Take Time for Every Purpose

It-takes-time

“Just think,

you’re not here by chance,

but by God’s choosing.

His hand formed you

and made you

the person you are.

He compares you to no one else-

you are one of a kind.

You lack nothing

that His grace can’t give you.

He has allowed you to be here

at this time in history

to fulfill His special purpose

for this generation.”

quote credit to:  Roy Lessin


To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
ECCLESIASTES 3:1


Take time to plan
Take time to reflect
Take time to be yourself
Take time to make a difference
Take time to prioritize
Take time to imagine
Take time to be creative
Take time to let go
Take time to follow through
Take time to balance your life
Take time to unwind
Take time to be alone
Take time to do nothing
Take time for intuition
Take time for your spirit
Take time for wellness
Take time to play
Take time for laughter
Take time to be free
Take time to explore
Take time to see the good
Take time to marvel
Take time for spontaneity
Take time for the here and now
Take time for art and beauty
Take time to be kind
Take time to dare
Take time to make the world better
Take time to celebrate others
Take time to reconnect
Take time to meet new people
Take time for romance
Take time for love
Take time for friendship
Take time for family
Take time for new possibilities
Take time for gratitude
How we spend our day is, of course, how we spend our lives!

Author Unknown

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Filed under Quotes, Time

Dance Like Nobody’s Watching

Dance like nobody is watching,

Because they’re looking down on their cell phones anyway.

Dance like nobody’s watching,

They’re too engrossed in a sport’s show.

Dance like nobody’s watching,

The dog just yawned and rolled over.

Dance like nobody’s watching,

The newspaper is still in front of his face.

Dance like nobody’s watching,

The cat is busy scratching.

Dance like nobody’s watching,

Isn’t that snoring coming across the room from the recliner?

So aren’t you glad nobody’s watching,

As you’re jamming to the music when your knee pops, you roll your ankle and throw out your back?

Yes, dance like nobody is watching,

He’s blinded with tears from laughing anyway!

 

© M.A. Pérez, 2017, All Rights Reserved

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Filed under humor, Poetry in Motion

Best Daddy Ever: My Hero

As a young girl, I knew I had the best Daddy in the world. Although my parents were divorced, throughout the years, he’d come for me.

I loved it when he took me to the parks. My daddy may have been short, but he was a big kid at heart and loads of fun. He had a knack for mimicking different sounds. Children laughed whenever he cried out like Tarzan on the jungle gym. He wouldn’t hesitate to push me high on the swing. I squealed with delight when he ran in front and scrambled away right in time before I could kick him. He’d twirl me on the merry-go-round until we couldn’t go anymore and tumbled on the ground from exhaustion. Me from laughing hard; him from running in circles.

Daddy worked as the produce manager in a huge grocery chain store. He was a hard worker, a model employee. A friendly, robust, people-person, he never grew tired of chatting with his customers and telling them jokes. His dark eyes twinkled with glee. The mirth in his thick Puerto Rican accent, combined with his animated personality, charmed all.

Sometimes Daddy caused havoc, but always in fun. He often mimicked the sound of a kitten near the produce stand at work to see the children’s reactions. Once an elderly woman hunted everywhere for the pobrecito. Then another time while whistling like a bird, he had customers looking up for one. He even imitated a newborn’s cry.

“Excuse me, sir, but don’t you hear a baby crying somewhere?” a worried customer asked.

“A baby? No, no,” he answered. “No baby over here.” Daddy chuckled as he related to me how he watched the mystified customer walk away, shaking her head.

Daddy told me the story when a little boy in a shopping cart kept staring at him the whole time, while his mother across the aisle weighed her vegetables.

“I smiled at da boy and asked his name, but he dun say noteen,” Daddy explained. “He just keep lookin’ and lookin’ at me, like I’m ugly or somethin’.”

“Then what did you do?” I asked and chuckled.

“I dun do noteen . . .” Daddy’s eyes twinkled.

“Go on,” I persisted, knowing of his pranks.

“I just smiled big and stuck out my bottom dentures at da boy.”

“No, Daddy, you didn’t!” I laughed, remembering him doing that very thing before, enough to startle anyone.

“Yeah, but then da boy started cryin’, so I got outta there fast,” Daddy said guiltily. “I dunno where I get these jokes. You got a funny papi, eh?”

“Yeah.” I giggled. “Muy loco, all right. Tell me the story about the goat sucker in Puerto Rico,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“¡Oh, si!” Daddy exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “¡El Chupacabra! Dis thin’ dat went round to all the animales suckin’ their blood dry.”

“Yep, that’s the one,” I said.

“Man, da people get so scared and say it’s some kind of diablo. They say, ‘sierra la puerta’, close your door, El Chupacabra is goin’ to suck your blood!”

