Reach for Your Summit

In a week, God willing, I will be embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. Along with a group of other brave souls I will be Africa-bound, where we will attempt to reach the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, the tallest mountain in Africa and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world!

Visiting Africa has been on my bucket list since I was a teenager. I have always been fascinated with traveling, and Africa is certainly one of the places I have on my list. I often think of the children that have been a victim of poverty, civil war, and diseases such as malaria and AIDS, among many other things. On this trip I will have the privilege to visit a clinic to meet some of these children firsthand. This is all made possible through The American Foundation for Children with AIDS (AFCA.) AFCA is a non-profit organization that helps children in sub-Saharan Africa, as well as their guardians, who are HIV positive or who have contracted AIDS and lack access to appropriate medical care. 

I also have always felt a connection with the people of Africa. Being Puerto Rican, I can attribute some of my beliefs, vocabulary, food, and especially music to African roots. Puerto Rico had a large population of African slaves that arrived from the Gold Coast, Nigeria, Dahomey, and the region known as the area of Guineas, the Slave Coast. The vast majority were ethnic groups from Nigeria and the Guineas. Their contributions to music, art, language, and heritage have become instrumental to Puerto Rican culture. And what a rich culture it is!

Thinking about my trip brought to mind some questions. How many of us have to live with no running water? How many of us go to the bathroom in an outhouse? How difficult is it for our children to attend school? I grew up in a relatively humble household. We had no hot water and oftentimes we didn’t have any running water for days at a time. Sometimes our electricity would go out and we’d have to get around by candlelight. When the gas ran out on our stove, my mother would have to prepare dinner outdoors on a rustic makeshift stove comprised of stones and firewood. Nevertheless, this type of poor living pales in comparison to the poverty many people still face. No matter how tough we have it, we really don’t know what struggle is when we compare our circumstances to other real-life situations.  

Climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro will be no easy task. It will take approximately 6 days to reach the summit, and only 1 day to come back down. We will experience several different climate zones, from dense trees to rocky terrain to snow atop the mountain. A big cause for concern is the possibility of altitude sickness, which occurs when you cannot get enough oxygen from the air. Air is thinner at high altitudes. When you go too high too fast, your body cannot get as much oxygen as it needs. Altitude sickness can range from feeling like you have the flu or a hangover, to more serious symptoms that could result in death.

Life is no easy trek either. It is a lot like climbing a mountain. We will encounter uphill climbs, downhill descents and plateaus. It may take us a long time to reach the top, only to find ourselves at the bottom in an instant. Rushing through life may make us succumb to “altitude sickness.” My advice? Take your time, keep your eye on the prize, and aspire to reach the summit in your life. I guarantee the views from there will be worth all of the sacrifice.

The Road Ahead

On the way to work today I found myself doing something I have not been able to do in a long time: daydreaming. Depression had robbed me of that ability for quite some time. After all, one cannot daydream when one is feeling hopeless.

I kept playing snippets of yesterday in my mind. It was such a good day for me that I thought to myself, “If this is an indication of what the rest of my life is going to be like, I am going to be a very happy woman.”

For a brief moment the voice of pessimism reared its ugly head and tried to whisper, “Just remember…it won’t always be this good.”  In spite of this, I find that I am at a point in my life where I could squash that voice immediately and not worry about the what-ifs.

If you would have told me just 4 months ago that I would be smiling, let alone laughing, I would have told you that you were delusional. The darkness I was living in during that time was all encompassing. Nothing made sense, nothing was true, nothing was good. I could not think about the future. Heck, I couldn’t even think about the next day. Most of my days were lived hour to hour. “If I can just get past this hour,” I would say, “then I can continue to put the worst behind me.”

Have I ever been joyful in the past? Of course I have. This time around, however, my joy feels different. My life is far from perfect. I still face debt, worry about my children and their health, deal with my own insecurities, and long to find a mate. The difference now is that I can still feel positive and optimistic about my future in spite of this. It is a joy that I have only been able to find in Jesus. Nothing in this world can trump the love and protection that can only be found in him.

