Saturday, August 15, 2009

Gut feeling

Do you ever get "gut feelings"?

Do you usually listen to it?

Lately I have come to realize I get a LOT of gut feelings. I have also come to know that by the time I realize it, it's too late.

Or rather, by the time I ADMIT I needed to listen to my gut feeling, it's too late.

Most of the stuff is simple stuff, but it ends up getting complicated by the fact that I ignored the gut feeling. For example, I had a gut feeling not to go to the store at noon, because it was too close to Aaron's nap time and he might have a big tantrum in the store because he's tired.

I ignored the feeling. The knowledge.

Went to the store anyway.....and paid the consequences.

I didn't listen to my gut feeling.

Today I had a STRONG gut feeling.

There was a homeschooling meeting I wanted to attend. The kids wanted to go bike riding at Frame Park. I couldn't do both.

Usually I do not ask Nathan to take the kids in such rides, mostly because I know he has had a very long, physically demanding day, and I know he just wants to kick his heels up and give his tired feet a break.

But today I wanted to please the kids.......and myself, by going to that meeting.

I asked Nathan if he could walk the trail at Frame park so the kids could ride their bikes; meanwhile I would be at the meeting, right there at Waukesha State Bank, and we would meet an hour later by the fountain an maybe go for ice cream.

Easy enough. Sweet.

Except for the nagging feeling in my gut.

The typical back and forth between me and my other self -otherwise known as gut feeling- went on for awhile, but I kept quieting it telling myself I needed to relinquish so much control over the kids; I still felt I needed to go for a walk with them; but I told myself going to the meeting was more important; I still was concerned with Nathan having all the kids by himself, in their bikes, at the park, without a cell phone.....oh c'mon're driving yourself crazy for no reason.......but I still kept feeling that it would be better if we all went to the meeting and then go for the walk.......but I told myself to shut up and go to the meeting and let everything else go....besides, sitting in a room with a bunch of homeschoolers without having to worry about the kids would be a very nice break for me................but I was still worrying.

Even as they walked away, I watched and prayed that everything would be ok.

I sat down at the meeting, trying to look all non-challant and comfortable; the lady next to me introduced herself; I introduced myself and we started to ask each other about our kids and our experience with homeschooling. Not a minute into the conversation my phone rang. I did not recognized the number so I ignored it.....and silenced it.

My guy feeling started screaming at me.

I started screaming back at it..................would you PLEASE shut up and leave me alone!!!!!!

Ten minutes later I cave in and checked my phone. Another missed called from the same number. No message.

"If it was Nathan, and if that was an emergency, he would have left a message....I'm sure of that" I told myself. "Now concentrate and pay attention to these nice homeschooling ladies...."

Ten minutes later I heard the sound of a door opening and closing....and in walks Aaron, followed closely by Danny.....followed by a pale Nathan and a bloody and beat up little Nate!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My heart sunk.........what happened?!?!?!?!?

I stood up, picked up my stuff and went to my family. Little Nate had a nasty fall from his bike minutes after they got to the park; he had a huge bloody bump in his forehead, a scratched up nose and upper lip.......and he lost one tooth on the spot, had one barely hanging by a thread and another one in pretty bad shape.

And my sweetest hubby had to deal with all of that all alone. The phone call I got was from a lady that offer him the use of her cell phone to call someone.....and I didn't answer it. He had to deal with minutes of incessant nose bleeding, gums bleeding, a screaming boy, three bikes all over the place, and two extra kids wondering around......and a long walk back to the car carrying a hurting boy in one arm, pushing the bike with his other arm, and coaching two boys riding their bikes across a busy street and a very busy parking lot.......all while my gut feeling was beating me up.

When would I learn not to question my instincts? When would I learn that the little loud voice that I hear sometimes really knows what it's talking about? When would I finally surrender?

I don't know, but today's lesson is a big step closer.

I don't think that such accident wouldn't happened if I was there, but I have no doubt that what my gut feeling was trying to tell me is that my family needed me; I needed to be there, next to my husband, because a team effort was needed to handle the situation.

But I wouldn't listen.