“Ya ever see one, Daddy?”

“No, no, I never see dat thin’ in my life.” He chuckled and added, “I dunno if I believe it.”

“Well, it’s sure an awful scary story.” I shuddered at the possibilities.

Yes, my daddy has always been a natural born storyteller. I could sit and listen to him for hours. “Tell me again about the first time you left Puerto Rico on the plane.”

“When I left my home town Utuado in 1952?” His eyes flickered miles away, as he mused. “Flyin’ in dat two-engine airplane made me so scared. I needed to go to el baño so bad. The stewardess want to tell me somteen. Pues, I dunno what she say; I dunno any English then. She talk louder but I dun understand; I just wanna go. I try to make her understand me, so I jell to her, ‘I no spic inglish! I no spic inglish!’” 

As I listened to his broken English, I laughed until my sides ached and my eyes watered.

“Daddy, you didn’t know how to speak English when you were nineteen?”

“No hija, I didn’. Later, my cousin in New York explained to me that da stewardess just wanted me to put my seatbelt on. Ay bendito nene,” Daddy laughed. “I didn’ understand noteen.”

“Hey Papi,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Ya know what?”

“¿Que mi vida?”

“Ya still have an accent.”10493030_10204788142091228_5602024329688824434_o

“Ju tellin’ me, man.” He laughed.

Thirty years later:

My world shattered into a thousand fragments.

Along with my heart.

My hopes.

Dreams.

How so? When my former husband blurted, “I’m just not happy.”

After much heated words and screaming fits, I was relieved when he stormed out of the house. I felt ashamed knowing Daddy and my stepmother were visiting and within earshot in the guestroom had heard everything. By the time I went downstairs, Daddy was on his knees praying in Spanish by the bed. I stood by the doorway listening to his prayer, forgetting to move. Daddy, crying, glanced up and reached out his hand toward me. I went to him and collapsed, sobbing.

That day was Father’s Day, 1991.

The following day at the airport heartbroken and devastated, as we kissed and hugged to say our goodbyes, words stuck in my throat. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what to do. But my daddy’s silence comforted me and it was enough. He wrapped strong, loving arms around me. I was a few inches taller, but felt smaller. At that moment, I wished I could stay in his arms and be a little girl again.

Today, with Father’s Day soon approaching, I remember how special my daddy has always made me feel. I still feel his love across the miles when we speak on the phone. At any given time when we’re together, I can still feel secure and safe in his arms as we embrace. His eyes still carry that familiar twinkle during his story telling.

Before long, my hero and I are reminiscing, laughing and enjoying the magical moment of father and daughter.

Note: My daddy will turn 83-years old this summer. He is still young-at-heart, full of lively, warm stories and jokes to share at a moment’s notice, and still very much a caring, loving, praying man. 

Te quiero mucho, Papi.

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Filed under Father's Day, Memoir

#TBT Giveaway Contest!

#TBT – Free giveaway of #RunninginHeels for best tag line!!! via Facebook
(Enter to winhttps://www.facebook.com/WriterMaryAPerez/posts/1567283613322757)

Please share this giveaway w/ fellow bloggers, fans, friends & family.
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He was a Great Man

This upcoming Memorial Day as I remember Florentino Mendez, my mind goes back to when I was a little girl sitting at my grandpa’s feet.

I sat Indian-style and watched him scatter newspapers on the floor, laying out the shoes in a neat row and placing an old wooden box beside them. Inside the box, he kept brushes, old socks, rags, and cans of black polish.

“Do you know what I’m getting ready to do, young lady?” Grandpa asked.  great grandpa

“You gonna spit and shine shoes,” I squealed.

With one hand in a shoe and the other in an old sock, Grandpa rubbed the wax back and forth, polishing the leather. I never tired from following his hands, moving like flashes of lightning.

He always rose before dawn and believed in the saying, “The early bird catches the worm.” He prided himself on discipline, stemming from his years in the military. On a weekly basis, he cleaned our shoes, the way he said he had learned in the Army.

He walked me to school and back, logging in about a mile and a half each way. Rain or shine, I counted on his presence waiting for me after class.

I loved him dearly. Always clean-shaven, he smelled like Mennen Skin Bracer and Vitalis. He was average in stature, had fair skin, gray hair, and quick eyes with a broad smile and a jolly laugh that made his belly jiggle.

Years later as an adult, I would never forget how an unsettling aura of death struck me when I first walked into the hospital room. I shuddered and gingerly approached the form buried under layers of covers. The head of his bed was raised, the profile barely recognizable to me.

“Grandpa…?”

