Expect miracles.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Sometimes, I wonder if we all have a suspicion that this all ends like a Cédric Klapisch film. Does it? Does it end in bordel?
Are we too quick to forget Jane Austen didn’t get a Jane Austin ending to her story? Are we better off to forget facts like these and move on?
We are all at a table, calculating our courage and placing bets, eyes wide shut.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
I was chewing on a pretzel and catching glimpses of my acne-stained cheeks in the reflection of the changing screen on my computer when his LinkedIn update appeared where the reflection of my face had been a split second ago.
Two years working at a bank, it said. I looked at his face and smiled. It was a much grown up version of the face I had met years ago on a flight to Paris. He told me about his life in Hawaii and all of his dreams. I had a head full of ambition, and in my hand had been a little notebook filled with itineraries, addresses and phone numbers. Plans. Dreams. Youth.
I stared at his photo on my computer screen and smiled. “Two years working at a bank,” I said out loud, not caring what neighbors heard me in the hallway. “What happened to our free spirits, remember?” I thought of our 18-year-old sparkly eyes. I paused and remembered my own very non-free spirit profession of “attorney” and smiled. I let out an exhale. “I get it man, I get it.”
I hope you are still dreaming, man. I certainly know I am. I am still a free spirit— don’t let my LinkedIn fool you.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Give it all up.
I am reading Wide Awake by Erwin McManus, and I am in the chapter called The Believer.
He dissects the life of Abraham and Moses, and how God essentially told both of them, “I have provided all this for you. Now I am asking you to give it all up for me. You can settle for all you have, but you should expect more.” He often asks us to give up the lives He has blessed us with or the comfort and security we have for the life we were created to live.
McManus describes a time when God blessed him with a better job and paycheck and then God tells him to leave it all behind and enter the unknown. McManus says when this happens, we sometimes pause and think— “You’re not supposed to get to the top and then drop off a cliff on the other side.”
McManus continues saying, “What can happen is the things God has blessed us with become an anchor that keeps us grounded ashore rather than launching us out into His dream for us. Kim and I would have never experienced all the wonderful things God had for us if we had held on to what we had simply because we couldn’t see what was coming. […] The unknown with God is always better than the known without Him.”
Sometimes, we hit those seasons when we are called to leave comfort for what God has dreamed for us. And while that is scary and we face what may seem like less or uncertainty, we can be sure we will find Him standing beside us on the other side. Faith pushes us to live God’s dream for us, it’s not about us imposing our vision onto God.
May we have the courage to meet Him off the cliff, on the other side. Parachute ready.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
The boss asked me for edits on something at the very last minute. She knew I needed to go. I needed to get to the post office before it closed to send something for work. She still wanted me to “try my best”. So naturally, the edits took me up until the last minute, and then I ran out to catch my transport to the post office (if I missed it, I would be stuck for 40 minutes and would have missed the post office window). So I ran out, and I felt the weight of my full and heavy bladder. (A cursed feeling). I had planned to use the restroom before departure but that time was hijacked.
When I got on my mode of transport, I realized that while I had prepared the envelope for mailing and the address and everything was on it, I had not sealed it. With all these COVID cases rising, I knew there was no way in hell I was licking the flap of an envelope given to me by another human being. I had no water bottle, therefore that wasn’t an option. I put sanitizer on my hands and tried that. Negative. So, I took a look at my sanitized hands and decided to go for it. I spit on my fingertip (finger, of course, not touching my mouth) and started the process of sealing the envelope. I must have looked insane. I sanitized the hand again, post spit-fest. I sealed the envelope. I ran to the post office with the neon sunset and Statue of Liberty behind me.
I made it. I handed the envelope over and told her I needed it sent priority. The kind postal worker nodded and started sticking all the labels on it. She smiled at me. She remembers me as that girl who had a million envelopes that needed to be sent certified/return receipt that one time. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a corner of the flap was moist. Probably sanitizer. Deep breath and sigh. She took the envelope with her blue gloves and flung it in a bin. I walked out triumphant with the tracking number. It’s freezing. I descended into the train station. I am on the train. Someone sneezes, and there are a couple glances. The train fills and empties, fills and empties. I close my eyes and try not to think about the volume of people.
