Donny was still in the VA Hospital for alcohol abuse. During that time, a wonderful family of five often invited the children and me to their home. Susan and I knew each other from church. She had such a bubbly personality, and I was instantly drawn to her. Her husband, Fred, born and raised in Germany, had a dry sense of humor but made me feel comfortable. After Donny completed treatment, they invited us over for dinner. Our husbands got to finally meet. We shared a delicious meal at the dinner table. The men engaged in small talk. I marveled in silence, taking it all in.
My husband back then was the pursuer. He continually sought Fred’s company. He offered his help with any home repairs and carpentry projects. Those two quickly hit it off and talked to each other freely. They spent most weekends on Fred’s aluminum boat fishing or hanging out at his lake house. They knew the struggles of alcohol and often shared stories about the victories and failures during their alone time. They discussed work, God, and family matters. Sometimes they simply shared a comfortable silence. Their understanding and respect for each other grew.
Friendships blossomed.
Bonds strengthened.
We wives were pleased. Susan and I often shared laughter mingled with tears as we prayed for our husbands, our children, and our community. We shared a common goal: We wanted so much more unity in our home. We celebrated as our families shared meals, barbecues, beach outings, and attended church activities together. Just like family.
Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 37
Years later, Susan was there for me during abandonment and a painful but necessary divorce. I eventually picked up the pieces of my life. I found renewed love with Mark. He soon became my faithful husband, my second chance at love and happiness. As time passed, some 30 years later, Susan fell ill. Her family asked me to prepare a eulogy for her on their behalf, something I had NEVER done before. Here is that story: https://maryaperez.com/2015/12/23/so-long-for-now/
Filed under friendship
We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her sixties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charisma and a gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home. Often, she prostrated herself on the floor on her face, interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling throughout the years.
On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith, grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.
Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.
“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”
“Has he stopped hitting you?”
I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”
“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”
She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.
“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”
At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.
“Are you and the kids better off without him?”
I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”
“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.
“I can’t afford to do anything else.”
“Are you better off without him?”
No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.
I felt weak and inadequate as a Christian wife. I struggled to keep a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children. I was also tending to a man wrestling with his demons.
“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.
Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.
“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”
That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan. Much like my Bible, the pages were worn and underlined with a yellow marker.
I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.
Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35
Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now
Filed under counseling, Spiritual Mother
Again, left alone, I had no one to share my heart with. I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates. I also regretted that I never finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and financial support. I regretted that, too.
I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her instantly. At last, someone my own age to talk to.
She was not much older than me. She was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes. She had long espresso hair and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.
While Donny was engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table. We had coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”
“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.
She reminded me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.
Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. We started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place in the mornings. This happened after our husbands left for work. Her older kids had already trotted to school by then. Our preschool girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.
Donny never said too much about Liz, which was fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak.” He usually made himself scarce whenever she came around, which was also fine by me.
Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies, which Liz held with other couples in her apartment. Eventually, I attended her small church. I felt a sense of belonging there. The serenity was something I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. I longed to return to the God of my grandparents. However, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.
After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.
“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”
“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”
She smiled.
I felt foolish.
She then asked if I had ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home. We needed to avoid negative interference from an outsider.
A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.
Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.
One autumn day, as the temperatures fell and the evening grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster. He drove more than a thousand miles from Houston to Denver to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail, and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver. This person got my vehicle out of impound. Donny then drove it back home.
Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.
{Except from Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace, Chapter 23}
Side Note:
The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago.
“I never expected anyone to come to my apartment. I certainly didn’t anticipate someone trying to sell me some Avon or to talk about Jesus.”
“Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”
“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched water droplets slide silently down my glass, like my tears so long ago.
“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls. I prayed for you. Then my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.”
I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”
Filed under Compassion, friendship
I did a thing today. It wasn’t a biggie—well, maybe it was—for me. I have mixed feelings about it. This morning, I decided to post my mother’s power lift recliner on Nextdoor’s website. Within a couple of hours, it sold.
That was Mama’s chair.
We always covered her chair to prevent stains from food or drinks. It still looked new. It’s where Mama sat all day, getting up to use the restroom and back. This chair was perfect for her, comfortable in every way. She had a hand-held mirror and combed her hair every day while sitting there. She’d put her lipstick on and do her eyebrows in that chair. She told stories and greeted family members. She also welcomed guests and the many medical personnel who tended to her while she sat in that chair. Sometimes for hours, she scrolled through her phone. She watched her favorite cooking or cute animal videos in that chair.
She laughed in that chair.
She watched her TV shows, ate her meals, and enjoyed her cafesito sitting there.
She cried in that chair.
That chair was her dining room, her office … and even her bed.
I would have held onto her chair for the memories … but I feared I would have become a hoarder instead. I knew I had to let go. I prayed and believed there was someone else out there who would benefit from using this chair. They would gain some comfort and support.
The buyer came and took the chair. Another hole in my heart …
I still see Mama on that chair.
