle with that sweet pink nose, and the heart would melt with love. All barriers were broken when the purring started. "Prrrrnn, Prrrrn". I called him my dove. He truly sounds like a dove when he purrs. The house feels so empty without him here. He loved to sit in the shower with me, basking in the cloud of mist as if in a sauna. He would sleep near my head at times, peacefully curled, zzzz's intermingling with mine.

So farewell, my purring dove. I know you will bring much happiness and warmth to your new family. And you will always have a spot in my heart that is reserved only for my furry loves.

The Saving Grace of a Family Tree

2007-02-02T18:51:00.000-05:00

Always fascinated by the stories and characters from the Old Testament, I had a sudden realization the other day, a "ha!" moment, if you will. I was captivated by the story of Ruth, that noble daughter in-law whose devotion, respect and love has been studied and shared, especially among Christian women. Everyone can relate to a facet of Ruth- from foreigners, to widows, to women with strong ties to their families, from the hopeless and the poor, to those at a crossroads and pivotal turning points in their lives. But my fascination wasn't about Ruth's devotion, her acceptance of her mother in-law's religion and God. It was the prelude to her story, the story of Boaz and his own mother that interested me anew.

I had never consciously put the two together. Bo's mom was Rahab, the harlot who hid the Hebrew spies. There's no mention of this in the book of Ruth. Prior to Ruth receiving Yahweh as her God, Rahab had done so. She was another foreigner, an outcast, from a people who had also rejected God and worshipped idols. I can imagine little Bo sitting on Rahab's lap, tenderly twisting a lock of her hair around his chubby fingers, as she told him (again at his request) the adventurous story of how she, along with the rest of the family, had escaped annihilation. The scarlet cord that was hung from the window was now humbly displayed above the door - a sign of deliverance and mercy, a sign of salvation. (This is my own imagination depicting this moment, but it could very well have happened in a similar manner.) She taught her son that though a sinner, an outcast and pariah, she was granted salvation, a gift for which she would be eternally grateful. She recounted how she heard that blast from the ram's horn, signifying a new chapter in her life would begin, and how the walls of the city fell down. But she and her father's household were spared. She taught her young son that it doesn't matter what your past is made of, how many blemishes you have on your record, when God offers salvation, you begin afresh.

And so Bo became Boaz, a responsible adult with a kind heart and a special softness for a young foreign woman in need of redemption. It's no wonder that he fought for Ruth. Well, he didn't really fight, but he did go to the elders at the gate of the city and state Ruth and Naomi's case. In faith, he followed the rules of tradition and offered the inheritance to Naomi's closest kin. Now Boaz took a risk by taking Ruth as his wife. Their first son together would perpetuate Ruth's dead husband's name through his inheritance. But it's Boaz's name that shows up in the lineage of Jesus, not Ruth’s first husband, and thus Boaz's faithfulness was rewarded. Boaz, his mom Rahab, and his wife Ruth - their stories about love, devotion, hope and faith- are eternally engraved in the lineage of Jesus Christ, the one true Redeemer.

I can't help but think that indeed it was a mother's story and love, and her devotion to God that allowed Boaz, without hesitation, to accept God's leading when Ruth came into his life. Before Ruth was born, God was preparing the heart of a man that would accept her for who she was, and redeem Ruth from her sad circumstances. How utterly beautiful! What wonderful hope the lives of these women, and this man that connects them, gives us. What a magnificent and faithful God we serve!

The experiences we encounter as we walk through life, when God is at the forefront of our decisions, have a ripple effect that surpasses flesh and bone. These experiences prepare our hearts for the unthinkable: the beauty of God's will.

It's All Connected

2007-01-26T19:34:00.000-05:00

The IT Band. Sounds like a bunch of computer techies making music. But no, it's gristle, those tough fibers that are hard to chew (if you're a carnivore). That's what I've been battling the last 6 weeks. The IT band (iliotibial, for those with anatomical smarts) runs outside of the thigh, begins right at the hip and attaches to the outside bottom of the knee. If not properly exercised and stretched, it can become irritated and inflamed. And that's exactly what I've done. For the last 6 weeks I've been unable to run no more than 3 miles at a time without some pain and discomfort. Extremely frustrating. Especially for me, since running is my release, my happy place. I haven't been in my happy place in 6 weeks. And that means that those around me haven't been in their happy place either.

