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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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Level of the least discriminating audience

Lowest common denominator.  Again, this math concept came back to me as I have been listening to the election coverage and heard it being used.  I know what you are thinking, politics and math? It was actually Stephen Hawking who used it, and while he was talking about a particular presidential candidate, I actually think about this all the time.   It is pretty funny because it is a mathematics term, and I hated math.  As I am getting older though, I am finding that math is making its way into my everyday life more often.  The best is when I use algebra as an object lesson for my sons.  My mother, the math teacher, would be proud.  My sons though, are pretty much over it.

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Just had to put a math graphic in here for fun. 

Back to my point.  I find that in a lot of things, people tend to go to the lowest common denominator.   Myself included.  I always wonder why?  Whether it is comedy. Where most jokes nowadays are more hurtful than funny, but everyone laughs.  Or it could be politics, where we jump on a bandwagon of the candidate who is talking the loudest, singling out an enemy and promising what they are going to do for you.  Or even the church where we pretend to do instead of really doing what we believe, because it is just easier that way.   Again why?  Maybe we are working, trying to make ends meet?  More concerned with getting the kids picked up from daycare than who will be the next councilman, senator or president?  Worrying about our weight, health, jobs, spouses  and children.  Which are all good things to worry about.  Too tired at the end of day trying to make life better, that we don’t have the energy to really ask, what makes a better life?   Too distracted to ask ourselves, do I really want to live a “lowest common denominator” kind of life?

I know that is a life I really don’t want.  Unfortunately, I believe that is a life I have lived too much of already. So I am now trying day by day not to accept that “uncommon” life as my own.  It is harder than it looks.  I get up, I write, I read my bible, exercise (ok so not every day yet), and I try to be encouraging.  Every day I fight the desires to wallow in self-pity, doubt, fear, pride and anger.  (Well that was an honest sentence for you) Each day is a new opportunity, and maybe more importantly a different opportunity.  So I take strength in the words of Paul, the man who wrote most of the new testament not the Beatle.  “I do not understand what I do.  For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”  He sounds as confused as I feel many times, but I love his honesty.  I take great comfort in the fact that if Paul didn’t have it all down on his own, than I am not doing so bad.  My Mom was right when she said, “it’s not what you know, but who you know”, and for that uncommon life, I am counting on Him being my Who.

If you want to check out where Paul said that:   Romans 7:15 NIV

Please leave a comment if the post encouraged, challenged or made you think.  

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This season’s pain.

It was early when I arrived. The doors weren’t even open yet, but I waited. I knew she would come soon. It is not many times that I beat the woman to her shop. She is usually there with her hair in a bun wrapped up in a net, smelling of yeast and sugar. I can barely stand the smell, but it is the food imageshe has for me that I am waiting for. The crumbly hard shapes that fill my stomach and nourish me. It is not what I am used to, nor is it the way my story started. I once had a home, a place where I belonged. I was born there, I lived and was happy. The change happened so abruptly, as if it was a dream. One day I was beloved in a happy family, and the next I was a wandering soul enduring the heat and unknown. I am growing accustomed to my new life. It is not without peace, but it is just hard. Trying to find food, water, shelter and protection from the world. I used to have that, before that day, and I hope to find that again. Each new day is a victory, it means that I have survived to see another sunrise. It means that the memories of the goodness of life, have not been overshadowed by the pain. With each new sunrise comes the newest opportunity to be strong, to love and to show others that they can survive this life too.

She is here, and I am fed. Together we start a new day.

My husband has become obsessed with his camera, and had taken some pictures the other day in our small town.  Someone wanted to know the story behind the pictures, so I jokingly started writing about the cat and how she had lost her home.  By the time I was done though, I knew I was not writing about the cat any more.  I was thinking about the headlines of the day, and the young woman who has been subjected to more than anyone should in a lifetime.  I pray that her good memories, and her future are not overshadowed by this seasons pain.  That she would find healing, and  strength in her most important label, child of God.  

