God made us Sisters

On June 2, 2010June 2, 2010 By AngeliaIn Love and Light, Timeless Treasures28 Comments

Hearts made us friends – as the little saying goes.

My sister is almost nine years older than me. Have you ever heard that song Heros, by Mariah Carey? When I hear that song, I always think of her. From taking care of three younger siblings, to leaving home at eighteen, to marriage and college, to having two children in her early twenties, then later having two infant sons that made their way to heaven way, way too soon.

Not letting that beat her and sap the life from her, she battled the pains with nursing school while working as an aide in the ER at Houston Childrens hospital until she graduated with her RN license. Today, she cares for children with more compassion and love than any nurse I’ve ever known. Why? Because that was her calling and she listened. It took her 15 hard years to get there.

My dearest friend, that I am so blessed to have related to me. May I offer this tribute to you to acknowledge your touching grace upon my life.

I am so proud to call you my sister. Every picture I have, you are holding me. Every one.

What I remember most about growing up with you is the nights when we lived in Pickett. The rut town off a two-lane Oklahoma highway, in the middle of nowhere. Our house at the end of the road, located next to the woods, and in front of a big field terrified you. A secluded place filled with shadows. I have a feeling Ghost Hunters would have recorded some data. Eeek!

You would drag me stumbling from my brass twin bed to sleep with you in your room, in your bed – every night. You put up with a six-year old having restless leg syndrome when you hated feet on you. I guess little kid feet on your head seemed preferable to being haunted. Worse than that were my nightly accidents in the wee form. Oops.

It was your room I began to read novels from your desk shelf. My first book, Little Women, then Island of the Blue Dolphins. I can honestly say, reading in your room ignited the treasure trove of stories that call to my heart.

The other great love, your big doll house. Oh I coveted it. I wanted it for my own, I’ll admit. It was a dream when I got to play with it. The magnificent colonial house with real furniture, a velvet clad staircase, and an attic that opened up. A child’s dream home.

Listening to Barry Manilow crone from the record player in your room, or maybe it was Neil Diamond, John Denver, or all the above. They just don’t sound the same anywhere else. And why you put up with a little brat always around asking questions when you were surely a busy teenager, I’ll never know. You probably don’t either, except to say it was a long eight years of wishing for me. I treasure those days in your room.

Taking me to your Cougann practice when they had the mini camp. Being your side kick (or lo-kick), in your big drill team performance during the Friday night High School football game. What an exciting adventure. Such a privilege for a little sister who wanted to be just like you.

My big sister.

My friend.

My hero.

I watched you hold Baby Will in your arms, desperate to keep him, his loss the greatest our family has ever known, such a precious soul. Seven days of sweet song touching his fingers, kissing his head. Nothing was more heartbreaking.

Then, for that pain to pale in comparison to the sacrifices made for Baby Cody. Born after Will, strong, yet still fragile. The 24/7 quest to eradicate germs as much as possible with a toddler in tow, and another child in public school. Four and half years doing things no mother could comprehend with tubes, wires, medicines and shots only to lose him anyway. I think I would have lost my faith. No, I would have, but not you.

Instead of cowering in grief you firmly stood up for all mothers of exceptionally essential children that lived most of their life from a hospital bed. You spoke in front of hundreds of mothers, doctors, and nurses – despite your fear of public speaking – so they could better serve families of children like Will and like Cody. So they could make compassion and service a first for families of the chronically ill. A place of warmth and care for their long stays. A place for direction when they did go home armed with the confidence to care for them. All because of you giving yourself to the cause and sharing your sad story. People listened. People learned. People cared.

Your selfless service to the needy is astounding. Next, you will marry a man who has an exceptionally essential daughter. Beautiful Chelsea, a hospital bed buddy to Cody. A miracle that lived long past what the experts predicted. She will walk down the aisle, unable to speak clearly due to her trach opening, unable to walk steady with her weakened muscles. Her twisted hands will hold a bouquet of flowers while her princess dress billows around her. She will have a big smile lighting up her face. It will be as if it’s her wedding. A forever child unable to experience one of her own. It’s only through your desire, that she will. She will feel just as loved, and just as honored as any bride would be.

You amaze me.

May the love you pour out, always return to you. Thank you for being the best big sister a little girl could ever have.

Happy Birthday my friend!

Timeless Angels

On December 2, 2009December 2, 2009 By AngeliaIn In my heart forever & ever, Timeless Treasures22 Comments

Operation Christmas Child landed at Pantego Bible Church a few weeks ago. Proudly, Jason, Molly, Bridget, Sydney and I, all participated. Yes, that’s right, one box per person. One child per person.