Perhaps next time, when it is really imperative that I listen, instead of a gut feeling I should get a b**ch-slap............I bet you that would really get my attention!!!

This are the pics of the incident....and the fun the boys where having with it. They are nasty if you ask me.......but I wanted to share nonetheless.

My sweet sweet brave little boy.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

At wit's end.

This is my littlest one.

In this particular picture, he's one day old.

Oh, the memories! I was so blissfully in love with him.

To be able to love someone you just met with such intensity is one of life's greatest mysteries to me. Love at first sight at its best.

Days passed and all I could do was look at him, drooling over his every move. Cooing and goo goo gaa gaaing him, anxiously waiting for a little smile, a little sign that he could hear me and show me he was also in love with me, the whole me, not just my breasts.

I felt so complete. So blissful. It must have been all the oxcitocin released during breastfeeding.

And then, within a few weeks, I saw this:

That was pretty unusual, I thought. The kid was looking straight at me, with a certain expression on his eyes, as if he was telling me "enough with the pictures already woman! you're interrupting my sleeping pattern".

So I stopped.

I dismissed my gut feeling that something was peculiar with this kid of mine; I dismissed the notion that he was different that the other two; I thought "for goodness sake, he's just a baby, he eats, poops and sleeps; how can anyone know this early there's a difference?".

And so I just kept on keeping on, doing the everyday things a mother has to do.

Suddenly I found him doing this at eight months:

Climbing up a mattress, all the way to the top, and then roll down, laughing all the way, squirming around with his little brothers. I suddenly realized he was crawling, walking and being very adventurous and fearless, keeping up with his brothers every step of the way.

He was only eight months old!!!

I felt that gut feeling again. I was up against something different in my short mothering career; this kid was definitely different; he was more forceful, more demanding, more outgoing, more fearless, more challenging.

And more beautiful every day.

And my heart went pit-pat pit-pat every time I saw him doing something new.

And my heart melted every time he showed me his silly faces.

Or when he rested peacefully in the couch, watching Poo bear, right after his shower, all snuggled up and cozy.

Or when he was so valiant, following after his brothers, attempting a bunch of things that made my blood pressure sky rocket and leave fingernail marks in my camera, anxiously waiting for the hurt that might come from attempting to climb up a tree at 18 months.

Indeed he's different.

I haven't figure our just the fullness of what I'm dealing with here.

All I know is that along with this difference, came a challenge: I cannot raise him the same way I have so far raised the other two. The methods I used with the other two do not work with him. Nothing I have successfully done with the other two works with this one.


I found myself feeling depleted by the end of the day (heck, sometimes I am depleted, deflated and defeated by mid-morning!!!).

I feel frustrated. I feel like giving up. I'm at the end of the rope. At wit's end.


Plan and simple as that.

I guess I could tell you all about the temper tantrums, about his kicks and punches, about his screams, about his defiance, about his challenges to me, about his yelling (oh Lord! the yelling!), but just thinking about it makes me feel tired, let alone bringing myself to write about it.

I'm at a total loss for ideas, or even strength.

Then, as I was watching The Lord of the Rings last night, one scene caught my attention, one phrase shook me out of complacency:

"This task was appointed to you; and if you do not find a way, no one will"

Those words were spoken directly to me last night. Regardless of the scene in the movie, or the plot going on, those words, at that specific time, were for me.

I get shivers just thinking about it.

This is my task. This is my mission. These children a MY gift from God. If I fail at this mothering mission, no amount of success in any other area of my life could ever make up for it. Success in anything else would still be a failure.

So I need to buck up and face it. This is my mission. There is no quitting.

Now, where's that link to the lady trying to raise godly tomatoes? Or that website about get-off-your-butt parenting? Oh, and what about the 'parenting isn't for cowards' book?

Much work ahead.

Gotta get to it.

Encourage one another.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009


Yes, that's me, five years ago. I was pregnant with Danny, and this particular picture was taken during a visit to Charleston, WV. This picture was also taken during the second trimester, when I usually feel great, gorgeous, sexy and, dare I say it, adventurous.

