My Writings. My Thoughts.
To My Brother
// October 27th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Family, Grief
This weekend my younger brother, Gabe, is getting married. People are arriving in town, last minute details are being taken care of, and the bride and groom are excited. This is one of the biggest days of Gabe’s life and happiness is all he should be feeling. However, during this special day someone will be missing–our dad.
It is almost unbearable to know my dad will not be here for this major milestone in my brother’s life. It doesn’t seem real, or fair, that dad can’t be here giving Gabe last minute advice and cracking jokes to ease any jitters that might come along.
If dad were here I think he would be extremely proud of Gabe and the man he has become. He would brag to his buddies about how great my brother is at his job working with adults with disabilities. It comes so natural for Gabe and he has the heart and love to pour into his clients and his job. I think dad would relate Gabe’s story of moving to Arizona to find the love of his life, to his own story of coming all the way from Mexico to find our mom.
Even though dad was not a very emotional man, on Gabe’s wedding day I think he would take him by the shoulder, tell Gabe how proud he is and how much he loves him.
Dad never had the chance to meet Diana. I think he would highly approve! He would love that she is a strong passionate woman who loves Gabe with all her heart, but will also keep him in line.
At the wedding dad would have been the social butterfly he always was, while smiling ear to ear and cracking jokes. I am absolutely positive it would be almost impossible to pull dad off the dance floor. He would be busy cutting a rug with mom, me, Diana, his granddaughters, an anyone else he could get dancing.
The morning after the big day I’m sure my dad would pull Gabe aside and give him a high-five, or ask him “How it feels to be a man?” just to make Gabe squirm.
I know I keep on saying dad won’t be here, but in a way he will. I see so much of dad in my brother. Gabe has dad’s heart, kindness, and love. Dad provided a great example of what a husband and father should be. So, I know Diana will be well taken care of and their children will be loved unconditionally.
Dad, we miss you so much that is hurts, but we are so grateful of what you taught us while you were here. Your son has grown up to be a fine young man.
Love
// October 14th, 2011 // 1 Comment » // Family
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Sometimes if I hear a familiar verse over and over, I almost stop listening. In a way I feel like I already know what it says and means so I don’t need to pay attention. Well, after doing this, I believe I start to forget what the verse says and really means. The biblical definition of love in 1 Corinthians is so amazing. Sometimes it seems unbelievable to me that God could love us, His children, in such a way.
It makes me think, how do I love?
“Love is patient, love is kind.”
There are many times I have zero patience for my children. I can also say that I am not kind to my husband 100% of the time.
“It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”
Sometimes I do feel jealous of Greg, he gets a lot more “grown up” time than I do. When I’m right, pride is definitely one of the feelings that puffs up my chest.
“It does not dishonor others, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”
I can be easily angered, unfortunately to the point where the other party is completely caught off guard. If conflict arises, I am the one who lists off the record of wrongs.
“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.”
This verse feels almost like second nature for me. It is almost impossible for me to “delight in evil,” even when it happens to someone who has wronged me. I stand on the truth, and want the truth to be known. Am I perfect as this? No.
“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
Trust is something that is hard for me, even with those closest to me. I am not always hopeful, many times I feel hopeless.
“Love never fails.”
I would be embarrassed to try to count the number of times I’ve failed any of my loved ones. I have not always made the best decisions in my life, and I’m sure there will be times in the future when I fail again.
So, how do I love? Do I love like God loves us? Well, I am far from loving the way that God loves us. I believe it is because I am human, just like all of you. This doesn’t make me sad or disappointed, because I know that everyday I make an effort to love they way God wants us to love. Some days it feels easier that others, but I still try my hardest and rely on God for the strength I don’t have. I am so glad that God has grace and mercy on all of us. We have such a loving God. He doesn’t count our failures, or lose trust in us. Everyday He puts us back on our feet and lovingly encourages to try again. Even though my love is not perfect, I am so grateful that His love is.