So I sucked it up and went to my orthopedic doctor. And now I'm in physical therapy. I had my first session today and it was very productive. My doctor prescribed an anti-inflammatory to help relieve that part of my ailment, and my physical therapist is working on a stretching/cross-training/core-building routine for me. I don't like taking drugs; I even avoid taking aspirin or ibuprofen during that time of the month. But this non-running has really gotten to me. So like a good girl, I pop these pills religiously twice per day. And it's working! I'm scheduled to run 8 miles this Sunday as part of my training for another 1/2 marathon this spring, and I feel like I can meet the challenge. I'm not going to focus on beating any records this time. But I'm going to run this one smart, the correct way. I can already feel the difference from taking a good 15 minutes to stretch properly before and after a run. And cross-training is helping develop those muscles that I have neglected from only running.

I've learned a lesson. Even a good thing must be planned and done right. I can't just get up and run whenever I want all the time. If I want to maintain this mind-cleansing, soul-searching, lung-filling therapy called running, I need to take care of my body in such a way that will enhance my running ability and not diminish it over time. As tedious as it may feel, taking those 15 minutes before and after a run, riding a bike every-other-day, or some other different type of exercise, and weight training will enable me to continue running way into my old age. And another thing I learned: the core is essential to any type of exercise. Maintaining and building my core-strength (the abdominals-torso) will help stabilize my hips, and maintain my body in an even flow as I run. So it's not only my legs that need training - we're talking lungs, torso, abdomen, hips, calves. It's all connected.

The same applies to life. Think about it. We can't just jump into a job. We need training, learning processes and systems. We can't just sit down and play Beethoven's Fifth Symphony; we need years of practicing and lessons. I can't just go and marry the first guy that smiles at me. I need to be friends, learn each other's idiosyncrasies, fall in love. I can't just go to heaven. I need to accept Jesus as my Savior, read the Word, develop a relationship with Him, fall in love.

I'm being challenged, to change my learned behavior, to develop a training program for my body so I can keep doing what I love doing most. I think it will benefit me to do the same with my mind too.

My Foundation, part deux

2007-01-21T09:48:00.000-05:00

Okay, Part One was the logical study that helped me reason and learn. Now here's my personal application. I grew up a Christian. A Seventh-day Adventist Christian, very well indoctrinated in the teachings of the Word. I even spent the whole sixth grade in a Christian school. (Wowzers) Yet in spite of living in a Christian home, attending church every Sabbath, having friends who were Christians, I did not develop a relationship with Jesus Christ - I did not have a foundation that was built with that Sole Main Ingredient that is so essential to my eternal salvation. I had all this head knowledge, memorized Bible verses, knew the melodies from the hymnal and the heroes from the Bible, but somehow I never made that connection between words and heart. Sadly, my story is the norm and not the exception among Christian youth. When the tests and trials came, I failed and I failed badly. Looking at me you couldn't tell that I had fallen into an abysmal pit. But my heart was empty and my future had no hope. The stones, the gold and silver, from my childhood and teenage years had nowhere to stand on. I had no foundation. What good was it to have all that gold and silver, if I had no foundation?

I was 28 years old when I finally gave my heart to Christ. That's when the first stone of my foundation was built. I remember that night. I felt so wretched, so empty and drained. I heard the words I had heard over and over throughout my entire life, how Jesus wants me for Himself, how He can fill that void in my heart with His love. I accepted His invitation and it was instant overflow. I cried and cried. But they were really tears of "joy". That was only 8 years ago. And I still struggle, man do I struggle. I know I'm not alone. There are so many like me, so many who grew up with me, who are in the same boat. We learned, we were indoctrinated, we were taught, we sang and smiled. But open the doors to our hearts and you fall right in, no foundation to hold the house up. Some are no longer living Christian lives, are good citizens, great parents/friends/neighbors, but don't have Jesus in their hearts. Some will acknowledge that they are poor in spirit and will return to God to be made whole again. Those will begin to lay down their foundation, the Foundation who laid down His life for us.

It's not too late. The fire will come and we need our Foundation to keep us afloat. And after you have accepted the Foundation, study and pray, ask for leading, ask for Truth. There is gold and silver to lay on top of your foundation. Don't waste your time with wood, hay and straw. Be spared the loss.