I remember strolling thru a beautiful part of the town, and I loved the flowers, so I just sat down in the sidewalk and begun to pose for the camera, not caring at all about the people walking next to us; not even caring that some people had to stop and wait for my hubby to take the picture.

Not at all like the usual me. Even thinking about it now brings out a nervous giggle.

Contrary to what many think of me, I'm a rather a shy person.

At least now, at this time in my life. I mean, I enjoy company when I have it. I can talk 'till you are blue in the face, I love to hear other people stories, but for some reason, I'm having a hard time getting out of the house to accomplish that.

What I'm trying to find out is if I have always been like this but never noticed it, or if this is a byproduct of all the changes I have undergone in the last fifteen years of my life.

I've always had this image of myself as a social butterfly, but try as I might I couldn't come up with more than a handful of friends (and I'm not using the word 'friends' very loosely here).

Even as far back as elementary school, I only remember being very close to only one or two people. I specifically remember my buddy "Pelos". Well, that was his nickname; it means "hair" in Spanish, and we call him that because his arms were very hairy; I mean, you could comb those arms if he would've let you!

He was my friend; we spent many years together and our friendship lasted for a few decades; we went to kindergarten together, then elementary school, same classroom for the whole six years, and amazingly, three more years after that at secondary school, still in the same classroom. So he was a constant presence in my life until about ninth grade. Then we went to different high schools, but we still remained very close and saw each other often. After I moved a couple of times we lost touch, but we would search for each other from time to time to find out the latest news and then loosing contact again for awhile.

But we always found our way back to each other.

Now it has been about thirteen years since I heard anything about him. I hope he's ok. I hope he's happy. I hope he has a beautiful life. For some odd reason, I miss him today.

After that I had another close friend. Her name is Veronica. We met in Monterrey, Mexico while we both worked at McDonald's. It was an instant and deep friendship. We were two peas in a pod. We worked together, we spent our days off together, we went everywhere together.

She was an only child and although I do not know what type of job her mom had, I do remember they lived in a very nice, fancy and comfortable condominium overlooking the beautiful and majestic mountains of Monterrey. I think she owned a couple of real state properties and she rented them out, but it was not the fancy things they owned that made me be comfortable at their house; it was the fact that I felt so welcomed and loved.

The thing I remember the most is how comfortable I was in their company; having grown up with an emotionally unavailable mother, I treasured the way my friend's mother would spend her time with us, and how she embraced me and welcomed me and loved me, just as my friend did. For her it was as simple as this: my daughter's friends are my friends.

Would you believe me if I tell you I can't even remember her name? I'm not sure I ever knew her name. I always called her "SeƱora".

Veronica moved to California following a guy she thought she would spend the rest of her life with, but we kept in touch thru phone calls and letters. A few years later I moved to Wisconsin and we reestablish our close relationship, as we could talk on the phone more often without having to pay for international long distance. By then she had left the guy she came to United States with, fallen in love with another guy, moved in with him and ended up marrying him in Las Vegas.

They were struggling financially though, so as soon as I had a good job and a promising opportunity for her to join me, I invited her to move to Wisconsin and try her luck over here. The plan was for her to come, start working, and secure an apartment while her husband remained working in Los Angeles; when the apartment was ready he was going to move here too and we would all work together and live happily ever after.

After she moved in with me, she and her husband went thru some rough times; I remember being in the middle of the storm, somehow feeling that everything was my fault; that by inviting her to move to Wisconsin I had torn her life apart.

But I needed her so much. Having her around felt like a lifesaver had been thrown at me, just in time to save me from drowning, for I too was enduring the most unfortunate situation.

See, I had managed to get involved with the wrong guy and by the time I realized it it was a little too late. The relationship had turned sour, but this guy would not take a hint. Things turned violent and I was terrified at him. I wanted so desperately to get rid of him, but was afraid to get beaten again. So when she moved in with me and I told her the story, something came over her and her words and encouragement gave me the final push I needed to end that relationship.