Bridget picked a 14yr old boy. Don’t ask me why. I gave her the choices and this three year old did not even hesitate. She wanted a “big” boy. And we shopped for “big” boy’s box. Tell me that’s not adorable.

Molly wanted a girl her age, so she could easily pick things that she would like. She got lots of wonderful little gifts for her five year old girl. Her box was the only one we couldn’t quite close the lid on. Heh!

Sydney picked a 10-14 year old girl. Her box had the most room it. Huh. Heeeeey, she forgot like underwear and stuff. Don’t worry I added to it.

Jason picked a 5-9 year old boy. Yes, he got to gift vicariously. The little trucks, coloring book, and even a baseball. He took such care to pack it all in. He definitely spent the most time finding exactly what he wanted for his little boy.

I picked a little girl 2-4 yrs old (of course). I think I packed the most expensive thing out of all the boxes. I wedged an electronic phone. It talks, it beeps, it rings. It even like says the alphabet backwards – okay forwards. What I’m trying to say is….It was a super cool toy.

Jason didn’t realize I had stuck that in there until he was checking the receipt (and why it was so expensive). Oops. In my defense, I offered to pay him back, and he declined.

Five boxes later, we had our Christmas Children shopped for. ALL of us were involved in the shopping, packing, and dropping at the Church. It was wonderful. The stage was overflowing with boxes. They let us know on collection Sunday, over 1,190 boxes were received. Wow! That is a lot of far away children having a very Merry Christmas.

Our boxes.

The last weekend in November also began the Oakcrest Angel tree. Oakcrest is a family crisis Church in the hood of Kennedale Texas. It is nestled back behind a porn shop, a strip joint, and a liquor store. Surrounding the Church you are likely to find prostitutes, drug dealers, ex-cons, and addicts. And let’s not forget – their children.

If you’ve ever attended Oakcrest, you understand. It’s not about organized religion. It’s about a place where they have nothing, absolutely nothing, and yet they still rejoice. Their hearts rejoice, and their spirits soar in hope. Pure, undiluted hope – or at least – the pursuit of it.

Oakcrest has a clothing shop, and a soup kitchen on Monday nights. On that night, a hot meal is served by volunteers, paid for by monetary donations from the Monday night Church service (the attendees being mostly these same people). After the service, a box of groceries is handed out to needy families for the week. So they can eat. Let that sink in for a moment. So they can eat.

I found my humble gratitude at Oakcrest. I saw what little they grasped in their hands, and how happy they were to have it. I saw their struggles, and pain in their faces, yet they still shined. I saw crumpled bills gently placed in the offering plate. I saw true life in those that desire just to be, in a better place, than where they were before.

The children that surrounded them, that loved them, that needed them. Precious lives, so deserving of gifts. So deserving of kindness from a stranger. Much like Operation Christmas Child, but on a much smaller scale.

The Oakcrest Angel tree represents these children. They are the recipients of the humble hearted who adopt them. Last year, I worked that tree – tirelessly. No one was adopting. The economy went to the dumps, and there wasn’t money to spend. So many were just trying to give to their own children. They could not even consider another child.

I could see these children in my mind’s eye. I knew them. I had read their applications. I knew the size of family they came from. If they had a Dad in prison, or not. I hurt for them, and by gosh, I wanted them to have a Christmas. They deserved something. Unashamedly, I became a salesman in my Church lobby. Yeah.

“See that one there, well HE has a brother. His tag is over here. Could you do both?”

“I personally know this kid, he is fourteen. He lives in a single parent home. He has it rough. He is great kid. Can’t you just take him? Just this one?”

“Look some of these kids have on their wish/toy list COAT. Can’t you just adopt them, so they can have a coat for Christmas?”

It was HARD. Every week went this way until the last Sunday. We had ten Angels left. I could have just sat on the floor and cried. Instead, I sent out A MILLION texts, begging. After my mad texting, three were left. I took one more (I already had three), the group leader took one, and Jason (via text) took the last little Angel. He had already taken one the week before. My last plea worked.

What a relief! ALL were adopted. ALL would have Christmas. ALL of them, for just one night, could forget their worries, and problems. For one night, they could be merry. They could be children.

