Over the years, I have been asked how my husband and I have managed to live on (mostly) one income. While choosing this lifestyle has not come without sacrifice, it has worked well for our family. Here are some necessary steps that continue to help us live frugally:
1. We paid off our debt, first.
When my husband and I were engaged, we took Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University course through our church (we highly recommend him and still follow many of his principles—check out his website). This is one of the most important steps we took, as it got us discussing finances and ensured we were on the same page before getting married.
I came into our marriage with $14,100.00 worth of debt that was comprised of a college loan, my Ford Escort and a credit card. While that may not seem like a lot to some, we still worked hard to pay it off as quickly as possible. We began what Ramsey refers to as the Debt Snowball in August of 2009, the month we got married. We were both employed full-time and paid $800.00 a month towards our debt. It took us 17 months to pay it off. I cannot explain the peace that came once that weight was off of our shoulders, but it was well worth it.
As newlyweds, we lived in a modest, two-bedroom duplex. Because the rent was cheap, we were able to chunk a good portion of our money to what we owed. We knew buying a home would come eventually.
2. We have a strict budget for groceries, and I make meal plans every week.
We are currently a family of four, and we budget $600.00 a month for groceries. I know families of similar sizes that budget much more, and others that set aside less. This amount works for us, and we strive to eat healthy food. That means we buy a good amount of produce and fewer processed items. Trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle is expensive!
When grocery shopping, we withdraw cash. It is much easier to stay within your budget when you are holding tangible dollar bills. There have been plenty of times that I have wanted to splurge on something but put it back on the shelf because I know we can't afford it that particular week.
In our modern world with sites like Pinterest and access to most things at the touch of a fingertip, finding recipes is easy. I typically plan for a maximum of three meals per week (we are good leftover eaters). I create my grocery lists based solely on what we will be consuming, and snacks for us. I do not usually deviate from the list when at the store. Side note: crockpots and Rotisserie chickens are especially helpful!
This also means that we seldom eat out. When we do, it is a welcome treat (and a separate budget line item). Do we have moments that we go for the convenience of a meal? Absolutely. Especially now that we are expecting our third child (hello, frozen chicken nuggets and french fries!). We just don't make it the norm.
3. We bought a house we could afford on ONE income.
I'll write that one more time: We bought a house we could afford on ONE income. Could we have bought a bigger, nicer home? Yes, but eventually we would have been living above our means and we would have accumulated debt all over again. When my husband and I were engaged, we agreed that when it came time for us to have children, I would stay at home with them (at least during their most formative years). We worked towards that end before our firstborn son arrived, a little after two years of marriage.
There is much peace in not ever having to think about my mortgage and whether or not we can afford it.
4. We love hand me downs and believe in the barter system.
We never say no when hand me downs are offered to us. If they don't work for whatever reason, we keep passing them along, or donate them to Goodwill (also a great place to find jeans for the children). We have been so blessed by some of the most generous people in our community through hand me downs. I never tire of receiving them, and I keep the cycle going by paying it forward when we are done with them.
Since resigning from my full-time teaching position in 2012, I have been giving piano lessons part-time from our home. I average about 15 students per semester. Every year, there are a few students whose parents cannot afford to pay the full monthly fee. I have bartered piano lessons for help with gardening, babysitting and meals. I have gained so much through these experiences, not to mention hardworking, dedicated students and families. It is a joy to live life intentionally with others, even if it means that four out of five weeknights our home is full of people and noise.
5. We tithe.
Of all the aforementioned tips that have helped us, this is the one that is most instrumental to our faith. We tithe 10% of our income, which means we give that amount back to the Lord (whom we believe blesses us with all things) and live on 90% of our income. "Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it." -Malachi 3:10 This is the only place in the Bible that the Lord says we can test Him, and we feel that is significant.
We don't know what it's like to live on 100% of our income because we've never done it. It has been our experience, however, that the Lord more than keeps His promises when you take Him at His word.
Has it always been easy? No. Do I sit around the house all day eating Bon-Bons? I wish! It is also important to note that it would be much harder for us to live this way if we lived anywhere else in the United States. South Texas has a reputation for being the poorest region in our country, and it is. The cost of living, therefore, is extremely affordable. When I take a step back and look at the larger picture, I am continually reminded that we are rich in the things that matter. When you have traveled the world and spent time in countries like China and Mexico, you see what real materialistic poverty looks like. But that, my friends, is a whole other post...
