Thank you Lord for giving us the birth of your Son as a reminder of what You are capable of. May He give us His perspective so that we may treasure up all these things and ponder them in our hearts beyond this holiday season. (Luke 2:19)
At this time of year as I try to set aside the holiday rush and connect with the real reason for the season, I find myself wondering what it was like to be a witness to what God was doing in the lives of Mary and Joseph. The Bible doesn’t say what their immediate families thought about Mary’s claims to be a virgin with child. The only glimpse of unbelief comes from Joseph when he considers divorcing Mary.
Looking at how Mary and Joseph kept their faith in the midst of such possible ridicule and shame helps me to see how God operates in our lives. Here are a few ways that God reminded Mary and Joseph what He was capable of:
An angel told Mary she would give birth—as a virgin.
Mary visited Elizabeth and received confirmation of what the angel told her.
Have you ever longed to go back to your childhood home—one that your family left many, many years ago? Did you dare drive around in the neighborhood or maybe even knock on the door in hopes of connecting with the new residents and maybe getting a chance to go inside? Or maybe your childhood memories were too painful to even think of doing such a thing.
This kind of chance of a lifetime recently presented itself to me—and like so many of these life coincidences; I took it as a sign from God to follow where He was leading me.
In the Neighborhood
It was on my 54th birthday—also the day that my driver’s license was expiring. So a trip to the Department of Licensing became a high priority on this day—not something I really had time for or wanted to do. I made the best of it though, even deciding to wear a special outfit so my ‘mug’ shot might have a chance of being pleasantly memorable.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I took more than a mental note of where I was. My childhood home was around the corner. A few weeks earlier, I had pulled out my memoir, still unworked on since last year’s NaNoWriMo. I began the painful process of re-reading it, but stopped after the first chapter, the chapter about my mother’s nervous breakdown and living in this neighborhood. After that reading, I felt God nudge me to contact the one last neighbor who I knew still lived in the neighborhood. But I didn’t act on it.
Or can you?
Although this wasn’t the home or neighborhood I was born in, I knew God was giving me another nudge, on my birthday, to pursue this last link to my childhood. I’d been to this neighborhood before several times as an adult. It was one of the first places I visited when my husband and I moved to the state of Washington about 25 years ago. At that time I went so far as to meet the residents, the people who bought the home from my parents in 1966.
This day’s visit was to the neighbor’s house though. The name on the mailbox was still the surname of a childhood friend. Maybe, just maybe, I would get some more insight into the day my mother had her nervous breakdown and our life on that street.
I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I was torn. Should I leave a note under the door? I just couldn’t believe that God brought me to this doorstep without as much as an answer.
My Childhood Home
So I took the bold step of going next door to my former home. An elderly woman answered the door. I told her a bit about who I was, a writer, etc., and asked about the neighbor. I was surprised when she invited me into the home and even offered me a seat in the living room.
Hiding behind the 50-year old landscaping lies my childhood home.
It was surreal. I had just written a post about the events of JFK’s assassination on that day—my birthday—50 years ago. And here I was sitting in the same room where I watched the unfolding of those horrific events in our nation’s history. I shed a tear or two in the retelling of the significance of that home.
The couple was quite kind to me. They gave me free reign of the house, asked me things about the property, and what it was like back in those days. The house seemed much smaller to me than I remembered, but that isn’t unusual in light of the fact I was a mere 3-6 years old when we lived there.
Regarding the neighbor, I found out that he had sold the house and moved out a month ago. Too bad I didn’t follow that nudge back then, I thought to myself. But his dementia would’ve precluded his ability to help me anyway.
The street sign may have read ‘DEAD END’, but the events of the day proved otherwise.
What Lies Around the Corner?
It was all so unanticipated—to stop by the neighborhood, to knock on their door, and most assuredly to be invited inside. Their invitation and interest was a precious gift to me, one that I’m not sure they were really able to fully comprehend. Out of my gratitude for their kindness to me, I gave them a signed copy of my book.
Plan as we may, we never really know for sure what lies ahead in our lives from day to day. What if God is calling us to something just around the corner? Would you heed to His nudge? Would you blindly do something that to outsiders may look foolish or presumptuous?
Some may say I have a habit of doing those things. Others see it as obedience and trusting God when I embrace these chance encounters. I’m just grateful that He cares enough to give me these little kisses from above, and that others may be inspired to do the same—turning their healing into hope.
In the end, I really was able to go home again. And that really was the proverbial icing on the cake for my 54th birthday.