One year later, the Oakcrest family tree has been up in the Church lobby for two weeks. One more Sunday of adoptions left (next Sunday), and there were 11 tags left on the tree at 12 noon this past Sunday. At 1215pm, after second service, I watched my Mom snatch the last Oakcrest Angel tag off the tree. Oh my heart. Instead of down to the wire, an ENTIRE Sunday remains with no Angels left. There were even people still walking up to the tree looking for a tag, to be told – they are all adopted. We have no more.

Heartfelt hugs, and cheers all around.

You see the Sunday before (the 1st Sunday of the lobby tree), I pulled twenty tags – YES TWENTY – to send to my sister in Houston. Last year, she heard me talk about these kids, and these families. She remembered how I begged, pleaded, shopped, bagged and delivered (all with a BROKEN right hand). She remembered, and she saved up $1,000.00 to give twenty of these kids a Christmas.

Angel tags from the Oakcrest Tree for my sister

When you figure out which ones are the Angels, the kids, or the ones adopting them, please let me know. Because I have no idea.

A day in the Park, A day in the Life

On November 2, 2009November 2, 2009 By AngeliaIn Better to be a blessing, Volunteer hearts21 Comments

I realize it’s NaNoWriMo time. I should be building on my measly 1,610 words, I wrote on day one which was still short by fifty-seven words of the daily goal. Sigh. I should be writing to make up for that and taking advantage of my day off to jump ahead of the pack. (all of my writing buddies have more words than me – including my daughter) But I have come to realize, that sometimes, I don’t have a say in what I want to write or should write. Sometimes my heart is in my fingers, my soul urges me to tell the story, and all I can do is follow that lead.

My lead was encouraged by Pastor David Daniels’ revisit to the Down and Out series at Pantego Bible Church from last February. He actually rode with a Police Officer in charge of doing a homeless count for 2009. He met and heard many of the stories of homeless people. There were several videos made. Their stories got to the gut of it. The disadvantaged, the substance abusers, and the ones that rise above it all – against all odds – to have a home after all.

It is truly a heart wrenching story of LOVE MERCY. Their strength, and daily perseverance brings me to tears. I realize it’s something some of us do not understand, and something some of us understand all too well. Whichever side of the fence you are on, you can’t help but be moved.

A lot of people wonder why they don’t just get I.D’s., get jobs, use government help – which most of them do. What they don’t realize is, if you don’t have a SSN number or birth certificate – there is NO getting an I.D. None period. If you don’t have an I.D. you can’t get a job. And contrary to popular belief, most of these people do not WANT help. They WANT to live on their own, survive on their own, and make it on their own. They have pride just like you and I. There is no difference, they are human beings made in God’s image. What makes them different is their circumstance.

A circumstance that could happen to you or to me. I was this close to falling into an endless, irreversible cycle of drug addiction. One of the worst ones – METH. This didn’t happen when I was too young to know any better. This happened as an adult in my early thirties. It pains me to think how close I was to losing everything and being on the street. It’s painful to admit, even today, but it’s true. It’s part of my past, it’s part of who I am, and why I am.

I have compassion for them. I have a glimpse of their world. I know how easily it can unravel. And I’m not saying I know, that’s not what I’m saying at all. My period was a year, year and half, theirs are decades. I don’t know anything. It’s hard, harder than imaginable.

Sunday, a friend from Facebook and Christian Mingle came to Texas to visit her daughter and new baby grandson. In July when he was born, she had planned to visit me and the Church, but unexpectedly had to return to Florida. She promised to return and visit one day again.

That day happened to be this Sunday. She called and I gave her directions to the Church to meet her in the lobby. It was a wonderful connection. She is as dear and genuine in person as she has been online. She is a very heartfelt, and beautiful. Her daughter and grandson were absolutely precious. What a gift it was to meet them, embrace them, and cuddle that precious baby boy. It was the highlight of my day.

Pastor Daniels summarized the Down and Out series, highlighting the specific messages. The true stories of the Down and Out brings tears, heartache, and tremendous hope. Hope for a new understanding, for an awakened passion, and for my friend because her other daughter is homeless, and under the oppression of substance abuse.

I can’t imagine. I can’t imagine the pain of that. What stood out the most was Pastor Daniels saying, for some, you can’t help them. You can be there for them. You can love them, but they are on their own journey with God.

It brought her great comfort to hear this. It brought her peace where their wasn’t any before. It was a message she so desperately needed to hear. A message of LOVE MERCY to a mother who traveled over 1,000 miles to hear it.

