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Cheryl Mendoza

How He speaks to me…..Or… can't He just call my cell when He wants to talk?

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Memorial Day 2016

So today is Memorial Day 2016.  We spent most of the day traveling home after visiting family, so it is late in the day when I finally get to think about the meaning of the day.  Sad enough to say, it seems that I have only just started looking into the day’s history in the last few years.  While there are theories on who began the tradition that became the holiday, I choose to take some time and reflect on the why of the day.  I do that not to deny the history of anyone, but because it is in the why where we find our common ground.

Today is the day to remember those who died while serving in the US military.  I happen to live in a navy town.  It is strange as this navy town is in the middle of California’s Central Valley, and not an ocean in sight.  So when I think of Memorial day, I think of the people I do life with.   I see them when we hear of an F-18 crash on the news.  I watch them come together when one of their own dies.  This is what Memorial Day means to me on the most personal level.

A couple of weekends ago my husband and I went to the Orange Empire Railway Museum in Perris, California.  While we were there, he was able to check out the trains, and I was able to walk around and see the people who were there for a Civil War reenactment.   At one point a man asked if I would like to see some of the artifacts that he had, and I of course was interested.  He put into my hand a 12 pound ball that was part of a battle in Fredericksburg, Virginia.  As I stood there holding the rather large and heavy ball, the man went on and gave more information about the ball and the other items he had.  I really did not hear much of what he said, as I was concentrating on what I was holding.  I thought about the ball, and how heavy it was.  I could imagine the speed it would have, as it hurtled through the air only to hit the ground and bounce for a time.  I thought of the Civil War documentaries I had seen, and all of the carnage balls like these had created on a battlefield.  I wondered if the ball had killed someone, taken off an arm or even a leg.  I was not able to handle it any longer, and gave it over to my husband.  We listened for just a bit longer, and then left the gentleman dressed in Confederate grey.  It made me melancholy for a while, and I knew that I could never be a part of a reenactment.   For me, the whole thing seemed very weird, not good or bad, just weird.  We went on to take more pictures and see the other exhibits there in the museum, but it wasn’t until we got home that I realized what I had done.

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I took the picture that is attached.  I was really trying to get a good picture of the box car and tree, but there in the side was the cannon.  It was sitting there waiting for the reenactment, and I had gotten it into my picture by accident.  Since the whole reenactment thing left me feeling the way it did, I really did not want the cannon in my picture.  The problem was, I did not like the picture when we cropped the cannon out.  So I left it and did not think of it again until maybe Thursday, when it dawned on me that Memorial day was quickly approaching.  It felt appropriate.  I do not particularly like what Memorial Day makes me remember, but I know that is the whole point.  To remember what we lose through war, to remember the sacrifice made by many.  I think war sucks, but like my cannon silently sitting in the wings, I know it sneaks into the picture even when we don’t want it.  So I am thankful for those who make the ultimate sacrifice, and pray for those who are left behind.

 

 

 

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To tap or not to tap….

So today is May 25th, National Tap Dance Day.  It is kind of ironic in light of a few facts.  One, my blog started off talking about my dancing in the closet when I was a kid.   Specifically tap dancing in the closet.  Second, I had just sent a video to my husband yesterday by the Syncopated Ladies.  This is a group of very talented ladies, doing a tap number to “When doves cry” by Prince.  I sent the video to him and let him know that I want to do that!  So today he was researching how to make me a tap board.  It is just a small platform, for lack of a better term, that I can tap on.  We were looking at a couple of YouTube videos and making some plans so I can start learning, when all of a sudden we learned it was National Tap Dance Day.  I really do think God has an amazing sense of humor.

I am thinking that by the next celebration of this holiday, I need to be a tap dancer.  I already have my tap shoes, as they are a holdover from when I lived in San Jose.  I had just started taking some classes through the rec department when we had to move.  I guess it is now time to dust them off and get them ready for a new challenge.  The closet will no longer be my studio.  It is funny, I guess this will be part of my journey.  While it may seem silly or even a stupid goal when you look at the problems of the world, for me it is just another step in becoming the woman God made me to be.  A woman with a tender heart, who lives honestly and tries to reflect the amazing relationship that I have with Jesus.  Is tap dancing a part of that reflection?  Crazy as it sounds, I totally think so!!

