Lazy Summer Days.

Sometimes I feel like I have the memory of a goldfish. I move from day to day sort of absent-mindedly, without a lot of intention. Wake up, shower, go to work, go to the gym, come home, eat dinner, and go to bed. Repeat.

I am becoming more and more aware of my lack of focus lately. I think that summer plays a role in my lackadaisical attitude, but I also think that my mindset is not what it should be right now. I have written several times in the last few weeks, but after spending an hour or so writing a blog, I read it, sigh, save it under the belief that one should never delete their work, no matter how bad it is, and close my laptop. My thoughts are not coherent and I feel like my general feelings towards life lately are not either. I tell you this in hopes that I can push through and touch on the lesson I feel God is really trying to teach me right now.

I have lost my JOY. I feel like I go about everyday doing what needs to be done, but lacking purpose. I am tired and often times foggy in my thinking. I lack the luster for life that someone living in the Abundant Life of Jesus Christ should be living.

There are certainly times in my life where emotions are raw and I have my thumb on the very pulse of my life. In times of grave sorrow or euphoric joy, I know what I am feeling and I know why I am feeling a certain way. I like those moments, even the sad ones, because I know exactly what I am thinking and how I am feeling. The times that are harder for me are the times where my feelings are blasé. There are times where I feel like I haven’t a clue why I am not feeling anything. This past month has been one of those months for me.

I have come to the conclusion that my lack of feelings and emotion stems from my lack of ability to remember- to recall what God has done for me and where he is leading me.

I think I live in the highs and lows of life. I love the anticipation of a big event. I count down to my birthday every single year with anticipation of what a day centered around celebration will bring. The days between Christmas and New Years are always my favorite because the constant state of celebration brings me excitement for what is to come. I love the parties and the time spent with friends and family.

And even in the harder times in life, I feel myself drawing closer to God and to my family. In a strange way, I appreciate feeling that sense of utter dependency on God to provide for my needs and to comfort my heart. I don’t love pain, in a sick way, but I have come to appreciate the amount of growth that I know takes place inside of my heart in the dips of life.   

Yet, I am finally figuring out that I don’t do well in the middle of life when everything seems to be going okay and nothing big is happening. I think I slump into a state of apathy in the middle and it takes something big for me to be able to feel something again.

A wise friend once warned me what a grave sin is it is to forget what God has done for us, be it in the good or the bad times, the celebratory or the devastating times in life. I couldn’t agree more, and yet, in the middle of the summer, the middle of July, and the middle of the country, I am feeling stuck in the middle.

My aversion to all things middle started when I was little. I hate sitting in the middle seat of a car, never certain which way I should let my legs fall and always paranoid that my legs will get sticky all squished against someone else. I hate sitting in the middle of the aisle at church because I am always worried I will have to get up and go use the restroom in the middle of the service and trip over someone’s purse or legs. I hate the middle of a book (especially one with a great plot) because I am hooked by the first few chapters, but then I also have no closure and am stuck daydreaming about possible endings until I finally just give in and read the rest of the book. I am middle child. I am not nearly as smart as my older brother, but also not as loveable as my younger brothers. I have heard countless sermons that refer to the middle child in a way that reminds me, we are never anyone’s favorite.

Lately, I am learning the importance of doing what God is calling me to do, even when I do not feel like it. I tend to cling to God in the rocky and hard places. I give praise and adoration to God when something wonderful happens and joy comes easily. Yet, when I am stuck in the middle, my prayers are short, my heart is less content, and I lack the focus that a follower of Christ should have.  I am learning that in this season of life, sometimes we have to put in the work, even when we feel like letting ourselves be lazy. We have to exercise our spiritual muscles even when we would rather watch mindless episodes of the Bachelorette.

So, I am pulling myself out of this slump. I am praying harder. I am studying God’s Word because that’s what I am called to do. I am going to remember every single day to be “Confident of this, that He who began a good work in me will carry it out until completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6.

A Still Small Voice

A nudge. 

A gut feeling.  

Something beckoning. 

A whisper deep within your soul that only you can hear. 

A still small voice. 

That is what I experienced this Sunday while sitting in church. I tried desperately to ignore it. I tried to reason with God and make excuses as to why what he was asking me to do was strange, awkward, and not appropriate. However, He didn't stop. He continued to nudge me and push me out of my seat to do the unthinkable:

Hug a complete stranger.

Gasp. NO! How unreasonable! What a complete fool you must have made of yourself reaching over to hug a total stranger. Here is how the situation unfolded...