My visit of LOVE MERCY happened a few short weeks ago. I was invited by a friend to be part of Feed by Grace ministry, which is a division of Unity Park near downtown Fort Worth.

Unity Park is a fenced in area, with trees, picnic tables, and the above pictured basket ball court. The homeless can come to relax, be entertained, have coffee or Gatorade during certain operating hours. There is a small one room concrete building that houses an even smaller kitchen and bathroom. This is where I gathered with many volunteers for a women’s spa day. A very special engagement.

This event was by invitation only. The director had selected twenty-five deserving women that needed some pampering. Not that they aren’t ALL deserving, they are, but there were only so many spots.

I volunteered to work the nail station. Heck, I LOVE a manicure. It’s nice to be spoiled. To give that to these ladies was sure to be a blessing. Most of them had never had a manicure before. Other volunteers arranged the lunch, and drinks. Also, a paraffin hand waxing station was designated. Three teenage boys arrived to be waiters. They were dressed sharply in nice shirts, ties, and slack – complete with a white towel over their arm.

These ladies were not just being given lunch. They were being offered the royal treatment. An afternoon of sheer pleasure and escape from all their worries. This was the similar to an Academy Award event. White table cloths, center pieces, waiters, and gratification awaited them.

The first woman’s hands, I took in mine was named Beverly. I couldn’t begin to guess her age but she told me she had three children in their forties that lived in Tulsa. I would have pegged her about sixty-five. She was a small woman, mostly skin and bones, but there nothing frail about her. She was tough. She was strong, wise, and determined.

She told me her story as I caressed her weathered hands. Her pride beamed as she described her grown children. Her brow furrowed as she detailed beating breast cancer, becoming a survivor, and to find out the cancer had returned. She was in crisis once again with her head held high. She said she was going to get an apartment. She was going to get on her feet, but would not undergo chemo again. If this was her time, well then, she was ready.

I buffed a black spot on her nail, where she said a door had shut on her finger, as the black lifted away, she watched the stain disappear, her pleasure radiated. I smoothed the ridges, soaked the cuticle, trimmed, and polished her fingertips. She smiled when we finished, her nails had never been treated so well before. One last squeeze and she went back to the tables covered in cloth to await lunch. Her courage in the face of her situation astounded me, humbled me even.

Three more times, I talked, treated and tried to offer these homeless women a shred of love. The only kind I could offer, my service. Every one of them was sweet and grateful. They felt like princesses. After the nail station, two more volunteers were offering hand massages. Then they could move on to the hand waxing.

At first, some of the women thought hand waxing was the plucking of hair. We advised them it was actually much more pleasurable, some were brave enough to try it. I helped peel the wax from their hands. The exclaimed in glee as they felt their hands transformed to silk. The first thing they would do was touch their face, rubbing their soft hands on their skin, eyes closing in enjoyment. Such a small thing, yet so indulging, and so beautiful to behold.

Lunch was served by the handsome young boys. The women thought they looked like soap stars. They were star struck as they bashfully accepted a plate of food, a glass of tea, and a dessert. Giggling like school girls and shying their eyes away. It was sweet.

As the luncheon came to an end, a woman behind me stood up. In front of twenty-five women and ten volunteers she told her story of being homeless, losing her children due to drug abuse, getting herself rehabilitated, getting her kids back and learning to live and work again. Then she sang from her heart, a lullaby, written by her mother when she was a small child.

The room was silent as her voice lifted and carried, all the pain, the heartbreak, and the sheer will for a better life, lifted and touched every soul. When she finished, thunderous clapping erupted, tears were wiped away. She bared herself for all to see, in order for other women to have strength. She told her story for them to rise up and be champions. What an impact.

They were pampered for now, but back to the street they would go. To sell their bodies, or to miss their babies, or to look for shelter, or a bath, to an abusive husband or mate, and even to that addiction if they have one. Maybe this ounce of compassion could sustain them for a brief while.

Before the luncheon closed, Feed by Grace director had one more surprise for the ladies. She brought out hand knit hats and scarves, all unique, all made with a hue of brilliant color. Knitted by a group of women that pray over each thread. Women who selflessly offer their talent for a strangers warmth and comfort.

The ladies were told the hats and scarves were prayed over as a covering for them this winter. Hence the hat to cover their head and the scarves to wrap around them. A covering of protection from the cold. A covering of love and prayer. They also handed out purses filled with kits of useful things for a street person. Items we would trash, they treasure.