A pale, thin face moved; eyes hardly opened. Those eyes, once sharp, were feeble and dull. Yellow paper skin hung loosely from bones. Large purple veins ran up and down his hands like a roadmap. Those hands, once strong and beefy, quick and nimble, felt cold, boney and fragile. The same hands once steady in his military days, guided, and comforted me in my youth, were the same ones I tenderly held now.

I struggled to keep my composure. I knew he was weary. To see him lose his dignity pained me, lying there so helpless, a prisoner in his own body.

Great Grandpa20

My 19-year-old grandpa, Florentino Mendez – 1916

Lost in my thoughts, my eyes roamed and paused on Grandpa’s wristwatch on the bedside table.

Time. I picked up the watch and held it. Tick-tock. Precious time. Tick-tock. Running out. As Grandpa dozed off, I sat at his bedside, praying for God to hush the raging of my heart.

Two months after his eighty-fourth birthday, my beloved grandpa sadly passed away.

Today, I remember Florentino Mendez: veteran, brother, husband, father, grandpa, uncle, friend – he was a great man – I honor his life.

© M.A. Perez 2017, All Rights Reserved

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Filed under Legacy, Memoir, Memorial Day tribute, veteran

Confession of a Daughter

I still get jealous.

I confess.

After all this time, it pains me to admit this, but it’s true. Whenever I hear other’s express their close bond that they have with their mothers, I marvel how grand that must be!

And it stings.

Mama used to say: “You can have ten fathers but only one mother.”

I heard that line growing up and believed it. After my parents divorced, I had three different step-dads. In my young state of mind, I didn’t want to share my mama — she wasn’t married to any of them. I wanted us to be by ourselves. But Mama was too busy for me. I’m sure she did the best she could, but nurturing wasn’t in her DNA. Left on my own a great deal, I was a neglected child.

Loneliness was my middle name.

At age nine, once we moved to Florida, my grandma was more like a mother to me. I knew then what a mother’s love felt like and it just wasn’t the same as Mama’s. Not long after my daddy remarried, during visitations, my stepmother loved and welcomed me with opened arms. I felt special in her eyes. With Mama, sometimes I felt she didn’t even see me because she was so preoccupied. As I became older, bitterness festered and I wasn’t necessarily a role model teenager either. I just couldn’t wait to leave home and do better than Mama, in search of love. I fell flat on my face. But I learned some things.

I learned Mama was a prisoner in her own mind, but she did the best she knew to do. She felt I was always matured for my age, never realizing how much I needed her. I haven’t stopped loving Mama. I loved her then and I certainly love her now. But because I had no choice but to grow up too fast, our roles have always felt reversed.  Most of the time, I’ve felt like I was the mother.

The miles separate, the years have passed, Mama and I have since aged. I can look back and forgive my past; it has made me who I am today. I’ve had to learn to forgive Mama a hundred times over, whose harshness and demeanor become more passive and feeble with time. I must show her kindness and love. No she’s not perfect, but neither am I.

Today, I am someone’s mother and grandmother. I pray that my own loved ones will always feel my love, even when we don’t agree.

No matter what.

It takes work. Patience. Prayer.

And much forgiveness.

As for Mama and I: Our communication skills remain much to be desired. I’ll keep working at it.

Mother’s Day is around the corner. It has always been so complicated for me in choosing the right Mother’s Day card. Once again, I find myself putting the cards back on the shelf in search for the one that describes Mama perfectly.

I think I’ll continue to write one for her myself:14572937_10211331684595701_5234886440039336664_n

To my one and only Mama.

I loved you then.

I love you now.

No matter what.

Love always, still your little girl.

© M.A. Perez 2017, All Rights Reserved

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Filed under Mother's Day, Mother/Daughter

To “Let Go”

To let go doesn’t mean to stop caring,
it means that I can’t do it for someone else.

To let go is not to cut myself off,
it’s the realization that I can’t control another.

To let go is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To let go is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
I can only change myself.

To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.

To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.

To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.

To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To let go as not to be protective,
it is to permit another to face reality.

To let go is not to deny, but to accept.

To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes, and cherish the moment.

To let go is not to criticize and regulate anyone,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to feel less and to love more.

~ Author Unknown
(credited in ‘The Grace Awakening’ by Charles R. Swindoll)

letting-go

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Filed under How to "Let Go", Overcoming Adversity, Perseverance, poetry

Sunday’s a Coming!

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Dance with Me

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Well, here we are! It’s hard to fathom that we’ve reached our 23rd year. It’s been an amazing ride!

From the beginning, I knew I could rely on him. For the first time, I didn’t have to face my struggles alone. When he vowed in becoming my soul-mate, he stood up to the plate in becoming a loving daddy to my four children. Although the roads have been bumpy, the ride has been exhilarating.

The route may not always be smooth, but the pathway is attainable because of his steadfastness. With every twist and turn, I find strength while learning to lean on his shoulders. In his arms, there is shelter in the midst of the rainstorms and warmth from the frigid winds.