The thing is that the guy would not get out of my life without a fight and I ended up in St. Luke's hospital, bleeding from two wounds, one in my head and one in my left hand, after the breakup got physical. All I remember is being in a cold, emergency room cubicle, crushed and beaten physically and emotionally, and she was there. She was holding my hand, kissing my forehead, washing away some of the blood in my face with her tears. And despite all the ugliness around our love life, we felt safe, having each other around.

Eventually she got some sense back into her and decided to give her marriage a second change; her husband welcomed her and she moved back to California, where he was waiting for her. Last I heard they were doing fine, raising a little daughter named Grecia. But that was ten years ago. We lost contact and right now, I don't know where she is, where she lives or if she's ok.

There was also Raquel. We became friends while working together at a School; she was part owner of the private school, but her job was to teach a couple of computer classes. I was the receptionist. We both were free, meaning we didn't go on dates, had no formal boyfriend, and I might add, not even many friends. Veronica had moved to California leaving me with a big hole to fill. Eventually Raquel took the place Veronica had occupied and life was busy again, going out with her and spending time together at work and off work too.

Our relationship was different, as she was several years older than me. I liked her a lot and really enjoyed her company, but she felt more like an older sister to me. With Veronica I was the grown up. I was not only the older one of the two, but also the more serious, the more wise, if you could ever use that word to describe me. The roles were reversed with Raquel; she was the older one, and by far the wisest one.

Eventually our relationship took second place in my life though; I fell deeply in love with a boy and all I wanted to do with my life was to spend every waking moment with him. I'm sure she felt left behind, but eventually we survived the initial infatuation and strike a good balance between my love life and our friendship. The boy also felt like he was neglecting his friends so we decided the we would spend every other weekend with our friends. So it came to be that on certain weekends we would be together, inseparable and blissfully in love; and other weekends we would take a brake and cultivate our friendships and spend time with our old buddies.

It was good to have that balance, although I'm sure I bore Raquel to death, because all I could talk about had to do with the boy I loved; our talks about politics, the economy, celebrity gossip and even our own future were gone, replaced by talks about the latest adventure the boy and I had embarked on, or how I skipped class to be with him, or about our escapades in the middle of the night, when he would come to my house just to kiss me good night because he could not fall asleep thinking of me, or even about the night when we talk for so many hours over the phone and both of us fell asleep holding the phone to our ear.

Then there came the day when he was gone; in the blink of an eye he was gone. A drunk driver ignoring a red light is all it took, and he was gone, leaving such hole in my heart and in my life. Raquel was by my side as soon as she heard the news. Her hands held mine during visitation and during the church service and her arms held me together during the burial process; my whole body shook like a leaf during the final moments, and I even felt her pulling me back when almost unconsciously my body wanted nothing more than to jump into his grave and die with him.

Suddenly my days and nights were empty; there were no more phone calls, no more middle of the night escapades, no more to talk about. The only thing that was consistent for me was a deafening silence and a crushing absence. Emptiness. Anger. Bitterness. Sadness. Rebellion. All those and more came crashing down into my world, making it impossible to function. The God I once believed in became the object of my blame and frustration; talks about His love for me were like poisoned arrows that penetrated deep into my soul; most days I felt like a volcano, ready to explode and vomit a bunch of burning lava and destroy everything within my reach.

Raquel was there.

Despite the abandonment she suffered when I found love, she was there for me. Our meetings had lost the vibrancy and happiness and giddiness. All there was left of me was an empty shell. Many times we sat across form each other, unable to speak; she would watch my tears roll down my face and fall into my coffee cup; she would stretch out her arm and hold my hand; never told me not to cry; never told me it would get better; never told me she understood; she was just there for me, as if her only intention was to remind me that I was not alone, despite my firm belief that life was not worth living anymore.

After the tragedy another unexpected friendship begun to develop; thru the boy I loved I had met a guy nicknamed Polen; they had some shared interests in music, the arts and philosophical thinking, so we visited with him a couple of times. I liked him. And somehow I could feel that he liked me too. I don't remember how close we were before, but I guess we were close enough, as he was the one who came to my house to deliver the news of the boy's accident and death. He drove me to the funeral home and kept me company until Raquel arrived. He was relieved to hand me over to my friend, I'm sure; I know if there was something he disliked, funerals were it.

