Just a short post for today:
Shout out to Abby Johnson! What a great testimony and inspiration. I read something from someone the other day, it was this:
They pronounce you dead when your heart stops beating; so why aren't you considered alive when you do have a heart beat?
http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/the-ultrasound-that-changed-my-life-abby-johnsons-pro-life-conversion-in-he
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
You know you fight too...
This past Sunday, our Pastor said something that really made me think twice. It was this:
"When you and your spouse fight, you don't get hysterical; you tend to get historical."
Sometimes for me it's both, but the majority of the time I do get historical. Things that happened weeks, months, and sometimes even years ago are re-hashed.
Humor me and imagine a fight between you and your spouse. Imagine being on a large battlefield. You on one side with your armor intact, your helmet in place, and your weapon of choice ready. For me, it would be the Barrett M82 (but let's be serious, it's priced at a little over $8,000; that's not happening anytime soon) and I would probably have a samurai sword on me too. (I mean, come one. Everyone looks good carrying one of those. Just think of Michonne on The Walking Dead!) And my husband would be on the other side of the field with a souped up AR-15 and a couple handguns on his person. It would be an epic battle---imagine one where nobody dies---and I'm sure if I was mad enough at him; I would find the slightest bit of enjoyment out of his pain. I can just see myself sniping words of insult across that field at him and having him retaliate with bullets of anger. I may even get close enough to lash at him with my sword of hate. Or, if I'm provoked enough, I may even grab some rounds that are many years old. Because, although they are old; they still pack a heck of a punch.
This is a cartoonized idea of what really happens in the heat of an argument, but the idea is the same. We fight as if our lives depend on it and oftentimes we hold nothing back, digging as deep as years past. But in reality, it doesn't change things. It may make us feel better, but the feeling is temporary. I've done it so many times that I know. It's in my sinful nature to do so.
But there's always an alternative.
Grace.
Grace: God blessing us despite the fact that we do not deserve it. Extending kindness to the unworthy. It may not work the first time, or even the second time, but it will keep the argument from escalating and I guarantee you that it will eventually provoke a loving reaction from the other party. And most times it's not something your spouse will be expecting you to throw at them. It'll catch them off guard, which it's always great to have the element of surprise.
I mean come on, it's always easier fighting alongside your best friend than it is against them, right?
"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God---not by works, so that no one can boast." Ephesians 2:8-9
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Throwback Thursday
Some of my earliest memories from childhood are from when my mom and I first came to the United States in 1995. Not only was it a culture shock, but everything about this new country was shocking to me. The language, the climate, the people; they all shocked me.
My mom tells me a story that I don't remember too well, but she said that when we got off the plane from the Philippines I was in awe of all the American people I saw. So much so, that I pointed to a pretty, tall, blonde woman and said, "Look Mommy, a real Barbie!" That's when she had to explain to me that people in America had yellow hair. In fact sometimes they had brown or red hair too. I was so used to seeing short, dark haired Filipino people and seeing my Barbie dolls come to life was like a dream come true.
A few weeks into moving, I had another major culture shock; this time it was concerning food. My mom and I were living with my aunt and uncle and their two sons. Josh, their oldest, was my age and Joe, their youngest was still a baby. One night, all of the adults left and they had Josh's grandmother babysit us. I still didn't speak English very well and she didn't speak a word of Tagalog so already the night was starting off badly. Grandma ordered pizza for the kids since she knew that all
little kids loved pizza...right?
No.
Wrong.
When the pizza got there and she served my plate, I started crying. And not just, boo-hoo-I'm-sad crying, but boo-hoo-I'm-miserable-why-is-this-woman-trying-to-poison-me crying. And Grandma didn't understand why I was so upset and I couldn't tell her because I didn't speak English, so it was one big mess. She finally called my aunt and asked her to talk to me over the phone. I told her what was wrong.
I wanted rice.
That's it.
Just.
Rice.
See, you have to understand that in the Philippines, EVERY meal is eaten with rice. When we ask someone what they are having for dinner in the Philippines, we ask them what their "ulam" is. And that practically means, "What are you having to eat with rice tonight?" And that's just what I was used to.