Now I want to hear from you! What are some money-saving practices that have helped you and your family (I am always a learner)?
Monday, February 8, 2016
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
The First Semester
"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." -Matthew 5:14-16
I started praying about my firstborn son's education when he was about 18-months old. It was at that age that I observed he was a self-motivated, eager learner. While getting ready to go somewhere, he would point to the letters and numbers on our license plates and recite them, or signal us to tell him what they were. He did the same thing while at the grocery store with the different food prices. Over time, it became more and more obvious to me and those around me: I had a very advanced child.
As a former classroom teacher, I continued working with him at home, letting him take the lead in whatever he was interested in. When he was a young toddler, that was letters, shapes, colors and numbers. When he turned three, just after his Thomas the Train fascination, we moved on to dinosaurs. This was one of my favorite topics, as I was learning right alongside him! As a child, I was only familiar with the main species portrayed in The Land Before Time: Triceratops, Apatosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, etc. Working with him exposed me to so many more! Currently, as a four-year old, we are learning about the presidents. Once again, I am learning, too!
Now that we have a whole semester under our belts, I have had time to reflect on my boy's experience as a whole. He loves school. He walks out the door every morning with a spring in his step and a big smile on his face. When I pick him up each day, he is excited to see his sister and me and come home. When I ask him what his favorite part of the morning was, his typical response is, "Playing on the playground."
Most recently, his class studied a unit on farming, and he brought home a cup with dirt and beans planted inside. Each morning, right after the sun comes up, he runs outside and yells, "Good morning, plant!" He has had it for about five days and it has not sprouted yet. He remains hopeful.
I had some reservations, initially, when sending him to school. I was confident we had made the right choice, but shared the normal questions and fears most parents have: Should we send him to school now? (He's only 3.) What if something bad happens on his campus? This school isn't in the best nor the worst neighborhood, but should we choose a better one? Our son has blonde hair, blue eyes, and light skin, so definitely he sticks out in a sea of children with darker features—will he be picked on?
These questions were all valid, but my husband and I chose not to make our decision based out of fear. While his first school year thus far has not been without its transitions and minor hiccups, none of what I feared has come to fruition. The administrators, staff and teachers that I know and have met are warm, welcoming and caring. Most of them know him by name. Because I served in public school education for seven years, I know some of the best and hardest working teachers work at these lower income schools. In Brownsville, all the schools are classified as such, a few more than others.
Our son has had such wonderful experiences that he would not have been exposed to had I kept him at home another year. He has grown tremendously in ways I would not have anticipated. We have had the privilege of meeting the families of some of his classmates at parties and other events; they have blessed us with their kindness, humility and hospitality. My firstborn speaks highly of his classmates and teachers.
Last year, when I was speaking to another mother who is not a fan of public schooling, she expressed concern over not feeling like her children would be safe in such an environment. I completely understood and respected where she was coming from, though I do not hold the same opinion. During our conversation, I referenced Matthew 5:14-16 (the verse posted at the top of this entry), and explained that the verse encouraged me to be part of our community, along with the rest of my family. She kindly responded with, "Yes, but in that verse, Jesus was not talking to children. He was talking to adults." She was absolutely right about that. However, I am raising children that will one day be adults, and I hope that they will choose to be lights to others.
I started praying about my firstborn son's education when he was about 18-months old. It was at that age that I observed he was a self-motivated, eager learner. While getting ready to go somewhere, he would point to the letters and numbers on our license plates and recite them, or signal us to tell him what they were. He did the same thing while at the grocery store with the different food prices. Over time, it became more and more obvious to me and those around me: I had a very advanced child.
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| This day in May of 2015 was a dream come true for our son! We visited Dinosaur World in Glen Rose, Texas. |
It became evident during his third year of life that he needed regular mental and social stimulation outside of me. We participated in regular playdates, and are blessed to be surrounded by grandparents and other family members that also contribute to his life. My husband and I began discussing and exploring different schooling options for him. To learn about why and how we chose a public school program, please read my entry, The First Day of School.
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| Our boy enjoys picking fresh green beans from our garden. |
Most recently, his class studied a unit on farming, and he brought home a cup with dirt and beans planted inside. Each morning, right after the sun comes up, he runs outside and yells, "Good morning, plant!" He has had it for about five days and it has not sprouted yet. He remains hopeful.