The year was 1983. It was a very memorable year for me. I got married, my husband graduated from chiropractic college, we moved to his hometown back in Illinois, bought the family home, and started his chiropractic practice in the rural town of Sandwich, Illinois. It was an exciting and stressful time in our lives.
The Chiropractic Wife
While studying for the CPA exam, I was also working with my husband to build his practice. I was learning about chiropractic, how to navigate the ins and outs of insurance billing, and how to manage the front desk operations. Unfortunately I didn’t pass that exam, and I took it more than once. I gave up my dream of being a CPA and caught my husband’s dream. I became the typical chiropractic wife—devoted to chiropractic and to my husband’s business.
For the early years of our marriage we led a blissful life, working long hours to build the practice and traveling across country to chiropractic conferences. His second year out of chiropractic college, he decided to change from the more traditional manual (hands-on) adjusting technique to a more gentle technique called Activator Methods. From that point on he has devoted nearly all of his patient treatment to the Activator technique.
30 Years Later
We no longer live in Illinois, and I no longer work for my husband, but have done so at varying times of our marriage. We live in the suburbs of Seattle, Washington where my husband started another practice based on the Activator technique. He is an Advanced Proficiency rated doctor. Way back when my husband started using the Activator technique I knew that someday he would be up front teaching. Someday is here.
My husband, Dr. Curtis Nelson, teaching at the Phoenix Activator seminar.
I am so proud of my husband and the platform teaching role he now holds in his profession. (He has been an assistant teacher for many years.) His new teaching role started last spring. Last month, I got to travel with him to a conference for the first time in years. I wasn’t the typical chiropractic wife, but I knew it was time for me to step back into the role of wife to my husband, who just happens to be a chiropractor. The timing couldn’t have been more God anointed for me.
Weekend in Arizona
A chiropractic couple we’ve known for those 30 years recently moved to Seattle and is starting over with a practice here. The husband, Dr. Ed Shepherd, has been teaching at Activator conferences for years. So we joined the Shepherds for a weekend trip to Phoenix where the men taught and the women played. My friend Cheryl and I explored the Red Rock Country of Sedona one day and the Chihuly Exhibit at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix the next. Breath-taking views abound. The heat reminded me of Spain, but the views were definitely the Southwest.
Cheryl and me on the way to Sedona.
On Saturday night, spouses were invited to join the teaching doctors for dinner with the co-founder and CEO of Activator Methods, Dr. Arlan Fuhr, and his wife, Judi. I was torn. I wanted to explore Sedona and have a leisurely dinner with Cheryl. Cheryl, who works with her husband, wanted to return to Phoenix and join the chiropractic dinner party. Sedona would have to wait until another trip.
When seated at the dinner table, I had the unexpected honor of sitting closest to Dr. Fuhr (aside from his wife). An introvert by nature and not up to date on the status of the chiropractic profession or advances in Activator, I felt a bit awkward. With a heart for Spain, I asked him about Activator in Europe, and specifically in Spain.
Dinner with the Fuhr’s and the other chiropractic instructors.
I was surprised to learn that the Fuhr’s were on their way to Madrid in just a few days. I was even more shocked and excited to hear he was teaching Activator to the first chiropractic graduates in an accredited program in Spain. Naturally I brought up my summer travels to Spain, and in time, how my story in Journeys to Mother Love is connected to Spain.
In God’s Timing
By the end of the weekend, Dr. Fuhr had an autographed copy of my book in his hands for him and Judi. It brought a tear to my eye to give away this copy of my book. I know it landed in good hands. I know it is an indirect expansion of my Spanish connection. I know it was not coincidence at this point in my life to have this encounter. It felt like a kiss from Above.
Dr. Fuhr and me, expanding my Spanish connection.
It took 30 years for my husband to step into his role as an Activator instructor. My role is no longer as a business partner in his practice. It is now as a spousal supporter of his professional career. I have my own career now in writing and indirectly in ministry to the people of Spain. The two intersected in a restaurant in Phoenix in a way that only God could’ve orchestrated.
It’s not just another old wives’ tale. God’s timing was once again, perfect.
Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ
Chihuly glass art exhibit at the Desert Botanical Gardens.
You don’t have to be a history buff to know that Friday marks the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy (commonly referred to as JFK). The magazine stands at the grocery check-out counter are filled with commemorative editions of that painful time in American history. Television programs are airing with their historical accounts as well.
One of many magazines and books I’ve collected about JFK over the years, 1988.
