Reflections From the Heart

Video

Ode to a Mother’s Heart

There’ve been much written about the making of “Son of God,” and those behind the scenes producing it. Without getting into all that, I will share what moved me in watching this movie.

I felt the significance when Jesus put His hand out toward Barabbas and stopped him dead in his tracks. I can’t say that I’ve ever been touched by an angel before, but I do believe that I have been touched by the Hand of God in my lifetime. Enough to stop me in my tracks. Make me look heavenward. And to examine me.

I focused on Mary and what she must have felt in all she’d gone through. She knew her son had a purpose and a mission to fulfill. Yet, she couldn’t have known the price it would take and all that she would witness along the way. How does a mother not yearn for her child to be safe? Don’t weep when they are hurt? Not grieve when they are lost? A mother will always want to protect her child from pain, wipe the tears, bear the blows, and heal the wounds. Even when they’re adults.

I cried when Mary reached out to Jesus, wanting, needing, and yearning to hold Him close. Yet she could not. It was not meant to be. His time had come. And she knew like she’d never known before as she watched Him embracing the cross.

I marveled at how her resolve strengthened as she accepted the will of God regarding Jesus all the way to the cross. I imagined how hard it must have been for a mother to do. My favorite scene in this movie was Mary touching Jesus, with the cross between them, both of them holding it. Not necessarily that Mary had anything to do with His mission, but that she embraced God’s plan for His life. And death.

Letting go is not always easy, but it is necessary.

In this world, we all have our crosses to bear. Jesus said, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.” Luke 14:27. Not an easy feat. The cross is heavy, but it never outweighs His grace. I’m so thankful for the cross and for God making all things new.

Mothers, embrace your children today and don’t ever stop praying for them.

12 Comments

March 9, 2014 · 4:23 PM

February 26, 2014 · 7:00 AM

The Day the Earth Stood Still

“No, not again! Not now!” I cried out in the bathroom. I’ll call Marisa. She’s always been strong. She has it together.

I reached for the phone and dialed her number. When she answered, I blurted, “The test is positive! I’m pregnant.” She’ll lift my spirits.

“Mary . . .” she began. “How in the world will you care for another baby?”

Then again, maybe not.

“What are you going to do?” Marisa squealed.

I thought, If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you. Wasn’t I the one supposed to get some reassurances, some guidance, some support here?

“I . . . I don’t know, I thought–”

“Mary, what were you thinking?” she shot back. “You can’t possibly have another baby! You’re only twenty-one; you already have three children, and now number four is on its way? Your husband drinks too much, he works only when he wants to, you have a child with special needs, you guys don’t have enough money . . . !”

My mind swirled. I hung by a flimsy strand, all hope slipping. Okay! Tell me something I don’t know. Marisa’s right, whom am I kidding? I. Can’t. Go. On.

Then, she added, “Listen, I’ll help you. If you will get an abortion . . . I will help you pay for one.”

So, that’s it? The quick-fix solution to the problem . . . to end an innocent life?

“I . . . I’ll have to think about this,” I muttered. “Let me sleep on it and get back to you.”

Did that answer come out of me?

I placed the receiver down, weighed down by conflicting emotions. My world came to a halt. My heart felt heavy. I cradled my belly, thinking: I can’t have another baby. But can I truly consider this the way out?

The girls slept in their room. Their father was—Lord only knows where. I sat alone in the dark, cross-legged on the bed. My head ached. My stomach was tied in knots. Overcome with waves of hopelessness, memories churned to the one security blanket I had ever known: the home of my grandparents. And I realized I was sinking. Fast.

What happened to my anchor of faith? My hope? Isn’t God big enough to handle the mess in my life? I have to admit, I’ve been too busy for Him. Now that I need Him, does He still care? Then it occurred to me: If I can’t trust God now, then what’s the point of going on?

That instant I prayed like never before, and pored over my Bible. The Book of Psalms always comforted me, and that night before sleep overtook me, my “Ah hah” moment came after reading Psalm 139:13: For You created my innermost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I wasn’t about to take the life of my unborn child, believing that God gave that life to me.

Come morning. A new day. A fresh start. Resolute in my decision, faith sparked. God had always taken care of me before. I am determined to trust Him to carry me now. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief. Give me the grace to endure…

I reached for the phone and dialed Marisa’s number.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Mary, think about what—”

“No!” I shouted. “I’m going to walk on and trust God. You knew my convictions. I thought they were yours, too.”

“Mary, I was only trying. . .”

“How?” I interrupted, pacing the floor. “By offering me an abortion? I came to you down and out for encouragement and prayer. I needed to hear ‘hope’ beyond my pain, but you didn’t—you wouldn’t—give me that!”