My legs are zipped tight, and I am convinced nothing is worth foregoing the restroom with a full bladder. Never again. Never again. With nerves on edge, I realize the contents of my bladder may not be the only thing I am holding in. I remind myself to breathe. It will be a long ride home.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
I am coming out of a season that I can only describe as exhausting, dark and uncertain. There is still plenty of darkness to go around in the world around us and plenty of circumstances that have not yet been made clear or resolved. And yet, something feels different.
Apart from the insanity ravaging this world with politics, COVID, loved ones touched by illness and fighting the good fight to try to heal and the very real loss of life we have been touched by— I have dealt with my own difficulties and inner turmoil.
To keep it short, I have walked down a rocky, bloody hard path on the edge of a cliff I have been trying to make sure I don’t fall from. I will admit I have never understood depression fully— but perhaps what I have felt in past months is the closest thing I have experienced to it. And I want this to be an encouraging post, but I also want to acknowledge the darkness that can surround and oppress us in trials, anguish and grief. If you are there, I see you. You aren’t alone. This life can batter us and hit us, drag us and run us over. It really can. But God—
As I wrote in a previous post, while darkness is real, may we always escape it. When oppression closes in on us, may we cry out to God who, I can tell you with no doubt in my mind, is listening.
I was reading and studying Psalm 23– a very well known passage. It’s one we get a sticker for memorizing as children. One line caught my attention: “your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” (v.4)
It caught my attention because the first half of the verse says, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me.”
Has anyone else felt like they have been walking through the valley of the shadow of death? Yeah.
What caught my attention about a shepherd rod and staff comforting me is this idea that scripture acknowledges our journey through darkness. (Valley of the shadow of death sounds darker than midnight— sounds like 2020 dark). The circumstances aren’t what bring us comfort or peace but the shepherd’s presence— God, Himself. His presence is what brings us comfort and peace. His promise is that even in this dark dark valley where all may very well be hitting the fan — He stands beside us. Not only that, but a staff and rod is something used to guide. He walks with us and guides us.
I hope that whomever reads this finds encouragement in it. Listen, it’s dark as hell, and we may be lacking answers, but you aren’t alone. We may be stuck in the middle of a dead situation right now, but He is with us.
Lastly, I also want to say that we have seasons of weakness and some of strength. I once saw a quote that says that not even nature blooms year-round. I have felt it in my bones that I have entered a new chapter. It feels like my eyes have adjusted to the darkness— I won’t pretend everything is perfect or resolved. I can say I see with so much clarity. “Battle ready” as the McManus family says. The inner citadel of the soul and mind, as the stoics would speak about, is armoring itself as scripture speaks about. We are fighting a battle, and what is at stake are our hearts and minds. Our sanity. The very core of who and what we will believe and trust.
After feeling like I have been drained to the core— I feel my feet firmly on the ground for the first time in a long time. “Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose,” right? (That’s my southern cheesiness for ya).
Even in the valley— I feel it. I am wide awake, and I can see.
May we always escape the darkness.
Sometimes, one just wants to scream a pause into the open sky. Our hearts yearn for the day when what we love isn’t lost.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
The unimaginable day came. She is gone. Bunny entered her rest on October 18, 2020. Yet another assault this year has laid upon us.
As a child, I think it’s safe to say I was afraid of animals. I never had good experiences with them. I avoided them and stared at them from afar, but Bunny was different.
Bunny entered our lives at just a couple weeks old. We were going to Walmart to do our weekly shopping, and a family was giving away cute puppies in the parking lot. We came close to smile at the cute tan puppies and their chatty owners. One of the puppies, though, was different. She was a dark chocolate color— and looked just like a lab.
The cheerful owners offered the chocolate puppy for my mom to hold her. We squealed with delight, knowing our time with the cute puppies was going to be over soon, and then, we would be under the Walmart fluorescent lights pushing a rusty cart. My mom held the cute chocolate puppy. Her coat was shiny. “What was her name?” we asked. “Chiquita— like Chiquita banana”. We smiled at the thought that this family that didn’t speak Spanish had named their family dog’s puppy Chiquita, which means small.