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Where’s Geno?

So I went last night to youth group.  I haven’t been in a while, and that is probably because I haven’t been a youth for a while.  The only reason I attended last night was because my son was speaking.  Funniest part of the night was when he was done, someone said they expected him to talk longer.  This child is obviously my son.  He did well, the kids were very cool, fairly quiet and listened.  I love communication, so it was a fun moment for me to see him step out at a young age and get his feet wet.  To stick his neck out there and not have the fear of the unknown drive him.  OK, so maybe he is not so much like me?

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I am ecstatic for him, encouraged by him and I am thankful that he has stepped out to test this ability.  I love that God is prompting him, and that he is trying to listen.  That is the prayer I have for all the men in my life.

He was kind of nervous about me being there, and I told him not to worry “If you screw up, I will love you just the same as if you do great”.  For me, the whole night was not based on how he would do, but on what he would learn through the process.  Good job Geno!!

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Just say cheese….

So I was reading a blog this morning, it is called “ Beauty Beyond Bones”, and it is written by a recovering anorexic.  She made a post about this week being “body positivity week”.  She had a great perspective on this body positivity thing, so I have put a link here if you would like to take a look.    https://beautybeyondbones.com/2016/05/12/body-positivity-week/

Her post got me thinking though about the pictures that we take.  This is on my mind lately, because my husband is starting to be heavily involved, dare I say obsessed, with photography.  He is always trying to get me to take pictures, so he can learn to use different techniques. I never remember being so weird about taking pictures, but then again, I have never been this old and there have never been so many picture taking opportunities available.  I mean really, Facebook is full of them.  So as I was driving, I began thinking about this woman’s solution in regards to body image, and then I thought about my own.  It is funny, as I write this I am sitting at a desk with a mirror over it.  So I am basically staring at my own face, thus the picture I have posted.  I find this slightly ironic.  I even had to take two pictures, because I caught myself in the first one trying not to smile so big.  Jeez!!

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So I thought about the pictures that I take.  Sometimes they are funny, silly, but usually they are for a remembrance of a time, occasion or friends.  Some of the pictures that I have taken recently are ones that I do not like very much.  Why?  It seems that I am more concerned with trying to look cute than enjoying the “why” of the picture.  How do I know?  It is evident in my body language, and I can just tell by how I look.  These pictures show a woman who is not comfortable with how she is perceived.  The funny thing is though, I pretty much am OK with how I look.  I am old, well not that old, but old enough.  On the edge of still being kind of cute, but sags and weight are taking a toll.  I thought about that, and I felt stupid.  I love looking at pictures, and I thought of the pictures that have spoken to me the most.  The ones that made me really feel things, and they were of people who were not necessarily looking their best.  Dorothea Lange immediately sprang to mind.  Her pictures of people who were struggling through the depression in the dust bowl are some of the most important pictures of our time.  These people are NOT looking cute.  What you do see is pain, resilience, struggle, fear, and maybe even some hope.  These photos opened people’s eyes to what the effect of unemployment was on the entire family.  These photos still have the ability to touch people today.  And I am worried about if I am cute?

The pictures that I like best of myself are the ones where I forget about the camera, and I concentrate on enjoying the moment.  Then, my smile is genuine, if not a little large.  There is a twinkle in my eye, even if you can’t totally see it through my glasses.  My body language is relaxed, even if it is a bit, how do I say this?  Chubby?  And if my gray hair is peeking out? Then so be it.  This is who I am, and I like that me.  I like the me who is more concerned with celebrating a birthday than looking cute.  The one who is having fun, being silly with a friend, better than the one who is trying to get her good side.  The one who is willing to show her tears, even when she is not a pretty crier.  So I have decided, that I am not going to worry about how I look.  I am going to focus on enjoying the moments God has given me.  To be fully invested in who I am with, and what is happening around me.  So tonight as I go and celebrate a wedding with friends, I choose to forget about how I look, and remember to let the joyfulness of the day be my beauty.