He may not be perfect, but he’s the perfect one for me

Babe, thank you for choosing me. You believed in me before I believed in myself.  I want to thank you, for all the years by my side. Your laughter is music to my ears. When I look at you, I see the love in your eyes still twinkling … for me.

You are my safe place. I am not afraid to be me when I am with you.

Thank you for your sincere compliments, and for making me laugh (yes, I still laugh at his jokes). Thank you for putting a spring in my step, even when I throw my back out on occasion. Thank you for caring deeply whenever I’m sad, discouraged, or unsure.

I still want to curl up with you, with your hairy legs wrapped around my legs. I enjoy your gentle hugs, warm embraces and sweet kisses — even the ones on my head.

I thank God for making us one, knowing that together we will weather the storms.

I pray that God will grant us many more years in making more memories. I appreciate you, admire you, and love you more today than I did yesterday.

May I have this dance for the rest of our lives?

 

 

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Valiant Blogger Award

Although I have a full 45 hour-week work schedule, along with juggling in being a wife, mother and a grandmother who does monthly weekend road trips, marketing and promoting my published memoir, I do my best to continue blogging and working on other writing projects in between. I have enjoyed the process and taking you all along with me.

I would like to thank one of my faithful follower and fan for nominating me for The Valiant Blogger Award. I am both grateful and humbled by her nomination. Cheri is a gifted writer and a courageous survivor in her own right. You should visit Cheri’s blog at Joyously Hopeful. Her hope in the face of life’s many challenges, her persistence and her faithfulness in the midst of it all exemplifies a lioness heart!


The Valiant Blogger Award is for the blogger who is brave and courageous. It is dedicated to someone who, despite being faced with the most difficult obstacles in life, chooses to fight on and never give up. It is for the lionhearted, one who faces fears and challenges, who has become an inspiration to so many along the way.

RULES:
1. Post the award on your blog.
2. Provide a link to the Hall of Valor.
3. In 200 words or less, share about the greatest challenge in your life and HOW you got through it.
4. Give one piece of advice to people who are struggling with something in their life.
5. Thank the person who nominated you, and nominate a new blogger for the award.


An intro about me:

Even before attempting to blog, I had begun to write about my childhood journeys on into my adulthood. At first I thought it would be for my kids’ eyes only. But after being told that I had a story worth sharing so that others may hear and become inspired, I began to think outside the box. I believe doors open in God’s perfect timing as He puts the right people in your path. Me publishing my memoir two years ago is a dream fulfilled.

I share my story that I might inspire and encourage others to find their own strength and to overcome bitterness through accepting God’s grace. That was the key to my freedom from a cycle of poverty and abuse, and if my story helps someone else understand the power of forgiveness to purchase liberty, then I’ve accomplished my mission.

Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace” is more than a memoir. It is a promise of hope and survival to anyone who woke up hungry and went to bed hungrier every day, for anyone who was abandoned as a child or an adult, for every wife who has loved a husband who left bruises on her heart and on her body.


My Greatest Challenge

Image result for low self-esteem image

My greatest challenge in life was finding my self-worth. I struggled with low self-esteem, and still fight it on occasion.  I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I grew up in an impoverished home and was a high school drop out. I fell in love with a ruthless man twice my age, married, and the babies came while I was still so young.

When you’re going through struggles, you sometimes feel like you’re all alone. The pain is real. The hurt feels as though your insides will burst, and in your brokenness you feel hopeless, like there will never be an end. Instead of reaching out, you become a shut-in. Sometimes you medicate yourself with alcohol, drugs, or even food. You feel like all hope is lost and no one cares. Sometimes you keep your struggles to yourself because you are too ashamed of your pain.


One Piece of Advice

Image result for no grit, no pearl image

You don’t have to be a product of your environment. You can rise above the ashes and become stronger than any storm that tried to take the wind out of your sail. Your yesterday does not define your today. Never forget that God is a God of second chances and new beginnings, bringing hope to the hopeless and forgiveness to the inexcusable. You don’t have to remain a victim, alone or afraid.

You may be a mess today, but your mess can turn into a message of hope, survival and forgiveness.


I nominate:

Karin Lynn-Hill, FOGwalkerBirdie, a charming and uplifting blogger and author. She is a breath of fresh air who continually presses through, counting it all joy and giving God all the glory! Karin is the author of several devotional books. Here are some to name a few:

Psalm 119 – A Deeper Look: An In-Depth Bible Study & Interactive Journal
Forgiveness: An Act of Obedience
Walking and Living Joyfully: Discovering True Joy

Look for them on  Amazon!   https://www.amazon.com/Karin-Lynn-Hill/e/B01KKHXOQO/

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