Photo by Ella’s Dad
Crossfire
// September 15th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Struggles
You are shocked, standing there unarmed. You are surrounded by people, they are all armed–you’re the target. There are so many different kinds of weapons you see around you—false accusations, others’ insecurities, lack of communication, along with miscommunication. Those armed, yet hesitant, with the internal debate–to be just or to be passive.
On the other side you see misunderstandings, manipulations of the truth, and jumped-to conclusions. There are also those armed with lies, and those on edge after being lied to. Then there are more people, sneaking up all around you coming out of the dark corners. These are the ones with the least information but they are armed with the most judgement.
It’s like you stepped on an emotional land mine. Everything goes silent, you can’t hear yourself yelling out for help. You are so disoriented and everything is spinning–you can’t even stand up. The shock is beginning to wear off, you feel the pain of the shrapnel tearing into your skin. There is so much pain and desperation, but you feel like there is nothing you can do about it. Remember you are unarmed and surrounded by what you thought were friends, loved ones–who are treating you as the enemy.
I feel this way when I am caught in the crossfire—in the middle of unhealthy interpersonal conflict.
What happened? How did we find ourselves in this position when we did nothing wrong? Chances are we feel blindsided because we had no idea of the underlying issue. Chances are we innocently said or did something that poured a pound of salt into a deep, raw wound. Instead of the people involved addressing and resolving the issue at hand between themselves, on their own time–they try to put the fault on us. This is the worst thing they could do for their relationship. Along with it being very immature, it makes us feel awful, hurt and confused.
I am very passionate about the ones I love, and their hurts are my hurts. This sentence sums up why being caught in these situations tears me up inside. I am not only hurting because of the pain they have inflicted upon me, I am hurting because they are also dealing with pain. I make sure I do everything I can do that is mature and appropriate, after that the ball is in their court. Even though I want to say more, and yell out the simple solution to the problem that neither one of them can see. My hands are tied. The only thing left to do is pray for resolution and restoration, and let God do the rest.
Photo by aparis99
Getting to Know Isabel
// September 7th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Family, Kids
Isabel, our youngest daughter, is now three years old. She was the biggest and best surprise Greg and I have ever received. (Our children are 11.5 months apart) Isabel is outgoing, sweet, funny, strong willed, and full of energy. She gets her looks from me, but specifically my dad’s side of the family. The Madrigals have very dominant features–I look more like my aunt than I do my own mother.
Isabel has always been a firecracker, and is the instigator of the family. She is getting more girly the older she gets, but she is just her own person. Isabel is really expressing her independence right now, and I let her as long as it is appropriate. She loves playing with her tool set, reading books, and using her HUGE imagination.
Right now her imagination is in full swing. Isabel has an imaginary little sister named Ricey, who has a sweety named Tudy. She also has an imaginary grandmother. (Even though she has 3 grandmothers and 2 great grandmothers–all alive and well.) Isabel’s “Grandma Emma,” sister “Ricey,” and Tudy all live in a tortilla. Yes, I said tortilla.
One of Isabel’s recent, yet short lived, independent phases was about putting snap clips in her hair. I usually comb her hair, part it on the left side, and put 1 snap clip on each side. Well, Isabel wanted to place her clips in all by herself–so I let her. It lasted just a couple weeks of her going to school, her hair a mess, but proud as ever because SHE did it. Yes, I did take pictures!
Isabel is quite the entertainer, and if she gets a reaction she runs with it–even it is not the most appropriate attention getter. If I would compile funny stories about Isabel, I would recommend it for readers 14 and up. Isabel is feisty, goofy, and likes to walk the line, but she also has such a sweetness to her. She is our cuddler. Isabel’s cuddles are pretty much the best thing ever. Isabel is on the small side for her age, and is still the perfect size to snuggle with. Her loves runs deep, you can just feel it in the way she hugs you or gives you a little kiss.
Like I said in the post about Lydia, I could go on for days talking about my precious daughter. I am so glad God surprised us with His plan, and completely ignored ours. Isabel is still such a blessing. She amazes me every day. I am so proud to be her mother.
