Category Archives: Living Unbound

Living in The Fog

01 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by in A Leap of Faith, Blogging 101, Faith, Living Unbound, Personal Growth, Quirky Stories

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Blue skies, soft breezes, mild temperatures, not a cloud in the sky for miles ahead of us- this is how we began our journey.   Kids in the back, sister as co-pilot, armed with the best playlists and snacks- we were ready to cross the great state of Texas.  We got this.  Classic road trip.

Then, there it was.  A wall of clouds stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.  The wall cloud was so tall that my sister actually thought it was a mountain range.  The ominous wall seemed to be rolling towards us.  It was something out of an apocalyptic movie.  I had never seen anything like it and I have seen my fair share of snowy days after living in Minnesota for four years. It was enormous.  It was dark gray. And we were heading straight for it with my two babies sound asleep in the back.  From the outside there was no way of telling what the driving conditions would be like from within the strange cloud wall.  But if we wanted to get home we were going to have to go through it.  There was just no getting around it.  I mean, we were literally in the middle of the desert.  Nowhere to go but through.

As soon as we entered the cloud wall it was as if someone had waved a magic wand and had frozen everything in sight.  It would appear that queen Elsa had just passed through.  Just seconds before we were looking at sunshiny skies over dusty cacti and suddenly everything was frozen solid.  There was no snow or rain.  It was as if the air was too frigid to mess with moisture and instead everything was thick with white ice.  The scene reminded me of what my freezer looks like if you leave the freezer door open all night- everything coated with a thick layer of white ice.  It was beautiful.  It was quiet.  It was frightening.

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Maybe it was the vulnerable position we were in, two women with small children idling through a sinister mist, but I quickly realized that I felt very alone. It was the kind of alone in which you have this desire to go back home but you are not exactly sure what you mean by “home.” I thought about my beautiful house and my loving family and it was immediately apparent to me that I was being ridiculous. How could I feel alone when in reality I am surrounded by loved ones and I have a beautiful home?

Except that it wasn’t ridiculous.  For the past couple of years my little family has been on a challenging journey of sorts.  We have experienced all manner of frustration and doubt as we continue to pray and have faith that this “thing,” this goal will somehow come to fruition.  We don’t know how this dream will be realized or how long it will take or if we will even live to see it.  Let’s just say that we kind of feel like Noah at times.  Here we are building our ark even though we don’t exactly know why because we have never seen rain.

That is the journey that we had been on when I was fortunate enough to experience the crazy winter weather in the middle of the desert.  My soul was aching with melancholy doubt; I was just trying to hold onto the dream when I first got glimpse of the ice cloud wall.  When I began to feel alone I took a hold of those feelings and harnessed them to make sense of this journey that really feels like a ship lost in the fog.

What I came up with is that on this journey you never really know what is going on in your life.  You really have no control and that fog of not knowing what lies ahead is scary and seems dangerous.  It makes you just want to get back to a place of comfort and security.  And so you try to find that security.  You look for that warm fuzzy blanket or your favorite lovie- something, anything to cling to.  But sometimes there is no way to attain comfort and security in this world.

Sometimes you have nothing to turn to and nowhere to go but through.

Through the journey.

Through the unknown.

That beast of not knowing must be faced and conquered and tamed. And yes, you should feel a little scared and vulnerable.  The vulnerability heightens your senses; it pumps you up with the adrenaline you need to be brave.

You just have to have faith that God will bring you through this journey.

Not long after the drive through the freak polar vortex of Texas, my husband and I took a drive down the Pacific Coast from Seattle to San Francisco.  It has always been on my bucket list to experience the majesty of the great giant Sequoia Redwood trees.  While driving through the redwood forest I felt claustrophobic and insignificant.  I was sick to my stomach from the winding roads and change in air pressure.  At times the forest was so dense that the trees completely blocked out the sun.  It could be a sunshiny day but you would never know that in the redwoods because the trees had conquered the sky.

I had a hard time taking a good picture of the Redwoods because they are just too tall to fit into frame.