The way I see it is this: we will all face adversity in life at one time or another, but we don’t have to face it alone. I can hand everything over to God and know he will get me through it. Even in my darkest moments, when I can’t see past the horizon, I don’t have to worry. God is leading my way, and the road ahead shines ever so bright.

Divorce – My Own Witness Protection Program

Imagine having to make the decision of whether to stay quiet and remain anonymous, or to come forward and testify in the name of justice.  If you remain anonymous and do not speak up, your life will go on as usual. You will not ruffle any feathers and do not risk losing anything. On the other hand, if you testify you take on the risk of losing many things near and dear to you. You will lose contact with friends and family members, you will have to move to another location, you will have to change jobs, and scariest of all – you will have to take on a whole new identity. Your new life will be lived under the witness protection program.

For me, divorce was a lot like going into the witness protection program.  Some friends remained neutral and offered support, but unfortunately I lost many friends in the process. I lost a whole set of family members: a wonderful mother-in-law and several brothers & sisters-in-law. I could no longer refer to them as my in-laws, nor would I be able to refer to my ex as my husband. I moved to a different house. I no longer lived in a two-parent household; I was now a single mother. I literally took on a completely new identity.

As the one who filed for divorce, I had to make a very difficult decision. People who think I threw a party the day my divorce was finalized irritate me. What was it that I was supposed to be celebrating? 17 years invested in the institution of marriage? No longer having a companion by my side at night? Or should I have been happy about the fact that I was the one who decided to end it? 

Let me see if I can make you understand just how painful divorce is: I would not wish it on my worst enemy! I believe divorce can be compared to death. It basically is a type of death, the death of a relationship. With divorce, you undergo the same grieving stages as you do when somebody close to you dies. Being the one who initiates it does not make you immune to the painful process. I guarantee you that both parties will somehow go through the grieving stages. 

There are 5 stages to the grieving process: * Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance (DABDA.).
  
The five stages of grief do not necessarily occur in that order. Grieving is a personal process that has no time limit. We often move between the different stages before we are able to feel some type of normalcy. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Some people may outwardly weep, while others may seem like they are over it when they’re actually dying inside. The important thing is to allow yourself to grieve. No one I have ever spoken with has ever told me that they enjoy hurting and crying. However, suppressing and resisting your feelings will only prolong the natural healing process.

It’s been 6 years since my separation and subsequent divorce. I don’t obsess about it, but it is only now that I can honestly say I have moved forward. I am finally adjusting well to life in my own version of the “witness protection program.” I choose to look at it as a new adventure. Having obtained a new identity is not so bad after all.  

 

 *For more detailed information on the stages of grief see http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/depression-grief

Behind Closed Doors

I’ve heard it said time and time again, “When one door closes, another one opens.” My question is: What do you do with the baggage in your hands? Do you continue to carry it as you cross the threshold of the newly opened door, or do you review its contents and get rid of the unnecessary first? As we stand on the opposite side of that door we have many decisions to make.

I can’t tell you how many times I have been in the position of facing a closed door. Sometimes I was the one who closed it, other times it was slammed on my face. How I got there matters, but it matters more how I prepare myself before I turn the knob and embark on a new journey.

The last few weeks I have sat back in silence. I have been taking in all that is happening AROUND me, and TO me. I have cried for what I perceived to be losses and have smiled at what I perceive to be new beginnings. I have stood in the background, figuratively speaking, observing the things that bring me joy and the things that bring me grief. The one conclusion I have been able to make is this: grief and anger are good for me.

Am I implying that I am some kind of masochist? Of course not! However, thanks to my last few therapy sessions I have come to realize that grief, pain, and anger can be used for good. You see, when everything is going well for us and we are content, we are not moved to action. We want to feel that way forever. We certainly don’t want to change the way things are and disturb our groove.  But when we are faced with strong emotions such as grief and anger, we are motivated to act. Surely we were not created to feel angry or sad only to remain stagnant.

