This is how we rock and roll!

It has been three weeks since we took this picture on our first day of homeschool.  We have learned so much since then, and most of the lessons didn't come out of any of the books we are using.  

We were called to homeschool.  The circumstances that brought us here do not really matter, the fact is we were meant to do this.  From the moment we became parents, homeschooling our kids was part of our lives' plan and we had no idea.

Our boys are thriving with the one on one attention they are receiving.  They are happy as 7 year old boys should be. Last year while attending regular school, Cade had a lot of problems learning to read early in the year; while his brother was reading very well since kindergarten (thank you Mrs. C!).  This caused lots of doubts and self esteem issues for Cade.  We eventually got over that hump (after many nights reading and crying together) but his self esteem has taken longer to rebuild.

These past three weeks I have seen him blossom.  His self esteem has come back in full once he realized he is as smart as his twin brother and so very good at math.  Would he have reached his point in regular school?  I'll never know for sure, but I'm glad to see he is learning more than just academics now.  He is learning he was made to be great!

For Braden, last year was a struggle because of discipline.  Academically he was doing wonderfully but he would finish his work early and would start to play.  Or talk to someone else in class.  We would get notes every other day about how he was "interrupting class" by playing, or talking. His grades were great, his behavior was the issue.  He simply got bored waiting on the other kids to finish their work.
Needless to say, he no longer has to wait for anyone else.  He can finish his work and move on to things that matter to a 7 yr old, like PE and looking for bugs outside.  Even his handwriting (which was a huge issue for us last year) has improved considerably, just in three weeks of homeschool!

As for my sweet Candace, she has always been a great student.  It has taken her (and me!) more time to get used to the more relaxed approach that comes with being homeschooled.  The first thing I've noticed is her piano playing skills have improved tremendously.  She is was a good player already, but now she has more time to practice, but most importantly, she wants to practice.  I no longer have to remind her (over and over) to take time to practice.
She is also feeling more comfortable debating different subjects with me, and doesn't get flustered now when I ask her questions that are not in the textbook. She now goes and finds the answers and knows it is ok to know things that are not in the books.

My kids are learning from more than just books.  They are watching documentaries and using their computer to find videos on the educational websites.  They are going outside to explore and looking forward to field trips.  

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord".  I believe homeschool was part of that plan for our family.    

The Bucket List

I created a bucket list a few years.  Things I want to do before I (literally) kick the bucket.   I have put it aside, since are pricey (going to Japan); some are risky (sky diving) and some I had just forgotten all about.

It wasn't until we set down this homeschooling path that a friend reminded me of that item on my list:  teaching.

I'm as terrified as I would have been if I was going into a school to teach.  These are my kids, we can drive one another insane on occasion and now we get to spend more time with one another and learn together. 

But no one knows them better than I, no one understands them better so I'm confident we will adjust and move forward in this journey and be glad we took it.

I'm also excited I'm starting to cross things off the list before the proverbial 40 runs around! 

A Thankful Heart

I grew up in a Christian home, attended a Christian school most of my life, and I've been a practicing Christian for as long as I can remember. But praying in public has never been "my thing".

The church I grew up in was very formal.  We didn't say "amen" to show we agreed with the pastor's remarks during the sermon.  There was no such thing as "revival".  We prayed in church, we prayed in school, we prayed at home.  In public areas? Not so much.

I'm an introvert, so that whole idea of praying in public has always made me uneasy.  Not because I doubt my faith but because introverts like me don't care to be on the spotlight.

My children are being raised in a different church than the one I grew up in.  They have been to revival, they have heard "amen" during service, and prayed before meals at church and at home.

I've always given thanks for the food on the table.  If you know me well, you know my family has been through a lot, so I never take any blessings for granted.  I know so many go without so I'm grateful for the blessings I have.  But I've never been one to pray over my food at a restaurant.  Remember that introvert thing?  Add that to the fact praying in public always felt "fake" to me.  I felt as if I was trying to call attention to myself.   I'm not passing judgement on those who do it, I'm simply sharing why I never had.

A month or so ago, we went out to eat with the kids; which isn't that different from all other times we go out to eat, as it seems we usually go with them everywhere.  Anyway, once our order arrived, one of my boys said " wait, don't eat yet, we have to bless the food".

I have to admit, I was shocked.  We say the blessing at home, usually three times, because each child wants to say their version.  But we have never done in  public.  So I was surprised at his suggestion.

So we bowed our heads and he blessed the food.  I'm sure people looked at us, and in all honesty, I wasn't even aware at that moment.  All I could think about was how proud I was to know my children have thankful hearts.