 

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Encouragement 3.0

So I am finally back to the end of my story.  I know it seems long putting this into three parts, but for me, all of the parts were important.  So if you are coming in at the end, I would encourage you to read Encouragement 1.0 and 2.0 before reading this one.  In the bible there are four gospels, which are basically the accounts of Jesus life as told by four different authors.  So you will find this story in the bible in a couple of different places.  During this sermon though, the speaker was reading out the book of Mark.

So at this point in our story, Jesus and his friends have returned to their side of the lake.  The last we hear of the man who was healed, was that he “started off to visit the Ten Towns.”  We find out that this man did not just tell his family what Jesus had done, but he told everyone.  How do we know this?  Well that question gets answered later in our story.  Mark goes on to relate other stories of Jesus.  He traveled around, went before people and taught them, fed them and healed them.  Time has passed, and Jesus again goes across the lake with His disciples, but this time they get a very different reaction.  Later in Mark 6, it says they landed again in Gennesaret, they climbed out and Jesus was immediately recognized.  People spread the word throughout the area that Jesus was back.  When they did, they immediately brought out those who were sick and anyone who needed healing.  All He touched were healed.

This part of the story was something that spoke to me in a way that has caused some minor ripple effects in my life.  The people came looking for healing, and they found it because one man told his story.  Jesus did not tell this man to evangelize the region, but that is what happened, because he told his story.  Since he did that, it gave Jesus the opportunity to connect with people, to heal them and to show mercy.   It is the perfect example for me.  As I continue to try and express what is happening in my life with words, I keep trying to see where it is all leading.  What is the grand scheme?  The problem with that line of thinking is that it always leads me to stress and anxiety.  The example of this man though, helps me to know that I have one simple job.  To tell my story.

 

 

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All for the chance….

For the chance to sit at the furthest fire. 

This was the last line of a dream I was having this morning.  I don’t typically wake up when I am dreaming, but I did on this one.  That is the only line I remember from the dream, but I do remember how the events unfolded.

It was like a Rock Hudson, Doris Day movie.  He, Rock, had just left the homestead for lack of a better description, and was headed to who knows where? It was at that point that Doris came out from an old truck, that she had stubbornly retreated too since the fight between them.  She would not occupy the same home as him, so he left.  Why were they fighting?  I have no idea.  It was like I was coming in on the last scene of the third act of a play.

As Doris walked past me into the house, stubbornly holding on to her pride.  I then turned from the home and walked toward a bonfire where there were people sitting watching the interaction.  It was then I was met by Gregory Peck.  Who knew?   He spoke to me, and while I cannot remember the exact words, I got the impression of our story.  I could tell that we had a relationship, like I was a woman waiting for a man to wake up to his feelings for her.  When we met, he spoke beautiful words to me.  When I woke up, all I wanted to do is remember exactly what he said.  What I did remember was the feeling that his words evoked.  I felt love, peace and strength, I totally wanted to go back to the dream.  Then came his last words to me,  “For the chance to sit at the furthest fire.”  The last line speaks to the length of time I had waited,  the time it took to finally realize that it was us who should be sitting together at that fire.  When I recounted the story to my husband, I said that at the end of my dream conversation, we kissed.  When we did, it didn’t make sense.  Even in the dream, I knew it was not a lover’s kiss, but I could not pin down why it seemed so weird.

The more I thought about the dream, I wondered that maybe it wasn’t me who had been waiting?  Maybe it was him?    Could it have been me who realized where she belonged?  The flash of pride in the dream, reminded me of my own pride.  Did I mention that Gregory was old….and had white hair and a beard? Was this man in my dreams really a stand in for God?  Was He trying to tell me something through the dream?   Was he trying to confirm the path I was taking?

I am not sure?  All I know is that no matter how long it takes, I want the chance to find my place and nobody else’s, at the fire.

 

 

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Back to the Garden…

“We remembered to live”.  This is one of my favorite quotes from a woman named Margaret Gehrke.  If you have never seen the Ken Burns documentary on our National Parks, which I think should be required watching for all Americans, you may not know the name.  I had never heard of her or her husband before watching that program, but because of the documentary her words travel through time to speak to me. They both took time off each year to get in their car and travel our country and visit the National Parks.  Along the way they took photos and she wrote about what they saw.  To her, this was living.  It makes me think?  Am I really living?