When God placed the first of his creations in a beautiful garden, he intended for them to live in an environment where all they would experience was beauty, joy and peace. Nevertheless, we can't truly be happy if we've never known pain. We can't truly feel joy if we've never felt heartbreak.

As I reflect, I feel that I have been able to answer my own question. It's perfectly ok to take some baggage with me; I am going to need it. Would you ever go on a trip without packing the things you’ll need and keeping unnecessary items back home? The same principle applies here:

I will use my baggage to store the lessons I have learned, throw away the excuses, and make extra room for the new experiences awaiting for me on the other side of that door.

The Sun Will Come Out, Tomorrow

The last couple of days have been a prime example of why I would NOT wish depression on even my worst enemy.   The feelings of contentment and joy that have been a part of my life for the past few weeks have given way to sadness and despair. Still wearing a smile on my face, I manage to get up and go to work and give it my all. I’ve managed to come home and carry out my household duties. My kids ask me what’s wrong and get frustrated when I answer, “Nothing. I’ll be fine.”

The truth is that while it could be worse, I am dealing with some issues that have me feeling down. Some of them are out of my control, others are self-imposed.  Thank God prayer and lots of tears have kept me from falling apart altogether. Last night I read a passage in the Bible that renewed my hope: “Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6-7)

Depression has a way of making us worry unnecessarily about things that are beyond our control. The “why” questions and the “what if’s”. The uncertainties of life. Feeling sad but not really being able to pin down a specific reason as to why. Wanting to have someone hold you in their arms, but looking around at an empty house.

I realize that I have much to be thankful for. I am not discounting that. I do appreciate my friends and those who call, text or give me a loving hug. But that is the twisted reality of this disease – feeling unhappy despite all of the good things going on in your life.

I know this fleeting storm will pass. As Annie used to say, “The sun will come out, tomorrow.” In the meantime, I will just have to put up with the rain.

My Fragrant Flower

Few vines rival the jasmine plant for beauty and fragrance. The jasmine plant produces beautiful clusters of flowers that can be smelled from a few feet away. The delicate jasmine flower opens only at night. The name Jasmine derives from Persian origin. It means “fragrant flower.” It also happens to be my daughter’s name.

Respectful. Poised. Beautiful. Intelligent. Confident. Humble. Tenacious. Straightforward.

Those are only a few of the adjectives I immediately think of when I think about my daughter.

Notice how I used the word “tenacious” instead of stubborn. ☺  From day one my daughter established her own rules. I was two weeks overdue when she finally decided it was time to enter this world. I was in labor for 24 hours – every time a contraction would lower her into the birthing canal, she would go back up as soon as it was over. Then, when the doctors said that I would have to deliver her via cesarean section, she chose to come out on her own.


Jasmine is probably not aware of this, but I look up to her. I admire her strength and honesty. I appreciate her humble demeanor despite her notable beauty. I wish I would have half of the organizational resourcefulness that she does.

I have learned many lessons from my daughter. Jasmine speaks her mind wherever she is. You see, she doesn’t just say what people want to hear, she tells them exactly what she is thinking. She is not malicious or rude about it. She is merely sincere. With Jasmine you never have to feel deceived or lied to. If someone asks her, “Does this look right on me?” and it doesn’t, she will not try to sugarcoat it. She will say, “You should not wear that.”

She loves children and is very good with them. They always seem to gravitate towards her. She can care for them in the most nurturing of ways and keep them entertained for hours. Nevertheless, when it comes time to discipline she pulls no punches. She is not afraid of correcting inappropriate behavior. She is a great teacher and mentor.

Jasmine immerses herself fully into everything she does. At home she always took her chores seriously; Jasmine will be the first to tell you that she has been doing her own laundry since she was 7. I was spoiled during the summertime when she was on vacation from school. I would come home from work and my entire house would be spotless!