I'm not sure if she ended up feeding me rice, but I can honestly say that 16 years later; pizza is one of my favorite foods! :)
And I have a last story for you readers out there. This one happened a few months into our move. My Grandpa (who we called Amang) came from the Philippines to visit us. One day, while the adults were at work, Amang was on babysitting duty. He didn't speak English very well at the time; instead he spoke what we Filipinos refer to as Taglish. Broken English. Anyways, while Amang was busy watching "The Price Is Right" in the living room, my cousin, Josh and I decided to grab the portable phone and take it to his parents room. There were a few numbers attached to the back of the phone. One of them being 911. I convinced Josh that it would be okay to call; my six year old mind thought that it would be fun. So we dialed those 3 numbers and we were going to hang up, but those dispatchers are fast! Before we could hang up, a lady's voice came over the phone [and not completely understanding her]; I handed the phone to Josh. I don't exactly remember what happened after that, but I do know that we must have hung up because they called back and Amang---with his Broken English---had to try to explain to them that he didn't call them, nor did he need assistance. Well, when he got off the phone, he was so upset at us that...
he spanked us right there in the hallway. The very same hallway that was by the front door. And the very same front door that just happened to have 2 large police officers ringing the doorbell and listening to Josh and I screaming and crying.
So yes, it looked p r e t t y bad when Amang opened the door and had two crying kids hiding behind him. It looked like he was beating us! But not to worry, it all ended well. Apparently, the police officers were all about "spare the rod, spoil the child" (as am I...now).
These first few experiences in the States were funny, but they are things that I remember many years later, as I'm sure many other family members do as well. Even though I was skeptical when we moved countries, I'm so glad that God directed us here. It is an amazing country, with amazing people and it's crazy to think that God knew what I was I going to be doing and where I was going to end up; even before I ended up here!
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
My mom tells me a story that I don't remember too well, but she said that when we got off the plane from the Philippines I was in awe of all the American people I saw. So much so, that I pointed to a pretty, tall, blonde woman and said, "Look Mommy, a real Barbie!" That's when she had to explain to me that people in America had yellow hair. In fact sometimes they had brown or red hair too. I was so used to seeing short, dark haired Filipino people and seeing my Barbie dolls come to life was like a dream come true.
A few weeks into moving, I had another major culture shock; this time it was concerning food. My mom and I were living with my aunt and uncle and their two sons. Josh, their oldest, was my age and Joe, their youngest was still a baby. One night, all of the adults left and they had Josh's grandmother babysit us. I still didn't speak English very well and she didn't speak a word of Tagalog so already the night was starting off badly. Grandma ordered pizza for the kids since she knew that all
little kids loved pizza...right?
No.
Wrong.
When the pizza got there and she served my plate, I started crying. And not just, boo-hoo-I'm-sad crying, but boo-hoo-I'm-miserable-why-is-this-woman-trying-to-poison-me crying. And Grandma didn't understand why I was so upset and I couldn't tell her because I didn't speak English, so it was one big mess. She finally called my aunt and asked her to talk to me over the phone. I told her what was wrong.
I wanted rice.
That's it.
Just.
Rice.
See, you have to understand that in the Philippines, EVERY meal is eaten with rice. When we ask someone what they are having for dinner in the Philippines, we ask them what their "ulam" is. And that practically means, "What are you having to eat with rice tonight?" And that's just what I was used to.
I'm not sure if she ended up feeding me rice, but I can honestly say that 16 years later; pizza is one of my favorite foods! :)
And I have a last story for you readers out there. This one happened a few months into our move. My Grandpa (who we called Amang) came from the Philippines to visit us. One day, while the adults were at work, Amang was on babysitting duty. He didn't speak English very well at the time; instead he spoke what we Filipinos refer to as Taglish. Broken English. Anyways, while Amang was busy watching "The Price Is Right" in the living room, my cousin, Josh and I decided to grab the portable phone and take it to his parents room. There were a few numbers attached to the back of the phone. One of them being 911. I convinced Josh that it would be okay to call; my six year old mind thought that it would be fun. So we dialed those 3 numbers and we were going to hang up, but those dispatchers are fast! Before we could hang up, a lady's voice came over the phone [and not completely understanding her]; I handed the phone to Josh. I don't exactly remember what happened after that, but I do know that we must have hung up because they called back and Amang---with his Broken English---had to try to explain to them that he didn't call them, nor did he need assistance. Well, when he got off the phone, he was so upset at us that...
he spanked us right there in the hallway. The very same hallway that was by the front door. And the very same front door that just happened to have 2 large police officers ringing the doorbell and listening to Josh and I screaming and crying.
So yes, it looked p r e t t y bad when Amang opened the door and had two crying kids hiding behind him. It looked like he was beating us! But not to worry, it all ended well. Apparently, the police officers were all about "spare the rod, spoil the child" (as am I...now).
These first few experiences in the States were funny, but they are things that I remember many years later, as I'm sure many other family members do as well. Even though I was skeptical when we moved countries, I'm so glad that God directed us here. It is an amazing country, with amazing people and it's crazy to think that God knew what I was I going to be doing and where I was going to end up; even before I ended up here!
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
This is a picture of Amang, Joe, Josh and I :)
This is just a few months after being in the United States. I celebrated my first birthday in America, which of course, was really my sixth birthday. (Oh yeah...and that's Josh with his hands on his head) Haha!
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