Because Raquel and the boy I loved never developed a friendship, my connection with Polen grew almost overnight; he knew him; he knew his likes, dislikes, dreams. So Polen became my connection to him after his death; talking to Polen was like talking to him in a way. That relationship became my lifeline. Literally. Polen kept pulling me out of the dark holes I would sink in. He had this far out idea that the spiritual world runs parallel to our physical world so, according to him, my lost love could see all my suffering and in order for him to be at peace, I needed to be at peace also. I wonder now what was he smoking.

Eventually his hard work paid off; gently and patiently, him and Raquel were successful at nurturing me back to life; I began to breathe again, to feel the warmth of the sunlight again; the dark clouds that had surrounded me for so long begun to dissipate and a little ray of resignation began to settle into my soul. But it took months.

I can tell you, without the shadow of a doubt, I would not be alive today if it weren't for them.

And that's as far as I get when trying to recall lasting impressions. I do have other friends now; there are a few people that I love, but life seems to have gotten so busy or I seem to have gotten so lazy, either way we don't see each other that much.

There's Teresa, for example; we met while living far away from what we knew to be familiar, and our husbands worked together and were friends too, so it was effortlessly that we became friends too, enjoying each other's company all the time. If they were not at our house is because we were at theirs. Simple as that.

But now back in Wisconsin, family, work, different schedules and a slight agoraphobia on my part have gotten in the way and we don't see each other nearly as much. I do hope they know we love them, even if we are too lazy to really get involved as much as we used to.

There's also what Nathan likes to call "church hallway friends". People we go to church with; people we like and care about, but with whom there's no real connection outside the church. But they are loved and liked. They are the ones we look to for prayer when in need; and we hurt for them when they struggle thru the hardships of life.

All of this by way of saying that perhaps I am not who I thought I was; I'm not a social butterfly; I'm not the life of the party; I am not the most popular either. But one thing is for sure, I have been greatly blessed by the friendships I have enjoyed throughout my life and I can only hope that I have been a blessing to them too.

So, to all my friends, old and new, whether you are a very close friend or an acquaintance, past or present, I'm thinking of you today; and I am missing you.

It must be the weather. Something happens to me when the sun doesn't come out.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Words I wish I wrote.


May nothing evil cross this door,
and may ill fortune never pry
about this windows; may the roar
and rain go by.

Strengthened by faith, these rafters will
withstand the batt'ring of the storm;
this hearth, though all the world grow chill,
will keep us warm.

Peace shall walk softly through these rooms,
touching our lips with holy wine,
till ev'ry casual corner blooms
into a shrine.

Laughter shall drawn the raucous shout;
and, though this shelt'ring walls are thin,
may they be strong to keep hate out
and hold love in.

Louis Untermeyer

Friday, March 27, 2009

Be still and know that I am Mom

     All the boys who live in this house were sleeping; I was trying to be quiet, walking around them swiftly while cleaning the house and finishing laundry; soon it would be time to get ready for mid-week service at Church, and for some odd reason, instead of using that quiet time to relax, read or simply enjoy, I was busy, not only with my housework, but also in my mind.

     In one of the trips back from the basement bringing laundry, I was welcomed into the living room by a foul smell; I mean, it almost knocked me backwards; the air was thick in there; I kept walking and dismissed it as one of those things my boys are good at: farting.

     I finished putting away the clothes and sat down for a little facebook time; time flew by and now it was time to get the kids going; Nathan was already up so I gently sat next to Danny, who was sleeping on the couch, and gently rubbed his back while softly speaking his name prompting him to wake up and get ready for Church.

     Suddenly the memories of the foul smell of earlier became a reality; memories of the way he was crying before nap time complaining of stomach ache; memories of how I had taken time out of my busyness to rub his belly; memories of how he had fallen asleep while I massaged his stomach.......and memories of that nasty smell again.

     I was immediately overwhelmed by the thought of what lay ahead for me.

     I knew I was getting into a messy situation.

