Ever think about those Ten Commandments before? I have lately. Each and everyone I seem to have broken at one time or another. Yet by His Grace I am saved. How blessed am I! I am far from perfect.
There is so much to tell, yet what is really important? What does God want me to share with you? I have no clue. What does he want from me truly? I have no clue. But I do know I have to write, write like I used to, to find that passion for his word and sharing it with others. I came to the conclusion that something is better than nothing, and that I would start with who I am and where I have come from, where I am, and where I am going. I am far from perfect, yet he chose to die for me. At times I wonder, was I worth it? To him I am, but to me in my heart I truly admit to His grace in my life, because had I been measured up to those Ten thou shall not’s I would be in big trouble!
I guess my first blunders that truly marked my life where as a young teenage girl. Blinded by pretty words, and handsome smiles, looking for something more. Something to love and something, someone, to love me back. I have no clue exactly what date and time I became obsessed with the idea. I was going to the church my parents met and married in. An older weary, yet beautiful catholic church. There was a nun I will never forget Ana. She gave me a gift for my fifteenth birthday; it was a wooden carved portrait of the Virgin Mary. In her arms was the baby Jesus. I held it dear to my heart for many years. For some reason I have always been attracted to the church. I felt at peace and loved being at church. I loved to visit the nuns and actually cherished catechism and youth group meetings. But something was missing in me. I even played the piano and sang in the chorus. Those poor people! It’s a good thing most were old and could not hear. There was a man who led the choir I remember him as well. He practiced with me countless hours for me to play on Sundays. So you ask how such a good little catholic girl could fall. Easily. My life was about the motions but I had not made the connection with God yet.
Let me take you a little further back, before I was even born. My Grandmother on my mother’s side and my father’s grandmother (my name sake) were both saintly women. Seriously these women lived whole heartedly for the Lord and always did good. Concha, My mother’s mother is the one I got to know growing up. She was always praying at several intervals in the day. Insisted on going to church every Sunday and always gave you her special blessing as you walked out the door. I remember her rocking me on her chair and singing children’s songs to me. I remembered most her smile. It was angelic like. Her faith was astonishing, always feeding someone in need. She had 7 children in total. And named each one of the girls Maria as their first name and changed their middle names. Needless to say they all are known by their middle name. My grandfather worked extremely hard in order to send all his children to catholic private school. My father’s grandmother, Ana Julia, I was not able to meet she died a year before I was born. But I am told of how amazing she was as well. Not to mention her amazing cooking skills. Both families took their children to church every Sunday and were highly involved within the church. My father’s father Fermin, led the choir during this time. My mother’s sister was learning to play the guitar from his family. It was fate that they would meet and marry one day. Throw in several funny stories, including how my mother thought my father was insane because he played the drums and had shaved his head at the time. Oh and let’s not forget that rumor of my mother’s famous black hot pants.
I can’t tell you what occurred, what made it all stop, where it all changed. But sometime in my childhood the families stopped attending and lives were changed forever. So it was when I was about 14 that my mother returned to her roots and returned to this church. She had taken us for many years to various catholic churches, depending on where we lived. My father at times I remember to make mother happy would attend, and let’s not forget the special catholic holidays. I remember my mother’s faithfulness as well. While she may not have realized it, I noticed her frustration about my father’s lack of faith. So I think that’s why this time period marks so strongly in my memory. I never questioned it but my father once again became involved in the church. He sang in the choir with me, he helped the church fix their a/c and countless other things. My father was a good guy, one that didn’t mind helping another. I wonder if my father was trapped by the motions, trapped by the repetitiveness as well.
Sometime during this period a charismatic movement group prayed over me, my mother was told that I was special and to take care of me. Humph me special? They were nuts. I still remember those words my mother told me I was special … Who me? Till this day I can’t think I have in anyway shape or form filled that place. I am far from perfect.