All throughout school Jasmine earned awards, honors, and even completed college credits before she graduated high school. She holds the record for being the only student in a particular teacher’s class to get a 100% on a research paper. I will never forget the time in elementary school when she played the lead role of “Granny” in a play based on the tale of Little Red Riding Hood. I was so proud.

Jasmine is 21 years old now, and has been working at the same place since she was 16. At her job she has been noticed for her initiative and impeccable work ethic. She treats the customers with respect and goes out of her way to help them. She helps her co-workers whenever it’s necessary, even though she is a coordinator. Her humble character does not permit her to feel as if she is above anyone else.

As much as Jasmine dislikes it, I sometimes refer to her younger brother as her “son.” That usually evokes a grumble on her part, but even at a young age it was evident that she took good care of him. As I said before, she wasted no time telling him to act right when he would misbehave. She also spared no details when it came to caring for him. To this day she makes sure he eats. She makes sure he takes his medicines. “Do you have any homework?” she asks him. “Did you do what mom told you?” Thank God she is levelheaded, because the influence she has on him is almost scary! I jokingly say that if she were to tell him to go rob a bank he would probably do it, no questions asked.

Reflecting on what I have written makes me realize something: 21 years ago God sent me a lifetime supply of my own personal fragrant flowers in the form of my daughter. The world is a little brighter because she’s in it. I am blessed beyond words to have the privilege of being called her mother.

I Can...& I Will

            My son Damian, who will turn 18 this year, recently expressed an interest in martial arts. Your first thought might be, “What’s the big deal?” Well, if you knew the odds that my son has had to go up against you would realize just what a big deal it really is.

          I will go back to when my son was 2. At that tender age, he cut his forehead open due to jumping on the bed. When I say that he cut his forehead open, I mean you could see cartilage. If it wouldn’t have been for my wonderful blessing of a daughter who (only being 6 years old at the time) calmly got me towels and called my sister, I would not have been able to keep it together. (I did fall apart, but it could have been worse.) What was amazing to me was that my son stopped crying right away. Even at that age he was already demonstrating his resolve. During the rest of his years I was forced to grow accustomed to more bumps, bruises, and stitches, like the time when he fell at school and cut his chin open.

          When Damian was 5 years old I enjoyed helping him with his Kindergarten homework and activities. He learned how to read when he was 4, and was already a fairly good speller. The only thing that concerned me was his constant daydreaming. I would often have to repeat things and re-direct him. I was also concerned about the way he would pronounce certain letters. Whenever he would get frustrated he would quit and say, “I can’t.” I would always tell him, “Repeat after me – I can and I will!” I made him repeat it enough of times that he began to automatically correct himself whenever he’d start to utter, “I can’t.”

          Unbeknownst to me at the time was that he was suffering from partial hearing loss due to fluid build-up in his ears. He had to have his tonsils and adenoids removed. He never once complained. If anything, he loved the fact that he could eat all of the ice cream he wanted for a whole week! I no longer had to repeat things to him and his speech greatly improved. However, his daydreaming only got worse.

          When it was time for his next physical I decided I would mention this to his pediatrician. As luck would have it he did his usual stare off into space. I quickly pointed it out to his doctor who then turned around, looked at me, and said, “I think your son is having an absence seizure, a form of epilepsy.”

          Epilepsy? My 5-year-old son? Not possible! After all, the only other person I had ever seen with epileptic attack was my father, and he would fall and foam at the mouth. Unfortunately, the epilepsy diagnosis was confirmed after further testing. Now he would have to be subjected to a medication regiment. Once again, he never complained. I was actually impressed at how quickly he learned how to swallow his pills. Epilepsy never really slowed Damian down. The medications worked very well at keeping the seizures at bay. Even when he did get one he would just stare for a few seconds.

