Sometimes He speaks so loudly that it stops you in your tracks. It shakes all of your insides. His voice is so pronounced that it’s all but an outwardly audible voice. Sometimes I look around to see if the people standing around me heard it, but of course they didn’t. It was directed at me. This happened to me several weeks ago.
I’ve been a believer my entire life. My parents baptized me as a young infant, we went to church every Sunday and recited our prayers every night. I’ve never once in my life doubted His existence. I’ve never once had a period of rebellion in my beliefs. I, however, have failed to listen to that loud, striking voice (usually a warning) more times than I can remember. My failure to obey has always got me into a big amount of trouble. I heard this voice with every step that I took walking up the aisle to marry my ex-husband, and the hurt and pain that came with that choice lasted 8 years directly and I still deal with the scars indirectly. Most recently I heard this voice 3 weeks ago. It was so loud that I actually hit the brakes while I was driving. I had been tossing around an idea and had made a choice, He was telling me it was the wrong choice. I didn’t listen. And while the consequences of this choice didn’t last but a couple of anxiety and worry filled weeks, I think it finally sunk in that while He will forgive us and stand by us when we make mistakes, immediate obedience is so much more rewarding (and less painful!).
This is how the slightly morbid, sometimes pleasant but mostly awkward discussion about “life after death” started with my 4 year old son.
(Before I begin, let me preface by saying that I am not a theologian and am in no way, shape or form qualified to have a discussion regarding this topic with even my 4 year old son)
“I’m not sure, kid”
“I love bacon”
“So do I, kiddo. And so I’m not sure we’d be forced to spend an eternity without access to the pure joy that is bacon”
One of my favorite things to eat as an adult that I avoided like the plague as a child is “Sopa de lentejas”. I remember my mom making this when I was a kid, and being forced to eat it was nothing dissimilar to torture. At some point in my adult life I ran across a non-Mexican version of this (you know, just not accompanied by tortillas), tried it and loved it. It is such a warm, hearty and incredibly simple soup to have on a sub-zero day like today.
I spotted him out of the corner of my eye. I always do. As I neared him my heart started racing. Even from a distance, I could see that he was wearing a nice hoodie, jeans and a pair of boots. He was just standing there motionless but I could tell he was holding something. I thought to myself, “Please don’t be holding a sign.” As if it made a difference or helped me focus, I quickly turned the radio down. Maybe I was just embarrassed that John Mayer was playing on the radio and I didn’t want him to hear it. I quickly changed lanes and slowed down. As my car pulled to a stop I could see that he was clean shaven and wearing a nervous smile.
Japanese is my absolute favorite type of food on the planet. I love it more than Mexican food, which is what I grew up eating Thanks to my time in the Marine Corps I spent a few years in Okinawa, Japan and fell completely in love with the cuisine. In my home I usually make Japanese first, Mexican second and then everything else.
Teriyaki Chicken is one of my boys’ favorites. It is SO easy (and cheap!) to make without using pre-made sauces or something out of a box. One of the very few habits that I inherited from my mother is not making things out of boxes! (I wish I would have gotten the cleaning bug that she has!) I ain’t hatin’ on things out of boxes if that’s what you do, it just isn’t for me. I like to control what and how much of it goes into the food that I make. I’m quite sure that my one semester stint in culinary school makes me an expert! (Even though I never even got as far as any cooking courses, just the basics!) I’ll go back and finish one day!
I used to hate people. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that I wouldn’t have to work another day in my life.
One of the things that I did during “that year” (2011, the year of the big D) was to eliminate a lot of people from my life. I’ve brought a lot of them back since then, but back then I wary of everyone. If I didn’t trust people before, now I really didn’t trust “them.” Of course there were a few exceptions; the people that took the time to break through my wall that were now on the inside. But as a whole I didn’t trust them, I didn’t like them and I didn’t want them near me.
This is how I used to see people:
That is the age when I finally felt like a real life grown up. It happened shortly after I turned 33 a little over a month ago. Maybe it was because I was finally closer to my mid-thirties than my 20s? I don’t know. But it happened. I woke up one day (and I can’t remember the exact day or time), but I woke up feeling all kinds of responsible. It felt like my insides had finally caught up with my outer life. Since the day I turned 17 and moved out of my parent’s house to join the Marines, I always felt like my life was some sort of an out of body experience. I was just some kid longing for my Doc Martens watching some future version of myself playing the role of an adult. I’m not even sure how I kept myself alive all those years, much less do the same for two kids to the ages of ‘almost’ 5 and 7.