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Tapping out a thankful tune!

So am I ready to tap or what?  This is something that I think I have always wanted to do, but hadn’t.  So here in the blogospere where I can be honest and live fully as myself, I am ready.   There are different DIY tap boards on the internet, so I had a pretty good idea of what I would need to make one.  I then watched a couple of videos from people who made one, and thought putting it together looked pretty easy.  To make it even less expensive, they suggested going to a home improvement store and seeing if there was flooring that you could buy cheap.  I googled the foam flooring needed and I was happy to see that it was inexpensive, but when I got thinking about the wood flooring an idea popped into my head.  I remembered that my sister had done some new flooring in her home not too long ago, so I texted and asked if she had some leftover pieces?  She did!   We were going to visit her, so I told her I would talk with her when I got there.  How great is that?

It was a boost that I needed, because our finances have been on my mind a lot lately. As of the end of the month, I am officially unemployed.  So now that the time has come, I am starting to wonder about our needs and how we are going to adjust our lifestyle when we are back to one income.  I have worked for the same company for the last 7 years, and so leaving was a hard decision, but it was a decision I felt compelled to do.  It was a new direction that God was prompting me to follow and I felt that the time had finally come.  So for that reason, provision has been on my mind.  What was encouraging to me was God using this tap dance “storyline” to not only teach me about myself, but to provide everything needed without having to spend a bunch of money. Again, it is a simple thing, but it was a reminder to me of who God is and how He works.

I gave a month’s notice, so I was doing pretty good until the month was almost done.  It was then that I started to stress.  I was wondering how I could make some extra cash, even before I was in the situation where it was needed.  I was getting ahead of God.  When I realized that, I tried to relax.  I thought back to the many times before when He had come through.  God has a bunch of different names in the bible, but my favorite is Jehovah Jireh.  It means the Lord provides.  I had to remember that I was not the source of our families provision, and neither was the job I had.  That job was a tool that God used to provide for us.  I felt better, over my panic attack, and feeling a little more secure.

So back to my tap board.  I went to my sister’s house and she gave me more than enough flooring to make the tap board.  I came home excited and thankful.  It was then that God made me laugh out loud.  The next day I walked into the garage and found foam flooring.  How it got into our garage, I will never know?  Both my husband imageand I were stumped?  It might have been one of our children, or maybe even left by the previous owner.  My husband then decided that some plywood he had could be used for my board.  It was just the right size, and didn’t even have to be cut.  The only item I had to purchase was some gorilla glue.  So for under $5.00, I have my tap board.  With that board, I will get some exercise, learn something new, live joyfully and continue to work on unpeeling the onion that is my life. Except now, I will be doing it to a different beat.

 

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No longer boys…

So today is a big day in our household.  My youngest son, Gene, is about to graduate from high school.  I thought I was ok with everything?   I mean I was not feeling emotional or getting sappy, going about my day in a pretty normal way, until I had to go to the store.  I had gotten a text stating that my photo order was ready, which it wasn’t, then I basically had a panic attack about having enough time to bake a cake.  This was all ridiculous since it was only 11:00 in the morning and dinner was not until 5:30!

img_0218It was then I realized that I was probably feeling something.  What though was the question?  Gene is my youngest, so him graduating is something of a watershed moment for me.  I mean, he really hasn’t paid attention to me for years, so there is really  is not much difference in our relationship.  All of my boys are pretty independent, but Gene was that way from a very early age.  I will now be a mother to four men, instead of four boys.  That makes me happy.  I do not miss those boys, because they have grown into men that I like.  They are not perfect, but they have qualities that make me thankful.  They are loyal, love their family, love God and are more than willing to help a friend in need.  Even to their own detriment.  While we have made mistakes in raising them, they love us like we were the most perfect of parents.  So today as we celebrate this graduation day I wanted to say to all of my men;  Scott, Bob, Matt and Geno, I love you.  You make me the happiest mom in the history of time!

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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.

Day Trippin

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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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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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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