All I've ever wanted was for my kids to be thankful for all their blessings, and to share those blessings with others.  It never occurred to me they would be sharing that blessing with me. 


 

I was in jail...

Some of you know a month ago I was in jail.  I spent 3 ½ days in jail.  It would probably shock some of you to learn I enjoyed every second I spent there; and I’m thankful God sent me there.

I was not alone, I was there as part of the Kairos MS team, with one big goal in mind, to bring God’s love into the lives of these women inside the prison.  That simple was our mission, to bring God’s love.

As anyone would guess, I had my own prejudices and fears before going in.  After all, these women are in there for committing a crime.  But as the time grew near, I found my fears and prejudices were changing.  I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt while in jail, I was afraid that I would get in the way, that I would allow my humanity to overshadow what God was trying to do thru me. 

I was blessed to go as part of an incredible group of volunteers who are passionate about this ministry and who were willing to share their experiences with me.  So I figured, if they continue to serve, it must be a pretty great experience, right?   

To say I was blown away by it would be an understatement.  There simply are no words that can express the experience.  I spent 3 ½ days inside a prison, laughing, crying, sharing with inmates and loved every second.   When the weekend came to an end, I was sad.  There were good byes and there were tears.

Since I left the prison, I have thought about my sisters in Christ that are inside CMCF.  I wonder how they are doing, what their life has been like since their Kairos weekend.  Some of their faces pop into my head more often than the others.  I figured God is telling me I need to pray for them individually.  So I usually stop and pray. 

I learned during my weekend in prison we are all just one bad decision away from being in jail.  Just one.  We have all made bad choices in the past.  Some could have landed us there, in jail, alongside these women.  We were blessed to have someone in our lives “who knew better”; who watched over us and directed us.  Some of these women didn’t.  But hopefully now they have Christ.  And with Him by their side, they can do anything.

Christ was there that weekend.  Only He could take my prejudices and turn them into love.  His love.  I hugged these women and felt His love pass from me to these women.  Going into this weekend, I didn’t know what crimes any of these women had committed.  I honestly didn’t care to know.  They have sinned and their sins are public, and out there for the world to know.  But we are all sinners, and all of our sins are the same in God’s eyes.  Christ died for their sins just as He did for mine.

Since I left the prison, I have found out what their offenses were.  And you know what?  It hasn’t changed my experience, or the way I feel about these women.  They are His daughters too.  He loves them as He loves me.  And they are worthy of my prayers too. Each has a place in my prayers and my heart.

I’m so thankful God called me to serve Him inside that prison, on that weekend, to those women.  So incredibly thankful for the opportunity and for the blessing.  I ask, next time you are praying, pray for the inmates inside CMCF, pray for the Kairos volunteers, and for all those who minister for those inside prison walls. 

Crossroads

I will be the first to admit I don't like change, and I'm not talking about the loose coins in my purse.

Perhaps it is because I've had to change and adapt so many times, moving from one country to another. I'm not really sure. I'm a creature of habit.

For as long as I can remember, my religion has been a part of my identity, just as the color of my eyes, or the fact Spanish is my first language. Being a part of another religion was something I never entertained. How can one change who they are, right?

I grew up in a home where no religion was practiced. By the time I was old enough to understand what religion and faith were, my father no longer considered himself part of the same religion as the one he was baptized into. My mom considered herself to be, but only attended church on special occasions. I find it ironic that even in that situation, my religious identity because so important to me.

I attended a religious school, where we prayed before every class, attended services once a week and religion was a subject we were required to take. Even though my parents were not actively practicing their beliefs, I was brought in the faith.

I remember being 11 and walking to church alone on Sunday. Service would start at 11 am and I vividly remember leaving my house, dressed in my Sunday best and walking 20 minutes to church. I never felt lonely or out of place, sitting in a pew all by myself. I think about that little girl sitting inside that huge cathedral often. Mainly because I cannot imagine how I would feel if that was my child, attending church by herself.

The truth is I never felt lonely on those days. I enjoyed going to church, even if I was going alone. I never gave it much thought because that was just the way things were. And so my religion, and my way of worship became part of who I was.

It never occurred to me that I could worship in a different way. Could I be born again with blue eyes, or blond hair? Changing that part of me was simply not possible.

Then I grew up. I learned the world is full of people who are so different and yet so fascinating. I met people whose faith was an important part of them and yet, they worshipped in a different way.

So here I am, in the crossroads. I sit here wondering in which direction to go. Do I retrace my steps back to where I began, do I take the new unknown path?

I think I will sit here, quietly. I will close my eyes, and retrace the steps that brought me to this point in life. I will listen to the voice inside my head that usually leads me in the right path, and then I will take a step. In faith.