So I planted some flowers yesterday, and I counted it as a victory.  I am not what you would call a green thumb, but I love gardens, so I am trying to develop one.   I have tried in the past to grow things, and while some have grown, most have not.  So I am here trying to unpeel the onion that is my brain.  You see, my lack of green thumb has less to do with my fifth digit, and more to do with my thick skull.  There are obstacles there, and they are the ones in my head that tell me lies.  I hate working in my front yard, because we have the worst lawn on the block.  I know that if I go out there, my neighbors will judge me.  That statement may or may not be true, but when it comes down to it, the feelings of inadequacy are enough to affect how I act.  I am no better in my backyard, and because of that, it has become a place of stress instead of refuge.  Plus the gophers brought up so much crap, add to that a prolonged drought and bingo the grass is no longer there.  Needless to say, I feel inadequate in my backyard also.  What does this have to do with “living” you ask?   Well, I have come to the conclusion that how my garden looks, is in direct relationship to how I am feeling on the inside.  It is a tangible sign of the question, have I remembered to live?

When I was young, I lived next door to a couple that eventually became Grandparents to me and our family.  It was in that yard that I started to love gardens.  I don’t remember doing much myself, but I was there much of the time as Grandma pulled and planted.  The front yard was especially pretty.  Her grass was short, soft and surrounded a small redwood tree.  At least that is how I remember it to be, but it has been a while.  They eventually built a front porch, and some of the best times I can remember were sitting out there with family.  That yard was a lesson on who I wanted to be, and the environment I wanted to create in my home.

I recently picked up a children’s book, “The Secret Garden”, and reread that after so many years.   As I grew older, I knew the book was special to me, even if I could not remember why?  When I read it again, it was me that I saw in those pages.  A young girl with a curious mind, wanting to explore and learn, but feeling bogged down by her circumstances.  In the book, she was able to push through through and become who she wanted.  Maybe that is what I saw when I was young, and was drawn to this character.  It may have taken me a while, but now that is a goal I am pushing toward also.  To be who I believe God created me to be.   I see glimpses of that girl in my memories, and I am trying to dig her out from under the weeds that have entangled her.

Why do the weeding?  To some extent, that girl is the person I want to be.  The problem is, she got trampled in the cycles of life.  Don’t get me wrong, I am a pretty capable woman and have been able to raise my children and be a good wife.  The problem is, there is fear when I try to take it outside the safe zone of my family.  This blog is an example.  My mind screams of the silliness of this path.  Why would anyone want to read this?

Well it all goes back to the garden.  Eden that is.  My favorite part is right before, to put it literally, all hell breaks loose.  It is in Genesis when, it speaks of God walking in in the garden when the cool evening breezes were blowing.  It may be insignificant to some, but it speaks to how God wants to be with us.  So close, we can hear His footsteps.  When I know He is close, it gives me strength to try things that I am not good at, or that may be hard for me.  Why in the world would I do these things?  It is to face whatever fears, hurts or insecurities that may be hindering my actions.  To truly be who I was created to be.  To remember to live!

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Thank you!

