A Preighbor!

Anyone can be a neighbor but it takes a very special person to be a preighbor! A neighbor lives next to your house a preighbor lives next to your heart.



“Do you know what I love most about Chris?" A question my fifteen-year-old daughter presented me with, one early morning as she was recovering from a bought of dehydration and a trip to the emergency room.


Of course, I thought! Chris, being one of my nearest and dearest friends, I immediately went to a list of a gazillion different things that she could possibly say in regards to why anyone loves Chris but I paused in the moment as she started to share her heart.


She told me what she loved most about Chris was that when she called her to see if she had any popsicles, Chris said no but if she wanted some she would go to the store for her.


My daughter continued to share what she loved most about Chris and her eyes lit up as she shared about the phone call that made her come to this conclusion. While my daughter was sitting in our living room bundled up in a blanket, resting and recovering, she had a sudden urge for a popsicle.


None was to be found in our freezer so she decided to give Chris a call, in hopes that she might just find one hidden behind some frozen veggies or ice cube trays, left over from the summer.


Their freezer mimicked ours, summer had used up the cool and refreshing treat. However, with out hesitation or thought and a willingingness that comes from someone who lives next to your heart, she was ready to hop in the car and head to the store.


This simple but profound action is what my daughter loves most about my friend. Her willingness and readiness to serve and give without hesitation. My daughter knew that Chris and her family had been watching their wallet like so many of us. Yet, Chris did not think twice about her trip to the market, she was ready to go in search of a treat for my daughter.


Now, I know that in many people’s eyes, popsicles are not a cause to make or break the bank but the message that was sent to my daughter’s heart was that she was worth it, valued and loved, without any hesitation or thought, Chris was willing and ready to give. That is a preighbor for you.


A preighbor is someone who responds in the spirit, to the spirit. I knew Chris and her family had been praying for Sami and so when the call was made Chris responded naturally, as many preighbors do.


In addition, even though it sounded like my daughter had a physical need or a want in her request for the Popsicle, I really think in her illness she just needed to hear another voice, someone who could be compassionate and caring as she started to heal from her days in bed.


Chris and her family live 2 ½ houses down from us. We have been neighbors for over a decade but three years ago, we became preighbors. Our hearts connected through our genuine love for the Lord and our passion to keep it real. We have spent time praying for each other, for our families and for the very community we have been called to live in. We are preighbors!


See, anyone can be a neighbor but it takes a very special person to be a preighbor.


Thank you Chris for setting the example for choosing not to just live next to my house but also my heart!


“He alone loves the Creator perfectly who manifests a pure love for his neighbor”.


Venerable Bede

Question Of The Day!

A beautiful dance happens when two people experience life together, in its fullest. There is nothing more true to this then when those two people are grown adult siblings, namely my brother Pat and I.

Life filtered through the lens of our childhood past and present memories, our experiences over the last few days made for delicious story, full of aroma and flavor. The sent of our childhood shenanigans made their way through the caverns, to the canyon and all the way to the wings of a Cessna 6254D.


When you experience life together with someone you have history with, someone you have known your whole life words become delicious, full of flavor and feelings. When you experience life together with someone, you have history with, whether it is through victories or struggles every moment stirs up old memories, which in turn collide, with the new ones and the child with in you comes face to face with the adult you, gently reminding you not to take life so seriously.


Question of the day "how long does it take for the balls to form?" rolled off the lips of my forty something year old brother. I apologize in advance, I know this does not sound holy, righteous or even pleasing to some of you, but it was so dang funny, my response was natural and spontaneous. I was even a little shocked but pleased at the fact that I could still giggle at the girl inside of me.


My brother stood behind me finishing his question to the guide who was giving us a tour of the Grand Canyon caverns, I knew better to even look behind me, making eye contact with him would have ruined the very serious moment as the guide jumped in with enthusiasm to explain how many billions of years it took for the crystal balls to form inside the cavers we were in.


I was dying of laughter inside, turning my head ever so slightly so that I could peer out of the corner of my eye making a ever so brief contact with my brother, there we were standing among strangers but not as forty something year old mature adults but rather all of a sudden I become 10 again and he was 12 ready to loose it because not only did he say balls in public but he was able to make an adult say the word as well, like that was his intent!


It took everything in me not to break out in laughter, here we were taking part in a history/geology lesson, inspired by the hand print of God all over the cavern walls, yet another part of me was lost in the moment of my past, sharing an unspoken connection with my big brother all because of a simple unplanned question followed by a very authentic response.

In my grown brother’s defense, I have to say, he did not set out to cause my mind to take a quick trip to the gutter, he had an honest question, little did he know how quickly the child inside of us both needed to be free for the rest of the trip.

On The Other Side Of The Bed!

The good news is she was just dehydrated. She had been fighting a headache for over 24 hours, chills and a slight fever. They gave her fluids and something for the pain and released her within a few hours.