Unforgettable Moments: Part 1

Blogging helps me release stress. Strange, I know. I've been trying to blog every day and sometimes, I just have nothing interesting to say. So I found this idea generator that helps me on those days when my "rock star life" is not inspiring me to write.

So I give you the 10 most unforgettable moments of my life. Some are happy moments, some a little scary, but all very defining in my life.

1) My first day of school. I remember the anticipation and excitement of finally being able to attend school with my two oldest siblings. I remember my mom taking me out to buy the uniform, my new shoes, my lunchbox. The day finally came, and I was the most excited child in the classroom, at least I'd like to think so. While some kids were crying, I was ecstatic to be there, to finally have a chance to learn.
It was March in Panama, and a beautiful summer day. Once we had met our teacher, they took us out to the assembly area. They lined us up, the principal went up on the stage, and then we sang our National Anthem. I'll never forget that moment, I was finally growing up!

2) The year was 1989. Panama's government was under the command of General Noriega. Things were scary to say the least. I was 15 then and understood most of what was happening. I knew our school had been shut down by the government because it was run by a religious group. Electricity was being rationed so we spent many hours every night without power, sitting outside, listening to a radio station from Costa Rica in a small battery powered radio.
I also knew we weren't allow to congregate on the streets. If more than 3 people met on the street to talk, they could be put in jail under the pretense they were conspiring against the government.

I remember this day because my sister and I were sitting outside, just watching cars pass by and people walking towards town. I remember the men stopping to chit chat, two of them on their way to town, one of them on his way home. They stopped in the corner, right across from our yard. I remember the military jeep stopping right next to them, heavily armed and looking like something out of a movie. They dropped something on the ground, the jeep left, and the men started running, and coughing.

My sister and I weren't sure what was happening but it was scary. We got up and started to run towards the house, that's when we felt a funny taste in our throats. It was tear gas.

It was scary to see how we had lost our right to be free; simply because of the ambitions of one man.

3) Moving to Costa Rica. The situation in Panama had gone from bad to worse after the military threw out the results of the elections and put a puppet government in its place. The decision was made we would move to Costa Rica. We were to cross the border, undetected, and ask for political asylum. We rode to the border, as many people do, in a bus. People went there all the time to buy things, trade things, so it wasn't suspicious.
We crossed the border in an area that wasn't patrolled. I was terrified. What if we got caught?
Once on the other side, we headed to the immigration headquarters, located right on the "safe" side of the border. I remember my parents doing all the talking, signing papers, our passports were stamped, and we bought our bus tickets. We were allowed in.
That first night in our adopted home was scary. I was terrified "they" were following us. What if they found us? What would happen to us? I hardly slept. I remember being cold. San Jose was at a much higher elevation than my hometown and the nights were pretty cool. I remember walking out of the little hostel the next morning, and admiring the beautiful mountains that surround the city. I knew a new life awaited us.

4) December 1, 1990. Our plane had reached its final destination. New Orleans. So much had happened in the past year and half. Here we were, another country, a new home, and the promise that our dreams could finally come true.

5) May 1997. Bachelor's degree. Chemical Engineering. I had graduated 6 months before, but since there was no graduation ceremony in December, I was invited to participate in the ceremony in May. By now, I had a job so I thought I would go and "walk" to give my mom the satisfaction of watching me graduate.
As we started to walk into the coliseum where graduation was held, the magnitude of the moment hit me. I had to fight the tears, I had come such a long way since I had left my home 8 years before. The world awaited.

Losing my religion

I never quite understood the lyrics of that song by R.E.M. But its title seemed fitting to the turmoil going on inside my brain.

If you know me well, you probably know my brain is always in turmoil. There are usually a thousand thoughts racing across my poor brain cells, and making my brain overly tired and overworked.

This time the reason for my unrest is my spiritual life. I seem to be losing my religion.

My faith is intact. I pray daily, I read the Bible daily, and meditate on it. I just cannot bring myself to attend service at my home church.

Until recently, I was one of those people who hardly ever missed church on Sunday. I volunteered, and actually enjoyed being there. I simply need to be surrounded by others who believe and worship as I do. At least I was that person until recently.

I'm not sure when it all began to disconnect, or the reason behind it. At first, I started missing church because I was sick, or one of the kids was sick. Slowly, it began to feel as a chore, not as something I wanted to do.
But only on Sundays. I just couldn't bring myself to attend services on Sunday.

I have been making time to attend daily services near work. I have no issues going to a different church, with a complete group of strangers, and worship during the week. But when it comes to Sunday, my will power depletes and I just cannot find it in me to go.