I had some reservations, initially, when sending him to school. I was confident we had made the right choice, but shared the normal questions and fears most parents have: Should we send him to school now? (He's only 3.) What if something bad happens on his campus? This school isn't in the best nor the worst neighborhood, but should we choose a better one? Our son has blonde hair, blue eyes, and light skin, so definitely he sticks out in a sea of children with darker features—will he be picked on?
These questions were all valid, but my husband and I chose not to make our decision based out of fear. While his first school year thus far has not been without its transitions and minor hiccups, none of what I feared has come to fruition. The administrators, staff and teachers that I know and have met are warm, welcoming and caring. Most of them know him by name. Because I served in public school education for seven years, I know some of the best and hardest working teachers work at these lower income schools. In Brownsville, all the schools are classified as such, a few more than others.
Our son has had such wonderful experiences that he would not have been exposed to had I kept him at home another year. He has grown tremendously in ways I would not have anticipated. We have had the privilege of meeting the families of some of his classmates at parties and other events; they have blessed us with their kindness, humility and hospitality. My firstborn speaks highly of his classmates and teachers.
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| Children wait to perform in the Christmas program at my son's school this past December. It was his first time in such a performance, and he did great! |
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Pruning for the Harvest
"I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." - John 15:5
It was December 29th, 2014, the day of my 33rd birthday. I sat at our kitchen table, looking out the window at the orange tree that sits along the fence in our backyard. We had harvested it just a couple of months before, and now it stood bare. I pruned it earlier in the day, hoping the process would encourage it to produce even more fruit the following year.
The fall season had been an especially rough one for a variety of reasons. My husband came and quietly sat down beside me. I looked straight at him and asked, with a large lump in my throat, "Why does the Lord keep taking things away from me?"
He looked out the window and asked, "What did you do to the orange tree earlier today?"
"I pruned it," I responded.
"Why did you do that?" he continued.
"Because if it has too many growths on it, they can choke one another out..."
He gently reminded me, "That is what the Lord is doing with you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
December 29th has always been one of my favorite days of the year. I was never one of those that felt like their birthday was overlooked because it was during the holidays. If anything, that made it even more special and magical in my book. "My birthday is four days after Christmas," I would proudly announce when asked.
The older I get, the more I am simply thankful for another year of life. I'm not one for throwing big parties for myself where I am the center of attention. In fact, the idea makes me cringe. I don't think my birthday should be a national holiday. Though, thanks to Christmas break, many people are, in fact, off from work. My husband and children do a great job of making me feel special all year long, and I count a few of my family members as some of my closest friends. Most years, this is more than enough, and I am content.
On December 29th of last year, though, I was sad. And lonely. And feeling left out and rejected. It was such a weird place to be in. I felt like a living paradox. On the one hand, I was living my dream of raising my children at home and working part-time. On the other, I struggled with wondering if that was really enough. I felt like the bare orange tree in our yard. What real fruit did I have to show for my labor? My life reminded me of the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray; each day I woke up and did the same things over and over and over again.
One of the things I appreciate most about my birthdate is that it is at the end of the year. It makes for good times of reflection and anticipation for the new year. Ready to be done with the tail end of 2014, I bowed my head in prayer. I prayed over the dreams and hopes I had for 2015. I prayed that I would keep my priorities in the correct order. I prayed many things.
As I prayed with my eyes closed, I began to get a vision. In the vision, I placed my hands on soil in our backyard. As soon as my hands touched the dirt, green vines started rapidly growing out and up from underneath my fingers. They were bright, thick and covered everything in sight. When I was done, I tried attributing what had happened to my overly active imagination. I also logically concluded that since our home is covered in ivy, it was not hard to think of green vines growing. I had recently taken off with gardening, so it could have been wishful thinking on my part.
I finally concluded in my mind what I knew to be true in my heart: the Lord had spoken to me.
---------------------------------------------------
"The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." - Isaiah 58:11
A dear friend sent me the above verse from Isaiah, and I decided that it would be my theme verse for 2015. I thought it tied in perfectly to what I had seen during my prayer time. All year, I clung to the vision.
Each time I entered a writing contest, I wondered, "Will this be it? Will this be the harvest I am supposed to reap this year?!" It turns out that many people the world over write well, and it is a fiercely competitive pursuit.
Still, I am officially a paid blogger now. As a writer for the Rio Grande Valley's Tots-Tweens blog, it is my job to find local family-friendly excursions and activities. After voluntarily blogging for a month, they offered to pay me for contributing once a week. It is a job that I have thoroughly enjoyed, and being able to include my children and see the experiences through their eyes is a definite plus.