We made plans with Josh's dad to attend Willow Creek on Sunday. Willow does a fantastic job of celebrating Father's Day with the true heart of a father in mind- a car show, and FREE HOT DOGS & RIBS. What dad wouldn't want to go to Dad Fest? We arrived early and chatted for a bit before grabbing our seats in the sanctuary. The service was delayed 15 minutes so that the early risers from the previous service could enjoy Dad Fest and those of us who struggle to make it to the 11:15 service could find a parking space. We waltzed in and to our surprise, the section we always sit in was pretty full. We managed to find a few seats in the back row and slipped into the center of the row. 

Sitting in a seat next to a stranger is always a little uncomfortable, so when we started to shuffle into the row, the woman (the one I would later be asked to hug) sitting next to me slid down to allow the always appreciated extra chair between us. We were both allowed our own arm space, as the service started. 

I always think about friends and family members on holidays, especially holidays that celebrate our parents. I pray for those without a parent because I know that those holidays have to be especially hard. Our pastor recognized that void as well in the service by asking those who were fatherless, either by death or by an estranged relationship, to stand up. He offered comforting words of encouragement and sympathy to the crowd of standing church-goers. 

That is exactly when my heart started thumping. I could feel the sweat start forming on the palms of my hands as the woman sitting next to me and her daughter rose solemnly.

I had been watching her and her daughter out of the corner of my eye the entire service. The mother held a headset tuned into the Chinese interpreter, but the daughter listened to the service in English. They shared a Chinese Bible, leading me to believe that the daughter may have learned English as her second language. All of this observation only added to my laundry list of reasons as to why I should keep my hands to myself. 

As the woman and her daughter stood to be honored among the fatherless, I felt the urge to reach over and touch her hand. I felt that feeling deep inside of my soul that beckons to you to show love and kindness to those hurting. I ignored it.

I heard the sniffles to my left. I decided that praying for the woman and her daughter would be better than reaching over and physically showing her I cared. However, I still felt that pull in my heart to physically reach out and offer her comfort. I ignored it. 

I told the voice that it would be uncomfortable for me, but mostly for her! She might not understand what I was doing, but inside I knew that a gentle touch translates as kindness in any language. I reasoned that she had moved down a chair because she didn't want to have a total stranger in her personal space but on the inside I knew that no matter what reason I gave, I was still ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit. 

Everyone sat down and the service was drawing to an end. I felt the Spirit's prompting again to reach over and place my hand on her hand. She was still crying. I ignored it.

The service was ending as we all rose to be dismissed. I was still trying to figure out how to sort of obey without actually having to physically obey. Our pastor was in the middle of dismissing us when he added a bit of a P.S. to his benediction by saying, "If someone around you stood because they are fatherless, please give them a hug and let them know how sorry you are for them today." It hit me like a lightning bolt. Was he talking to me? Did know the battle I was facing inside? I took a deep breath, turned to my left and touched the woman's arm. She turned to me and with open arms received a warm embrace from me. Her daughter also turned and allowed me to hug her as well. 

Relief washed over me. I had finally obeyed. I don't know that a hug from a total stranger changed her or her daughter. I seriously doubt it. However, I think it changed me. I was reminded that obedience, no matter how strange or silly it makes us feel, is what we are called to. I am more than slightly embarrassed to relive the details of that event with my readers because, to be quite frank, I would like to think that I am much more willing to follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit. In my own walk with the Lord, this event served as a huge reminder to me that no matter how uncomfortable I am feeling, I need to be ready and willing to do as God asks me.

I had a long talk with God later that evening as I thought about my actions that day. I asked for forgiveness because, even though I obeyed in the end, it should never take that long for me to listen. I want God to trust me with the big things in life and I want to be constantly ready and willing to do His will. However, in order to be trusted with the big things, I need to prove faithful in the small things. 

So, from here on out, I hug whoever God tells me to hug.

In A Flash

Yesterday morning, I was reminded how delicate and finite life really is. I logged onto Facebook, as is my morning routine, to peruse the status updates of 911 of my closest friends. I saw countless updates about a sweet friend of our family. I was a bit confused as to what the statuses were referring to, but I could tell that something tragic had happened in their family. I quickly got off of Facebook to phone my mom thinking that she might know what had happened. She hung up with me and called her dear friend (the auntie of the family) to check in and see if everything was okay. She called me back within minutes to confirm my suspicions that something devastating had happened- the sweet little two year old had been found in the Jacuzzi at a party and passed away. 

