Cheryl Mendoza

So it has been a long and hard couple of weeks. I have had back/neck problems for most of my life, but recently the pain has been barely manageable. I have spent more time sleeping and sitting with a heating pad, than I can remember. Since that has been sapping the very life out of me, I have not been writing. It has caused me a tremendous amount of anxiety, since I am trying to get focused and diligent about this whole blog thing. Discouragement was my first name. So as my back has gotten better, my outlook has improved dramatically. It still took me days to sit down and start writing again. It seems like I am back to the whole hiding thing, but here I am back at it, trying to get back in the “work” of it.  
 So I was feeling a little low in church on Sunday morning, just feeling like I am letting God down by resisting this path I am on.  I perked up a bit when I learned that we would hear from a guest speaker.   I love our pastor, but the gentleman who would speak that morning has this great Scottish accent and his style is not what we typically hear.  So it always makes for a fun sermon. He used a story out of the Bible that I know pretty well, as it is one that we teach to kids a lot.  Instead of stopping at the normal sequence of events, he wove three events together to see a bigger picture. So to be fair, and not make this the world’s longest blog post, I may split this up a bit. So, when he started to speak, I was thinking, “I love this story, I got this one down”.  There was one fact that I did not know, that for me opened up a whole other side to the story. That is what I really like about the Bible, it is that at different times, it has a different depth of meaning. Today he told the story of Jesus and His special friends, the disciples, and a time they went “across to the other side of the lake”. Jesus has been teaching all day, and he asks the disciples to get in the boat, and to cross the lake. During their “cruise”, Jesus falls contentedly asleep, all the while a storm kicks up threatening their well being. The men are scared and awaken Jesus to save them from drowning.  Jesus response?  To calm the waves and chide them for their lack of faith. I love this story, because it talks about faith and trusting Jesus. The story makes it clear, when Jesus tells you that you are going to the other side of the lake, even if a storm arises, you can trust that He is going to take you to the other side of the lake. For me, it is just what I needed to hear. 

 After being down for two weeks and feeling that my productivity level was zero, which it was, I needed some reassurance. Now rather than, “can I write anything someone wants to read”, my thought pattern was “can I just physically sit and write for a couple hours a day?” The answer I got was yes! If this is the boat I am supposed to be in, I can trust that we will get to the other side. Now, the journey may be a bit bumpy, rough, nausea inducing, and scary, but it is the means to be where I am supposed to be. I still have a twinge of the “yikes”, but I am calmed by who is in the boat with me. It was wonderful to hear that story again at just the right moment.  To encourage, and give me hope. 

He then proceeded to kick it up a notch. How? By giving me some information that I did not know. While I thought I knew this story well, there was a very particular piece of information I didn’t have.  Where was the other side of the lake?  And who lived on the other side?  Now this is kind of like a Batman moment.  Same bat time, same bat channel, you know how it works. 

So yesterday, I let myself get a little lost while going to work.  I live in a small town in Central California that is like a suburb.  Around it though are miles of fields, farms and orchards.  I used to drive the highway over to the next town, but have started taking a more rural route, because it is calming.  Less cars, more green and so many things to look at.  There is still the occasional speed demon roaring down the road, maybe even a tractor that slows things down, but all in all a much more pleasurable drive.  As I drove, I thought about the night before, and about the things that strengthen us.  The little messages that give us hope.

I was exhausted when I got home from work.  It was such a busy day, and my brain was fried.  I relaxed for a while, had a conversation with a friendly face and watched a little television to try and relax.  When it was time for bed though, I could not sleep.  Lack of sleep is not good for anyone, but for me it is a death knell.  It makes me very cranky, and when I am cranky, I tend to get very angry, very fast.  That though, is for a different blog entry.  My husband was already snoring away, after his own bout of not sleeping well the night before, and I just laid there, feeling fully awake.  Thinking, not sleeping.  My mind seemed to still be awake, but I can’t really remember what I was thinking.  Just too many thoughts at one time.   I do remember having at least a moment of frustration about this blog.  The who, why and what would come of it?  It was at that point that I was now fully awake.  So I got out of bed and I will admit, I took a little swig of cough syrup.  I knew that it was not the optimum way for me to go to sleep, but I was desperate.  This girl needs sleep more than food, and I was fearful of what the next day would bring if I did not get the rest I needed.