I saw two big dreams come to fruition this year, one involving music, and the other, gardening. For years, my mother and I have joked about opening up a fine arts school for children. She would teach art, I would give piano lessons, and my sister, Erin, would give voice and/or dance lessons. This summer, we put our heads together and hosted our first Summer Music Camp, and it went very well. We had 11 participants, and spent four mornings playing hands-on musical activities, painting and learning about theory and composers. We look forward to hosting others, and seeing where this endeavor might lead.
Gardening is one of my favorite hobbies. Falling in love with it took me completely by surprise. (To learn about how it all started, read an entry I wrote in September, On How I Became a Gardener.)
Being part of the local Farmers' Market community has been a complete joy and honor. It may seem obvious to most, and it certainly is to me in hindsight, but I never thought to take the vision I had been given literally. I assumed it meant I would be fruitful in different areas of my life, but I took for granted that one of those areas would be growing produce.
------------------------------------------------------------
"Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him." - Psalm 34:8
We have lived in our home since August of 2012. Each year, our orange tree has produced fruit. This year, however, it produced so much that when it was ready to be harvested, the branches hung mere inches from the ground. The fruit is so much more delicious and sweeter than it has ever been, and we have had more than enough to share with friends, family and neighbors. We are still reaping the rewards, as we have yet to pick the last orange from the tree.
I couldn't help but think back to where my life was at exactly one year ago, as I stared bleakly out our kitchen window, and where it is now, as I look out with joy. You know what, though? I don't regret going through the rough patch last year. It was necessary. There is no harvest without pruning, in gardening and in our lives. I continue clinging to the promise of the vision the Lord showed me one year ago, praying that it spills over into the new year. I know that it will.
"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." - Galatians 6:9
"Blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" - Luke 1:45
It was December 29th, 2014, the day of my 33rd birthday. I sat at our kitchen table, looking out the window at the orange tree that sits along the fence in our backyard. We had harvested it just a couple of months before, and now it stood bare. I pruned it earlier in the day, hoping the process would encourage it to produce even more fruit the following year.
The fall season had been an especially rough one for a variety of reasons. My husband came and quietly sat down beside me. I looked straight at him and asked, with a large lump in my throat, "Why does the Lord keep taking things away from me?"
He looked out the window and asked, "What did you do to the orange tree earlier today?"
"I pruned it," I responded.
"Why did you do that?" he continued.
"Because if it has too many growths on it, they can choke one another out..."
He gently reminded me, "That is what the Lord is doing with you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
December 29th has always been one of my favorite days of the year. I was never one of those that felt like their birthday was overlooked because it was during the holidays. If anything, that made it even more special and magical in my book. "My birthday is four days after Christmas," I would proudly announce when asked.
The older I get, the more I am simply thankful for another year of life. I'm not one for throwing big parties for myself where I am the center of attention. In fact, the idea makes me cringe. I don't think my birthday should be a national holiday. Though, thanks to Christmas break, many people are, in fact, off from work. My husband and children do a great job of making me feel special all year long, and I count a few of my family members as some of my closest friends. Most years, this is more than enough, and I am content.
On December 29th of last year, though, I was sad. And lonely. And feeling left out and rejected. It was such a weird place to be in. I felt like a living paradox. On the one hand, I was living my dream of raising my children at home and working part-time. On the other, I struggled with wondering if that was really enough. I felt like the bare orange tree in our yard. What real fruit did I have to show for my labor? My life reminded me of the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray; each day I woke up and did the same things over and over and over again.
One of the things I appreciate most about my birthdate is that it is at the end of the year. It makes for good times of reflection and anticipation for the new year. Ready to be done with the tail end of 2014, I bowed my head in prayer. I prayed over the dreams and hopes I had for 2015. I prayed that I would keep my priorities in the correct order. I prayed many things.
As I prayed with my eyes closed, I began to get a vision. In the vision, I placed my hands on soil in our backyard. As soon as my hands touched the dirt, green vines started rapidly growing out and up from underneath my fingers. They were bright, thick and covered everything in sight. When I was done, I tried attributing what had happened to my overly active imagination. I also logically concluded that since our home is covered in ivy, it was not hard to think of green vines growing. I had recently taken off with gardening, so it could have been wishful thinking on my part.