          In between 5 & 9 years old Damian was also diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, or ADHD. In addition, a learning disability would surface the following year. Again, this did not keep my son down. God blessed him with a great memory. He had no problem memorizing multiplication and division tables. He was two grade levels above in spelling, and was a very good reader. What was even more remarkable was that he read fluently in both English and Spanish. As for his ADHD, I told myself that I would simply have to learn to adapt my reactions to his conduct. I would rely on patience and behavioral interventions rather than subject him to even more medication. Never once did my son complain about feeling inferior or different. He always tried hard and wore a smile.

          The summer of Damian’s 10^th birthday it finally felt like everything was under control. We had just finished building our dream home outside of the city. Now he and his sister would have enough yard space in which to play and run around. They could invite their friends over and make childhood memories. Regrettably, one of those memories would prove to be a very painful one for all of us, especially for my son.

          An innocent game of baseball turned into a life-changing moment. My ex-husband and I were returning from the store when my daughter ran over to the car exclaiming, “Mom, Damian’s had an accident!” The rest of what came out of her mouth still penetrates me as sharply as it did that day. We had only been in our newly built home for a week. The evidence of construction was still visible all around the development, including unprotected rebars (steel rods used to reinforce concrete.) One of those rebars punctured my son’s right eye when he bent down to pick up a ball.

          Everything surrounding this incident seemed so surreal. I had no idea what to expect when I entered the house. There lay my son, holding a paper towel over his eye as calm as could be. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t complaining. I immediately thought “Whew! It doesn’t seem to be as bad as I thought.” That was until I took the paper towel off. His eye did not resemble an eye. I wanted to fall to my knees, but his calm demeanor gave me strength. Of course, I also knew all along that God was undoubtedly behind both of our strength.

          My son bravely walked to the car, holding on to the paper towel over his eye. We took him to the local hospital hoping they would patch him up and send him home. The emergency room doctor took one look at him and said, “We can’t help him here. He needs to go to Hershey Med.” (Penn State Hershey Medical Center has been recognized as one of the best hospitals in the nation.) The seriousness of the situation quickly began to sink in. The specialist at Hershey told us that it was “the worst eye injury” he had ever seen. We were told that my son would most likely lose his eye and needed to get an artificial implant. How on earth do you relay this news to a child?

          Emergency surgery was done to close the gap in his eye. He had lost his lens, all of the fluid in his eye (vitreous humour), and severely damaged his iris and cornea. Miraculously, he did not lose his eye. He was even able to see colors and shadows! Another surgery was performed in order to improve the outward appearance of the eye. This was bittersweet due to the fact that the cornea transplanted onto my son’s eye came from an 18-year-old boy who had died in a car accident in Iowa.

          Damian’s resiliency shone through once again. His main concern while recuperating in the hospital? Whether or not they would allow him to play video games! I also recall the time several weeks later when I reminded him of his least favorite chore – throwing out the garbage. His response? “Mooomm, you know the doctor said I can’t put pressure on my eye!” My comeback? “You don’t use your eyes to pick up the trash bag, you use your hands.” We both laughed, but he still had to do his chore. You see, I refused to let my son’s physical handicap become an emotional one.

          My son ultimately lost all sight in his right eye. He lacks depth perception, spatial orientation, and eye-hand coordination. I think somebody forgot to tell him. Haha! Why do I say that? Well, one time I decided to close one eye and try to go about my business. I was so uncoordinated. Not too long after his injury we were outside playing football. I threw the ball with one eye closed. While I thought I had thrown the ball straight ahead, I had actually thrown it to the opposite side of my field of vision! Damian, on the other hand, always threw it completely straight.

          Although 8 years have passed since that day, we still deal with it daily. He has to use drops in that eye for the rest of his life. Two years ago it began to bleed internally for no known reason. The pressure in his eye dropped and there was talk again about him needing to get an artificial eye. This time around he was told of the impending result. Damian didn’t really talk about it, but he didn’t complain either. Thankfully the pressure has been brought back to normal through the use of drops (of course I know that it’s really through the hand of God.) Currently, Damian is doing well…almost.