50 Years Ago in Dallas
It was a day that changed America; maybe not much different than the events of 9-11 are for this generation. Kennedy’s assassination also marked the loss of a sense of safety and security in our lives. It was a time when Americans came face to face with evil in our country—the first signs of terrorism on our soil, so to speak.
The assassination of JFK sent shock and grief into our nation and the world. All eyes turned to America. In 1963, television news wasn’t the 24/7 force that it is today. It was in its infancy stages. In fact, the first televised presidential debates were held between John F. Kennedy and Richard M. Nixon in 1960.
For four days in our nation’s history, November 22-25, 1963, people were glued to their television sets. We watched clips of the unfolding of the story: the President’s body flying back to Washington DC, people filing past his body lying in state at the U.S. Capitol, the horse-drawn carriage of the flag-draped coffin slowly proceeding to Arlington National cemetery.
JFK, Jr. models courage and honor at the tender young age of 3 years old.
In the midst of this sorrow, we also watched the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald, the suspected assassin of JFK, by Jack Ruby on live television. Then there was the emblazoned image of little 3-year old John F. Kennedy, Jr., saluting the coffin as it passed by in front of him. It was definitely a grief that shook our nation.
50 Years Ago in Seattle
What if that day was also the much anticipated birthday of a bubbly 4-year old girl? Maybe the grief of the nation was also the grief that shook this young girl who desperately desired and wanted the attention and love of her own parents. Instead her wants and desires were overshadowed by the grief of our nation.
Kennedy’s body lies in state–a grief that shook the nation.
What if the disappointments that surfaced on that day for that little girl went on to fuel and magnify other losses, and the belief that she was unimportant and unloved? What if a few years later, that same little girl, watches as her mother is taken away after suffering a nervous breakdown?
What if she keeps longing for answers to what happened and why, but she doesn’t get resolution? These are sad things to think about, for sure. I know because that little girl was me.
Unanswered Questions?
I, like the rest of the world, will probably never know the real answer or motives behind what happened 50 years ago in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963. Yet as my 54th birthday quickly approaches, I’m getting answers to some questions that my 4-year old Ardis has been longing to know. It is a gift from above to finally get more clarity on my life and move forward with it.
Eternal flame and burial site of President and Mrs. Kennedy, Arlington Cemetery
So I look at the passing of another year’s reminder of the assassination of JFK through a different lens. It is through the lens of someone who carries 11-22 as a joyful marker of her birth, while also still processing the reminders of a painful childhood. I’m grateful that the Lord is giving me the ability to hold both of those realities in the palm of my hand and know that He is turning my healing into hope.
I’ve heard it said that ignorance is bliss. After my summer in Spain, I’d have to say that ignorance is definitely not bliss.
With all the physical, mental, and spiritual preparation I did for my trip, I never once thought to research what it was like to live in a foreign country. I heard of culture shock, didn’t really know anything about it except for the general term, and didn’t think for a moment that it was something I needed to be aware of.
Beautiful monuments, statues, cathedrals, and architecture–constant visual reminders that I wasn’t in America. (Plaza Mayor, Madrid)
What is Culture Shock?
Merriam-Webster.com defines culture shock as “a sense of confusion and uncertainty sometimes with feelings of anxiety that may affect people exposed to an alien culture or environment without adequate preparation.”
All the while I was in Spain; there were no outward signs of culture shock. I thought I was adjusting well to all of the changes in environment (except the heat). My host family repeatedly told me how well I fit in with the Spanish lifestyle. But inside there was something much deeper going on. I pushed the anxiety and the doubts about what I was going through aside. I took each day as a new day to experience Spain, and document everything I could in any free moment I could steal away to myself.
Acting like a stereo-typical tourist, while also fitting in with the Spanish lifestyle, Madrid
My Quest for Answers
After I returned home, I did some research on what it is like to physically live in a foreign country. I found out that culture shock is a real psychological phenomenon. I stumbled upon it while doing research for some of my earlier posts about Spain.
There is a lot on the internet about culture shock, and this is not intended to a be a lesson about it. I did find out though that there are four phases: honeymoon, negotiation, adjustment and mastery. Clearly I never made it to a point of mastery, but was definitely trying to quickly adapt through the other three phases. Another source listed them as stages: wonder, frustration, depression and acceptance. Just as surprising to me was finding out about reverse culture shock. All of this explains why I had a hard time re-entering my life in the U.S. and also explains the bouts of depression I experienced.
The psychological effects of culture shock.