I finally concluded in my mind what I knew to be true in my heart: the Lord had spoken to me.
 |
| Ivy grows steadily along the side of our house. |
---------------------------------------------------
"The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." - Isaiah 58:11
A dear friend sent me the above verse from Isaiah, and I decided that it would be my theme verse for 2015. I thought it tied in perfectly to what I had seen during my prayer time. All year, I clung to the vision.
Each time I entered a writing contest, I wondered, "Will this be it? Will this be the harvest I am supposed to reap this year?!" It turns out that many people the world over write well, and it is a fiercely competitive pursuit.
Still, I am officially a paid blogger now. As a writer for the Rio Grande Valley's Tots-Tweens blog, it is my job to find local family-friendly excursions and activities. After voluntarily blogging for a month, they offered to pay me for contributing once a week. It is a job that I have thoroughly enjoyed, and being able to include my children and see the experiences through their eyes is a definite plus.
I saw two big dreams come to fruition this year, one involving music, and the other, gardening. For years, my mother and I have joked about opening up a fine arts school for children. She would teach art, I would give piano lessons, and my sister, Erin, would give voice and/or dance lessons. This summer, we put our heads together and hosted our first Summer Music Camp, and it went very well. We had 11 participants, and spent four mornings playing hands-on musical activities, painting and learning about theory and composers. We look forward to hosting others, and seeing where this endeavor might lead.
 |
| Music Genetics Piano Studio Summer Camp, 2015 |
Gardening is one of my favorite hobbies. Falling in love with it took me completely by surprise. (To learn about how it all started, read an entry I wrote in September, On How I Became a Gardener.)
Being part of the local Farmers' Market community has been a complete joy and honor. It may seem obvious to most, and it certainly is to me in hindsight, but I never thought to take the vision I had been given literally. I assumed it meant I would be fruitful in different areas of my life, but I took for granted that one of those areas would be growing produce.
------------------------------------------------------------
"Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him." - Psalm 34:8
We have lived in our home since August of 2012. Each year, our orange tree has produced fruit. This year, however, it produced so much that when it was ready to be harvested, the branches hung mere inches from the ground. The fruit is so much more delicious and sweeter than it has ever been, and we have had more than enough to share with friends, family and neighbors. We are still reaping the rewards, as we have yet to pick the last orange from the tree.
I couldn't help but think back to where my life was at exactly one year ago, as I stared bleakly out our kitchen window, and where it is now, as I look out with joy. You know what, though? I don't regret going through the rough patch last year. It was necessary. There is no harvest without pruning, in gardening and in our lives. I continue clinging to the promise of the vision the Lord showed me one year ago, praying that it spills over into the new year. I know that it will.
"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." - Galatians 6:9
"Blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" - Luke 1:45
 |
| An image of our children playing near the orange tree in October. The fruit was not ripe enough to be picked yet. |
Monday, December 21, 2015
FREE Workout Classes in Los Fresnos
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| Christine (the instructor) likes to make us do squats– a lot! |
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| A photo of Christine and me, after class. ;) |
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| My favorite workout partner, my mom! |
I overheard a couple of ladies talking this morning after class about how what we do with Christine is the exact same thing they do at Gold's Gym (only without the cost!). I'll take it! I hope to see YOU there!
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Winter Wonderland
Seeing multiple pictures of the first midwest snowfall this past week has me feeling nostalgic. I remember my very first Iowa winter. It was the year 2000, and I was a freshman at Central College in Pella. Unprepared for what lay ahead, my recruitment officer (who was also from South Texas) took me and a handful of other winter newbies shopping for official gear.
I quickly learned that down feather jackets are the best for keeping warm. Wikipedia describes them as the following, "the down of birds is a layer of fine feathers found under the tougher exterior feathers." While they are not all aesthetically pleasing, my main concern was not freezing. My grandmother had also knit a multicolored hat and matching scarf for me. While experiencing my initial frosty season, I was especially thankful for her talent of making things. The hats and scarves I found in stores simply did not compare in the warming factor.
After searching at multiple stores, I settled on a pair of blue, little boy mittens that matched my new blue, reversible coat. Again, my objective was to maximize coziness. I have very small hands, and I didn't think having an extra inch hanging off the tip of my fingers in lady gloves was going to do the trick.
We went shopping early in the season so we would be prepared. To say I was a little excited about wearing my winter items would be an understatement. I hung everything up in my closet and waited for the day that is was cold enough to make an appearance. One blustery morning I awoke and saw that it was 40 degrees outside. 40 degrees?! I thought. I pressed my hand against the window and the cold sent chills down my spine. This has to be it.