This news rocked me. It was one of those defining moments for me where the phrases so oftentimes thrown around made all too much sense, "Life is short."  Too short. That sweet little girl was snatched from earth in a moment that left everyone here asking those deep and often times unanswerable questions. Why? What is God's plan in this situation?

I am honestly not really sure how to wrap my brain around situations like this. Situations like this are earth shattering and they tend to rock us to our very core. Yet in the midst of our pain and suffering, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is in control. It is a fine balance between asking those questions and placing trust in an all knowing and all powerful God. 

I awoke this morning with the the hymn Great is Thy Faithfulness in my heart- the phrase, "Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow" has played over and over again in my mind as I think of our sweet friends and the pain they are feeling today. I think that when we remember that God pulls us through the pain of today with the hope of tomorrow, we are able to gain some perspective and our questions, although not answered, are left with a hint of hope for what God is going to do in our lives. Strength for today...bright hope for tomorrow...No matter how dark today is. No matter how much pain you are in right now- there is HOPE. 

In the midst of the pain, I am choosing to take away from this devastatingly sad situation the reminder that life is fragile and that we have to seek to live everyday to the fullest. Tomorrow is not a promise. Go for a walk with someone you love, call up an old friend, make a mends with a family member that you are fighting with. Chances are, when your life is up, you won't be sitting there wishing you kept a cleaner house, or that you did the dishes more often. Beds can be left unmade, towels unfolded. Spend time with those you love and hit the pillow at night positive that you live everyday to the fullest. It is so much more satisfactory than checking off another "To Do List" item. Life is short, so make memories. Let things go quickly so that the hardships of life don't bog you down. Be ready to go at a moments notice...

I guess that living in the moment is really a part of embracing joy, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Dominican Republic 2010 

I Don't Make Guacamole

I do not make guacamole. I don't have some famous recipe passed down from generation to generation of Soltero homemakers. I love the delicious green paste as much as the next person, however, I have never made it...

Well, I guess one time I did. One time when my sweet father-in-law with the best of intentions tried to make me feel more "at home" by supplying the ingredients for me to whip up some delicious combination of avocado, cilantro, onion, and lime. It was disastrous, a horrible consistency of pale green mush that lacked flavor and and substance. It was runny and gross. Everyone pretended to like it, but I knew it wasn't good.  

I don't make guacamole. I don't do so, not because I am incapable, as I am sure I could Google some great recipe and run to the store for the ingredients. I could work at it unit it was perfected and proudly announce to all my guests that it I was serving my world famous "GUAC" (as my Midwestern guests would call it). But I don't. People love guacamole. Americans eat 53.3 million pounds of the stuff on Super Bowl Sunday! That is enough guacamole to coat a football field 20 feet deep. Gross. But I don't make it. 

Why? I have been asking myself that question for the last year. Maybe because people expect me to. The assumption that a Mexican homemaker who has mastered the art of beans, rice, and chile con carne should probably know how to make guacamole. But I refuse to do so, because I don't like the indication that I SHOULD do something. 

I have been battling the idea of others expectations for the past few weeks. The kick off to our summer has been overwhelmingly busy, having already shoved a wedding, two out of state graduations, a few barbeques, and house guests into the first few weeks. We are tired and our laundry could honestly revolt on us and take over our house in the next few days. We have loved every minute of it, but sometimes I wonder if we fail to say NO to something because of other's expectations of us. 

I was talking to a sweet friend on my drive home the other day. I had been thinking about her for a few days, but managed to hit the pillow every night failing to call her. I finally did so and we chatted for a bit. She confided in me with her feelings of inadequacy and wondering when life would change for her. I know that those feelings are by no means unique to her.  We all struggle with them, but the pain was very real and fresh as she reflected on her lack of relationship status in comparison to the Memorial holiday. I felt for her. I know the chagrin of being asked "if there was anyone special". Usually I would quote Miranda from Sex and the City and say that, "No, indeed there were just loads and loads of really average and not special guys".  My witty response usually deflected some of the kind, but unnecessary pitiful responses that well meaning friends would say, like "he is right around the corner" or "just when you stop looking..." as if I could ever STOP looking. But the pain was always there, just below the surface.

I wonder however, how much of our feelings of inadequacy and overall lack of luster for the place we are in life stems from letting other people define our lives. My friend is a strong independent woman. She works hard, establishing herself in a career she loves and is invested in. She changes lives on a daily basis always putting others interests above her own. She is an active member of her church and she is always there for her friends and family. Oh, and she is deliriously beautiful, on the inside and the outside. I am certainly not saying that her desire to share her life with someone special is wrong or even out of place. However, I wonder how much of what she is feeling (and me for that matter) has more to do with looking around and wanting what others have as opposed to being content with where God has her. I also wonder how much of what we do is impacted by what we view as the next step...