          As he approaches 18, he will be undergoing major chest surgery. He needs to have a steel rod inserted in his sternum. When he entered his teens his breastbone began to grow inward, causing a deep dent in his chest. Not only does it have a sunken appearance, but also leaves little room for his heart and lungs. It could potentially cause his heart to shift and become displaced.

          We have been warned. While complications are typically minimum, the pain following the surgery is not. At first Damian did not want to go through with the surgery. I told him that he would be ok because they would give him sufficient pain medication. His response to that? “Oh, I’m not worried about the pain. I just don’t want that metal thing inside me.” Ha! I should have known that he would not be afraid of the pain.

          Writing this prompted me to look up the meaning of the name Damian. I was not in the least bit surprised at what I found: Damian: Greek origin. Means “to conquer, master, overcome, tame.” Of course!

          As I sit here proudly watching him perform his karate moves in class, smiling and throwing kicks and punches into the air, I can almost sense what is going through his mind…

“I CAN...& I WILL!”

PS = Stay tuned for next week's blog where I will be writing about the other inspiration in my life...my sweet daughter Jasmine.

Worth Fighting For

Love: an intense emotion of affection, warmth, fondness, and regard towards a person or thing. (The definition of love as stated in the dictionary.) I would rather think of it this way:

“Love is not a fight, but it is something worth fighting for.”

I posted that sentence on my Facebook status last week after having heard it in the lyrics to a worship song. Even though the song was not focused on romantic love, I chose to pair that small phrase with the love between couples due to the fact that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.

February 14 - a day set aside for people who want to profess their love for someone else in a slightly more profound manner than they normally do throughout the rest of the year.  A dozen roses here, a box of chocolates there, and wedding proposals timed just right.

In my case, romantic love has proved to be elusive. The feeling of loneliness that sometimes accompanies that would depress me every now and then. I even remember saying that if I ever caught cupid he would go missing. Ha! All joking aside, in time I have learned a very valuable lesson:  treasure the loves that I do have in my life, namely, my God, my Savior Jesus Christ, my loving family, and friends.

Valentine’s Day may be a day set aside for love, but the remaining 364 days of the year should be nothing less. Cherish and nurture the loves in your life, it is the only way they will grow. 

I Love Me...Most Days

A couple of days ago my counselor asked me a most unusual question. “Does Maribel love Maribel?” he asked. I hesitated before I answered, “Most days.” That question got me to thinking: how much DO we actually love ourselves?

I am not referring to an arrogant, self-centered love. Absolutely not. What I am referring to is a genuine, self-caring attitude towards our own being. After all, if we cannot love ourselves, how are we supposed to love anyone else? Simple mathematics here, you cannot give away what you do not possess to begin with.

We are all loveable in one way or another. I suppose I love myself to some extent but the fact that I hesitated before I answered my counselor, and the fact that I did not declare a convincing “yes,” made me take a deeper look at some of the things I can be loveable for.

I have a strong character – I survived poverty, losing both parents to cancer, the loss of my marriage, and parenting two children on my own.

I am persistent – I stayed in college for 8 years all the while working full-time because I was not going to give up on my dream of attaining my Bachelor’s Degree.

I am resourceful – I grew up poor and therefore know how to survive with very little. God provides all of my necessities, anything extra I consider a luxury.

I am funny – not only do I love to laugh, I love to play pranks too. J

And I have a comforting presence – I am very good at helping others remain calm in the midst of chaos.

Before you go to bed tonight I challenge you to make a list of 5 things that make you a loveable person. I am sure there are much more than 5, so by all means write them down too. Can’t think of at least 5 things? Then you, my friend, need to start loving yourself. The more you do, the longer that list will become.