That was the prayer as we left the house in the middle of the night, doctor’s orders over the phone, E.R. bound. Because of her complaint of pain in the neck and eyes and her lack of energy, they wanted to rule out meningitis and ordered me to head straight to the hospital, no waiting until the morning.


That word “meningitis” is not something a parent wants to hear in the same sentence as their child’s name. With her blanket in one hand and mine in the other, we went in to the E.R. and with the favor, we seem to have in places like these. A room was waiting and a nurse was in place, no waiting for our turn or wondering who was next.


As I sat next to her bedside watching her sleep and praying for her pain, I couldn't help but think about the many hours I spend next to the bedside of the sick.


As part of the calling as a minister the other side of the bed is a very familiar place for me.


But, nothing in this life prepares a mother to sit next to the guardrail of the bed that her own child is sleeping in. I wanted to take her place, remove her from the bed, take out the IV and make it all better.


With those thoughts in check and the reality of how helpful the fluids were and how safe she was, I took a deep breath, found peace and just sat next to her bedside, held her hand and started thanking God for the resourses we had to make sure she was being cared for in her sicknesses.


We were giving our marching orders after the fluids were administered and all the blood work was finished. No meningitis or bacteria to be found. A viral infection to be fought with rest, sleep and lots of fluids.


I am one happy tired mama! Thank you all for your love, support and prayers. She is wrapped up in her pink blanket, water bottle next to her own bed and sleeping at this very moment.


Thank you God for preparing me for the other side of the bed!




Cris

She Is Married!

 

I cannot believe it has been over a week since our daughter became a wife! She was simply stunning, a beautiful bride married to an amazing man! Here are just a few photos, I will post more as they come in. I was blessed to be part of the special day, from the makeup to the hair do to the I do! I shed only a few tears during the ceremony but the flood of uncontrollable tears came during the father daughter dance when my husband held her in his arms and they danced to Steven Curtis Chapman’s "Cinderella". I was immediately transported back in time, spring of 1992 she was only 5 years old. Her father and I had not even officially started dating yet but we had been hanging out.

As I watched them dance across the wooden dance floor I remembered that day in spring so many years ago when we were at the ball field waiting for the game to start and Tony was playing with Amanda, he was on his back with her in his arms and they were chasing lady bugs and I knew in that moment that I loved him because of the way he loved her. As they danced their dance, I could smell the green grass of the field as if it had joined us for the ceremony. I could feel the cool spring breeze enter into the moment, a gentle nudge from yesterday to remind me of how much my past was part of my future.



Even though I did not birth this child of mine, she is my child and the stretch marks she has left are not on my belly but across my heart. You could almost say we grew up together and I learned through her how to love unconditionally to forgive with out reservation and to look for the best in everyone. So, as she danced hand in hand with her daddy and I watched from the sideline I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the two of the most important people in my life. I learned to love because he loved her well. Thank you Tony and Amanda for being the best husband and daughter a woman could ask for. I love you both to the sky and back.



Cristina

Oatmeal makes me sad.

How can a bowl of oatmeal make me sad? Why do warm peaches, wet blueberries and salty cereal make me want to cry?

She would take the bowls out, I would pour the milk, she would measure the fruit and I would cook the cereal. I would grab the saltshaker and she would lecture me on my health. This simple habit was part of our morning routine for almost a year and the very reason why oatmeal makes me sad.

It is hard to believe that today marks five months since my mother passed away. It was just five short months ago when I said my goodbye. I recently wrote to a friend and shared with her that I think my crier is stuck. I know there is tears deep inside my soul that still need to be shed but I guess it is just not their time.


What if every single teardrop had its own purpose, its own ways of helping me walk through grief? Maybe shedding them too soon or not soon enough could force the very natural process of grieving for the what ifs and the use to Bs’.

I miss the sound of her shuffling feet the oxygen she breathed and the way she called my name when I left the room. I miss our morning routine, our prayers of thanksgiving and our trips to the pews. I miss our times in the garden and the warm cups of coffee we would sip as we sat in a booth sharing about the sermons we had heard.

I miss the way we would wind down the evening with the kids, a good book, a devotional and an evening prayer. I miss the smell of her perfume floating out of the bathroom and into the entryway of the house when she had just finished showering.

I miss how she would slurp through her straw and challenge me with her eyes. I miss how her life caused me to slow down and in the setting of the pace; I enjoyed more around me, from the relationships to the experiences because of her. Because of her, I learned to fold into the moment and treat every minute as a gift from God.

The greatest lesson I have learned over that last several months is that when I allow myself to dance with my struggle and embrace my grief, when I choose to enter into those two experiences with honesty and authenticity I become stronger for the next time I have to stand in the gap. Most importantly, what I have learned from the last five months is not to fear death and to trust life.

Nevertheless, oatmeal still makes me sad and fruit makes me cry. What I would give to have just one more breakfast with my mom.

Cris

Day Of Rest!