My Foundation, part one

2007-01-19T21:29:00.000-05:00

Post pre-note: I thought maybe this could be explained in a few paragraphs. But no, long-worded Joy could not manage that. Because I feel it so important to share this with you all, I have divided my post into parts 1 and 2. Please come back in a few days and read part 2.

I learned something quite amazing the other day. These words cut cleanly and sharply right to my heart. In fact, they spoke so loudly that I couldn't wait to get home and write about it. It's funny how we hear words, sayings, poems, verses time after time and don't really get their meaning. But then one day, wham, the meaning is clear and rings so true. I wasn't quite sure how to approach what I learned, whether from a more logical, study format or from how I personally related to the message. And so I decided to incorporate both ways, since that is how my mind operates when processing something new.

I had an encounter with 1 Corinthians 3:11-15. Here's what the apostle Paul writes: "For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames." (NIV)

The verses prior to these related what some people from the church in Corinth were saying. Some were indoctrinated by Apollos, others by Paul. Paul said, "Hey, it don't matter!" What matters is that your foundation is based on Jesus Christ. A true relationship with Him, where what we do, think, breathe is Jesus Christ. These individuals who teach, lead, and preach are mere vessels used by God to spread the Gospel. They water and feed the garden, the flock. It is Jesus Christ who can only make us grow. He is the only one true Foundation. Everything else that is built on it may be toppled or burned.

Different denominations, churches, and movements teach different belief systems and doctrines. Some of these are not correct. Some beliefs are based on Biblical truth. Paul used 6 different materials symbolically representing what we may use to build on top of our foundation. Gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay, and straw. Out of these six, only three could survive fire without being consumed: stones, silver, gold. These represent the Biblical truths that are right on, messages of truth spoken in the Word that God has revealed to us. The other three, the wood, hay and straw will burn up quickly. These are of course beliefs we have that are based from misinterpretations of the Word. How do I know if what I believe is correct? Through the fire, the fire that purifies and refines. Through test, time, and tribulation. If what I have built on my Foundation (Jesus Christ) is based on Biblical truths, then after the fire comes, I will receive my reward. If I have a Foundation, a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, and the materials I used to build on my Foundation were Biblically incorrect, when the fire comes, I will feel the loss. "You mean what I believed all this time isn't right?" I'll feel the disappointment, the personal loss of having been deceived or misled, or the emptiness from time lost on incorrect teachings. But here's the good news. Even though the beliefs and doctrines were not correct, because my foundation was in Jesus Christ, I still will be saved. It says it right there, "he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames." The key, the saving grace is our Foundation!!

That's why it's so important to spread the Gospel, to introduce the whole world to Jesus Christ. They need a foundation based on Him!! WE need a Jesus Christ Foundation!!

Come back in a few days and I will share how these verses personally applied to me.

Huh?

2007-01-18T19:29:00.000-05:00

Sometimes words and phrases pile up in my head. They make sense to me, but when I write them down and try to read it from another person's perspective, I'm like "Huh?" Maybe you can decipher the meaning of my poem. It makes complete sense in my head.

¿Huh? - a poem by Joy
A complexity of characters, a myriad of faces.
Which one? Why that one?
Emotions...
A smile, a tear, a frown.
A thought, not deep, appeared, was said.
A phrase was spoken, the meaning intentionally hidden.
The past shapes, the future holds, the present suffocates.
Turns, stops, acceleration.
How did I get here from where I started?
Confusion, resolution, absolution.
Truisms, my credo, my stance.
What is my core, what fills, when does it stop?
Too complex, oversimplified, huh?
This is who I am.
Words and questions, empty yet saturated with letters.

The Greatest Love of All

2007-01-12T18:50:00.000-05:00

Whitney got it wrong when she sang "The Greatest Love of All" ...learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all... That's not true at all. I don't think I could ever love "me". I tolerate "me", most people do. But love? Nah. My goal in life is to have and keep God in my heart. Only He can put love there, because God is love.