A Decision I Regretted

December 18, 1982 – a date that forever will be engraved in my mind. Why I decided not to go that day is something that has haunted me for years. I doubt I will ever be able to come up with a good reason, but at least now I am able to confront it.

My father was almost 46 when I was born, and it was as if he waited all of his life for me. I was his only child and he treated me as such. I was the ultimate daddy’s little girl. There was nothing my father would not do for me. Although he only lived for the first 13 years of my life, he gave me enough love to last a lifetime.

Was it always that perfect? Not if you count the times when he would leave on a Friday and not come home until the next day or so. Then there were the times when he could not pay attention to me because he and my mother were too busy fighting. And what about the time he left me at my aunt’s house and did not return until 3 months later?

I suppose I chose not to dwell on those events, but rather on the good ones. The Saturdays my father would take me downtown and buy me anything I asked for. The times he would call me over to sit on his lap while he read the newspaper. The day he bought me my first bike and taught me how to ride it. Lazy days spent at the lake fishing. Christmastime when he would take me along to pick out a real tree. And one of my favorites: taking me into his arms and "hiding " me from my mom whenever I was naughty.

Yes, my father doted on me – perhaps to a fault. I was completely dependent on his love.

When he was diagnosed with cancer I was told, “Your dad has a terminal illness. He only has a few months to live.” What the hell was that supposed to mean to an 11 year old?  What kind of cruel joke was life trying to play on me? I went into complete denial. No one had taught me how to live without my father.

My father lived for about 2 more years after that, and spent much of the time in and out of hospitals. The last few months of his life he never left. He spent my 13^th birthday in there, as well as his 59^th (our birthdays were only 8 days apart.) At first I would go to see him daily, then I would only go every other day. I was young, and my mother thought it was too much for me. Regrettably, I did not understand the gravity of the situation, nor was I ready to confront it.

For years I replayed that day over and over again in my mind. I felt ignored as my aunt came over to give my mother the news that my father had passed away that evening. Nobody was telling me directly, I had to overhear it. I don’t think I believed anybody for days. After all, the last time I saw him he was very much alive. Besides, even though it was my turn to visit him that day I had decided to stay home. I needed one more chance to visit him at the hospital. There was no way he could be gone.

I was never truly aware of just how much that decision had affected my life until now. I regretted it for years. I knew my father was terminally ill, but I never got the chance to say good-bye properly. I never really had closure.

Letting go of the blame, letting go of the guilt, and holding on to the love that we shared were imperative in order for my healing to begin. I may never know why I did not go to see my father that day, but I will always know that he loved me unconditionally.

Gentle Reminders

When I woke up the other morning and looked outside my window I was surprised by the light coat of snow covering the ground. I was suddenly reminded that we are indeed in the middle of winter. It was difficult to picture that since the temperatures have been relatively mild. As a matter of fact, the day before the light snowfall the temperature hovered around 52 degrees. This experience made me think of just how similar life can be.

Life sends us gentle reminders, much like that light coat of snow on a cold January day. We may find ourselves in the midst of one of life’s seasons, yet momentarily lose sight of our environment. Circumstances around us appear contradictory. We have reasons for which to be thankful, but we tend to forget because of everything we see around us.

Perhaps we are battling loneliness, pain, fear, or uncertainty. We may be facing a loss, heartbreak, disappointment, or an illness. Those conditions can make it difficult to remember the happier times of seasons past. We might find ourselves thinking that nothing will ever take us back to a more joyful place. Then, without any warning, the reminders arrive: a phone call or visit from a friend, the lyrics to a song, just the right message at church, much awaited good news…

All of a sudden we are gently reminded that this season will soon pass; springtime is inevitable.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow - a day following today; a period of time in the future. A measurement of time we all talk about yet not guaranteed to any one of us.