“Look, Mary, you’re still so young. I’ve been around longer than you. . .”

“You never had children,” I protested.

“I married a jerk once, too. They don’t change.” Marisa went on to give one reason after another about how she was looking out for my best interest.

After long seconds of dead silence and nothing else to say, we hung up.

I thought of a lesson in Sunday school about Job, who called his friends miserable comforters, even his wife told him to “curse God and die.” They were supposed to be his friends, yet those comforters increased his trouble by condemning him.

Marisa and I parted ways. Our friendship ended that day.

Days, weeks, and months overlapped one another; my past troubles were behind me. With my heart overflowing and my eyes drowning in tears, I reached down to kiss my newborn. “Hello, Daniel Michael,” I whispered. “I’m your Mommy.”

**********

Before long, my little curly-lock hair boy is running around with deep brown eyes, touching my heart each time he looks up at me.

Next thing I knew I blinked, and the little boy is now a strapping young man and I am gazing up at him.

Note: I share this story not to condemn, criticize, judge, or belittle anyone who may have made a different decision for whatever reason. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I share my story because this was one time when I was strong enough to make the right decision for me. I believe that strength came as I prayed to my Heavenly Father. I may have my share of regrets in life, but not in giving birth to my one and only son thirty-two years ago.

26 Comments

Filed under Memoir, Pro-Life, struggles

Tagged as abortion, choices, desperate, hopelessness, Job's friends, memoir, personal, Prayer, son, strength

Aside

No Junk Here

http://www2.potsdam.edu/libdocs/images/nojunk

So I came across a page in my devotional book prompted by the scripture found in Genesis 18:14: “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”

Here were the ramblings of my heart written down on paper that day … my prayer is that you may be blessed and encouraged in reading this.

In my heart of hearts, I know there isn’t anything too hard for the Lord. Yet, whenever I look within myself, I can’t help but see my own flaws and limitations. I don’t always like what I see. But if I can just remember that whenever I focus on my troubles, then God seems to fade into the background of my life – that’s half the battle right there!

Lord, help me to see with Your eyes. Help me to remember I am complete in You. It’s not within myself, my abilities, my talents, or even my own faith. IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU! Everything I am is because of You. Apart from You, I can do nothing. Help me, Lord, to remember You are for me. You don’t make junk. What may be impossible for me is POSSIBLE with You. What I can’t – You CAN. Nothing is impossible, unattainable, unreachable, or unbearable when my heart is fixed on my Lord and my Savior!

Keep me focused, Oh God.

Do not ask “what can I do?” but “what can He not do?” ~ Corrie ten Boom

6 Comments

February 19, 2014 · 9:05 AM

Aside

Letting Go

http://www.flickr.com/photos/35188692@N00/76956024/

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 me 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 was 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 outcomes.

To let go is 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 whatever 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

8 Comments

February 14, 2014 · 5:00 AM

February 8, 2014 · 12:46 AM

El Chupacabra in our Tub!

“I can draw just as good as our uncle can, or you,” Big Brother Ruben said matter-of-factly.

“No, you can’t,” I corrected.

“Can too.”

“Cannot.”

“Can—”

“¡Niños! Callense ya!” Grandma cut in. “Dis is why you two can’t be together.”

Ruben and I looked at each other, puzzled by what she meant. But this statement became the reason Ruben and I usually had to trade places during Daddy’s visitation. Because we siblings horsed around and played too “wildly” together, when our daddy would come for me to go to his house for the weekend, he’d drop Ruben off to stay with our grandparents or with Mama. This was the normal arrangement. On rare occasions, we visited together.

My brother loved to tease me to get a reaction out of me. One weekend together at Daddy’s was no exception.

“Com’on, will ya?” Ruben impatiently waved his arm as if it would fall off, standing with the bathroom door open.

Curiosity got the best of me. “Hold your horses,” I said, trying to sound like Mama.

Big Brother looked like the cat that swallowed a pigeon, a canary, or something.

“You better not be foolin’ me,” I warned.

“Don’t be so sentimental,” he said, practicing the use of big words.

“Am not.”

“Are too. And you’re never gonna guess what’s in here.”

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

“Gimme a hint.”

Ruben shook his head. “Negative.”

“Cuz, it’s gonna be nuthin’.” I stomped my foot and crossed my arms, dying to know what was inside. “You just tryin’ to trick me.”

He stood in front of the closed shower curtain and held onto it. “Ready?” Ruben asked, with eyes wide.

“Go on . . . it ain’t nuthin’.”

“It’s too . . . it’s—” With one swoop, Ruben yanked the curtain and cried, “¡El Chupacabra!”

I let out a long scream at the huge form floating in the tub.