In my quest for answers to what I had gone through, I started to follow blogs of other non-natives living in Spain. I found sites from ex-pats living in Spain, ESL teachers, pilgrims journeying on the Way of St. James, and the like. It was a relief to be able to observe their experiences, communicate with them, and most importantly to know that I was not alone in what I was going through.
I’ve also spoken with some missionary friends. One pointed me to an article on “trailing spouse syndrome”. I had never heard of that either, but reading that served as another relief for my emotionally weary soul.
Brave or Naïve?
Many people have told me that I was brave to go to Spain alone like that. Every time someone said that I thought, “but I won’t be alone.” I was going to live with people I already knew. Little did I know how this would affect me.
I think that since Pedro, our Spanish host son, so easily adapted to family life in America, and never said anything or showed any evidence of his own culture shock, I just took it for granted that my transition would be smooth as well. He fit in with us so easily; I think I forgot he was Spanish.
Being brave? No, it’s just a unique way of mailing a letter. (Toledo, Spain)
I am so grateful to my Spanish family for hosting me and opening up my eyes to life in their country. I miss Spain. I miss my Spanish family—all 26 of them. I know I’ll return someday and am already planting those seeds for a trip with my husband.
So was I brave or naïve in journeying to Spain for six weeks last summer? It was definitely brave! I have no regrets—only gratitude to my heavenly Father for the experience, the lessons, the love, and the hope He has given me for how He wants to use it for His glory.
Showing off my bravery by eating new foods–pulpo de gallego, a Spanish favorite (Octopus Galician style)
I was 33 years old when I had my first child. Like many women, I felt unsure of myself and ill-equipped to be a mother. Unlike many, though, I believed I had good reason for my misgivings.
My mother had a nervous breakdown when I was six. She was still able to function in her role as a housewife, but it left her emotionally unavailable to me. For whatever reason, she rarely spent time with me in the kitchen or preparing me for my role as a wife or mother.
As I grew up and went out on my own, I wondered whether I would ever be a mother or have kids of my own. I never had a strong desire to be around children. I didn’t have the longing, like I hear some women express, to have children to feel complete.
Three months ago when I stepped on Spanish soil, I had to make many decisions about how to live in that country. I had to quickly adapt without the benefit of having my American family or friends with me. I chose to fully immerse myself in everything Spain.
I put aside my allergen sensitive diet and ate most everything I was offered. At first I didn’t notice any dramatic symptoms. I was fighting the heat, dehydration, and jet lag. I guess I was dealing with culture shock as well, but didn’t realize it at the time.
“You made it to Spain! You are experiencing the trip of your life. Don’t miss a second of it.” Those were the words that kept me going. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Push, push, push. “It’s only six weeks,” I reminded myself. All the while that I partook, my body registered everything that was happening.
My trip of a lifetime, seeing sights like the Roman aqueduct from the 1st century, Segovia, Spain.
Now That I’m Home
I returned home from Spain in early August and was again dealing with adjustments back to my American lifestyle and diet. But after the first few weeks, I didn’t bounce back to my old normal self. I knew something was physically wrong. A trip to the naturopath confirmed what I suspected. My Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) was in relapse.
I’ve been here before. I know it is a slow process to get back up and running to a normal pace—one that includes lots of self-care, body work, and giving myself grace to not push so hard. I have no regrets. It just goes to show that you never know when or how things can suddenly change in your life.
Back in Spain
Case in point, a few weeks after I left Spain, Rafa, Pedro’s father, had a stroke. It came as a big shock to me and, of course, to their entire family. Thankfully Rafa got treatment right away. He is doing much better and a full recovery is expected.
Queen for a day, with Rafa as my escort at the Royal Palace in Madrid.
Naturally it took me back to the fears I had after my mother’s stroke. She never regained her speech or use of the right side of her body. It also felt like déjà vu to me as I lit a candle in the Catholic Church for Rafa and fervently prayed for this family. My heart ached for Rosa again, and for the burden that fell upon the family while still caretaking for Perico, Rosa’s father.
On the bright side, I was so grateful to have personally met Rafa before this happened. I was thankful for the many special times I had with this family, and Rafa in particular.
Rafa was a wonderful host and tour guide while on my travels throughout Spain. He is an avid shutterbug like me and took lots of great photos of my trip. He was also my protector in many ways—even going so far as to escort me one Sunday morning on the subway so I could attend a Protestant Church service. I am thankful for his generosity to me and am praying for his continued recovery.
In the Blink of an Eye
A few years ago, I used to have a tag line as part of my email signature block that read: Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry; God never blinks. (Regina Brett) It was a little reminder to trust God when things didn’t go as I expected.