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Well my husband bought me a present this weekend, and it was pretty sweet since I knew nothing about it.  I handle the finances, so it is really hard for him to buy something for me without me knowing.  He has really been trying to get me to write for a long time now, it is just that I don’t think he knew how to encourage me.  I don’t even think I knew how to tell him to encourage me?  This weekend he received a package, and while it caught my attention for a minute, I got distracted doing something else and forgot all about it.  A short time later, I noticed that my Apple user ID was used on a new device, a MacBook.  Since my husband also has a MacBook and was sitting right next to me, I wondered why he was signing me in on his machine?  He is my IT guy, so I pretty much let him take the reins with our computers anyway, so I just ignored it.   A little while later as we were both sitting at our dining table, I remembered the box.  There it sat, opened, with nothing in it?  It was then that I took a better look at my husband and noticed that he did not only have one MacBook, but had one sitting on top of the other.  He was hiding it from me!     Now the scary thing was we had been sitting there for a while before I even noticed!  Very sad as I am usually much more observant than that.  He told me that it was for me!  He knew I hated writing in the room where our desktop computer is, and my Ipad does not always have the capabilities I need.  I was so excited, but I also felt like the gauntlet had been thrown down.  This was not so I could surf the internet, shop or send out tweets (which I am still trying to get used to) this was so I could get to the business of writing.  Or at least trying to get my voice out there.   It is nice when someone has faith in you.  This one act has encouraged me more this weekend, than all of the words that he has tried over the many years.     Why?  I have no idea?  Maybe it is the right time, or my frame of mind is in the right place.  Regardless of the why, I am excited by the gift, and I am amazed how comfortable I am using the new machine.  It was late when I started this post, and it is typically something that I do not do.  I typically write in the morning, and like perfect surroundings.  That is not what I have tonight.  I have distractions around me and it is past my bedtime, but here I am writing this, compelled by the gratefulness of a little faith.  Thank you Mike!

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Encouragement 2.0

OK, so here we are at the other side of the lake. Now this next series of events were always kind of weird to me. It seemed like an out of place story with no purpose, but that was before I received a useful piece of background information. So here is what happens. Jesus and his friends reached the other side of the lake safely. Jesus had calmed the wind, the waves, and they had reached their destination. When they arrived, they were greeted by only one man, and I am sure this man was not the welcoming committee that the disciples had anticipated. He lived in and among the burial caves, or our version of a cemetery. He was crazed, wandering day and night, separated from his family and the society who lived there in that area. The story tells us that people tried to hold him by chaining him up, but he couldn’t be contained. That he cut himself, so he was quite possibly a danger to others and definitely to himself. We come to find out that the man is possessed by not only one demon, but by many. So, this is the only man that came to see Jesus and his friends when they arrived on the other side? Did I mention that he was naked? After a short conversation with the demons, Jesus heals the man by sending the demons into a huge herd of pigs. The pigs, not enjoying the presence of demons in their little pork bellies, then run directly into the lake and drown. When that happens, the other people in the area finally come out and urge Jesus to leave. They did not know what exactly was going on, they just knew they did not want His kind of trouble. They overlooked the now healed and totally restored man, and had focused alone on the loss of a great commodity of pigs. At this point, Jesus and the disciples leave, but not before telling the man that he could not go with them. Jesus asked him to stay and to go and tell his family what the Lord had done for him. So Jesus leaves, the disciples are out of there and the healed man heads off to continue his life and tell people what had happened.

During the retelling of this story, a new nugget of information was dropped into my lap. In the sermon he talked about the “other side” not being a primarily Jewish area. It is not something that I typically think about immediately, the whole ethnic/cultural dynamic of the day. Just like today though, it is important. You see they had traveled to a region where there were Greek, Roman and Canaanite influences. If the settlement was predominantly Jewish, there would be no pigs. The light bulb finally went on in that moment, and that one fact was amazing to me! That meant that Jesus purposefully traveled to see people who were different from himself. Here was this Jewish man, one who had wisdom and was considered by many to be like a rabbi, and he wanted to go to the other side. He wanted to go where the people were not like him, where they had different beliefs, customs, another way of living and even different gods. Jesus though chose to go there, and not only that, He chose to heal. I was so encouraged by this story of the other side. They tell me, that I live in a world with many people who live on the “other side” from me. It seems like the older I get, the more we find ways to label each other. Ways to divide, categorize and set ourselves up against each other. I have to say that I fight doing that same thing. Not because I think that I am better than anyone else, but because of my own anger, pride and insecurities. Truthfully, it just makes it easier to not have to deal with differing opinions, values or the big R(eligion) word. The problem with staying on my side though, is that I miss out on knowing people, learning from them or seeing a different side of things. They may miss out on who I am and what my life can show them. I just felt that this was something that God had been talking to me about. No, not in an audible voice, but in what He shows me in this world around me. There are so many things that make up the divide between me and the other side, but now I know that it is a divide that is not uncrossable. And even more important, it should be crossed.

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