Marriage Real Talk

Real talk for a second: This process of marriage is really showing me how selfish I can be in some areas of my life. I woke up analyzing myself and doing self reflection.

I feel like God is revealing a lot of things to me and areas of my life where I need so much spiritual growth. A question as simple as "how are Rondell and I going to get to work and school with one car?" Turned into me thinking he needs his own car, then analyzing why I wouldn't let him use my car, and then me trying to figure out why I see it as "my" car to begin with.

I am seeing these objects as possessions instead of as a financial blessing that God has given me to use for His will. If God were here, it wouldn't be a question if we could use His car. He would give it to us even if we were the worst drivers, or if we crashed His car, or if we never returned it. He would forgive each and every one of us if we did any of those things and came to Him with a heart of remorse and regret. He gave us all His possessions and even His only son!!!!  He was completely selfless!

It amazes me... The more I analyze things, the more I know that marriage is about becoming more Christ-like and holy.... pushing us as individuals to become more like Him. Dying to our own selfish needs and desires to put someone else first the way Christ gives to us so freely.

It is a little scary and overwhelming. It feels challenging and I know I have a lot to learn. But I am so grateful for Rondell's patience and grace with me even when I am thinking the wrong way. Marriage is going to be a journey and I hope to share and be as real with you all as possible!  If I can help one of you the way Brittany & Everett or Darlin & Bleigh have helped me, it's worth it!  It's always good to have spiritual mentors who have walked through what we have and are open to share.

The Fate of Our Love

"Do you think this will work?"

He asked me earnestly, and with eyes-wide looking lovingly towards me. 

I wondered, will it?

Do we ever know if it will last forever? 

Or, do we make our best attempt to find a partner who we are willing to fight for; someone who despite life's challenges, you seem to continue to gravitate towards, and desire to please them and make them happy?

If I am honest, I don't believe in "the one."  I haven't for awhile. 

Don't take this as a jaded view or as someone who doesn't believe in love.

I am a true believer of love, but not love as most see it. 

Not an interim, contrived love, but a love that fights - with full-on MMA gloves.

A love that will be challenged various times in the lifetime of a marriage.

A love that will not always be happy or feel loving.

But a love that endures because it chooses to. 

It chooses over and over again to put itself on the front lines of the battlefield knowing full well that it will be hurt, scarred, and broken. 

That love may not want to get up at times, but it chooses with its last ounce of strength to ALWAYS try again.

So do I know if this will work?

No.

But what's the fun in knowing the future anyway? 

All I know is that I am willing to fight - fight hard without seizing - every day I am alive, and always put you first after Christ.

I love you - always more.

Enthusiastic Surrender

The natural course of life includes birth, breath, and death.  When the days come to an end each evening, and the moonlight illuminates the sky with stars, we accept that tomorrow the sun will rise once again to shine on the earth.  It is natural, and expected.  We do not question the inevitable and we come to terms with the state of reality fairly early.  So many facts of life have become our truth yet when we encounter another person “quien nos da chispa”, we tend to shy away from the spark because it is deemed foreign.  It ignites our inner core and is unfamiliar from the monotony of truths we have reclaimed as our reality.  When the chispas (“sparks”, for my gringo followers) fade, and the scars heal from their colorful embers, sometimes we are left with nothing but a burn corroding our new reality.  But in rare cases, when the chispas wane, what is left is a memory of the luminous eruption, and the everlasting twinkle of a connection that well, just works.  It is not contrived, but instinctive in a way.   Effortless, real, and sincere.  But most of all, enduring.  Why in these moments do we negate the existence of the glimmer?  Why is it so difficult for us as adults to see the glow and accept it as truth in our life?  We hesitate, test the waters, and question its legitimacy.  If only we could be as children in this aspect: moving towards the gentle glow in submission with enthusiastic open arms...

Joy to the World

**This post was inspired by my dear friend and my honey.  I love you both.**

I once had a close friend say to me that she did not know how to write in her times of happiness.  I never understood her; how joy could leave a writer, usually so verbose in her language and descriptive in her text, devoid of the lexicon to express her bliss.  She is a writer by trade, which confounded me even more.  Her blog consistently keeps my fervid attention and fills me with curiosity.  A few years ago she had gone through a deep depression after sour medical news turned her weeks into monotonous days of mindless work and bottles of wine into blurred nights.  A depression which had her torn, and as her friend I tried desperately to keep knitting the pieces together.  Her blog and writing flourished then; it was a conduit for her grief.  Less than a year later, she succumbed to the “institution” (as she called it) of marriage, and unbeknownst to her at the time, her husband was her buoy.  He turned her wounds into wings, allowing her Venus-like beauty to flourish in ways only Botticelli could depict.  She was reborn into herself again.  It was during those times that I would refresh her website hoping for a new blog post to get a glimpse of her newfound emotions and partake in her life journey, yet her pages went empty for a few months as she reconciled this novel feeling she was experiencing.  It was when she was truly happy and at peace where she struggled most to find the words to place the sentiments.  Her emotional resurrection left her mute.  She admitted this to me on of our monthly wine and cheese outings.  I was frankly, shocked.  Why?  Wouldn’t this be when your emotions run high?  When the words spill out vehemently and a renaissance would take place?