Getting to Know Lydia
// August 31st, 2011 // 2 Comments » // Kids
Lydia, our first born, is now four years old. She is cautious, beautiful, observant, caring, and funny. Lydia looks like her daddy, just as I looked like mine. However, in certain pictures taken of her over the past year she looked almost identical to me at that age.
Lydia has always been a girly girl. She loves princesses, dressing up, dancing, and getting her nails painted. If Lydia had it her way, she would wear a dress to school every day. She already has a sense of fashion, and I have no clue where she gets that. If Lydia doesn’t like an outfit I am wearing, she lets me know–and I find this hilarious.
After seeing the movie Tangled she told me she wanted golden hair, and wanted it down to her bottom. Well, she is about an inch away of her goal in length. I think it would take a miracle for her hair to become golden.
Now when I say this girl is funny, I mean it. She picked up humor at a really young age and ran with it. She knows how to get a laugh and tell a joke. For those of you who know Greg and I personally, it shouldn’t be a surprise that we can produce offspring with a sense of humor! She also says hilarious things, that are somewhat inappropriate, but they are always an innocent pronunciation or a mix up of words.
She is very observant, with everything, and has a great memory. So don’t try to get anything past her, because it probably won’t happen. She cares a lot about her friends and family, giving hugs and kisses if someone is hurt or sad. I have described Lydia to have a complexity about her. It is almost as if she is wise beyond her years in certain areas. I love learning how her little mind works and processes information.
I could go on and on, like any mother could about their child, but I will end my ramblings. I hope this post gave you a little insight on the first of our beautiful daughters. I thank God for giving her to us, and some days I still can’t believe she is mine.
Distorted
// August 23rd, 2011 // No Comments » // Struggles
Look at the picture on the right. This picture helps put an image to how I felt about myself in high school. What I was and what I saw were two different things. I could look in the mirror and it would trigger a panic attack. I saw a an ugly person, with a less than perfect body who shouldn’t be seen by anyone.
Let’s go back a few years–I was an “early bloomer.” Oh, did the bra-snapping begin. Really great way to get a girls attention by the way, if that attention you want from her is full of anger and hurt. I was never really overweight, I was very active and always a healthy weight for my age and height.
High school is when my body image took a pretty major turn downhill. I remember my freshman year being called Thunder Thighs–I only weighed 114 lbs. My sophomore year I went to get measured for “foundations” and had to hold back tears when I found out my needed size. Then came the jokes, from guys AND girls. That is the year that I began to hate my body.
Every time I looked in the mirror I would have such negative self-talk. “I’m so ugly.” “I’m too fat.” “I hate myself.” Those were things I said to myself for years to come. Those tapes played in my head every day, I even brought them into my marriage. My husband was very straight with me one day, and said, “You need to stop this!” I do not want my children to hear their mother talk about herself like this. That really resonated with me.
After that day I practiced and practiced until I had new tapes playing in my head. I even got to the point where if a negative thought passed through my mind, it would not pass through my lips. I can proudly say I have never spoken negatively about myself in any way in front of my daughters. I can even accept a compliment every now and then.
After I married I gained a hefty amount of weight that I honestly didn’t notice at first. How could I not notice? Well look at the image again, I was seeing the same thing I had seen all along. The difference was that now others could see it, too. I look back and wish I could have seen what really looked like, and felt more comfortable in my own skin. For now, I need to work on getting rid of my extra poundage. With my kettle bell in hand, and husband by my side, I think it can be done.
Photo by ! Santiago Alvarez !
I will Never…
// August 16th, 2011 // No Comments » // Very Funny, God
Have you ever made the statement, “I will
never…” I have a feeling a lot of you have,
I have, too. I wanted to share with you
some of my “never” statements.
“I will never have my kids that close together.”
~My girls are 11.5 months apart.
“I will never move back to Peoria.”
~Guess where I live now? Yup, Peoria.
“I will never have Frida Kahlo eyebrows.”