How often do we allow others to impact what we do and how we do it? I know that for myself, if I am truthful, it is a daily struggle. I have been asking myself a lot lately if I am pursuing something God wants for me or if my desires are shaped by others' expectations of me. I am working on letting God define me, and not others. I am constantly checking my motives. I want to be molded and shaped into a woman after God's own heart. 

So, for now, despite being given a mortar and pestle for Christmas this past year, I don't make guacamole. 

What is your guacamole?  

My God is HEALER.

Elated, ecstatic, euphoric, knock-your-socks-off-delighted, oh, and humbled. 

That is how we drove away from our three month appointment yesterday.

Let me start by saying that I have had an unexplainable peace from deep within me lately. I wake up feeling blessed, I go about my day feeling blessed, and I fall asleep thinking about how blessed I am. There is no outside source for all the warm and fuzzies. I am just feeling so thankful. 

I am thankful that for literally the first time in my relationship with Josh I am finally feeling myself. We have dealt with one painful procedure after another. We have sat in dozens of doctors offices from the time we started dating, hearing tragic news. We had one doctor try to schedule a hysterectomy for us, without batting an eye...he wanted to take away my dreams without even a thought. We made touch choices, ones that promised more pain and sorrow. Choices that were certainly not easy, but were right. We fought tooth and nail for the future of our family. 

We have endured painful conversations with friends who had the best of intentions. We have been told countless times to consider adoption. We have even been told that maybe the two of us are just not a great combination and this is, "natures way of telling us..." I have been attacked by people saying that, "Josh deserves a child." We've smiled and nodded on the outside, but on the inside we break. We lay in bed dreaming about what "normal couples" do. We tell people off in the safety and secrecy of our own home because it feels good to get it out. 

But lately? Lately we are feeling content. We are feeling blessed. We are feeling at peace. Nothing has changed...nothing, that is until yesterday at 11 AM in our specialist's office in Hoffman Estates. May 2, 2011 will always be in my heart as a day that everything changed. 

We have been praying tirelessly. We have asked our friends and family to join us in praying without ceasing. We know that we are surrounded by some amazing prayer warriors, and yesterday, the evidence of that was shining so brightly that EVERYONE could see it. 

At my appointment one month after surgery, you could still clearly see traces of left over tumors. They were big dark clouds on all my scans. We were disheartened, but our doctor encouraged us that we might still get pregnant even with the tumors inside of me. He was clear that the road ahead of us would be painful and that we would certainly need his help conceiving. We wrestled with how we would pay for something that drastic, but we tried to be patient. Be patient, and pray.

Yesterday, he ran the same tests on me that he had preformed two months ago. He was silent. He ran additional tests. Again, he was silent. He called Josh into the room. I was so anxious I wanted to vomit. He showed us all the scans side by side- 1 month scans next to 3 months scans. He said, "Your progress is far beyond what I expected. There are no traces of tumors. Go home. Get pregnant on your own. I don't want to see you until you have missed a period. This is nothing short of a miracle."

My eyes well up with tears every time I think of those words. Freedom. Freedom to be young. Freedom to be in love and to try to start a family on our own. Freedom from painful shots. Freedom from having doctors visits rule our lives. Freedom to dream of a future, a bright and cheerful future.

Prayer is a powerful tool.  Prayer opens doors. It is a game changer. 

I am ecstatic. I am filled to the brim with hope. I am full of Joy. 

MY God is HEALER. 

It was ME.

I traveled back that day, 2,000 years ago...

I saw my Savior hanging there, broken and beaten. 

His eyes were fierce and full of pain.

I looked upon the angry crowd screaming, "Crucify HIM!"

In a haze, my heart began to race. 

What had my Savior done?

I tried to climb to the top of the hill,

To scream and shout for the crowd to stop.

They must have mistaken the Precious Lamb, 

For a criminal He is not.

My feet kept slipping in the mud.

I felt anxiety grip my chest. 

I rose my arms in surrender,

Until my eyes caught a glimpse of her face.

I spun around in total shock,

Not prepared for what I would see.

For in the crowd upon that day,

Stood none other than me.

I recognized my face at once.

A look of hate with a furrowed brow,

As I began to shout,

"Kill that Man! Make Him Pay."

