Monthly Archives: July 2015

UnMasked

Photo Credit: justposhmasks.com

All through my life, I’ve dealt with feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth. I felt undone, incomplete, or insignificant. Along the way, I realized this stemmed from my childhood. I did not ask for it. I certainly did not want it. But with an undeniably painful past and a seemingly questionable future, I muddled through life. I thought a man could save me, but he only tried to create me in his own image! I became his shadow, even worshiped the ground he walked on, subservient to his every whim. I was truly lost, with no identity, no voice, no me. Yet I held on, not wanting to lose him. This, by the way, is a perfect example of insecurity: the more easily threatened we are, the more insecure we are.

Beth Moore says, “Insecurity lives in constant terror of loss.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been reading Beth Moore’s So Long, Insecurity with the subtitle You’ve Been a Bad Friend to Us. How I wish she had written this book 40 years ago! She says, “Insecurity is not only a woman’s battle.” She identifies insecurity as a “profound sense of self-doubt – a deep feeling of uncertainty about our basic worth and our place in the world. The insecure man or woman lives in constant fear of rejection and deep uncertainty about whether his or her own feelings and desires are legitimate.”

I thought about myself as a Christian, why, from time to time, do I still struggle with insecurities? Why does rejection crush me so? Why do I second-guess everything? Beth reveals an interesting point about herself in her book: “I not only lack security, I also lack faith. I don’t just doubt myself, I also doubt God about myself.

Now I don’t know about you, but that struck a chord in me!

She goes on to say how some of us never seek healing from God for our insecurities because we feel like we don’t fit the profile. But insecurity’s best cover is perfectionism. Now there’s a mask for you!

A person who has no self-worth or a low self-esteem

tends to hide behind a mask.

Note: Here’s a thought-provoking poem I came across: Don’t Be Fooled By Me

What masks are you prone to wear? Looking back, I recall hiding the pain behind my smile…

Don’t try to be somebody you’re not. No one is perfect. It’s okay to let your guard down. We will face difficult and troubling times. Just remember, God loves us just the way we are; He loves us too much to leave us that way.

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Filed under Beth Moore, insecurities, Masks

Beauty For Ashes

Beauty For Ashes

“To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.”
Isaiah 61:3
(Photo Credit: forashes.org)

Today’s devotion is based on Isaiah 61:3. While this passage brings me comfort, it also raises a question I often wrestle with:

How can there be even a smidgen of beauty in the midst of rubble? In ashes? How is that even possible?

These questions don’t come lightly. They rise from places in my life marked by grief, loss, and deep sorrow, moments where beauty felt completely absent.

I remember seeing my baby sister lying in her small white coffin. And in that moment, beauty was the furthest thing from my mind.

When I noticed my mama with bruises on her body, I couldn’t see anything beautiful in that.

The man I once knew for his strength and steady footing slowly became someone unrecognizable, reduced to a sloppy drunk after just one drink; nothing was charming about that.

Watching my grandpa become a prisoner in his own body, his once strong, barrel-chested frame turning frail and sunken, didn’t resemble anything I would call beautiful.

And my grandma—once so full and vibrant—grew thin and weak from illness. That, too, was hard to look at.

I can still see the back of my former husband as he walked away, leaving me behind in a heap of sobs, calling out his name. There was nothing picturesque about that moment.

My tiny 29-day-old granddaughter, swollen from fluids and lying in a medically induced coma after open-heart surgery—that wasn’t something my eyes could call beautiful.

Scars are not beautiful. Neither are hidden bruises, whether on the body or the heart.

Death is never beautiful, and the grief that follows is a weight no one should have to carry. Hunger isn’t beautiful. Loneliness isn’t beautiful.

Repossession isn’t quaint. Foreclosure is far from delightful.

So how can there be beauty for ashes?

It doesn’t come by erasing the ashes. It rises from them.

This kind of beauty doesn’t pretend the pain never happened. It doesn’t gloss over the heartbreak or tidy it up into something neat. Instead, it grows out of the very places that tried to break us. It’s a quiet, resilient kind of beauty, one that allows the hurt to be woven into something greater.