~Well, this mother of two can’t pluck those brows DAILY like I did in high school. I literally plucked my eyebrows every night before I went to bed. Oh to have that much time on my hands again…
“I will never live in a big city.”
~Remember when I moved to Phoenix in 2005? I would consider that a big city–it being the 6th largest city in the United States and all. Peoria is the 7th most populated city…in Illinois.
Now I don’t really think the consequences of my “never” statements are just a coincidence. I think that God has a sense of humor. I can almost picture a little smirk from Him as I spout off “never” statements.
My plan noun–the “program of action*” you shouldn’t even make because God has it all figured out anyway.
I think the end results of my “never” statements are little reminders, nudges, from God letting me know He has it all under control. God’s plan for me, you, everyone is more perfect and detailed than any of us could ever imagine. I want to encourage you to stop and think before saying your “never” statements. Be open minded to the bigger and better things God may have in store for you. Another plus to not making “never” statements–you won’t have to eat your words later.
Photo by Cristian V.
Peori-ugh
// August 13th, 2011 // No Comments » // Newly Rooted
Ever since college I pretty much knew I wanted to get out of Peoria. Well, I sure did. In July 2005 we made the big move to Phoenix, AZ. My husband and I, my parents, and our trusty dog Pedro packed up the car and the Penske truck and headed West. I do not consider myself a country girl, but I am not a city girl by any means. So moving to Phoenix was quite the experience for me.
Greg and I lived in Arizona for 5 years. We had our daughters there, had great community–it was home. However, we knew being in ministry we would move eventually. We were amazed at where God called us, you guessed it, my hometown, Peoria, IL. All my time I lived in Arizona there were very few things I missed about living in Illinois. The few things I did miss were: my parents, the Spring and Fall, and watching the 4th of July fireworks on the riverfront. Oh, and I missed Steak N Shake so bad during my pregnancies!
After moving back I discovered there was a lot more I missed about Peoria, but had forgotten. One of my absolute favorite things to do is drive the back roads, windows down, on a summer night. I like going to the little ice cream stands that are cash only and can only be enjoyed a few months out of the year. I love, love, love actually talking and (gasp) having a friendship with your neighbors. (I know you Phoenicians know what I’m talking about.) Something almost shocking to us is how much nature we are around here. We have seen 2 sets of robins grow from eggs to leaving the nest, as well and seeing many rabbits and groundhogs. Much better than the black widows and scorpions we were used to.
So, I want to publicly swallow my pride–GULP–and say I am proud to be a Peorian once again!
Hometown Jitters
// August 9th, 2011 // 8 Comments » // Newly Rooted
I was actually very excited to move back to my home town. If you really know me, yes, that is a shocking statement. However, God really changed my heart. It was amazing to me how many people I would run into anywhere I went. It was really exciting for me at first. I loved catching up with old friends and reminiscing.
Well, the question that always came up was, “Why did you move back?” I answered them honestly–we moved back to plant a church in Peoria. I got some of the strangest looks ever, and some people physically backed away from me after I answered their question. Wow, that makes you feel good. Another question I was asked frequently, “Have you run into (old boyfriend) yet?” Really? Why would it be a big deal if I did, I’ve been marred for 7 years, and we spent our 1st year of marriage in Peoria. Come on people!
After getting these reactions and questions, I started to get really self conscious. It was like being in high school again worrying about how I looked and dressed, and worried about what people thought/think of me. I felt ashamed to be seen in public. There were times I saw someone I knew, but was too scared/ashamed to approach them.
Well, the constant worry spiraled into debilitating depression and severe anxiety. (I will share more about that in later posts.) My mind was bombarded with irrational thoughts and lies. I started to wonder how people thought of me “back then.” What if I did run into “old boyfriend?” Was I mean to someone and didn’t apologize? Did I ever make fun of this or that person? So many “what ifs.”
Once my depression and anxiety were more manageable, I was able to recognize some triggers. Now, if there is an issue I am anxious or depressed about, I address it. I try to address it promptly. It has really helped me leave the unimportant stressors out of my life, and keep focused on the important parts of my life. I am not claiming to be perfect at this, but practice makes better, right?