I have been knowing something was off for a while. I started to notice the "change" going on in my brain. I thought maybe it was a midlife crisis, although my midlife crisis come and go rather frequently and I'm not old enough to have one.

Then I noticed how happy I was to attend daily mass with a bunch of strangers but I simply dreaded the thought of going to church on Sunday with my church family. I have been attending church there almost 20 years, yet I no longer want to be there.
I'm not sure what's happening. No one has been rude or demeaning towards me or my family there.

Am I having a religious crisis? Perhaps. Identity crisis? Quite possible.

Funny how a long drive is the best source of therapy for me. I was driving yesterday for work and started thinking about this particular issue. I often use my driving time to think about whatever is bothering me at the time. Most of the time I simply have a conversation with myself and it helps clear the confusion that's my brain.

A few things popped into my mind as I was wondering what was happening to me.

I'm not questioning my faith or my beliefs. I still feel very strongly about those, so it is not my faith I'm losing.

But I do feel like I'm missing out on something at my current church. I miss not having other people like me there, people I can relate to. Who are these people? Mothers, wives, other people who are going through the same period in their lives. Other women with young children, women who may have the same interests as me. But more importantly women I can worship with.

I am missing the chance to worship with other women like me. I miss not having a group of women who I can attend bible studies with. Not just women, but women who are going through the same stages of their lives as I am, who may be juggling work, kids, husbands, just as I am.

Going to a different church of the same denomination is a possible solution. But the nearest one is 30 minutes away and I've already "tried on" before and it didn't fit. Does that mean I'm the misfit?

And I can always try another denomination. I'm a believer God is the same in every church, we just chose to worship Him differently, so attending another denomination is not an issue for me.

What if I'm the one who simply doesn't fit here, there, or anywhere?

What about my kids? Is my "crisis" going to affect their faith? Strengthen it? Should I start saving for their therapy bill?

One thing is for sure, my spiritual journey has always been filled with roadblocks that turn into road trips. I wonder where this road trip will take me...

Faith

On my way to church this morning, I realized how my childhood has truly shaped my spiritual life.

I am "cradle Catholic", born into a very large Catholic family, raised in a country where the majority of the people were of the same faith. It would be easy to assume I know no other form of worship.

By the time I was born, my father no longer attended the Catholic church. He was searching, looking for the "something" he felt was missing from our faith. Even though he no longer considered himself to be Catholic, we were enrolled in Catholic school and participated in all the activities and took all the Sacraments of the Church.

Dad kept searching, and with him, we would attend other denominations. I was five when I realized my dad didn't worship like we did. It was my first year in Catholic school. At night and during the weekends, Dorothy would come to our house and talk to my parents about her faith. She was a Jehovah's witness. She looked like a teacher, with her hair on a bun, her skirt and white blouse, and always so well mannered. She told all about her beliefs, and we listened and respected her faith.

Dad didn't find what he was looking for there either. Then came the Mormons, one couple in particular has remained on my mind. One of them was from Guatemala, the other one was American. They knew we were Catholic, and they respected that. They told us about their church, and even taught us hymns, one in particular I can still sing: "Blessings, count your blessings and you will see, how many more blessings you are yet to receive".

There were other denominations: Adventists, Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Episcopalian, Lutheran... we probably covered most of the Christian denominations before Dad started to head down the Buddhist path where he is today.

I didn't realize until this morning, how lucky I was to have my childhood. I learned at a very early age about respecting other people's beliefs and ways of worship. I learned that although our services are different, we worship the same God, and we all want the same thing.

After I became an adult, it came time for me to also begin my search. I didn't want to worship like my mother and family did simply because that's what I was taught. I didn't want to follow my dad's path either. I had to find my own way. So my search began.

Mine brought me back to my beginning, it brought me to the faith of my grandmother, great grandmother, and my entire family. It is more than the faith of my ancestors, it is my faith now.

If I hadn't had a father who encouraged me to think outside my comfort zone, I probably wouldn't have been tolerant of others who didn't worship like me. I learn about tolerance and respect simply by allowing others to share their faith with me.

From time to time, someone will say something demeaning about Catholics in front of me without realizing I am "one of those people". Most of the time, my first reaction is to become defensive, but thankfully that passes very quickly. Most of the time, the person making the comment does not know anything about my faith. If only they would ask...

I look at my family now, and see the same opportunity for my kids to learn tolerance and respect towards others. My inlaws are Southern Baptists, my father is a Buddhist, we are Catholic. I hope one day they will realize how blessed they are to be surrounded and be a part of such a diverse family, just as I did this morning on my way to church.