Filed under bittersweet memories
Lyrics
The room grew still as she made her way to Jesus
She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
She felt such pain, some spoke in anger
Heard folks whisper, “There’s no place here for her kind”
Still on she came through the shame that flushed her face
Until at last, she knelt before His feet
And though she spoke no words, everything she said was heard
As she poured her love for the Master, from her box of alabaster
So I’ve come to pour my praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
So don’t be angry if I wash His feet with my tears
And I dry them with my hair, hmm
‘Cause you weren’t there the night He found me
You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped His love all around me and
You don’t know the cost, not of this oil
In my alabaster box
No one knows what you’ve been through
I can’t forget the way life used to be
‘Cause I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
And I spent my days, poured my life without measure
Into a little treasure box I’d thought I’d found
Until the day when Jesus came to me
And healed my soul with the wonder of His touch
So now I’m giving back to Him all the praise He’s worthy of
I’ve been forgiven and that’s why
I love Him so much
So I’ve come to pour my praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box (Mary’s alabaster box)
So don’t be angry if I wash His feet with my tears
And dry them with my hair
You weren’t there the night Jesus found me
You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped His loving arms around me and
You don’t know the, you don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know (Jesus was there)
You don’t know the, you don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box (oh)
Come on let’s worship Him
Come on and give Him the glory (hallelujah)
Filed under Alabaster Box
Loved beyond words. Missed beyond measure.
Filed under Valentine Mama
Psalms 46:10
People, let’s not forget that no matter what, God is still on the throne.
Filed under Faith, Psalm 46:10
We had to say so long to Mama 6 1/2 months ago … on Mother’s Day … at 3 P.M. to be exact. After much prayer and reflection, I tried to brace myself for the end. It still shook me to the core. As a Christian, I know she received the best Mother’s Day gift and no longer suffers. I have no doubt she is in a much better place without pain and illness. She is dancing on the streets of gold. She is seeing her Savior face to face. She is reuniting with loved ones who had gone on before her. I am thankful to the Lord that Mama finished the race. And I know that I will see her again. But the pain of missing her still lingers on.
Sadly, two of her sons–my half-brothers–were constantly on her mind. They had lived a hard life, incarcerated. Her youngest barely made parole after 27 years. I’m glad he was able to spend some time with her. He saw Mama at the end and attended her Memorial Service. The next-to-youngest wasn’t so fortunate and didn’t have that luxury. Although he is now out of prison, he is in the beginning stages of grieving for Mama. He was trying to process it all.
If I’m to be honest, I didn’t feel up to it. I didn’t want to have Thanksgiving with them in my home. I certainly didn’t want any more drama. I just didn’t know what to expect! Too many years had gone by. The two brothers hadn’t spent quality time together for over 30 years. Yet, I knew Mama would have wanted this for them: for us to all be together again. And so, I asked for prayer at my church, for the grace and the strength to carry it through. You see, I knew in my own strength that I was powerless.
I wrote out the holiday menu, went grocery shopping, and did lots of prepping. That afternoon, my daughter and son helped with some of the recipes. I spent 6 hours in the kitchen the night before! Hubby got up at 2 am to smoke the turkey, and I finished cooking that morning. Daughter and son scooped up the brothers separately and brought them to our home around noon.
We all embraced, and the brothers were surprised to see each other. It felt awkward at first. Heated words were exchanged. But, as my son said, some things needed to be spoken and released. We reminisced as serene conversations commenced. Pictures were soon taken, and we found ourselves laughing. The smoked turkey, ham, and side dishes were spread out on the dinner table. Then, we stood in a circle, united. We took turns praying for both of them. When it was time to grub, my goodness, can my brothers eat! They devoured every morsel until they couldn’t. Afterward, we played a board game and then dug into the desert.
At the end of the day, I think something afresh ignited in our hearts.
Google says gratitude is the quality of being thankful. It also means readiness to show appreciation for and return kindness.
Sometimes you must put your feelings aside and do something out of love and gratitude. The Lord has been so good to us and has blessed us in countless ways! This selfless action made a difference on my part – my pettiness had to get out of the way. Lord knows I had prayed enough, so it was time to put my faith into action. The Lord has blessed me to be a blessing to others. It was time to be a blessing, a time of giving, a time of love.
Life is made up of moments. I am thankful for my family and the gift of life. God has a perfect plan for each and every one of us. We all come from different walks of life; no one is better than the other. May we find joy in the simplest of things. Easy? Not always. Possible? Yes! Because He lives, we can face our tomorrows!
Someone said: Instead of living in the shadows of yesterday, walk in the light of today and the hope of tomorrow.
Filed under Thanksgiving
Sept 23, 1968: It is a day of celebration. We are with our beloved maternal grandma. The little girl (me) happily stands near her beautiful baby sister, who carries an infectious smile. We are celebrating my sister’s second birthday.
Oct. 22, 1968: One month later, it is a day of mourning. We are devastated and heartbroken about the precious life taken much too soon by a hit-and-run driver. With her sister gone, the little girl feels lonelier than ever before. Mama felt lost and never the same.
Current Year 2023: Mama changed addresses this past Mother’s Day at 3 p.m.. In August, we took some of Mama’s remains and placed them near her daughter, my baby sister. Both are with their Savior now and no longer are suffering. We shall see our loved ones again one day. For now, we are left with their memories and the ‘should-of, could-of, would-of.’
Ecclesiastes 12:7
“Then the dust will return to the earth as it was,
And the spirit will return to God who gave it.”
John 14:1-4
“Let not your heart be troubled;
you believe in God, believe also in Me.
In My Father’s house are many mansions;
if it were not so, I would have told you.
I go to prepare a place for you.
And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again and receive you to Myself;
that where I am, there you may be also.
And where I go you know, and the way you know.”
Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace by Mary A. Pérez
Filed under Life & Death
From Heart to Heritage
NEW! Book Club Edition
Reflexiones del Corazón
I just want to thank Mandy for making me a hero in her garden. I was deeply touch and wanted to share my appreciation by adding her link on my sidebar. Click the picture below to view her blog. . .
Reflections From the Heart 