For me, that beauty is found in hope.

Hope when everything feels hopeless.
Hope that what is broken will one day be made whole.
Hope that the pain will not last forever.
Hope that justice will come.
Hope that scattered pieces can be gathered and rebuilt.
Hope for healing, for relief, for restoration.
Hope that light will break through the darkness and a new day will come.
Hope that this, too, shall pass.

Hope in heaven.

And most of all, hope in the promise that one day, we will see again the loved ones we’ve had to let go.

So today, I can say it with confidence, maybe even shout it from the mountaintop:

Thank You, Lord, for turning the ugliness in my life into something beautiful.

 

 

Out of sadness and hurt, will come strength and victory.

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July 23, 2015 · 10:39 PM

Full Circle – My Writing Journey

11750720_1017090005008790_4728723792586052925_nHey guys! Today, I feel I have come full circle. It’s surreal that I’m sitting here doing a book signing at the same Barnes & Noble where I first attended a weekly writers’ group two years before my story was published.

Back then, I’d sit with many seasoned writers and talented published authors, wondering if the day would ever come that my own dream would be fulfilled and declare: I AM AN AUTHOR!

Once a week, I’d bring 5 pages of my manuscript and make several copies (enough for 10-15 other attendees) before arriving at the group. I passed my copies to everyone there, and someone would volunteer to read aloud. As I listened, the rest added notes, made corrections, and provided suggestions and comments on my sheets. Then it was someone else’s turn to critique. I enjoyed doing that, but I couldn’t wait to take my work home and sit in front of the computer to see what–if any–changes I should make.

I’ve met some wonderful people I consider friends to this day, and received great feedback, which only helped propel me forward. Looking back, I am thankful that I didn’t give up. I took constructive criticism; I stayed the course. I kept my voice as well as my message. I welcomed suggestions if I couldn’t quite convey the meaning in my sentences correctly. However, if someone didn’t get my meaning but added their own take instead — which meant changing the entire contents from what I initially believed they should read — I would rework the sentence, paragraph, or phrase to express it better, or leave it alone.

I believe you have to stay true to yourself. After all, it’s your story, and in my case, it wasn’t one of fiction. Only then can you tap into your mind filled with memories and jot down those scenes and sequels in your head. It may not always be an easy feat, but oh, it can be so worth it!

So, for those who haven’t read my story, what is the message? My message is one of hope, perseverance, and forgiveness. You don’t have to be a product of your environment and have your past dictate your future. Know that you don’t have to remain isolated or medicate yourself, nor do you need to become ashamed of your pain. You can rise above the ashes, soar to new heights, bruised or scarred, and not remain broken. I believe there is healing for us all; it’s a work in progress and sometimes takes a while. But where there is life, there is hope.

The fruition of my entire journey is to hear that others are inspired.

My story, “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace” is currently found at your favorite online bookstore.

Here are a few photos taken at Barnes & Noble for your enjoyment. Two hours went by so quickly!

Thank you for joining me on my journey.

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Filed under Author, Book Signing Event, Writing Journey

Shark Bait

In his late twenties, my husband’s occupation was working on a 250 ft. workboat as an offshore surveyor in the Gulf of Mexico, staking out a pipeline for a jackup rig. This is his story …

“It was a fairly nice day, and the weather was comfortable. In those days, I was wearing shorts and flip-flops. I had on a heavy belt with my big 7-inch sheath knife. It was early evening, and the sun was still out. We had to lift the anchor and head out. The jackup rig was coming in, and we needed to get the buoys made up and dropped on the pipeline. After about an hour, I had all my buoys made, and the boat headed out for miles, running around and getting ready to make our run into the platform.”

“Now, the ship has to get real close to the platform, make a sharp turn, then line up on the pipeline and start dropping the buoys where the pipeline is supposed to be.”

“So, I’m standing there on the back deck, everything is going good, and my buoys are all made with the rope trailing in the water.”