I had a hard time taking a good picture of the Redwoods because they are just too tall to fit into frame.  “The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.” John Steinbeck

Naturally we drove past huge cliffs and bluffs that dropped into the icy Pacific ocean.  The cliffs were breathtaking and catastrophic looking- an insurance company’s nightmare.  Each wave that crashed upon the black rocks was a warning to stay away.  So of course this meant that we just had to climb down the rocky cliffs despite a rain storm and warning signs that we were entering tsunami hazard zones.  But who could resist getting a closer look at the ocean filled with all manner of mystique?

Here's hoping the tide doesn't come in!

Here’s hoping the tide doesn’t come in!

In places like that, places in which nature demands your attention and announces its strength by simply being there, I am reminded once again that I really have no control of my life.  I could run my day on schedules and events and budgets but an gigantic wall of ice could just go ahead and sweep through my life and commandeer my plans for the day. Or, a tsunami could just come on through and knock all of my kingdom down just as it would knock out all of those stately redwoods. Just like that.  And of course I know this already but I am hard headed and sometimes I have to be reminded.

Those of us who have chosen to be on this journey.  Those of us who have our heads in the clouds. The dreamers.  The crazies.  Those of us who keep the faith and muddle through the unknown focused on a mission.  We have to know that we are not alone.   It’s going to be murky and it’s going to be a windy road and a little scary at times- you might get nauseated- but we can’t be afraid to take that first step into the cloud wall.  We can’t be afraid of climbing into the tsunami hazard zone.  We must trudge on through. Something you have never seen before can be a little scary like the height of the redwood forest or the fluorescent looking moss on the trees in Oregon or like an enormous cloud of ice in the middle of a Texas desert.  We just have to go through it and maybe allow ourselves to get swept up in the mysterious beauty of the unfamiliar .  Perhaps if we take the time to admire the beauty of the unknown we will begin to feel more like we are home.  Maybe we can learn to live within the fog.

I have never seen fluorescent looking moss on trees before. I don't know what kind of trees these are but they were everywhere in Oregon.

I have never seen fluorescent looking moss on trees before. I don’t know what kind of trees these are but they were everywhere in Oregon.

Yours on the journey,

Elizabeth

Help Part IV: Miracles and Love Stories

12 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by in For the Love of People, Living Unbound, Love

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This is not my image. I just love Les Miserables quotes to go with Mr. Richard's story.

This is not my image. I just love Victor Hugo quotes to go with Mr. Richard’s story.

What makes a man the kind who would pull the trigger and take another man’s life?  I’m sure there are a lot of ways to answer that question but Mr. Richard’s is a smudgy portrait of a boy with a rocky home life growing up in the Ozark Mountains of northern Arkansas.  It’s not an excuse for murder but it might shed some light on the situation.

Richard’s childhood was not something that he really wanted to talk about when we got together nearly a month ago.  His description was brief but painted a picture of violence, hate, and frustration.  Richard said that he didn’t really know right from wrong.  Sure he was taught how to behave in school and church but while at home there was still no defined way to distinguish right from wrong. His family built churches and they were the type of family that attended services at the United Pentecostal church throughout the week and twice on Sunday.  Even still, Richard described his home life as being sick in thoughts, beliefs, and actions.

I know this kid.  When I was a teacher I had several students like this who sat in my classes throughout the years.  Every class has “that kid.”  You remember “that kid.”  Maybe you were “that kid.”  He or she was the one who was frequently tardy or absent or constantly in trouble talking back to the teacher or principal.  You know that kid.  He or she is the one who can’t sit still and just doesn’t know how to behave.  “That kid” usually comes from a tumultuous home life.  Even though I didn’t know Richard as a child, I think I can guess as to what he must have been like.

So what happens when you have a kid who grows up in a consistently horrible mess?  The kid grows up into an adult who does messy and horrible things.  Train a pit bull to be a killer and he will kill.  I know it doesn’t always happen this way but more often than not, I think it does.  That is, until/unless God grabs a hold of their life and transforms that smudgy portrait into a work of art which was the case with Mr. Richard.

When Mr. Richard was completing his life sentence in prison for the murder of his friend, the thought occurred to him that he may never hold a baby or hear the giggle of a child ever again.  He considered this as part of his penance for his crime.  Even after he repented of his actions and became a sincere Christian, Mr. Richard still could not imagine being on the outside watching children splash in the summer spray of sprinklers.