I sat up for a while waiting for the drugs to kick in, and I opened up a new book I am reading called, Start by John Acuff.  I am horrible with my finances, so years ago I started to listen and use some of Dave Ramsey’s material on getting your finances in order.  Anyway, he recommended this book to people on the radio and his website, so when I saw one at the thrift store, I bought it.  Yes, I am one of those.  I have a wonderful relationship with thrift stores and garage sales, but again, that is an entry for another day.  So as I sat down to read it, I was immediately hooked.  Why?  He started out writing in a blog!  It was a stepping stone for him, a way to move forward.  Now, what do I think will happen?  Who knows?  To see someone though using a blog as a means to an end, well that gave me hope.  Hope that something may actually happen with what I am doing. That God may really have some kind of purpose for me doing this, not just to drive me crazy.   A hope that some of my more daring dreams, could be realized through this first step.  What may those dreams be you ask?  Well, I don’t know you well enough.  Truth be told, I have only recently  shared with my husband the path I would like this to lead down.  We are back to that whole hiding in the closet thing again.  And at this point, I think I have only stuck a toe out.   It is a toe though, that I would say is finally pointing in the right direction.

At this point, if I were truly feeling daring and truthful,  I would take a stylish picture of my toe and post it.  That will never happen though,  no matter how far I come out of the closet, as I have some pretty ugly feet.

So I have been thinking about the nature of encouragement and discouragement. As I said in my opening salvo I wanted to be a writer. At least I think I did? It was just so long ago, that I have a hard time trying to remember why I did not pursue writing as some type of career. I have just recently started to weed through memories to figure out the motivation behind my actions. There was one memory that came to me, as there was only one time I can actually remember telling someone that I wanted to be a writer. I don’t remember exactly when it was, but I was in high school, maybe even a senior by that time. I happened to be having a conversation with our next door neighbor’s daughter. She was older than I was, a woman, married with two children at that time. I am sure she was just making simple conversation, as we were sitting on the front porch, but I am beginning to think that the conversation had more of an impact than either of us could have imagined. Why did I tell her? I am not really sure? Maybe it was as simple as no one had ever asked me before.
It was there on the porch, that she told me that her husband was a writer working for the newspaper. I really do not remember all of the details of the conversation, I just remember the negative feelings it produced. What little I do remember was about all of the college I would have to attend, and how difficult it was to find a job in the business. I also remember feeling embarrassed. Maybe because I had told her something that I had not shared with anyone else, and her response was so negative. Her opinion was obviously colored by her husbands experience, and that perspective then colored her response to me.
Did that discourage me? Probably to some extent. Remember though, I danced in the closet, I wasn’t exactly an open book. Maybe if I had reached out to someone closer to me, I would have gotten a more positive response. I did not though, and so there was nothing to counter the negative advice. That brings me to the million dollar question. To what extent do our words tear down? How much does it take? So on the flip side of that, do our words have the ability to build up? How much encouragement does it take? I was wondering what I would be writing about in this blog, and for the time, I guess my question has been answered. I am laying down on the couch, and inviting you to my therapy sessions. We now have a privileged relationship. So you know what that means? What happens in the blog stays in the blog. It’s kind of like Vegas, except you will definitely wake up in your own bed.  

  I would have loved to post a pic of just me, but I don’t seem to have many pictures of just myself.  I am not much of a narcissist.  I am the one on the left.  My son and husband are also pictured with me.  This is our trolley ride outside Suisun, at the Western Railway Museum in Northern California.  

Who am I? I guess I am the girl who wanted to be a writer, but became discouraged. Maybe I am the girl who wanted to be a dancer. The one who used to dance in her sisters closet, wearing her mother’s heels as she tapped away on the wood floor. I never took lessons as a child, and my tap dancing proves it. What really gets me though, is that I can’t even remember asking my mother if that was something I could do? I just secretly danced in the closet. I also guess that I was hiding. Regardless, I am tired of being in the closet. I am tired of keeping quiet about who I am and who I feel I should be. I used to be a liar. Many times, the lies were to cover something that I had done wrong, or something I was supposed to do, but didn’t. I am just now realizing that there seemed to be a side effect to the lies. The lie started to become my life. How I truly felt, what my actions should be, or who I really was became part of the lie. I was more afraid of what people would think, than being afraid of not being who God made me to be. When I realized that lying was hurting my relationship with my husband, I asked God to help me to stop. And He did. I do not lie any more, but there was a funny side effect. I not only became more honest with my husband, but I started to become more honest with myself. I started writing in journals, this was so I could let the honesty out. Even though I do not lie to my husband, I still have a hard time being totally who I am, even with him. And in so many ways, that sucks. We have talked about it recently and while I think I am getting better, I still feel like I hold back. I am not sure if that is because I don’t want to reveal my inner self to him, or if it is because I am still finding out who that inner self is?   
So I guess this blog is just a journey as to who I am. I am a wife, daughter, mother, teacher and friend of God. I am going to try and be no holds barred in this space. If you are looking for juicy, edgy and crazy stuff, this is probably not the place for you. If you are a harried mother, insecure woman, wishful thinker, crazy wife or closet dancer you might see yourself here. I promise to be honest, an open book. This blog is not really about what I hope to accomplish, it is more of an obedience/God/discipline thing. They say in preschool, it is the process, not the product. Well I can guarantee you, there may not be a product, but you will definitely see a lot of process. It will be messy, tearful, complicated but hopefully encouraging. Process.