“I’m just kind of walking around with nothing to do, so I start to clean up. I throw scraps of rope off … tin cans … I’m just cleaning up the back of the deck. There’s this empty spool that usually has a rope on it. I lift the spool, hoist it over the deck, and immediately think, Oh, no! I run to the back of the deck because my ropes are on the buoys trailing in the water. I reach the boat’s edge and watch that spool get caught on the rope. It’s like slamming on the brakes. My anchor shoots like a bullet right off the deck! And where I had it positioned, the buoy comes flying around, hits me from behind, and knocks me right off the boat’s back end into the water.”

“The first thing I figure out is that you can’t swim with flip-flops! I kick those suckers off! I’m down under and freaking out, and just as I come on up, by instinct I start swimming for the boat. Now the boat’s doing 20 knots. There’s no way I’ll ever catch it on God’s green earth! And I immediately stop. I feel something, look around, and realize I am inside the other buoy line! That thing can wrap me up and take me right under! I dive back down quickly, swim off to the side, and come back up again. Then I start yelling for the boat … like they can hear me. Because of the engine noise alone, they can’t hear me. They also got all the pumps on in the back deck going. Nobody on the deck can hear me if they look at me.”

Homemade buoys

Photo source: unknown

“I’m paddling my arms and wondering, What the heck do I do now? I’m looking around and see the buoy that knocked me over. The cane pole on the buoy is broken; the flag is down in the water with the light bulb thingy. So I swim for it and grab hold of it, but it isn’t enough to keep me up. It helps to keep me buoyant, but it doesn’t really float me. I kind of hang onto it while lightly paddling to keep up. After a while, I’m sitting there, watching the boat heading off into the distance … heading off … heading off. Now I can see the platform from where I’m at. I see the boat get right up to that big old platform, and I think, Okay, right about now they’re going to make the turn. The boat turns, and I think, Right about there, I’m supposed to drop a buoy. I’m watching, and the boat makes another turn, and then I think, Right about now, I should be dropping another buoy. And then, right about now, they’re going to realize something might be wrong! Then the lights come on in the boat! The spotlight is on, and the boat makes a sharp turn heading back around.”

250' workboat

Photo Source: unknown

“All during this time, party Chief Mike is running through the boat, first going straight to my bunk, thinking I’ve fallen asleep through the whole thing. He then heads for the bathrooms and starts to panic. I’m told Mike is going crazy; everybody is searching for me! The first thing that popped into their minds is that I had dropped a buoy, but had gotten wrapped up in it and gone down with it – that’s what they thought. Now I can see the boat way off in the distance. As it comes around the platform, they start dropping the divers over, searching for me, fearing I’m tied up in the buoy below. I’m sitting there all the while thinking, Hellooo? Hello guys! I can’t get that flag back up because it broke about 3 or 4 feet above me, so I can’t really reach it to get it up. I’m thinking about breaking it while I’m paddling, and then it dawned on me, There’s a counterweight on this thing!”

“I dive down but can’t get the thing broken off. I’m chewing on the tape to try to get it to tear, and I finally got it torn. The counterweight drops away, and I swim back up. The buoy lies flat, but it’s holding me up now. I was finally able to rest and hang onto it. I’m looking at the platform and reaching for my knife to cut the rope loose, and then I realize my knife is gone! Apparently, the buoy hooked my knife when I got knocked off and ripped it right off my belt. So I’m sitting there trying to untie this thing. I’m working on it and could not get that thing untied! (I make a mean buoy.) It’s polypropylene, so there’s no chewing through a thing like that; it’s really tough. I finally gave up on that (which is actually a good thing because God is good, I had lost my knife, and I make a mean buoy). If I had cut that rope and tried swimming to the platform, I’d have never made it. The current was going the other way, two to three miles away. I would have never made it. I’d just gone with the current and would have been long gone. No telling if and when they would have found me.”

“I’m trapped here; I’m not going anywhere. It’s getting dark and I’m thinking, Man! They’re never going to find me! And then it hits me, I have a light here blinking and a flag! So I reach over–I can finally grab the broken part and actually hold it up out of the water–and now I’m sitting there waving it around. You know, miles away, it’s really hard to notice a flag. I then see some of the other boats on the platform untied, running around and racing off down the south of the platform, just going in different directions. I’m thinking, What the heck are those guys doing? It turns out they were chasing all the little glow-in-the-dark things I had thrown over the side! So they’d see a speck of light out there and just head straight for it.”