     I begged my other self to remain gentle and treat the little tyke with dignity, love and respect; I mean, is not like he decided he was going to make my day a little more miserable by soiling his pants; obviously he was sick before nap time, and the reason for his malady had come rushing out sometime during his time in dreamland.

     I took a deep breath, then quickly realized that was a mistake; I shook my head and prompted him to get up and walk with me to the bathroom; he was still half asleep; somewhere in his stupor he felt something was not right and he opened his eyes wide, while looking at me, fully expecting to be scolded for such inconsiderate action.

     I'm convinced he expected the worse from me, because when he realized I was talking to him with the sweetest voice I could muster, he gently rubbed my face and with the sweetest voice that could ever come from the mouth of a four year old he said "thank you, mommy".

     I smiled at him, trying to hide my gaging reflexes. Then I went back to the issue at hand, trying to figure out the best way to take his pants off without making the mess even bigger. He must have read my facial expression, and suddenly he tried to "help" me clean the mess; he hurriedly tried to pull his pants down and then his underwear; before I could say peep the mess had rubbed all over his legs; he looked at me and I could tell he was proud for helping me; I look down and quickly realized that the mess had expanded to the legs, the floor and, had I not been careful, to my own legs and arms.

     In a split second I realized that every time my kids spill their drink, I always scold them into cleaning it for themselves; lately I don't even have to do that; even Aaron runs to the kitchen and brings a towel and starts cleaning the carpet; is just second nature to all of us; you spill something, you clean it.

     I knew that was exactly what little Danny was trying to do: clean up his own mess. But this time I did not want his help; this time all I wanted him to do was to freeze and don't move until I was done; I could tell the dam of emotions inside me was ready to burst open; now I not only had a child to clean, but the bathroom floor too.

     Only by God's grace I was able to remain calm; or it could be the fact that I know well enough not to be the nastiest person alive right before going to Church; I mean, I've done it many times and it does not feel good at all, sitting in Church, trying to sing, knowing that just a moment ago I fell as low as I could for that day and mistreated the children God placed under my care.

     Back to reality.

     As calm as I could I told Danny to stop moving; he was already reaching for toilet paper to help me clean the floor; as calm as I could I told him that I was going to take care of everything, all he had to do was to stand still and let me work.

     In my head I was screaming "Be still and know that I am mom".


     With patience and love many things can be accomplished. After a little while the only thing that was left from the messy episode, was the memories; I'm sure I will laugh about it some day; some day far, far away.

     Fast forward two days.

     Today is Friday and I am here, sitting alone in a quiet house; I feel such an emptiness inside, such turmoil; I feel overwhelmed by a sea of emotions; my mind rushes back and forth in time, regretting the past, fearful of the future, unsure about the present. 

     There are so many ways in which I have let life overwhelm me, crush me under its weight; there are many things I should have done and I didn't; there are many things that could improve, if only I commit myself to them; there are many things I could do better, but choose not to, all the while the list of excuses for my lack of action is getting ridiculously long.

     I quickly realized I'm in a mess of my own making and hurriedly tried to come up with answers, with action plans, with schedules, with options. There was a great whirlwind in my mind and heart. I felt dizzy, and afraid. I yelled at myself. "C'mon long are you going to keep this up???? Get ahold of yourself!!!!! You are thirty-five-freaking-years-old!!!!!! Act your age!!!!!!@#$%#$#%^^&"

     In the midst of my sobbing I remembered a few words that I keep forgetting, despite the self promises I make never to forget again.

"Be still and know that I AM God"

     I grabbed onto those words as hard as a window washer grabs his harness while working on the 70th floor of a New York skyscraper; I mean, I don't even know if there are buildings that high, but if I was a window washer and had to go up that high, you bet I would hold on to that rope as hard as my little hands could; you would too.

     So there I was, almost like little Danny in the bathroom, who was comforted by the fact that mommy was so gently cleaning up his mess, because, after all, she is mommy, and if someone is a master at cleaning messes in this house, mommy is.

     And here I was, looking all around me and seeing a mess, or looking down from the 70th floor of a skyscraper, fearful of the fall, holding onto those life-giving words with all my might.