Flash forward to 2014 when my children nearly tackle the man to the ground with hugs of excitement at his every visit.  During his month and a half stay with us, our children grew very fond of Mr. Richard.  He was there in the background for a short period of their childhood.  Mr. Richard was there at my daughter’s birthday party hanging up balloons and helping with the piñata.  He carried my sleeping son to the car after a night of catching grasshoppers and watching fireworks and eating hot dogs on the Fourth of July.  There he was inflating plastic swimming pools and pulling out the sprinklers for the kids to enjoy on hot summer days.  Mr. Richard rolled through the lives of our children like a puffy cloud providing some unexpected shade on a hot summer day- he was there making their life more enjoyable even if they didn’t realize or appreciate it.

Found on Etsy- I heart Les Miserables quotes

Found on Etsy- I heart Les Miserables quotes

Needless to say the kids were sad to see him go the day that he was offered to be the groundskeeper of our church and to stay in the parsonage.  However, his new home did not keep Mr. Richard away.  Mr. Richard still came over nearly every day.  He was family.

His new home at the parsonage was one of many little blessings that came Mr. Richard’s way. Mr. Richard seemed to attract these kinds of generous miracles like magnets.  A friend  from church was able to provide a steady job for Mr. Richard.  You have never seen a man take more pride in his work than Mr. Richard.  He would wake up before the sun and head off on his bicycle for the 5 mile or so commute to work.  Despite the distance, his heart condition, and the exhausting Texas summer heat, Mr. Richard refused to accept rides to work from us.  He would even ride his bicycle for miles to make it to his doctor appointments.

One day, Mr. Richard pulled into our driveway with a car.  His car.  His boss had noticed that Richard would ride a bicycle to work and offered to finance a car for him!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  That was the first time that I really realized that God had a clear hand on Mr. Richard’s life.  It seemed like God just loved to bless him.  I knew at that point that I would have to watch Mr. Richard closely because God just loved to do great things in his life.  What would he do next?

Well, the next best thing turned out to be that his parole was transferred to Arkansas ahead of schedule.  At long last, Mr. Richard would be united with his sweet fiancé, Debbie.  Mr. Richard and Debbie were introduced by Mr. Richard’s daughter in January of 2014.  By Valentine’s Day of the same year these two love birds had pledged their love for each other.  Almost a month ago I had the privilege of attending their beautiful wedding.  It was the event that inspired me to write this 4 part series.  There I was the day after their wedding sitting in Richard’s home with his newlywed bride at his side, marveling at the grace of God as they recounted the stories of the first time that they held hands and the all night phone conversations and daily bible studies that they did over the phone during the year that they were apart.  As I listened to Mr. Richard and Debbie blush their way through the telling of their relationship I realized that this whole story was an epic love poem.  It is a love story for the ages.  A man’s heart is hardened from years of pain and does the worst possible thing a human can do.  But God still desires him and puts people into his life to shine hope on the hardened man’s heart.  Man’s heart of stone is broken and replaced with a new, soft, and patient heart.  Man gives thanks.  Man is continuously blessed with generosity upon generosity, each little blessing like a bouquet  of roses declaring love for the beloved.

I think back to my first encounters with Mr. Richard which were clouded in fear and apprehension.  I had the opportunity to witness a part of his story and therefore was intrigued to know more.  And so, there I sat on his couch with the notepad and pen that I picked up from our hotel and scribbled down whatever I could all the while trying not to cry.  I am eternally grateful for Mr. Richard’s blessing to share some of his story and my hope is that in reading about his story others will be inspired to “lend a helping hand” a favorite saying of Mr. Richard’s.  This encounter has changed me as all good stories should change a person.  It makes me think of “that kid” who just doesn’t know how to behave in Wal-Mart or at church.  I think about that man I see sitting on a corner with a sign asking for help.  I see people crippled with drug addictions or with criminal records and I think to myself, what horrible things must have happened to this person to bring them to such a state and what will it take to bring hope back into their lives?