Today was my day of rest, my Sabbath if you will. Instead of taking off to the hills of Auburn, I decided to stick close to home and instead of going to Auburn, I created an Auburn moment just blocks away. With my journal in one hand and my computer in another, I headed to the local coffee shop and open shopping center to sit in the sun and soak up the surrounding.





Finding Auburn for me over the last several years has been all about pulling away from my everyday routine and just pressing into the ear of God. I write in my journal, pray, read and sometimes I might even surprise someone with a phone call.




Today, because I chose to stay rather close to home, I had more time then usual and I thought I would surprise my husband with a gift for his month of birthday. He was born on the third of the month, a great reason to buy him a gift and tell him how glad I was that he was born.




I do not know if I would have paid much attention to the fact that today was his month of birthday if I had not pulled away, another good reason to step away from the everyday routine as well. I was so excited when I realized that one of the things he has always wanted, at least over the last several months was a titanium crystal wine glass, as soon as the store was open, I was in there made my purchase and headed home to surprise him with his month of birthday gift. Needless to say, he was surprised with the gesture, front porch here he comes, new glass in hand and wine from his rack, happy month a birthday to you.




It has been a great Friday, relaxing and enjoying my weekly Sabbath, being intentional about breaking up my routine and finding ways to bless those I love the most. Now off to a youth rally with my teen. Hope you all have a great weekend, remember, do not forget to rest.






Cris

Going Back In Time!

Shalom!


His bed if you would call it that, was a plastic box hooked up to machines and monitors’ that took on a life of their own. I could hear the sounds of his roommates crying from their little plastic boxes as well, all just waiting to be held, fed or changed. The smell of sterilized plastic lingered in every corner of the room. The look in the eyes of the other parents coming to visit their new born babies told me I was not alone, that gaze of disbelief that anything that tiny could survive was written across so many of our faces.

His entry into this world was sudden and early and I was un prepared. They took him away from me as quickly as I pushed him out, he wasn’t placed in my hands but rather in their care. I got to see him once before they transferred him to another hospital. I was a new mother who had just spent months preparing for his arrival, hours for his birth unable to have anything to show for it, except an empty belly.

I knew that the best care for him we be at the Neonatal unit across town but that didn’t make it feel any less like I was being robbed of my child, I had not even been aloud to hold him when they wheeled him away. I begged and pleaded with my husband to follow the ambulance that was transferring our little boy from one hospital to another, fear of someone trying to steal him overtook my mind, I wasn’t thinking logically, I allowed my heart and my emotions to dictate my demands in the moment as I barked out orders not to loose sight of the vehicle that was caring my heart.

I had to spend one extra day in the hospital for recovery purposes, I dreamed about what it would be like to hold my little miracle baby in my arms. I had a deep sadness of missing this tiny human being that I had just met 24 hours earlier. How could I love so deeply and miss so badly someone I had only seen a few times?

The nurse handed me my release papers, and I checked out of one hospital and stepped into another. My first interaction with my son since our separation was through latex gloves and his plastic box. I placed my hands inside the latex gloves that were attached to two round holes on the outside of his incubator my heart longed to just reach inside with my bare hands and scoop him up and hold him close to my heart. Intellectually I understood the need for all the tubes, wiring and rules, I understood that my little boys life was in danger and every moment mattered when it came to his well being but my heart cried out to rescue him as my flesh perceived him being in danger.

The day finally came when I experienced my Shalom moment, when the tension and the presence of perfect pleasure collided with a deep inner and eternal harmony with the things all around me as I was allowed to finally pick up my little boy for the very first time. His body weighing just a bit over three pounds, less then a bag of sugar. His skin was thin and translucent and looked like it could just peel of his body if I wasn’t careful. His nervous system had not yet been completely developed so overstimulation could cause him severe pain. I had spent many hours studying about the care of a premature baby and I understood the need to be still with him in my arms so that I would not cause him harm. The experts had proven a procedure called kangaroo care, that when done just right, the child would thrive, their lungs would grow, their breathing would increase and they would be able to hold their own temperature, preparing them to be free from their little plastic box and ready to go home to their families.

The method also was known as skin on skin. I was prepared to practice this procedure for the very first time with my little boy. As I stood in front of his little plastic box all of a sudden in was just him and me. The sound of the machines faded into the background, the chattering of the nurses seemed to disappear and the anticipation of finally getting to hold, cuddle and connect with my child took over, my heart was beating fast, swelling with love for this child I had not yet held and longing to let him know how much he was loved. I carefully reached into his incubator, making sure not to move to quickly.

I slowly unwrapped him and undressed him down to his diaper, tears rolled down my eyes as I prepared to place him against my chest, skin on skin for the very first time. My nose nestled over his head, breathing in his sent. All of the worries all the fears seemed to melt away as I held my baby boy next to me, it was then at that very moment that I knew that all was well with my soul, Shalom!

Cris Perez-Nole