I suppose it is simply in our human nature to think about the future as if it will always be there. This is evident by the fact that we are beings who are always planning. From the time we are old enough to realize we have choices we begin to plan our lives. In our younger years we plan weeks in advance what we are going to wear for the first day of school. In college we plan ahead for graduation and our future career goals. We plan our wedding days, our childbirths, our vacations, and our retirements. But, how many of us plan for our deaths?

Truth is time is only infinite to God. We, on the other hand, are finite creatures. We dream, we plan, we hope, we realize goals but at the end of the day our time here on earth is limited.

Do any of the following comments sound familiar?  - 

“We will have our first child after we pay off all of our debts.”

“Maybe I will visit my family next year.”

“I wish I could do that.” Or “I have always wanted to go there.”

“Sorry honey, I won’t be home for dinner. I have to work overtime.”

I could go on and on listing phrases that at one time or another we have all either repeated or heard. I don’t want to spend too much time on that though. Instead, my plea to all of you is to take a long, hard look at your situation. Can we truly afford to do things only when the “time is just right?” Are you living the life you want to live? Are you preoccupied with what others might say, or is the experience uniquely yours?

Our journey on this earth may ultimately come to an end, but we can make the time in between a beautiful occasion. Your happiness rests in your own hands. Your dreams can only be realized by you. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.

Academy Award

And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to…..

How many of us have ever stood in front of a mirror and pretended to have been that actress? I remember doing that often as a little girl. I’m not a little girl any more, but I have played that actress role many times.

Many people that know me have at one time or another said something to the effect of, “You have a beautiful smile,” or “Your smile is infectious.” I do admit that I love to smile. I smile at strangers on the sidewalk as easily as I smile at my friends, but like a clown that smile is oftentimes painted on.

I had my first bout of depression 5 years ago after I filed for divorce. I had been carrying too much for far too long. I was always known as the one who could hold everything together while everybody else was falling apart. I was the one consoling my friends, lending a listening ear, or giving my shoulder to cry on. Many times I’d say, “Call me if you need anything!” Rarely did I ever call anyone when I was having a problem. Part of my hesitation had to do with not wanting to bother anybody else; part of it had to do with not wanting to appear weak. After all, my friends and family needed me! Unfortunately, that was a recipe for disaster.

My initial struggle with depression caught me by surprise mainly because I had never experienced such a condition before. I had read about it many times and even watched my own mother suffer through it, but that did not prepare me for what I was about to experience.

Spiritually speaking, I consider myself to be a spiritual person. Notice I said spiritual, not perfect. Behind my smile I have secrets that would probably knock the socks off people close to me. Nonetheless, I try to live my life in accordance to God’s ways as best as I can and thanks to His mercy and grace I am saved. I am a firm believer that a relationship with my Lord and Savior should suffice, but depression is a disease that sometimes robs you of that joy.

Intellectually speaking, I am fully aware that I have much to be thankful for. I have goals and dreams. I continue to hold out hope for the elusive love of my life. I have my faith, I have two wonderful children, and I have a good job. I have good health, I am intelligent, and I love to help others. I love to travel, I like to learn new things, and I love to observe nature. I like doing all those things and more, yet I feel empty much of the time.

I don’t know that I can truly explain what that emptiness feels like. I suppose I could try my best to describe it, but how do you describe something that’s not there? It’s like not being able to laugh at a joke, or smile when you see a child at play. It’s a void, a feeling of uncertainty. Or perhaps it’s not a feeling at all, but the inability to feel.  It’s the absence of joy, the absence of anger, yet the presence of sadness.

I have faith in God that as I did once before, I will rise above this tide. One day soon I will wake up and realize that I am smiling back at the mirror with a radiant, genuine smile. Until then, I will continue my path on this journey. I will continue to play the role that I know best.

Welcome to my blog!

Thank you for visiting my page. I hope you will enjoy reading my thoughts. At times you will find my posts to be educational and uplifting. Other times I am sure they will be raw and personal.

My hope is that you will travel this road with me as we continue to explore what is in store for us in this journey called life.