This little place that I write, this little corner of the internet is meant to tell of the stories of how my very old house gets renovated.  There are all kinds of people who are and will be a part of the renovating.  Richard’s story is an example to me that just like God has brought people into my life to help renovate my home, God also has people who come into my life who help renovate my heart.

Mr. Richard

Mr. Richard

Help Part III: The Heart of the Matter

04 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by in Faith, For the Love of People, Living Unbound, Love

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This is not my image. But it was so beautiful and I love Les Mis quotes- I just had to share

This is not my image. But it was so beautiful and I love Les Mis quotes- I just had to share

A loaded gun sits on the table.  The argument escalates.  A second later, a man is dead.  And it was all over a waterbed frame and $96.

On April 29, 20 year old Richard was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of his friend, Mark*.   Mark worked with Richard out on the oil rigs of Texas.  In the months that preceded  the murder, Mark had stolen money from Richard, had assaulted Richard’s girlfriend, and had written some hot checks.  Tension was building by the time April 15, 1984 came around when Richard was to buy a waterbed frame from Mark.  Mark took the money but did not provide the bed frame.  For the hot-tempered Richard who described himself as a hooligan at that time, it was the last straw.  Mark came over to Richard’s house that night to discuss the situation.  Unfortunately, Richard’s hot temper boiled over and exploded into an untimely death for Mark.

Richard knew he was playing with fire that night.  He had purposely left a loaded gun on the kitchen table as a warning to Mark that he was ” about to get tail- kicked” in Richard’s words.  When I asked Richard if the shot was an accident he was clear to mention that he grew up in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas shooting squirrel straight in the eye. Richard was a good shot, he knew what he was aiming at.

Richard spent his first 8 years or so in and out of solitary confinement due to his rebellious spirit.  He went 6 years without seeing the natural sunlight of day.  Other inmates steered clear of Richard; his hot-tempered nature branded him with a reputation of a man that was not to be reckoned with.  When he was not in solitary confinement Richard was the go to man for your every need.  Weed, cigarettes, money, you name it  Richard could find a way to get it to you.  If he was a hard man before the murder then prison had only made him worse.

In 1992, a prison ministry began 4 day bible retreats for inmates.  Richard participated in these bible studies as a way to break up the norm; it was a way to have a little more freedom.  I imagine Richard sitting in a circle with other hardened inmates, perhaps feeling vulnerable.  He was a man that never turned his back to anyone but in those bible studies he was asked to share the most intimate of ideas- faith.  It must have been difficult for him to break down some of those walls but Richard was tired of his “hard living.”  He was ready for a new start.

When Richard and I sat down together recently to discuss this time in his life, he continuously referred to an illustration in which you feel like you are at a hole at the bottom of a ladder that you just can’t quite reach.  You want to get out but you just can’t get to that ladder.  Richard felt like he was beneath that hole and really needed someone to reach down and pull him up.

During this prison ministry Richard experienced well versed Christians teaching these classes but, in his opinion, it seemed like they were totally missing the point.  It was clear that they knew the bible backwards and forwards but they still came off a bit stand offish and it was hard for some men to relate to the lofty concepts that were being presented.  While these Christians were well meaning, it was the Christians in the group who, in Richard’s words, “fell down a lot” that he could really identify with.  It was the people who were honest and admitted that they were not perfect- these were the people that caught Richard’s attention.  It didn’t matter if they were well versed in theology.  These Christians, you know, “kept it real”.  They made a relationship with Jesus Christ seem attainable even for someone like Richard.

According to Richard, Jesus got a hold of his life and hit him like a bolt of lightning. Inmates would comment that nothing made Richard mad anymore.  Try as they might, other inmates could not ruffle Richard’s feathers.  Richard’s hot- tempered nature had melted into a patient peace, a noticeable difference from his tumultuous prison beginnings.

It was this peace that finally allowed Richard to forgive himself for his crime.  Part of Richard’s sentencing stated that Richard was not to make any contact with the victim’s family.  By the time Richard had repented of his crime, Mark’s family members were all deceased.  Through prayer, Richard apologized to Mark and his family anyways and asked for their forgiveness.  At this point Richard decided to dedicate his life to Mark and his family.