As if in a dream, I saw myself,

standing beside the Cross. 

I thought for a moment that I was there,

To comfort my Savior, Lord and King.

But then as if my sin took control,

I grabbed hold of a hammer and and lifted it high.

I brought it down, swift and hard, 

One time for each lie I've told.

Moments later, I heard a whip 

Coming down upon His back.

My heart went cold as I looked down,

I grasped that whip, hard and fast.

My knuckles white with rage,

I beat my Jesus with no remorse.

The hate I have for others took control,

His back began to bleed.

Again I caught myself staring at my face,

For I was the one with the crown of thorns in my hand,

Ready to shove it on His head. 

A crown for a King, 

I certainly did not bring.

The blood dripped down upon His face,

For each time I've failed to show love.

Broken and worn I wandered away,

The crowd was still hot with rage.

I sat down to collect my thoughts, 

And figure out what I had done.

The girl sitting next to me asked me my name.

I tried to avoid her stare. 

She asked me again and declared in full voice,

"Weren't you one of Jesus' friends?"

Fear, which so often grips my heart, spoke loud and clear,

"I don't know that Man, I have never met Him."

Three times I screamed,

While fleeing from the scene,

I heard a rooster crow.

And then in the garden I walked with contempt,

Towards my Savior standing there. 

I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek,

To be sure I betrayed Him still.

Isaiah 53:3-6

"He was despised and rejected by mankind, 

a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. 

Like one from whom people hide their faces 

he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

Surely he took up our pain 

and bore our suffering, 

yet we considered him punished by God, 

stricken by him, and afflicted. 

But he was pierced for our transgressions, 

he was crushed for our iniquities; 

the punishment that brought us peace was on him, 

and by his wounds we are healed. 

We all, like sheep, have gone astray, 

each of us has turned to our own way; 

and the LORD has laid on him 

the iniquity of us all.

Break My Heart For What Breaks Yours.

Broken, tired, hungry, dazed, and emotional. 

That is how I would describe my feelings as I ended my hunger fast on Thursday. We pulled up to Red Robin that evening to celebrate our victory over hunger for 5 days. Three bites into my Blue Ribbon Burger, I was stuffed.

This morning in church we were reminded of the suffering around us. Experts estimate that it would take about 30 billion dollars to solve world hunger...Americans spend more on Pizza every year. Now, I really developed a love affair with pizza since moving to Chicago, but if someone told me that if I went without pizza for one year I could solve the world hunger crisis, I would do so willingly. Sign me up!

We as Americans represent five percent of the population, however, we take up thirty percent of the resources. That fact alone sends chills up and down my body as I think of the waste in our own home. Josh and I try very hard to be wise stewards of what God has given, yet our attitude about wasted food is the type of perspective that fails to acknowledge starving children in the world.

I am also humbled when I consider my faithful "truck". I have driven the same car since college. My Nana and Tata helped me purchase my sweet little old lady go-getter my senior year in college- thank God for good grandparents! I am often times embarrassed when I pull up in my little beater and park next to a BMW or Lexus. This weekend my car had to go into the shop for some repairs so it can pass emissions (we get nervous when we are being tested...she hasn't passed yet, but it is looking better!). I must confess, every time she goes into the shop, I secretly hope that it will cost more than she is worth and I can move on to something with working windows. Then, I am reminded of the fact that owning a car is a privilege and that the elite 8% of the population that is so fortunate to own a car should just be grateful. To ninety-eight percent of the world, I am blessed beyond belief. I need to live in that mindset a little more often.

There are one hundred million homeless people in the world. One billion people do not have clean drinking water. Eight hundred sixty-two million people are affected by severe hunger. Sixteen thousand children DIE of hunger every single day. Those numbers should resonate deep within your soul. They should move you. They should change you.

As we move into Holy Week, I am reminded that Jesus came to earth to be a part of our suffering. Philippians 2 reminds us to have the same mindset as Christ Jesus. He chose to give of himself, forsaking his privilege, humbling himself as a man, and allowing himself to be killed in a humiliating and painful way.  What privileges are we willing to give up to help those in need?

We get caught up and often times swept away with the greed that surrounds us. We always want the new, the best, and the shiniest. We see what others have and we start to scheme...however, just because we are Americans does not give us the right to turn a blind eye to the suffering around us. Even in America, children go to bed hungry. Parents worry about a bare pantry. What are we going to do about it?

1 John 3:17-18
"If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with ACTION and in TRUTH.