Plugging In

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

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

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

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

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...

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

"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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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)