Photo Credit: Oleg Doroshenko #9417199 (stock photo)

“Finally, somebody spots my little itty-bitty light off in the distance and heads towards me. I see my ship and a crew boat coming. My ship is heading for me on my right, and a little crew boat–maybe a 75-footer–very low on the water–heading for me off to my left. They’re coming at me, and then I thought, Okay, NOW is when a shark shows up! I’m hanging on, waving my flag, and they’re coming up. One of the guys has one of those big life rings.”

“Now you have to remember, this is a big boat. The bow of that thing is way the heck up there. I mean, it’s 15 feet or more, so there’s no way I’m crawling up there. I have to be able to come up the back or something. Anyway, one of the guys has this ring and he yells, “‘Mark, here, catch this!'” He flings it out, and it goes boing! And just stops cold and swings down; it doesn’t even touch the water. I put my arms out and I’m like ‘hello?‘ I turn to swim for the crew boat because it’s so low in the water that I just climbed right up. The guys gave me some drinking water and then transported me back to the other boat. It’s late into the evening when I am finally rescued. I was in that gulf for 6-7 hours before they found me.”

Photo Source: Pinterest

Photo Source: Pinterest

And so the moral of the story is…?

“I always carried three knives after that!”

Gotta love him.

Here’s to my wonderful, wild, adventurous husband, who was lost at sea for nearly 7 hours. He faced his fear, kept a clear head, and thankfully didn’t encounter any sharks. Thank God he didn’t drown — and it’s a miracle he lost that knife, or the current might have carried him away.

Happy Birthday, babe. You’re the cutest shark bait I know. I’m so glad God saved you for me.

I love you so much. ❤️

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© M.A. Pérez, 2015, All Rights Reserved

 

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Filed under Lost at Sea, Man Overboard, Offshore Surveyor

The Battle Is Real

C. S. Lewis said, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

Bad things happen to good people. The Bible says: It rains on the just and unjust. (Matt. 5:45)

We are not immune to suffering, pain, hardships, struggles, and losses. Adversities are part of life. The battle is real with me just as much as it is with you. Some suffer in silence, and some scream at the top of their lungs while alone. Although in a different way, inner turmoil can hurt just as much as physical pain. We battle within just as much as our outer shell. Pain is pain. When you hurt, you HURT. You may not see my pain, and I may not see yours, but it doesn’t lessen the reality. Someone said: Pain is inevitable, and suffering is optional.

Sometimes we are left with scars. Our heart has melted … waxed cold … turned numb. We are consumed with grief, despair, and unanswered questions. What do we do now? Where do we go? Who do we run to? When will it end? How much more? Why, God? Why?

I’ve learned that adversity can either make you or break you. I wonder: Is it possible to go through the fire and come out without the stench of smoke? Don’t let adversity crush you. Build a support system: Family, Faith, Friends. Resilience is like a muscle that strengthens as it is gradually exposed to obstacles.

As a Christian, I may not have all the answers to the whys, but I have unwavering faith, even when my flesh is shaken. There is nothing too hard for Him; therefore, I can rest in the midst of challenges.

Though the tears may fall and the struggles may come, there will be a time of refreshing and healing, maybe not in my timeframe, but in His perfect timing. I am a little stronger and a little wiser after each storm. I am comforted knowing that my battle belongs to God and He hears the cries of the brokenhearted. (Psm. 147:3)

In times of suffering …

 “Either you’ll become better, or you’ll become bitter, but you won’t be the same again.”

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Photo Credit: Unknown Source

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Filed under Inspirational, Overcoming Adversity, Resiliency

In Case You Missed It

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RadioNEWINTERVIEW     flashing_new

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/toughtalkradionetwork/2015/07/09/lifes-issues-with-lauren-jawno

33:22 minutes into the show is the beginning of my interview w/ Lauren Jawno

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My Colorado’s Bicentennial (Mis)Adventure

July 31, 1976

Have you ever experienced a what if? Ever been dangerously close to a hazardous situation, to realize just how fortunate you were to have escaped, only to have it gnaw at you later?