"Be still and know that I am God"

     And I'm happy to report that, after hanging onto His words for awhile, the storm ceased; the winds calmed down; the thunder was silenced; and there was great peace.

     So, just in case you find yourself in the middle of a storm, I want to share the words that brought me solace:

He alone is my rock and my salvation; 
he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
Psalm 62:2

So do not fear, for I am with you; 
do not be dismayed, for I am your God. 
I will strenghten you and help you; 
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10

Since you are my rock and my fortress,
 for the sake of your name lead me and guide me.
Psalm 31:3

The Lord is my rock , my fortress and my deliverer; 
my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. 
He is my shield and the horn 
of my salvation, my stronghold.
Psalms 18:2

He who fears the Lord has a secure fortress, 
and for his children it will be a refuge.
Psalm 14:26

God is our refuge and strength
an ever present help in trouble. 
Therefore we will not fear; 
though the earth give way 
and the mountains fall 
into the heart of the sea, 
though its waters roar 
and foam and the mountains 
quake with their surging.
Psalm 46:1-3

But above all, I suggest you stop doing what you are doing, and listen to God whishper:

"Be still and know that I am God"

     I can assure you, He can handle a lot more that just a cleaning job.

Encourage one another.
Keep moving forward.





Friday, March 13, 2009

Pain's the word

     Man, oh man! Pain is the word of the day.

     I guess I finally realized this arthritis thing is not getting any better and it's time to place myself under a doctor's care. For almost seven years I have been waiting for things to improve, for this disease to suddenly disappear; I had hoped that one day I would wake up and be back to my younger years, when I boasted of how healthy I was; when I had energy to spare; when I was adventurous and ready to go, always curious, trying to find new things to do and new things to learn.

     Nowadays every thing seems to be an uphill battle. But the strongest battle is in my mind. It takes all I have to keep believing in healing and in a loving God who watches over me and cares for me; when I'm in pain and every little thing to do turns into a full blown project due to the pain and stiffness, when caring for my little boys -even picking up the youngest- causes excruciating pain, and my arms and knees threaten to give in under me every step I take, it's easy to wonder "what could possible be the purpose for this?".

     I know God uses everything for good for those who love Him, but what good could possibly come out of being constantly in pain, challenged at every step? 

     I'm reminded of Jesus and his encounter with a leper; I'm reminded of the words spoken by the leper "if you want, you can cleanse me". He knew Jesus could cleanse him, but would He want to?

     I have no doubt that God can heal me; He created me; He knows me; He knows my body; a simple thought from Him, a whisper even, a word, and all this world of pain and suffering could disappear. Yet He remains silent.

     I know He can heal me; but does He wants to?

     There are days when the weight of all I have to do and all that needs to be done in order to care properly for three little boys and a husband brings out a prayer, out of the deepest places of my innermost being, "if you want, you can cleanse me". But most days the request goes unanswered.

     Even thinking about going under a doctor's care was a difficult decision; I felt like I was saying "well, since you won't heal me, I'm going to look for healing somewhere else".

     Yet I know that my healing can only come from Him; yes, a doctor may bring some sort of relief, thru medication or any other intervention, but real healing, complete healing can only come from Him, and for reasons unknown to me, He chooses to wait.

     I'm reminded of a song we used to sing many, many years ago in Sunday School; it said something like "if I'm missing my voice I'll praise Him with my hands; if I'm missing my hands, I'll praise him with my arms; if I'm missing my arms, I'll praise Him with my legs; if I'm missing my legs I'll praise Him with my soul". And after all that's exactly where I am; no matter what, I'll still praise Him. Whether He heals me or not I'll praise Him.

     I only ask for the strength to go on. One day at a time.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Morning Prayer

When little things would irk me, and I grow
impatient with my dear ones, make me know
how in a moment joy con take its flight
and happiness be quenched in endless night.
Keep this thought with me all the livelong day
that I may guard the harsh words I might say
when I would fret and grumble, fiery hot,
at trifles that tomorrow are forgot-
let me remember, Lord, how it would be
if these, my loved ones, were not here with me.

Author Unknown.