From that moment forward Richard sought an education for himself, learned several trades, and set his mind towards being a light in a dark place- dedicating every action to the life that Mark never got to live.  The way Richard saw it was that both he and Mark were on a path of destruction and now that Richard had changed the course of his own life, he owed it to Mark to live in such a way that it would honor Mark’s life as well.  Richard felt like it was his duty to give Mark a second chance at life in this way.  It would be his life-long burden and pleasure to live a good life for Mark.

That might seem like an undeserved privilege- to live a good life after you have taken someone’s life but it is indeed a cross to be carried.  If it were me, I could see myself crippled with guilt at the thought that I had taken someone’s life.  The guilt would probably weigh me down to the point of no relief.  Burying yourself with guilt is the easy way to deal with a situation like this.  It is much more difficult to receive the free and easy grace of God and forgive yourself.  Richard says, “You have to forgive yourself or you can never deal with the consequences.”  That made a lot of sense to me.  If you don’t forgive yourself then every time you face a consequence for your crime, such as not having a place to sleep at night once you are out of prison,  that debilitating guilt would creep back in and drag you back into darkness.  Then all the work that God had done in your life would be in vain and that little light would be snuffed out completely.  Perhaps the guilt would be so heavy that it would lead you back to another tragedy, another death.  I’ll take forgiveness over darkness any day.

After 29 years and 6 months in prison, Richard was released on parole probably in large part due to health issues.  Richard’s heart was beginning to fail him and it was costing the state too much money to keep him in prison.

Richard thought that he might die in prison because of his heart condition, but his heart condition ended up being his ticket out.  I find that as a kind of poetic justice; Richard’s heart could no longer be confined to a prison cell.  It is especially satisfying to see him on the outside, healthy, receiving proper medication, and always wearing bright colors.  Richard loves to wear shockingly bright colors of the highlighter palette.  Yes, Richard is a neon sign shining through the darkness flashing “mercy,” “grace,” “forgiveness.

“Do I deserve freedom?  NO!”  was Richard’s response to my husband’s questioning about how he felt now that he was out.    “All I can do is live right and follow the letter of the law and be thankful.”  With every blessing, with every lovely thing in life Richard thinks of Mark and strives towards goodness all the while flashing the neon light of his story.

*Denotes that name has been changed.

Again, not my image but Les Mis quotes just go so perfectly with Richard's story.

Again, not my image but Les Mis quotes just go so perfectly with Richard’s story.

A Minority in a Land of Majorities

17 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by in A Leap of Faith, For the Love of People, History, Living Unbound, Maid's Room, Personal Growth, Uncategorized

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A Treasured Family Tradition: Great-Grandma was a "Soldada" During the Mexican Revolution

A Treasured Family Tradition: Great-Grandma was a “Soldada” During the Mexican Revolution

Ferguson.  Immigration reform.  Racial unrest.  The country has been restless and angry and hurt.  And so have I.

I am restless because there is not really a name for the confusion that I feel when it comes to these things.  There is no way to pinpoint the awkwardness that comes from being a minority in a land of majorities.  I wrestle and grieve like everyone else, no matter what side you take.  I look at my house and sometimes feel worse.

Built circa 1896 in north Texas, I can take my guesses as to the muscle that labored this house into fruition.  Perhaps my suspicions are wrong.  For some reason I do believe that the original owners of this home were good, honest, and kind people.  Lets call it my gut instinct. Despite my hopeful gut, I have to be realistic when it comes to the circumstances that surrounded this corner of Texas all those decades ago.

Race was an issue then.  Race is an issue now.

We live not even two blocks from a historical monument that marks the place were 41 men were hanged (allegedly the largest hanging in US history) for treason during the Civil War.  They were accused of being unionists and were denied a fair trial. I pass that monument nearly every day.  It turns my stomach into knots. Not because I am angry at the people who hanged them; no- we must forgive them. The monument puts me in an uneasy state because it reminds me of the cost and the struggle of millions who came before me all so that I could be a college educated, Mexican-American woman who owns property.  The responsibility to live a life that is honorable to their sacrifice is heavy.