Today, as I celebrate this Independence Day, my mind goes back to a moment in time I shall never forget.

We headed for Colorado’s Rocky Mountain State Park for a continued weekend bicentennial celebration, to enjoy the magnificent canyons’ cool mountain air and breathtaking river valleys.

LovelandPassCO

Loveland Pass, CO, looking east from the summit. Courtesy of Wikipedia.

The afternoon breeze mingled with the whiff of hamburgers sizzling on the pit, putting our troubles behind us. Don was in good spirits, along with an ample supply of his favorite beverage. He drank one after another, as he rehashed old childhood and war stories. I roasted marshmallows over the campfire until raindrops drove us inside our van. We tucked in for the night in our sleeping bags.

In no time, Don’s snoring commenced. As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought, at least I’m not out in this wilderness alone.

Sometime later, I awoke with a start, “Donny! Donny, wake up!”

“Hmmm?” my still-asleep, great protector mumbled, turning over.

I sat up and held my breath. I felt the van vibrate. The plunking sound of raindrops rattled across the rooftop, lashing at the van’s exterior. I strained to listen for something else, feel something else, but wasn’t sure what.

Only a case of bad nerves, I reasoned, starting to lie back down. No! There it is again.

“Donny, did you feel that? Our whole van shook!”

“Go back to sleep, gal,” Donny muttered. “It’s probably just a bear.”

Just a bear? Better not be any bear out there!

Minutes passed. I lay back down and willed my body to relax. The sound of rain soon lulled my unsettled thoughts, and sleep overtook me. Before nodding off, I thought I heard rumbling in the distance.

Dusk turned to dawn, and I considered my night’s fright silly. We ate a quick breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, leftover meat, and orange juice.

“Shake a leg,” Donny announced. “Time to go.”

We left our campsite cruising over mucky roads. Puddles and slushy trails made the roads treacherous and tricky. At one point, our van was stuck in the mud. Donny kept his foot over the gas pedal and accelerated. The tires sloshed and the van swirled, nearly tipping over.

“Jesus!” I cried out, thinking we were history.

Unruffled under pressure, Donny turned the wheel sharply to the right and back on the road again.

“What’s the matter?” he said, looking at me as if I were a dimwit.

“Nothing,” I huffed.

As we continued, we noticed massive trees that had toppled over, and many of them bobbed along in the river. We heard the whump, whump, whump, whump of helicopters overhead. Soon, we approached park rangers, re-routing traffic. I stuck my head out the window and overheard bits of instructions given to other passengers in their vehicle. “. . . mountainside . . . engulfed . . . destroyed . . . missing . . . proceed with extreme caution . . . !”

The reporter on the radio described how a typical summer rainfall turned into a horrendous nightmare for hundreds of people. Many homes were washed away in a flash flood. Cars vanished, buried under tons of debris. Roads had been swept away along the canyon, and broken concrete stuck out of the riverbank like foreign objects. It took hours before we careened back into town.

Photo: Vehicles were left stranded in the aftermath of the 1976 Big Thompson flood. Courtesy of Water Resources Archive

Photo: Vehicles were left stranded in the aftermath of the 1976 Big Thompson flood. Courtesy of Water Resources Archive

“Big Thompson River Flood Marker” by Wusel007 – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

The morning headlines read:

“THE BIG THOMPSON CANYON FLASH FLOOD.”

Many were reported missing. Dead. Houses and businesses were washed away and destroyed. The overwhelming thought hit me on how oblivious we were to the dangers the night before. If we had camped near the Loveland area, we would never have escaped. Donny could have innocently erred by having us camped out in that Loveland area—and brushed off my concerns in his half-drunken sleep, just as he did the night before. Then what? We might have been one of those statistics.

© M.A. Pérez, 2015, All Rights Reserved

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Filed under Bicentennial, Colorado, Memoir, travel