I too, am a writer of thoughtful, inquisitive, and often depressing prose and poetry – of unrequited love, of relationships lost, and of familial tension.  It has been months since my last poem or blog, more than a year since my last painting, and even longer since my last choreography.  It feels as though the right side of my brain is decomposing.  I can’t help but question why: Is my new relationship changing me?  Am I balancing my time correctly?  Am I losing my touch?  All self-deprecating deliberations my mind is mediating on lately.  The answer came to me after remembering my friend’s comment.  The words simply do not come anymore.  I, like her, find myself in a healthy, steady, honest relationship.  One that makes me smile, allows me a peace in my heart, and a calmness when I lay my head to rest.  He is unlike my past – tumultuous, destructive, and inflamed.  He is composed, wise, sympathetic, and welcoming.  Our relationship is unlike any I have ever experienced; I sought out the impassioned relationship, full of extremities of emotion.  The emotions during those times fed the right side of my brain for an outlet to process the excess which my heart could not.  My writing developed and my artwork became the canal I used to sieve my emotions into a healthy instrument.  To be honest, for years my canal was flooded and overwhelmed with mood swings, sensitivity, rage, and most of all, vulnerability.  My levees could not withstand the dramatic force of this inflamed pressure. 

When I moved to Miami a year and a half ago to find my inner nirvana, my canal experienced a waning of pressure.  The ocean breeze and warm translucent waters filled my spiritual core.  Less than two months into my stay in Miami, I met a man who also kept my waters even and sought to abate the lingering waves from my past.  He was gentle, reassuring, soothing, loving.  A love that persisted and covered me in his strength.  My canal was no longer agitated, but the water ran through it steadily, comforting my days.  My artwork diminished and my words also quieted, but my waters were full of a calming caress.  I now can understand and appreciate why my friend’s blog went on a hiatus during those blissful relationship and newlywed years.  She was no longer trying to quell the fiery waters, but instead enjoying the tranquil and idyllic ride as she floated through these new emotions.  They were unfamiliar, but received with a colossal embrace.  Part of life is to enjoy the journey.  Our happiness is one we are still learning to process, but embracing fully as we travel through this voyage.  Our words have stopped and our lexicon put on pause, but our bodies, minds, and souls are very much involved.  My creativity will return once I have formed the intellect to comprehend my senses and the novel expressions of tranquility and love in my heart.

In the meantime, I’m following the waters to my happy...

Organic Chemistry

The energy between two locked eyes brought me back to the nucleus of fervid passion, lustful desire, and an uncomfortable vulnerability.

My balance of protons and electrons suffered an immediate magnetic moment – spinning its epicenter of mass at cosmic haste.

My internal equilibrium could not rationalize itself nor keep up with the electrifying tremor that permeated into my marrow.

The trauma assaulted my red blood cells as its white counterparts failed to preserve my health from the raid;

A violent and forceful invasion which left my body feeble, limp, and borderline anemic.

My pupils wanted to erase the image, look to another target, and distort the figure in front of me into an illusion incapable of retrieving.

But my optic nerves resisted the deception and refused to blur his likeness.

All it took was his eyes... 

A steadfast, intent gaze which created a vacancy in my electron cloud, allowing him to bond ionically to my heart, soul, body, and mind.

Ionic bonds exchange their electric charge with each other to adhere their atoms together. 

Their opposite attraction keeps them together as a unit.

His charged eyes grabbed mine, magnetically pulling me in with no prospect of resistance.

Chemistry, they call it.  Passion, they say.

Terrifying, hypnotic, and unquestionably debilitating, I say.

A Heaving Hurt

I ate my words as soon as they spewed out uncontrollably and haphazardly.

Vile words that invaded the room – words full of insensitive bile, undigested fragments, and aggression.

Much like the putrid smell of vomit, my words raided the air space and lingered restlessly. 

They attacked the recipient of my words with a stench of decomposition,

And decayed his outer layer of trust, affection, and confidence.

The words that spilled out in a moment of frustration, a moment hoping to entice and force the receiver of the words into action, instead pelted across his aura with an acidity damaging to his heart, mind, and very being.

An act of desperation, of a woman fishing for words, for answers, for a fight, instead threw the most critically lethal words which in turn finished the battle without a single confrontation.

The piercing sting of my words is not easily reparable nor is its biting acidity something I intend to overcome quickly.

The rancid odor of vomit undeniably loiters before restoring its victims to normalcy.

And while the fabric layers of a damaged loom of carpet will take steaming, deep cleansing, and special treatment to clear its contamination, with enough love, grace, and will, I pray my words will also be forgiven.

Slow: Proceed With Caution

Tears.

This time, tears which reflect my fears of being unworthy…

Fears that have compounded through years of failed relationships and a youth full of domestic violence and abuse.

As a woman I have been taught that I am a man’s unequal; that as a woman I need to adapt and submit to his needs and his dreams.  I am secondary.

The tears that tremble down my face now at hearing that he loves me, scare me knowing how deeply that he means it.

Tears that know that this man is here for the long haul; that he is fully invested in our relationship and future.

Tears that force me to question my own aspirations, hopes, and worldly desires.

Tears that know he is the “real deal”; a man so genuine, honest, loving, and giving that his open heart and unassuming mind give me peace, happiness, and a calm love.

He is more than what I have imagined, more than I could have dreamt, and more understanding than any thoughts I had of the man for my future.

I can see us sitting on the beaches of Phuket laughing, planning our next trip, our next life goal, and our next step together as a couple.

I can see us touring the streets of Rio drinking caipirinhas and dancing samba with the locals.

I can see us living together in a beautiful home in Miami pushing each other to succeed, grow, and move higher professionally, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.

“I have your back 100%,” “I’m not going anywhere,” and other affirmations of love and affection overwhelm me and allow me to  break down my walls of distrust and confinement.

I have used my strong demeanor, personality, and attitude as my partition to fend off men.

This man has listened, understood my inner emotions, and the catalysts for my reactions.  He is first my best friend, my teammate, my partner, and more importantly, my equal.

My tears reflect my nerves, anxiety, worries, introspection, and most of all my vulnerability.

You have my heart teetering precariously. Please proceed with caution.