Tag: gentle

Still Haven’t Arrived

I’m going to be honest. Writing this blog is a little nerve-wracking. I haven’t written in a while and I feel like I’ve forgotten how to do it. I think about communicating with the world and what I want to say. What I want to share is the mystery and comfort and wonder of laying in my bed in the middle of the night, wide awake, talking to the Creator of the Universe. The mix of holy fear and awe, and child’s need for a parent, and longing for grace and mercy that motivate my prayers. 

I want to share with you my confusion and anger and bewilderment as I struggle to comprehend and respond to the events going on in our world. I want to tell you about my daily walk with grace as I navigate marriage and parenting. I want to share about God’s faithfulness to not leave me stuck in my sin, in my pain, in my unforgiveness towards others and myself. I want to tell you about all of God’s gifts to me as he has swung open doors and opportunities to be involved in work that I’m passionate about. 

This past year I have done a lot of deep thinking about faith and how I practice that faith. I’ve done a lot of deep thinking about politics and what it means to practice my faith as an American. I’ve thought a lot about how to deal with the past, forgiving hurts, but also trying to figure out how to unlearn the lies that came with those hurts. 

I turned forty-seven this past year. There is something about that number that made me feel like I should have arrived by now. By now I should have this Adulting thing down pat. By now I should be strong, confident, and perfect. By now I should have my crap together. 

And I don’t. 

Which is maybe the breaking of that final myth in my mind, that grownups know what they are doing. In this sense, we all remain children. Still learning, sure that the people older than us must know everything, and we just haven’t arrived yet. And apparently, we never arrive. At least not here in this life on earth. 

I still have questions about faith and how to live it out. I very much don’t know what to do about the state of the world or my country. I still don’t know how to stand for justice. I still struggle with wrong thinking about myself and others. I still struggle. 

Which might be discouraging to young people who are heading out into the world, sure that soon, they’ll have it all figured out. But, maybe it’s encouraging for others my age and older to know they aren’t alone in constantly being surprised at their own lack and shortcomings as they face the daily challenges. 

What I have learned in my forty-seven years of living is that Jesus is faithful. He is gentle. He is kind. He is compassionate. And he is always with me. I am not alone. I am not disdained. I am not scorned. And as I run into each problem and crisis and puzzle, I don’t have to feel the desperate fear of wondering if I’ll make it through this. I already know that I will, because Jesus is helping me. Not removing all the struggles from my path, just holding my hand, pulling me forward, teaching me what I need to learn as I go. 

That is my great comfort and peace that sustains me and gives me joy. And that is what I want to share with you in my blog. 

In Memory of Grandpa Picazo

This week I have found my mind wandering back to the day that my grandfather died. My grandfather Mardoqueo Picazo, known as Mardy, or Grandpa, was a great man.  He was a US Navy WWII veteran, broadcast engineer, minister, missionary, and radio personality among many other things… As I sit here, I don’t think I can properly write down all his accomplishments. Instead I’ll tell you about his role as Grandpa. 

I remember sitting on his lap when I was very young, listening to his deep rumbling voice as he read stories to me. I remember him sitting at the head of the table at meal times. He had a rule that when us grandchildren were done eating, we had to come over to his chair and ask permission to leave the table. Looking back, I can see it was an excuse to get an extra hug and kiss before we ran off to play our own games. 

I remember the sparkle in his eyes, the amused smile. His love of corny puns and jokes. His warm hugs. 

I remember when I was fourteen, I flew from Haiti to the States to visit my grandparents and other relatives. My grandfather drove to another city to come pick me up at the airport. We drove back towards the small country town where my grandparents lived. When we were close to my grandparents’ farm, we stopped at a roadside stand to buy some fruit. My grandfather proudly announced to the lady at the cash register that his granddaughter had come from Haiti to visit him. The lady looked surprised then eyed me carefully. (Keep in mind, I was a very quiet, reserved kid.) Then she leaned towards my grandfather and whispered, “Does she speak English?” My grandfather nodded gravely and said, “She gets by.” We got in the car and he chuckled to himself. My grandfather is Mexican American and has a slight Spanish accent. I am very white and have spoken English my entire life. He thought this was hilarious. 

As I think about it, my lasting impression of my grandfather was a gentle, humble man who quietly went about his days doing God’s work. No fanfare. Just quietly going about his business with a lot of humor mixed in. 

At the end of my grandfather’s life, after the passing of my grandmother, he ended up spending his last weeks at my home in hospice care. We had a lot of family coming in and out during that time. I remember times of sitting with my grandfather, singing the old hymns. By that time he was not able to communicate. And so I sat and held his hand and we sang songs that we knew he would remember. 

At the very end, I had the privilege of being in the room when he passed away. He was surrounded by family. My father recited the Twenty-third Psalm as he breathed his last. And I remember walking over to the corner of the room by myself, tears streaming down my face, and suddenly I was overwhelmed by the presence of the Holy Spirit. I was sobbing, hands lifted up in worship, my mouth speaking words I did not know, and I had the impression of light, even with my eyes closed. 

And that is my final impression of my grandfather, and the legacy I want to live out and pass to my children and my grandchildren. May we live our lives in such a way that our passing is a Holy moment covered in the presence of the Holy Spirit.