I’ve even gotten a little wild lately and left the house without makeup a time or two…
Photo by KO_Photos
Living in a Fog
// August 4th, 2011 // No Comments » // Grief
How can I describe the state that I am currently in. It is like I was living in a bubble for two weeks, and then thrown back into the real world. I feel like a puppet who has no control over its actions or daily tasks, but they are getting done somehow. I have let God have complete control and he is literally moving me through each day, slowly, gently, but still moving me. I am trying to learn about the grieving process. I want to make sure I am dealing with this, not just brushing it off for later. I have added below a daily account of how the final days with my father were for me…
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Around 11am Greg and I got the phone call that the doctors thought we should come home because they were planning to put dad on a ventilator as soon as possible. Some friends came over and packed us, while another was willing to dog/house sit for us while we were gone. We were on a plane headed for Peoria by 2:30pm. We got to town at around 10:30pm and went straight to the hospital. When we got to dad’s room he was very excited to see us, but was fighting the oxygen mask and pulse monitor. I knew at first glance that he was dying. He finally pulled off his oxygen mask, then pulled my face to his and kissed my cheek. Not to long after he held his hand to my cheek and sang me a song. I knew he was saying goodbye. When I was alone with dad in the room I shared the name of our daughter with him. He repeated it back, twice, and said it was perfect. Greg and I tried to stay at my parents house and finally fell “asleep” around 2am. I was up sick on and off for the four hours I was in bed.
Monday, February 5, 2007
We were at the hospital by 8am and got to spend a few hours with dad before they put the ventilator in him. We did not frequent the room too much that day, because we wanted to make sure dad was resting.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
I trimmed what was left of dad’s hair pretty short, because I knew he was wanting that done. I also trimmed his fingernails. It seems so silly, but knowing that I was doing something he wanted done was so good. I felt like I was helping him in some way.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
I felt really helpless today. I knew there was nothing else I would do for dad, I had taken care of that yesterday. I did spend some time alone with him, singing to him. He always liked to hear me sing. Then my brother joined me in some more sining later. We were told today that after 24 more hours of monitoring we would need to make a decision if there was no change. Due to my mom’s obvious emotional state, I made the phone calls to let family and close friends know.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
I woke up today knowing that my dad would die today. I cannot describe the feeling, other than the fact that you do feel physically ill along with it. The vent was taken off dad at around 3pm. We were surrounded my friends and family. Around 9pm I was getting some very uncomfortable pains in my abdomen, Greg and I decided to get them checked out around 10pm. I knew dad would go when I was away. Dad passed at 11:48pm after my brother was the final one to tell him goodbye. I went to see dad soon after.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Today was the anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s passing 14 years ago. I made breakfast for everyone, then we had to meet with the funeral director that afternoon. We also had to finalize things with the cemetery.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
We had the final meeting with the funeral director today, and made arrangements for the services at the church. There were so many decisions to be made,
Sunday, February 11, 2007
The visitation was this evening. I was very anxious about seeing my dad again, but was relieved at what I did see. He just looked like he was sleeping. When I saw him I screamed in my head over and over “Daddy, wake up!” I just couldn’t believe it was really happening. This just was another event that made everything sink in a little more. The funeral home workers estimated around 1,000 people showed up to the visitation, not included the ones who saw the line and decided not to stay.
Monday, February 12, 2007
I woke up today knowing I would never physically see my dad again. That was a really hard thing to imagine. We arrived to a surprise at the church, my dad’s truck. The guys from work had “In memory of José Madrigal” on both doors of his truck. It was perfect. The service was good. God gave Greg, Gabe, and myself the strength to share what we needed to share. The lunch afterward was the largest funeral meal the church had ever put on.
The days to follow were filled with waves of emotions. It still doesn’t seem real sometimes. I am just taking it a day, sometimes an hour at a time. I am completely letting God carry me through.
Originally written as a “note” on FB on February 27, 2007