Nothing surprises God. He knows what lies ahead for us. It is up to us how we are going to respond to it.
As I am coming out of denial and learning to accept what I did to my body again, I am believing in God’s promises and clinging to the hope that He offers. His words to me, and others who are hurting in physical and emotional ways, are from a familiar Bible verse: “but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:31, NIV)
I can blink without worry because my hope is in the Lord.
I’ve been asked many times how my story, “Walking My Mother Home”, came to be published in Journeys to Mother Love. I’ve written about that under the category “My Writing Journey”. In this post from journeystomotherlove.com, the blog for the book, my publisher tells the story of how the book was birthed. Thank you Catherine Lawton and Cladach Publishing for following that gentle nudge from the Lord. I’ve been blessed over and over again to be part of such an inspiring book.
Hard to believe, but more than a year has passed since the book Journeys to Mother Love was published and the authors started sharing this blog as well. How did these nine women, who live in all corners of this great country, come together in this way? Well, here’s the story.
As publisher and editor of Cladach Publishing, a small Christian press, I was invited to the Colorado Christian Writers Conference in Estes Park, Colorado, to give 15-minute interviews to authors. At the May, 2011 conference I spoke with three or four women in one day who had heart-wrenching personal stories that they hoped to have published as books. The authors were so passionate and full of the fresh touch of the Lord, and their stories so real and relevant for many women, that I couldn’t get away from thinking about them. By the third or fourth interview the thought…
After my second viewing of the movie “Home Run” a few days ago, I’m left thinking about the face of recovery and why so many people sit in denial about their issues. By issues I mean unhealthy habits like hiding their hurts, medicating their pain, isolating, and trying harder to make life fit their demands.
Cory Brand, the main character of the movie, played by Scott Elrod, is one such person. He is a major league baseball all-star who is forced to face his alcoholism after a DUI and team suspension. In recovery circles, we call it hitting bottom. It is not a pleasant moment in one’s life, but for those who choose recovery as a result, and work through a 12-step program, their lives are transformed. I know because I lived through it myself.
Breaking Through the Wall of Denial
Through the use of vivid flashbacks, the movie shows the pain of Cory’s upbringing, as he lived with an alcoholic father who expected perfection from his son at an early age. The scenes are hard to watch at times as you feel for what Cory went through (rated PG-13). These painful reminders drive Cory to drink and lash out in anger, unwittingly repeating the generational curse of his father.
Cory is like many of us who have found recovery. We don’t come easily or quietly. Our denial runs deep. What struck me in this story, was that despite his being mandated by his team to attend a 12-step program as a condition of his suspension, he doesn’t embrace it until later on in the movie. He just goes through the motions. His life continues to spiral out of control until he finally realizes he can’t do it on his own. That is the point in which one really starts recovery—coming out of denial.
Why Recovery?
Step 1 of Celebrate Recovery reads: “We admitted that we were powerless over our addictions and compulsive behaviors, that our lives had become unmanageable.” That brings me to a misconception that is dealt with in a powerful way in the movie. Recovery gets a bad rap because most people think that recovery is for “those” people. You know who I mean—alcoholics, drug addicts, and people who REALLY have problems. That is so far from the truth. I won’t give away the story, but suffice it to say, that just because someone is a Christian or lives their life in a Godly manner doesn’t mean they’ve had it easy. We all carry hurts inside of us, and we all have to deal with life’s problems.
Celebrate Recovery – A Christian 12-Step Program
Celebrate Recovery (CR) is a Christian 12-step program that helps people with their hurts, habits and hang-ups. It’s for anyone who struggles in life. Typical struggles that people address at CR are anger, fear, grief, guilt and shame, holding on to the past, inability to forgive, isolation, need to control, finances, eating disorders, alcohol or substance dependency, pace of life, rejection, relationship problems, sexual addiction, stress, and emotional, physical, sexual or spiritual abuse.
CR is often described as guided sanctification. That’s just a fancy theological term for becoming the person God intends for us to be. CR gives one tools to take responsibility for our actions, offer forgiveness to those we have hurt, forgive ourselves, learn to lean on others for help, and to give back from a grateful heart. All this transformation comes through the power of the Holy Spirit and a relationship with Jesus that is core to this biblical program.
See the Movie for Yourself
In my opinion, “Home Run” hits a big home run for recovery. It is a realistic view at how turning our lives over to Jesus brings about healing, wholeness and transformation. It brings about freedom from our past and hope for the future. In Cory’s situation, it gave him a chance to restore a broken relationship, giving him a new lease on life.