Daddy came running out of breath. “¿Qué fue?” he demanded. “What’s wrong? What happen here? ¡Caramba! I hear you all da way outside.”

“Daddy, Ruben told me it’s ‘El Abra Ca Dabra, the goat sucker,’” I whined, mispronouncing the word.

“¿Qué? ¡Oye! What s’matter wit you?” Daddy demanded in his accent. “Why can’t you play nice? You dun do dat to your sister.” He popped Ruben on the head with his hand.

My brother flinched but kept grinning at me, mouthing the words, “boba,” before he disappeared.

“Mija, you know what dis is?” Daddy asked, holding me by my shoulder.

“It’s a pink, dead pig!” I screeched. “Why is he in the tub of water?”

“Gloria is goin’ to make pernil. We gonna eat him.”

“Roasted pig? No, Daddy, that’s yucky.”

“Whachu talkin’ ‘bout? I betchu never had it before,” he said, closing the shower curtain. “You’ll see,” he winked, taking my hand. “It’s gonna be so good.”

If my daddy said something, he was usually right.

It was yummy.

(Excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

Note: Featured in La Respuesta online Magazine, Feb-Mar 2014 Art & Literature section http://larespuestamedia.com/chupacabra-in-the-tub/

6 Comments

Filed under El Chupacabra, Memoir

Tagged as Boricua, Chupacabra, Culture, Family, memoir, sibling rivalry, sibling teasing

January 30, 2014 · 9:17 PM

French Toast

A neighbor, a hefty woman with floppy arms, lived alone and liked children. Whenever I stopped in for a visit, she’d have a treat to offer me. She handed me a large chocolate Easter bunny once and then asked what I wanted for breakfast.

“French toast!” I sang, bouncing up and down. The neighbor put on an apron and shooed me out of her kitchen with her jiggling arms.

In the dining room, I sat on a chair with my legs swinging. I got up to stretch. I walked around and traced my hand over a flower arrangement, almost knocking the vase over. My eye caught a candy dish that sat in the center . . .

“Don’t you touch anything,” the neighbor called from the kitchen.

“I’m not,” I replied and returned the purple jellybean that I had licked.

A black cat-shaped clock hung on the wall. I followed the big, moving eyes and long, swinging tail—back and forth, back and forth, tick-tock, tick-tock. I gazed across dusty photo frames that filled the shelves and windowsills, wondering if any of them were of her as a child. I wanted to thumb through her assortment of worn-out picture books and Life magazines stacked on bookshelves and the floor. But I didn’t dare.

The aroma coming from the kitchen made my stomach rumble. I heard her pounding footsteps and raced to sit back down. The neighbor put a plate in front of me, stacked with golden-brown French toast. She poured warm maple syrup over the fluffy slices of sweet bread. I knew I had never smelled or tasted anything so delicious. My one regret is eating too fast and becoming full too quickly. Then I watched, horrified, as she collected my plate and tossed the rest into the trash. I would have brought the rest home to share with Mama and eat later.

(An excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

12 Comments

Filed under Food, Memoir

Tagged as childhood, memoir, personal

Aside

Looking Back – My Reasons for Writing

One of my cousins from across the miles posed a couple of great questions, giving me food for thought. He asked:

Why do you write? And why do you write about the family?

My answer to him:

First of all, I write because I know I have a story to tell. As a kid, eventually, I discovered we were dirt poor. Looking back on my teens, I realize that I was neglected and forced to grow up too quickly. I was ashamed of my childhood and bitter for being my mama’s mother. As I “matured,” settled down, married, and had children of my own, along the way, I found I was a stronger person because of some of the things that I endured as a child. Once I embraced the God of my grandparents, I became a much better person as well. NOT that I had it all together; I still had a few things to learn. But I learned that it was much better to let go of the bitterness and forgive than to hold onto the junk. I also learned that I didn’t have to be a product of my environment! I could rise above the ashes like a phoenix and become so much better. That was my freedom — still is — and God has called us to liberty, not to be in prison. Yes, I made some mistakes along the way, but I also learned from them. It starts with a made-up mind! While I’ve managed to confront my past, I believe it hasn’t spoiled me, but has instead prepared me for the future. I may not be perfect, but whenever I stumble, I can wipe the crud off and walk on. I share my story that I might help one person, and if I have done that, then I have done a good thing, and God gets the glory.

I mention family because the little girl growing up — although she may have felt like she was all alone most of the time — was not an orphan and did not live on an island unto herself. There were others around who helped to nurture her in one fashion or another, even the antagonists in her story. And yes, some were heroes. She cannot tell her story without mentioning those she looked up to. To be truthful, she had to address some honest and raw emotions and mention the flaws — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The story is not fiction. It is written about how she recalls the events that shaped her life as a child, a teenager, and into her adulthood. Not all the memories take her to a happy place. She has had to dig deep to find them. To some, those “happy” places may be simple and insignificant, but to her, they were her lifeline.