Someone else approached my mom to have a turn holding Chiquita. My mom said no. A wave of possession swept over my mom, and she said the dog was ours. I think our jaws were on the floor because none of us could believe our ears— but hey, we were all for it. We nodded. And that was how the most beautiful creature I had ever seen entered our lives.
There are too many stories to tell about her. She would shred her training pad in the early days, and I would find her powdered white from the pad shreds looking innocent, as if she had no idea where the training pad went. She destroyed the screens in the patio (this was just a couple days in, and as I repaired the screen, I kept lecturing her about how my mom was going to give her away for being bad); she claimed an upholstered chair as her own (no matter how many times we took her off of it)— persistence or better said, stubbornness was her thing. That chair became her nap chair. Sometimes, she would sit on it like it was her throne.
Chiquita had many names. She was Chiquita, “Chiqui” and I called her Bunny. The nickname came from watching her chase after critters. She would run in the funniest way that made her look like she was hopping with her floppy ears flying behind her. She was my Bunny.
We went through the bribery school that was dog training school and watched her learn the system of obtaining treats (she would steal socks on purpose to get treats). If I ate Wheaties, she got one for every two I ate. She loved carrots and anything really. Except papaya. But she did eat a papaya tree that was gifted to us.
I had to get a rabies shot because of her, once, in my efforts to save an armadillo that she wanted to make her prisoner in our backyard. But hey, she was Bunny. She once dragged me across the backyard when I was walking her because she suddenly believed it was a good idea to chase a rabbit that was taunting her. She escaped into the cow fields many times. She would dance and roll around in the manure, and rile the cows until they got mad and charged toward her. She would then make her dashing escape from the cow pen. I once chased her down the street in wedge sandals, soffee shorts and hair dye running down my neck and face. Classic moments.
She had moments of sass, moments where you knew she was mad or vengeful and the sweetest moments where she would lay her head on your knee. She always loved a little belly rub. When she was tiny and you rubbed her belly, her little leg would move like it was cycling. She also loved hanging out under the bed until she was too big.
If I was upset, she would just sit next to me. She always was there. One summer, when one of our cousins passed in Puerto Rico and the family traveled, I stayed behind, and she never left my bedside at nights.
She hated thunderstorms. Blasting old French music on the boombox made her calm down. She is family. It won’t be the same without Bunny. The crazy memories live on. She was so so loved, and she loved us more in return.
She is the best thing I ever walked out of a Walmart with and will always be. She was part of our starting over. She was part of a new life, and she brought unquantifiable joy to our lives. She hopped in and left her mark.
She was buried with her favorite things, with the love of her favorite people, in her favorite place. As always, when a loved one passes, they live on in our hearts forever because without them, we would never be the same.
Love you, Bunny.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Today, our Hispanic Heritage feature is Eddie Garcia, or as he is more widely known— Producer Eddie. Producer Eddie is the video producer and one of several radio personalities on the nationally syndicated morning radio show, The Bobby Bones Show (my personal favorite). Mr. Garcia makes up one half of the comedy music band The Raging Idiots with Bobby Bones; he is part of a radio show spinoff podcast called The Sore Losers; he is a husband and father of four (two are foster children); he always wins the radio games; he is a music buff; and he brings us an occasional Spanish word of the day.
Eddie is one of my favorite personalities on the show. He always seems so down-to-earth, and his love for his family and advocacy for being a foster parent always shines through. I have never met him in person, but he is a part of a show that brightens the days of many, and his positivity, joy and family values are something to be celebrated.
On the show, Bobby calls him the “Hispanic who don’t panic.” He is our favorite Mexican.
Eddie Garcia is an orgullo hispano.
By: Gabriela Yareliz
Today’s Hispanic Heritage Month feature is Sonia Maria Sotomayor, the first Hispanic woman (Puerto Rican!) to be appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States.
Justice Sotomayor came from humble beginnings in the Bronx, and she honored the sacrifices made by her hard-working mother by taking and making every opportunity that has led her to her current bench.
If you are looking for a great read, pick up her biography, My Beloved World.
“I am an ordinary person who has been blessed with extraordinary opportunities and experiences.” Sonia Sotomayor
GABRIELA YARELIZ 