Even if recovery isn’t for you, I’m sure there is someone you know who needs a program like Celebrate Recovery. With the end of baseball season looming, it’s the perfect time to view this movie. “Home Run” is available on Blu-Ray/DVD, on demand, or watch it online on youtube. To find a Celebrate Recovery program near you, click this link. You or someone you know will be glad you did.
After turning my back on my Catholic faith as a youth, I had only stepped inside a Catholic church once or twice in my life, like for a funeral. The church didn’t seem relevant to me. It seemed rote—reciting pre-scripted prayers and responses.
However, when I took Pedro, a Spanish exchange student who lived with us, to an afternoon mass in Seattle three years ago, I witnessed something I had never seen before in a Catholic Church (or was too young to notice). I witnessed people raising their hands in worship during hymns or at times of the rote responses. I saw genuine worship, expressed like I had only seen done in Protestant churches. It left a favorable impression of the Catholic Church on me and started to erase my leftover bias.
Six months later when Pedro’s grandmother died, I had a mass said for her (a common Catholic practice). I also had a mass said for my terminally ill mother. (If you don’t know what that is, think of it as a prayer service dedicated to someone you love). It was at that mass that God opened my eyes and ears to really being in tune with His voice.
Reawakening my Faith
According to Gary Thomas, author of “Spiritual Pathways”, we are uniquely wired in the ways in which we connect with God. His book describes ten ways: Naturalists, Sensates, Traditionalists, Ascetics, Activists, Caregivers, Enthuisasts, Contemplatives and Intellectuals.
After my experiences at this Catholic mass over 2 ½ years ago, I realized I was a contemplative. The defining characteristic of a contemplative is that they connect with God through adoration. So I started to attend mass and a weekly prayer service where I could devote quality time with God.
It was in these times of adoration that He was spiritually preparing me for my trip to Spain. He has given me a glimpse into the Catholic Church, that at first glance may seem like a strange thing—a Protestant attending mass. But I believe it is through these experiences, that He has uniquely prepared me to cross denominational barriers and connect with the people of Spain.
Exploring my first church in Spain, San Jeronimo el Real, Madrid
First Spanish Mass
Ever since these discoveries about myself, I have been looking forward to seeing the historic cathedrals of Spain and attending mass in a different setting and language. I desired to worship God alongside native speakers and feel God’s presence in this place and time. All of the pieces have been aligning for this part of my journey. I left Seattle spiritually ready and open to experiencing God in a new way.
I had a glimpse into that on my third day in Spain when I attended my first Spanish Catholic mass. It didn’t end up being in some grand historic cathedral like I envisioned. It was in an old neighborhood Catholic Church with Rosa by my side. I was pretty lost in the service, not understanding the words, but could generally follow along with the order of the mass. None of this prevented me from silently praying for the people of Spain or preparing my heart for this part of my journey. When the tears came, as I knew they would, Rosa was there with a comforting hand.
Interior of San Jeronimo el Real Church
What’s Next?
This part of my journey is just beginning. I know I will visit other cathedrals in Spain—and hopefully another mass, as well as a Protestant church service. My days are long and filled with lots of activities. It has been hard to develop a routine and spiritual discipline here, but I would be missing out on why I believe God has called me for such a time as this if I didn’t respond to His invitation.
So I am ready physically, mentally and spiritually for this trip of a lifetime. I have been consciously and subconsciously preparing for it in stages for the last three years. I know God walks before me into this next phase of my journey. I am grateful for His pointing me in this direction and for the support and prayers of my friends and family.
~ This completes my “Road to Spain” blog series. My Spanish travel series starts with España Update 1 ~ The Longest Day. Adios and vaya con Dios! (So long and go with God.)
I'm an author, writer, speaker, mentor & mom. I've struggled to find my voice all my life as I lived in the shadows of a mother with mental illness. Thankfully that was not the legacy that she handed down to me. It took a lot of recovery and deep healing work to rise above it.
I am thankful to God for Making Me Bold in the process. Now I use my writing and speaking voice to help others on their journey to turn healing into hope.
At this time of year as I try to set aside the holiday rush and connect with the real reason for the season, I find myself wondering what it was like to be a witness to what God was doing in the lives of Mary and Joseph. The Bible doesn’t say what their immediate families thought about Mary’s claims to be a virgin with child. The only glimpse of unbelief comes from Joseph when he considers divorcing Mary.
Making Me Bold 