I got dressed, wrapped the scarf around my neck, pulled my hat down over my head, put on my jacket and mittens. With an extra bounce in my step, I headed down the flight of stairs and out of the dormitory. As I stepped outside, I looked across the street and saw my current crush (insert a towheaded Iowan) walking straight towards me wearing jeans, a long sleeved shirt and Chacos. I don't know whether or not he saw me (perhaps I've blocked it out?), but I was mortified. I promptly turned around, marched back upstairs, took off the heavy winter apparel and put on a lighter jacket. I would rather suffer frostbite than make it more obvious that I was a stranger in a strange land.
Don't read too much into the aforementioned infatuation. Nothing came of it, and they changed monthly freshman year. Having grown up on the border of Mexico, I had never seen so many blonde haired and blue-eyed guys in my life; my senses were on exotic overload! Thankfully, this superficial stage didn't stick around for long.
Nothing beats that first snowfall. Everything goes quiet, as if a blanket of calm has fallen on the land. You look out the window and see the ground and rooftops covered in white, sparkly powder. While I would learn the ins and outs of thriving in the cold seasons, nothing was as magical (or severe) as that first one. Memories of classmates walking me to class by hand, "so the little Texan won't blow away," bring a smile to my face. The sound of the snow under my feet, and the surprising consistency of it falling off of me like sand I won't soon forget.
And lest you think that winter was my favorite season, let me remind you that once March arrived, I was ready for it to be gone. And oftentimes, in Iowa, it wasn't. It became a big pain in the butt. Every year. Thus, I think I'll stick to my tropical South Texas paradise for now, thank you very much.
I quickly learned that down feather jackets are the best for keeping warm. Wikipedia describes them as the following, "the down of birds is a layer of fine feathers found under the tougher exterior feathers." While they are not all aesthetically pleasing, my main concern was not freezing. My grandmother had also knit a multicolored hat and matching scarf for me. While experiencing my initial frosty season, I was especially thankful for her talent of making things. The hats and scarves I found in stores simply did not compare in the warming factor.
After searching at multiple stores, I settled on a pair of blue, little boy mittens that matched my new blue, reversible coat. Again, my objective was to maximize coziness. I have very small hands, and I didn't think having an extra inch hanging off the tip of my fingers in lady gloves was going to do the trick.
We went shopping early in the season so we would be prepared. To say I was a little excited about wearing my winter items would be an understatement. I hung everything up in my closet and waited for the day that is was cold enough to make an appearance. One blustery morning I awoke and saw that it was 40 degrees outside. 40 degrees?! I thought. I pressed my hand against the window and the cold sent chills down my spine. This has to be it.
I got dressed, wrapped the scarf around my neck, pulled my hat down over my head, put on my jacket and mittens. With an extra bounce in my step, I headed down the flight of stairs and out of the dormitory. As I stepped outside, I looked across the street and saw my current crush (insert a towheaded Iowan) walking straight towards me wearing jeans, a long sleeved shirt and Chacos. I don't know whether or not he saw me (perhaps I've blocked it out?), but I was mortified. I promptly turned around, marched back upstairs, took off the heavy winter apparel and put on a lighter jacket. I would rather suffer frostbite than make it more obvious that I was a stranger in a strange land.
Don't read too much into the aforementioned infatuation. Nothing came of it, and they changed monthly freshman year. Having grown up on the border of Mexico, I had never seen so many blonde haired and blue-eyed guys in my life; my senses were on exotic overload! Thankfully, this superficial stage didn't stick around for long.
 |
| All wrapped up in my winter gear! Friends sometimes joked that I looked like a marshmallow on a stick. |
And lest you think that winter was my favorite season, let me remind you that once March arrived, I was ready for it to be gone. And oftentimes, in Iowa, it wasn't. It became a big pain in the butt. Every year. Thus, I think I'll stick to my tropical South Texas paradise for now, thank you very much.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Why I Changed My Profile Picture
At a very early age, my mom told me, "Don't discuss religion and politics with people." She lived by this motto and up until this very day, I have yet to find out which presidential candidates she has voted for in different elections. There were times when this would greatly frustrate me, but I have come to admire the wisdom she has exerted in withholding such information from me.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I appreciate being able to keep in contact with friends and family across the miles. But, I can barely stand scrolling through my Newsfeed during election season because half of the posts make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. People are so bold when they can hide behind a screen. In the wake of last night's terrorist attacks in Paris, it didn't take long for friends to start standing and preaching from their soapboxes.