I was driving home from work yesterday, listening to the radio. I like the stories I hear on NPR. Sometimes I'll sit in my car, parked in front of my house, my road trip completely finished, and I'll be sitting there with tears streaming down my cheeks, or laughing my head off, or just quietly musing. There's something enrapturing about not seeing a face and hearing a voice full of emotion talking to me about total strangers in distant lands. I was listening to Cpl. Jason Dunham's parents describe their son, the grin that went on forever, the sparkle in his eye that no longer is. Dunham was killed in Iraq two years ago and his parents received his Medal of Honor from President Bush this week. What did Dunham do to receive such an honor? He personified John 15:13. In this verse, God Himself describes what the greatest love of all is. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." In a split second, as Dunham realized that there was a grenade at his feet dropped by the Iraqi who had just grabbed him by the neck, he took off his Kevlar helmet and put it over the explosive. His actions saved the lives of his fellow Marines. But 8 days later, he died. The reporter asked Jason's dad what could have caused Jason to act so instinctively. He said it wasn't instinct, not at all. Even though it happened so fast, Jason made a quick, conscious decision to act - a thought process faster than the speed of light - to save the life of his friends. Wow. Even if I had had 5 more seconds to think, would I have done the same? Some could argue that hard-core military training prompted Jason to act. Maybe. But that's not the point that kept me tearfully sitting in my car. Would I do the same for my husband, my family, my friends, complete strangers? Do I have "The Greatest Love of All" in me? When faced with a life-and-death decision, would I be able to demonstrate the greatest love and put the life of others before my own?

Mi Mamá

2007-01-10T17:47:00.000-05:00

Milestones. That's what birthdays that end in zeros are called. My mom celebrated life yesterday with one of those milestones. The big 6-0. Why do we start calling them "The Big ___-Zero" when we hit 30? When I turned 10, I didn't hear "Wow, you hit The Big One-Zero!" Maybe we should start doing that to make kids aware of the gravity of it all. Counting age in whole decades - it's a huge responsibility. So Fina (my mom) has been alive and kicking for six whole decades. I love my mom - she's a character all her own. Few understand the intricacies that make Fina "Fina". Having so many of her personality traits and having been around her for so long, I feel like I have a grasp of what makes her tick. And then she surprises me. Fina came from very humble beginnings. I've written about my Dad and how he came to the US, his struggles and how much he has achieved. Mami is right there in step with Papi. She is a wiz at playing jacks. Man, she can whip anyone with that crazy bouncy ball and those metallic pinwheel-looking stars. Her hand-eye coordination is of gold-medal-Olympic worthiness. And you should see her playing with her sisters! I can close my eyes and picture pigtailed girls with thin cotton dresses, kneeling on the asphalt, shrieking as the ball bounces and a jack is dropped by mistake. I have a new year's resolution this year to learn how to play jacks well enough to beat my mom. I tried to play with her over the holidays, but I was no match to the Jacks Champion of the Universe. So I warned her that next time I came home to visit, to be prepared to meet her match. I figured after all, I have so many of her genes, surely the jacks gene is in there somewhere. I wonder where I can buy jacks?

My mom shared some of her childhood memories with me during my holiday visit. I want to learn so much of my parents' history while I still can. I have so many vivid memories from my childhood and I cherish them. I know they do as well - but not all of their childhood memories are pleasant. Fina came from very humble beginnings. She was child number 6 out of 11. Her family was very poor - mother was illiterate, father a simple, but religious man. She wasn't enrolled in school until she was 9 years old. But once there, she was a star student - skipping grades and graduating at the top of her class. She was named "Queen" of her barrio three times, the Barrio de Hoyamala, which translates to "Bad Pot". Go figure. Each time she was named queen, her brother would buy some fabric from town, cut out a dress using her old dress as a pattern, and sew it for her, just so she would have something new to wear during the parade. She told me during my last visit that she would often go to bed hungry, and sometimes her older brother Raul would bring back a bag of peanuts from the festivals held in town. She and her younger brother, Pello, would ravenously eat the peanut shells first and then eat the peanuts - that would be their dinner.

Mami's home had no running water or electricity. Her older sister and mother cooked from a coal stove, for which they have paid a high price. My grandmother died of emphysema due to her smoking and cooking with coal. My aunt has major respiratory problems because of that stove. Thankfully my mom's exposure was limited, so her lungs are healthy. Mami's idiosyncrasies resonate from her humble beginnings. She washes Ziploc bags and reuses them over and over. She makes lots of food and freezes it for later. She's frugal but generous; a paradox of childhood poverty mixed in with current comfort and abundance.