The Great Hanging; photo cred: Wikipedia

The Great Hanging; photo cred: Wikipedia

Many days, I walk through the halls of this house studying the intricacies of the crown moldings and the stairwell banisters and the artistry of the stained glass windows and I wonder who the original owners were.  What would they think of a Mexican-American couple buying their house over a hundred years later?  Like I said, for some reason I think they were humble and open-minded people.  Something in the way these walls were built whisper of a family who were content to be considerate of their fellow man.  Even still, would they be surprised to see my darkish skin?

Surprised is exactly the word that describes the faces of people when they find out who owns this big, white house.  Its like they are expecting some older white couple to live here because, lets be honest, that is usually the population of people who own houses like ours.  We stand out.

Yes, we stand out and it often feels like we stand alone.  But, that is not necessarily a bad thing.  I like to think that we are pioneers in a corner of the world that is still growing and grappling with these issues.

I grew up in a city in which everyone looked like me.  I never gave much thought to being a “minority.”  It wasn’t until I moved to Minnesota in my early adulthood that I really began to feel the gravity of the race issue that veils our country.  I guess, you don’t really know what it is like to be a minority until you actually are one.  I know that sounds obvious but, surprisingly, most people who are in the majority are not familiar with this concept or maybe they are but they have never experienced what that feels like.  I know I used to be one of those people.

Had we bought a house in a cute little subdivision, I don’t think I would be thinking about these kinds of issues so frequently.  This house forces me to weigh in on the heavy issues of race and class because I have become part of the history of this house.  This house has seen the suffrage movement, World Wars I and II, the end to segregation, the feminist movement, MTV, the first African American president, etc.

Bottom Line – the chances of a Mexican-American couple owning a house like mine in 1896 were pretty slim, if not impossible.  America has come a long, long way and I am proud of her for that.  I am thankful that I do not have to live my life under a constant barrage of threats due to the color of my skin.   I am thankful that I don’t really have a lot of stories revolving around hate.  My experience has been blessed by people of all different “colors” who are content to being kind and decent human beings.  For the most part, the people I have met throughout my lifetime know that it is wrong to judge a book by its cover.

There is a room in this house that I assume must have belonged to “the help” back when the originals moved into this house.  The crown moldings are distinctively plain with no ornate detailing whatsoever.  The floor in that room seems to be in the worst shape and it is the room that is adjacent to what would have been the washroom/kitchen area back then.  From my very basic knowledge of history and how families operated circa 1896 I can deduce that the originals must have had hired help (aka live in nanny or cook or maid or farm hand or all of the above).  Now it is our family room in which my kids run around barefoot and hang hand made ornaments on our Christmas tree and where they are always expected to clean up after themselves because we are not living in 1896.

Sears Arlington House Plan from the Sear's Catalog 1919 is almost exactly like our floor plan. I spy the "maid's room" Photo cred: http://www.searshomes.org/

Sears Arlington House Plan from the Sear’s Catalog 1919 is almost exactly like our floor plan. I spy the “maid’s room” Photo cred: http://www.searshomes.org/

I tend to feel anxious when I think about the “maid’s” room in my house, and the monument of The Great Hanging, and that this house might have been built by men who were in seriously unfortunate circumstances.  They are the ghosts of Christmases past that remind me and inform me of how much things have changed for a woman like me. They make it real.

Perhaps this house was actually built by very well paid men who never felt discriminated against.  That may very well have been the case.  But I’m willing to bet that somewhere else in America in 1896, a house was being built by men who were degraded and downtrodden.  That is the reality of those painful times and my heart aches for them.  Because I am reminded of that every day, I feel a great responsibility to live a life unbound and purposeful.  I don’t really know what that will look like for me but I remain the ever hopeful optimist on the hunt for my way of honoring the blood, sweat, and tears of all the pioneers who have proceeded before me.

I googled "Mexican Suffragettes" and this was one of many images that came up- Soldadas from the Mexican Revolution.

I googled “Mexican Suffragettes” and this was one of many images that came up- Soldadas from the Mexican Revolution. Brave pioneers in my people’s history.