His response:

I am keeping this as a reminder of what it takes to be selfless.

Thanks

I did not expect THAT answer 🙂

What I Took Away and Then Some

I’m stepping out of my comfort zone here. I usually refrain from writing about politics, war, or conflicts between nations, states, or parties. But seeing Lone Survivor moved me so much that I feel compelled to share what I took away after watching the movie in tears with my husband and someone else (who has asked to remain anonymous).

The theater audience was silent during the entire show. The movie was tense, almost unbearable, while I squirmed and gasped, holding my husband’s hand tightly. These Navy SEALs were brave men, tough men, and man’s men. They lived hard, fought hard, and died hard. We can infer from the title that only one of these men lived to tell his incredible story. However, here’s what I took away.

At the end, as I watched the credits and some actual footage of these men, a stark reality hit me. The video featured segments of these real men interacting, laughing, and sharing tender moments. They wed, danced with their bride, and held their newborn. I witnessed a new bride kissing her husband over and over with crumbs of wedding cake on her face, mingled with tears streaming down. At that moment, she is living her dream.

These soldiers who died were someone’s son, brother, uncle, boyfriend, fiancé, husband, and father. I wondered about the women left behind and suffering in silence. We don’t hear much about them: Left behind is the torn heart of a woman who loved a soldier. Her heart aches and bleeds, paying the price of loving someone whom she has had to share with strangers while he fought for their country. I pray she finds comfort and strength knowing that her courageous soldier didn’t die in vain.

And lastly, while walking to our cars, the one who had joined us to watch Lone Survivor with tears in his own eyes said, “I learned a hard lesson tonight. I would’ve killed the goat herders originally. And then, when I saw what the man and the boy did for Marcus — even though it put their lives and the villages in jeopardy — I was convicted. It wasn’t an easy thing. But they did the right thing.”

And those very words moved me more than anything …

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Filed under Lone Survivor, movie

Tagged as bravery, brotherhood, courage, heroisim, life's lesson, Lone Survivor movie, loss loved ones, Navy Seals, soilders

Aside

“Tout de Suite!”

Through half-drawn curtains, I watched the other children at play, chasing one another in a circle, chanting, “Duck. Duck. Goose!”

Humpty-Dumpty, the daycare where Daddy dropped us off that morning, operated on a strict schedule. I knew I didn’t belong there. At lunchtime, they made me sit in the dimly lit kitchen to finish the tough, chewy meat on my plate while the others went out for recess. Just as I finished cleaning my plate, they announced, “Lights out.” I hated nap times, too.

By the time I was three, my parents had already been separated. My brother, Ruben, lived with Daddy, while I stayed with Mama. Daddy had started coming for me, but on one visit, he said I could stay and didn’t need to go back. I was perfectly happy. I didn’t know that Mama never agreed to him keeping me. Early one morning, determined to know where he took Ruben and me before he headed for work, Mama hunkered down inside a taxi and followed him to the daycare.

Later, parents came to collect their children. While my brother and I waited for Daddy, we played on the swings. That’s when the clunking sound of an engine caught our attention. We weren’t expecting them, but Mama and her boyfriend, Jimmy—my new stepdad—drove up in a gray jalopy. Mama stuck her head out the window and waved us on.

“Tout de suite!” My mama shouted in the single French phrase that she knew, her arm pumping for us to hurry.

Trained to move fast whenever we heard the phrase, we bolted in their direction.

Jimmy yelled at Mama, “Stay in the car, Ruthie. I’ll get ‘em.”

Jimmy hoisted Ruben over the massive stonewall and dropped him down the other side. Then he grabbed me by the arm and lifted me before sprinting toward that old heap. We clambered in and sped off. I glanced back to see the daycare worker running after us, screaming. Mama and Jimmy, cackling with glee, celebrated their successful kidnapping scheme. A strong odor of beer permeated the air inside the car.

I looked over at my brother, pretending to be brave but wide-eyed. I glanced down and noticed my scraped knees. A lump lodged in my throat, and a tear escaped my eyes as I thought, “What will Daddy think when he comes for us?”

(Intro to Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

14 Comments

January 9, 2014 · 10:22 PM

Aside

Circle of Life

Once upon a time, there lived a lonely girl. Intimately acquainted with an empty stomach, she carried hunger in her heart, starving for love.

Despite her destitute and inner turmoil, she grew up and broke away in search of love. Eventually, she’d marry and have a family of her own, never dreaming of how they’d fill the void in her heart.