Category Archives: reflection

February 19, 2022 · 12:52 PM

Reflecting

I’ve been away from posting new materials lately. I have been quite busy in my spare time. I’m trying to translate my memoir chapters into Spanish. One of the most challenging and tedious tasks I’ve faced thus far. I couldn’t have done it without the help and reliance on others. Initially, I sought the ‘professionals’ and their prices were sky-high, too rich for my blood. My reality check. I then requested help from family and friends. They told me yes. However, they are too busy and couldn’t commit.

Well, my son’s new girl in his life dove right in and is taking on the task. And recently, wouldn’t you know it, I have another friend and her mother looking over the chapters. I am far from finished and know that I will have to find professional editing afterward. But I am up to the challenge.

So many sentences, chapters, and conversations across every page of my memoir come alive. I find myself reliving almost every word. I find myself touched and tears roll down my face. You see, it hits me – I’ve survived so much! Indeed, God has been good to me; a constant steadfastness in my unstable life. God is the God of miracles.

“¡Respondeme!” Me dio una bofetada de revés.
Vi estrellas.

The above quote is just a tiny picture of what once was … I will retell my story. That others may learn hope. That they may learn about the God of second chances and new beginnings. If He can do it for me, He can certainly do it for you!

“Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace” (PAPERBACK)
(in AUDIO)

I also have another future writing project that will share the stories of other survivors.

Pray for me. And stay tuned.

Road Less Traveled…my truth

This has been a challenging year for all. I never imagined I would be alive in a time like this. The events occurring these days are astonishing! Many are left shocked, confused, and angry, and some have lost their ever-loving minds over worry, paralyzed in fear!

Is it not true every day we have to make choices? Do we not decide daily on what actions to take? How are we going to react? I for one believe in the power of prayer. Prayer brings results. But I don’t doubt there are days when our prayers cry out, “God, are you there? Are you listening?”

He is. And He does.

I do not pretend to have all the answers. I am flawed. I am an imperfect being trying to serve a perfect God. His ways are higher than my ways. As a Christian, I am not immune to the happenings of this world. Family and dear friends have experienced illnesses. Some are due to COVID. They have faced setbacks because of circumstances beyond their control. They have also endured hurtful disappointments because, well, we’re humans.

In Robert Frost’s poem The Road Less Taken, towards the end, he mentions the road less traveled. I want to be on that road. What does that mean exactly? I’m sure it means different things to different people.

For me, the road less traveled is to be on the road of steadfastness. It means not faltering or leaning on my own understanding. I want to be on the road less traveled. I want to be collected and in my right frame of mind. When much confusion lies before me, I feel overwhelmed. At times, I may stumble. I might not know what to do. Still, I want to be on the road less traveled in my prayer closet. I prefer this instead of bickering and complaining.

Someone, please show me the road less traveled—to trust in God instead of doubting Him. Guide me to the road less traveled. Help me believe it is well with my soul. Help me trust in the best yet to come. Point me to the road less traveled. I want to be free from the weight of the world. Keep its troubles off my shoulders.

I want to walk in faith and not in fear. Sing and not scream. Be tender and not hardened. Pliable and not crushed. Teachable and not a know-it-all.

These are my truths, what I hope to achieve someday. I don’t want to follow the crowd of ‘woe is me!’ Instead, I will listen in humbled silence. I will hearken to the still small voice that beckons me to be still and know that He is God.

Whenever I approach the two roads of life, I want to look heavenward. I want to take the road less traveled. That choice has made all the difference.

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Filed under allegory, reflection

Tagged as allegory, Faith, fork in the road, Prayer, reflection, road less traveled, Robert Frost, steadfast, uncertainties

May 4, 2018 · 10:34 AM

Mary’s Reflection

When she looks back on her life, she sees a faded memory of a girl unsure about herself, frighten, lost, and insecure. She can’t help but see sheer pain, disappointments, mistakes, and heartaches.

She thinks about the roads she’s traveled: Roads filled with quicksand, like the dry Sahara desert, and potholes the size of Texas that tried to swallow her whole!

She thinks about the battles she’s fought for her marriage, her sanity, and her four small children:

She thinks about the struggles she’s endured from abandonment as a child and then again as an adult, along with the failures and the low self-esteem:

She thinks about the sacrifices she’s made in walking away from her education, the stark reality of letting go of a special-needs child for the child’s best interest, and putting her own dreams on hold.

She thinks about the love she’s lost in saying goodbye to her baby sister, her beloved grandparents, and her 15 years of marriage:

She thinks about the tears she’s shed in her loneliness, with emptied promises, shame, and pain:

But as she looks back on her life, she also sees the lessons that she’s learned:

She sees a girl …

Not one who scratched and clawed her way to the top. But a girl who had just enough grit to float to prevent from sinking when life tried to weigh her down. Who walked on pebbles and used them as her stepping stones to get to higher ground. Who’s childlike faith in the God above would blossom into something much greater than herself. While she may have had a father figure missing in action, she’d come to know her Heavenly Father who never left her side.