And she feeds. Boy, can she feed. No one escapes from her home without a meal, or at least a glass of real fruit juice. Tamarind, passion fruit, orange, grapefruit, güanabana. Name it, she's juiced it. Her neighbor's grandchildren will yell from across the street, "Fina! Do you have cookies?" And they'll beg to come over so they can get their cookies. During the hurricanes of 2005, when the state of Florida was hit 3 times, she turned on her propane stove in the garage and fixed fish, rice and beans for all the neighbors. Whenever I visit, I know now to bring a cooler, because I come back loaded with arroz con gandules (rice & pigeon peas), pasteles (Puerto Rican tamales, kind of), frozen tamarind juice, yame... Mami offers visitors food because that's how she shows her love and hospitality. Cooking is something she does well, and she wants to share a little of herself with you. She's insistent too. I call her a food pusher, but in reality I'm turning into one myself. Friends that come to my house rarely leave empty-handed. I've turned into my mother!

I'm proud of Mami. She's worked 10 years-plus as a "Lunch Lady" at a local elementary school. She walks to school every day, sometimes sporting an umbrella to shield her from the brutal Florida sun. Little kids who live near her route have called her "Mary Poppins". She cooks everyday, prepares lunches and dinner for my dad. He's healthy and strong because of her 38 years of vegetarian home cooking. And she's adamant he eats healthy too.

So, yes, I hope I do turn out like my mom in a lot of ways. She's far from perfect. But she laughs, reads, exercises, cooks, and enjoys taking care of others. And I hope she enjoys many more milestone birthdays, with good health, a happy spirit, and a sound mind.

Christmas Delight

2006-12-21T17:25:00.000-05:00

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.

I just met a girl named Maria...

2006-12-13T18:11:00.000-05:00

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.

In Gratitude

2006-11-27T20:48:00.000-05:00

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.

Facing Mediocrity, an addendum

2006-11-27T19:23:00.000-05:00

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...

Struggling with Mediocrity

2006-11-11T09:30:00.000-05:00

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.

Straight to my heart

2006-10-27T19:22:00.000-04:00

"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

2006-10-24T18:40:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-20T18:56:00.000-04:00

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...

2006-10-10T19:20:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-01T19:51:00.000-04:00

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.

The Coat Giver

2006-09-22T20:50:00.000-04:00

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...

Recharged, how I love to proclaim it!

2006-09-18T19:23:00.000-04:00

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!

The Inevitable, Most-Dependable World of Change

2006-09-14T19:37:00.000-04:00

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!

Mi Tributo

2006-09-12T19:38:00.000-04:00

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.

I'm Going Back to Cali...

2006-08-29T19:34:00.000-04:00

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!!

Girlfriends

2006-08-24T20:23:00.000-04:00

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?

Mi Papi

2006-08-21T22:12:00.000-04:00

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.

What's in your box?

2006-08-11T20:15:00.000-04:00

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?

Happy New Year!

2006-08-08T20:19:00.000-04:00

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?

Headlines: Miss Puerto Rico runs the San Francisco Marathon!

2006-08-01T19:25:00.000-04:00

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!

My Superhero-ness

2006-07-07T22:33:00.000-04:00

Your results:
You are Green Lantern

Green Lantern		80%
Spider-Man		70%
Robin		67%
Superman		65%
Catwoman		65%
Supergirl		62%
The Flash		60%
Wonder Woman		57%
Hulk		45%
Batman		40%
Iron Man		40%

Hot-headed. You have strong
will power and a good imagination.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

New Beginnings

2006-05-11T23:25:00.000-04:00

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.

The Young, Rich Ruler - A Different Twist

2006-03-30T20:20:00.000-05:00

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.

My World Is Aging

2006-03-24T20:32:00.000-05:00

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.

Quintessence

2006-03-01T09:59:00.000-05:00

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.

Inside Out

2006-02-21T10:36:00.000-05:00

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.

Testing...1...2...3...

2006-01-27T12:05:00.000-05:00

Thought I would give this a try - i enjoy reading other people's blogs - why not write my own?!