A fellow mom had posted in our local MOPS group that a UT student studying abroad in Paris had not been accounted for. I saw the request after midnight and begin praying for this young man I had never met and his family. I prayed for the victims of this atrocious act, their families, and those that inflicted the violence. I couldn't sleep.
Perhaps it was because on a very small scale, I understood the fear the country of France was experiencing. Like most others, I remember exactly where I was when 9/11 happened. Leaving my morning education class at the college library, I noticed a group of students huddled around the television in the lounge. Current events were constantly streaming and we seldom paid any attention to them. It struck me as odd that so many had congregated. When I saw the second plane hit the two towers, my heart sank. For the very first time in my life, I questioned my safety and the safety of my country. Though I was in Iowa, thousands of miles away from New York, the rest of my family was in Texas. I worried for them. Later in the day, my parents called me and simply said, "We just wanted to make sure you were okay." And I was.
A couple of years later, I was an exchange student in Granada, Spain. I fell in love with Western Europe and all the cultures that it is comprised of. That spring of 2003, the United States invaded Iraq and took down the statue of Saddam Hussein. My Spanish host family, most of my host country, and most of Europe, was completely appalled by our actions. Shortly after, the peace corp was withdrawn from Morocco, and we were no longer allowed to visit. I did not get to cross visiting Africa off of my bucket list. We lived in a predominately Muslim area, and though I never feared for my wellbeing, my perspective had shifted because of the state our world was in.
When my American friends and I visited the market and vendors asked us where we were from, just to be safe, I would say, "Mexico." And they believed me. Obviously, this was only stretching the truth a little, since I grew up on the border and am, in fact, Mexican American. Living among other cultures has a way of changing how you see things...which brings me to my point.
Webster's defines solidarity as unity or agreement of feeling or action, especially among individuals with a common interest, mutual support within a group. I chose to change my profile picture because I am standing with France. I am praying for France. On an extremely minute level, I have felt the uncertainly some of its citizens are feeling who were not directly harmed by the terrorist attacks, but now live in a world that has been turned upside down. This wasn't the first time this has happened in this part of the world, even this year alone.
Does this mean that I have turned a blind eye to the people of Syria, or that I think attacks in Beirut that happened just before don't matter? Absolutely not. Am I deaf to the cries of Mizzou and other universities in my own country? No, I am not.
But what do we do when we're weighing in on people's posts about such events? We give "100 likes" to those we agree with, and we have endless arguments (ahem, discussions) with others that don't see things the way we do. We search the internet for the perfect politically correct meme or article that couldn't possibly offend anyone, and we wait...for the applause of others. The affirmation that we're such spectacular intellectuals and exude wisdom on every occasion. When in reality, sometimes it comes across as self-righteous whining.
On one hand, it can be argued that all I can do from my border city to combat terrorism is pray. The way I see it, it is the best thing I can do. So I will continue to do just that. My prayers are by no means exclusive. "I call on you, my God, for you will answer me; turn your ear to me and hear my prayer." -Psalm 17:6 I know I am not alone in this.
Thus, my profile picture will serve as a constant reminder to me to pray not only for France, but for victims of terrorism everywhere, and those that commit the atrocious acts. And I will make no apologies for it.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I appreciate being able to keep in contact with friends and family across the miles. But, I can barely stand scrolling through my Newsfeed during election season because half of the posts make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. People are so bold when they can hide behind a screen. In the wake of last night's terrorist attacks in Paris, it didn't take long for friends to start standing and preaching from their soapboxes.
A fellow mom had posted in our local MOPS group that a UT student studying abroad in Paris had not been accounted for. I saw the request after midnight and begin praying for this young man I had never met and his family. I prayed for the victims of this atrocious act, their families, and those that inflicted the violence. I couldn't sleep.
Perhaps it was because on a very small scale, I understood the fear the country of France was experiencing. Like most others, I remember exactly where I was when 9/11 happened. Leaving my morning education class at the college library, I noticed a group of students huddled around the television in the lounge. Current events were constantly streaming and we seldom paid any attention to them. It struck me as odd that so many had congregated. When I saw the second plane hit the two towers, my heart sank. For the very first time in my life, I questioned my safety and the safety of my country. Though I was in Iowa, thousands of miles away from New York, the rest of my family was in Texas. I worried for them. Later in the day, my parents called me and simply said, "We just wanted to make sure you were okay." And I was.