Lastly was the prayer locket. A silver chain hugging a heart that opens, inside you can put prayers, close the locket and wear it on your chest. Faith, love, and mercy – they can hold in their hand. Something beautiful to fill their every aspiration.

My beautiful friend Beverly as she saw her heart locket.

As they departed, I hugged every neck I could. I tried to touch them as they had touched me. I held them tightly and prayed for strength and energy and heart to go forth with them. The woman that sang her song, I told her keep singing and keep telling her story. It would change lives, just keep shining.

Some people might say what a blessing I AM. To those people, I would say – the blessing was ALL MINE. I will never forget that day, not one second. I look forward to future outings with the down and out. I hope to continue in this mission as much as I can.

You might think, WOW , I wish I was like you. But listen, I am an ordinary person. A single mom with little resource. My only resource I can give is my heart, my time, and my service. If you knit, look for those opportunities, blankets, scarves, and hats. If you can serve, find those places that need a hand. They are all AROUND you. Ask God to open your eyes to them. You will be amazed and blessed beyond measure.

Lastly, seek your compassion every day. Don’t shy away from what you don’t understand. Open your heart and receive. It will uplift your life.

1 Timothy 6:18 (Contemporary English Version)

18 Instruct them to do as many good deeds as they can and to help everyone. Remind the rich to be generous and share what they have

Babe, This is better than a ring

On October 16, 2009October 28, 2009 By AngeliaIn Better to be blessed, In my heart forever & ever14 Comments

This is a Costco membership card. MY membership card. Some of you know what this is, or maybe you are more familiar with Sam’s. They are actually similar, both are member only clubs to shop for bulk items at a great discount. Good deals. You can buy Sweet n Lo, in bulk, it will last a YEAR. I’m not kidding.

I, usually, will buy toilet paper, paper towels, and trash bags. Being a single mother, it makes sense to try and save where I can. Jason has a membership, and I would go with him. We would figure out how to pay the other back for things bought or what not. His membership, he has to pay, or I pay. Only one can pay – one card.

Going to Costco on a saturday is like an adventure – you never know what samples they might be serving. You never know what wonderful books, toys, equipment, seasonal and otherwise, that they might be carrying. I LOVE Costco. It’s so fun and I hate shopping, so this tells you a lot.

Earlier this year, on a Costco trip, Jason mentions that his X is still on his Costco membership. REALLY? WHY? He says it’s free for him and he just never bothered to take her off. REALLY?

Quite honestly, it upset me. If it were HER membership, I guarantee you – he would have been taken off immediately. She divorced HIM. Why is he still being nice to her?

He tells me, he is a nice guy. I agree, BUT come on…..after everything? If she likes Costco so much, let her buy her own membership. It can’t be that much. It still ties them together. It still seemed like he was honoring his wifely commitment (and you remember that whole drama) which I thought ended at his divorce in December, or so I thought. It bothered me – GREATLY.

He didn’t understand, and I get that. I do. It’s harmless right? She is buying stuff for the kids – his kids – that he pays child support for. A LOT of child support, like what I lived on as single parent working full time AND with my child support added in, child support. But I digress….

What I am saying is – I felt like he chose her over me. That no matter what, I would always be second. She was the mother of his children. She came first.

Now, I do tend to overanlayze and read more into something than I should. I KNOW. You are all shaking your head. This is how it felt at that time. I stewed a half hour, came to terms with it, realized all the nice things I did for my ex husband Sonny – and still would do. I would have felt better if she was as nice as Sonny but still – I was fine with it. Stop it, I WAS.

On my merry way I went, without another thought (usually). Oh, I’d feel a twinge when we’d visit Costco. My mind would want to holler to me – I was SECOND. I didn’t listen. I knew, I was first. Get behind thee, Satan.

One of our last visits, we had the kids. We are having a jolly old time. Goofing off, trying samples, and playing with everything. I do mean everything.
At check out, I took the girls along with Sydney and Kyle to get drinks at the little concession. We were sipping our smoothies, when I see Jason waving at me. I leave Sydney with the kids and go to him. He is standing there at the back computer behind the check out, smiling.

Give her your info, I am adding you to my membership. My JAW dropped. Huh? Really? He was taking X off and adding me. I barely recovered enough to give her my name, then as if in a daze, we head over to get my picture taken for my new card. My new card.

I don’t understand why months, and months later he had this change of heart. I will say it made me feel very, very special. Such a simple thing, but it was an act of love for me. It filled my heart.

I said to Jason, “Babe, this is better than a ring!”.

He says to me, “We’ll see about that”.