When she looks in the mirror and what does she see?

Image result for girl looking at self in mirror free image

A girl once dejected and rejected. She no longer is that sad, little girl. So don’t you feel sorry for her. Applaud her, because it was during the dry seasons that she discovered an oasis. Rejoice with her, because in the darkness is where she found a beacon of light. Admire her for rising above her crisis in spite of her circumstances.

She may have started out in the valley, pecking along like a chicken digging for worms. But then the Ancient of Days taught her to spread her wings like an eagle and soar into the heavens over the mountaintop.

Don’t cry for her, feel sad for her, or grieve for her.

If you’re looking for a lost and lonely child, she is not here. Misunderstood, she may be; a wonder to many she may be. If you’re looking for perfection, she is not that girl; she still has flaws. If you expect to see sophistication or to hear profound eloquence, you may be disappointed.

Her past may even want to dictate her future, the voices in her head play a broken song; her name may even mean “bitter” — but she refuses to be that girl anymore.

What kind of girl is she?

A simple girl.

A grateful girl.

A blessed girl.

She believes in second chances & new beginnings.

She is stronger today for everything she endured. Her scars serve to remind her that she is a survivor. She appreciates the beauty of living life one day at a time. She surrounds herself with those who encourage and genuinely care for her. She clothes herself with a garment of praise, amazed by the wonders of God’s grace.

When she looks in the mirror, what does she see?

She sees a girl turned woman.

If wrinkles must be written upon her brows, she refuses to let them be written upon the heart.

She is more than a conqueror.

She sees strength, learned lessons, and pride in herself.

Sad? No. Alone? No. Afraid? No.

Not that girl anymore.

Bump in the Night

In our tiny efficiency, as I lay in pitch darkness, my eyes remained open, growing accustomed to the dark. The yellow moon peeked through the window shade. Eerie shadows traveled across the walls and bounced off a tattered chair whenever headlights from cars passed by.

Mama and I shared a narrow bed then. Because my stepdad, Warren had “accidents” in bed at night, he slept on the opposite one from us. Like the sound of a freight train, his incessant snoring rattled my eardrums. Asleep in her underwear, Mama’s gentle snoring came in spurts. Those sounds became my lullaby in the evenings, lulling me to sleep.

But not tonight.

I was never afraid during the night, but with a sense of foreboding I couldn’t shake off, I got up and propped a chair under the doorknob. Time passed. Thump! The chair toppled over and my heart hammered against my chest. Then I heard the knob turn and the door creaked. The hair on my scalp pricked me.

In the dark, I turned ever so slowly, peering through half-closed lids.

The silhouette of Warren’s weird friend crawled, cat-like, on all fours. He inched his way closer. And closer. Warren snorted and rolled over. El Creepo froze. Then he continued his way toward Mama. His hand reached her leg and started feeling upward . . .

With sheer determination, I hopped up, screaming at the top of my lungs. Like a wild animal caught in blinding light, El Creepo jumped and made a beeline toward the door. He crashed into a chair, tripped over the box fan, and then collided with the dresser before hightailing out. Crying and shaken out of my wits, I turned the light switch and called out to my parents in zombie-land, to no avail. It took a long time before I shut my eyes.

The next morning, I gave a full report. With stupefied faces and mouths agape, they attempted to process my words.

“What?” Mama shrieked. “I didn’t hear anything!”

“Mama, he touched you!”

“How did he . . . ?” Warren stammered.

Mama gave him a dirty look. “The door doesn’t have a lock, you dope, remember?”

“Well, you just wait ‘till I see that jerk again,” Warren hinted, getting up to check the knob.

One may think that this frightening episode caused a rude awakening in my party-animal parents. It changed nothing. Sometimes, I think Mama didn’t know what to do with me. Some days she wanted me close. Other days she didn’t.

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Filed under Memoir, reflection

Tagged as childhood, childhood memories, excerpt, frighten, innocence, memoir, memoir writer, personal, Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace

January 15, 2017 · 6:09 PM

Face to Face

Happy New Year!

f4694e59b0e6749e2d892b2a6899e728 Some of you have been wondering if I am still around. Oh yes, very much so. But due to personal reasons, after life threw us a curveball back in November, I had indeed taken a little sabbatical from blogging. I am happy to report that bit by bit, I am getting back on track with writing, etc. I’ve also joined a Toastmasters’ group and will give my Ice Breaker speech to them this week. I will share the outcome with you at a later date.