A couple of years later, I was an exchange student in Granada, Spain. I fell in love with Western Europe and all the cultures that it is comprised of. That spring of 2003, the United States invaded Iraq and took down the statue of Saddam Hussein. My Spanish host family, most of my host country, and most of Europe, was completely appalled by our actions. Shortly after, the peace corp was withdrawn from Morocco, and we were no longer allowed to visit. I did not get to cross visiting Africa off of my bucket list. We lived in a predominately Muslim area, and though I never feared for my wellbeing, my perspective had shifted because of the state our world was in.
When my American friends and I visited the market and vendors asked us where we were from, just to be safe, I would say, "Mexico." And they believed me. Obviously, this was only stretching the truth a little, since I grew up on the border and am, in fact, Mexican American. Living among other cultures has a way of changing how you see things...which brings me to my point.
Webster's defines solidarity as unity or agreement of feeling or action, especially among individuals with a common interest, mutual support within a group. I chose to change my profile picture because I am standing with France. I am praying for France. On an extremely minute level, I have felt the uncertainly some of its citizens are feeling who were not directly harmed by the terrorist attacks, but now live in a world that has been turned upside down. This wasn't the first time this has happened in this part of the world, even this year alone.
Does this mean that I have turned a blind eye to the people of Syria, or that I think attacks in Beirut that happened just before don't matter? Absolutely not. Am I deaf to the cries of Mizzou and other universities in my own country? No, I am not.
But what do we do when we're weighing in on people's posts about such events? We give "100 likes" to those we agree with, and we have endless arguments (ahem, discussions) with others that don't see things the way we do. We search the internet for the perfect politically correct meme or article that couldn't possibly offend anyone, and we wait...for the applause of others. The affirmation that we're such spectacular intellectuals and exude wisdom on every occasion. When in reality, sometimes it comes across as self-righteous whining.
On one hand, it can be argued that all I can do from my border city to combat terrorism is pray. The way I see it, it is the best thing I can do. So I will continue to do just that. My prayers are by no means exclusive. "I call on you, my God, for you will answer me; turn your ear to me and hear my prayer." -Psalm 17:6 I know I am not alone in this.
Thus, my profile picture will serve as a constant reminder to me to pray not only for France, but for victims of terrorism everywhere, and those that commit the atrocious acts. And I will make no apologies for it.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
An Evening of Poetry
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| Mr. Chip Dameron. He gave me great advice. |
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| Mr. Glen Sorestad, the first Poet Laureate of Saskatchewan, Canada (2000-2004). |
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| Chip signs my copy of his book, Waiting for an Etcher. He said I have a beautiful name. |
But that was not my favorite part of the evening. My favorite part of the evening took me by surprise, like words perfectly penned together often do. Glen Sorestad read an entry from his collection, A Thief of Impeccable Taste, titled, Ten Years.
Ten Years
It is now ten years since you left.
After the mini-strokes, the path
your body wobbled down
as it slowed to a final stop,
after the final stroke unworded you
and shrunk your world
to the size of a hospital bed,
your heart unwound until nothing
and no one could wind it up again.
Ten years now I have missed you
daily –– the desperate reaching out
for what was so long a part of me,
belated recognition, with its constant
reminder, of how a mother is
heart and core of what a son becomes.
How I miss your easy laugh,
the gentle accord you fashioned
with the small world you knew
and neither demeaned or questioned,
but accepted and lived with as though
it held either everything or nothing
of how life's mystery unfolds.
He read this poem with a simple and gracious ease. And I wept. Wept. I didn't anticipate that I would cry when I decided to attend this poetry reading. I didn't expect the emotion this particular poem would evoke in me.
What Mr. Sorestad didn't know was that I have a four-year old boy at home who is one of my greatest joys. But recently, I have found myself, on occasion, growing frustrated with him. The words in his poem, "with its constant reminder, of how a mother is heart and core of what a son becomes," cut me to the core. And reminded me what is of utmost importance; the current stage of life my son is in is temporary, but his character will be lasting. I am to continue the work I am doing in his life, knowing that it is not done in vain.
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| Glen Sorestad signs my copy of his book, A Thief of Impeccable Taste. I thanked him for reading Ten Years. |
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