Tuesday, March 19, 2019


i gently made my way 
over the mounds of pillows and 
bunched up comforter
and scooted up next to her. 
her whole body was on fire,
painful lumps, 
hard as gobstoppers
grabbing at her skin and 
peppered all over the back of her skull 
and desperately trying to form 
at her temples too.
her hands were swollen and pale, 
the rings on her fingers choking 
the blood flow behind her nails,
her hands had become
icy and unforgiving,
they would not even bend. 
her eyes were soft, as always, 
but pain was keeping her company
and so was insomnia. 
she hadn't slept for days. 
we lay there, 
her just focusing on breathing through it,
desperately waiting for the weak medicine 
to do its one job 
and me recognizing i was 
laying next to God's beloved,
and how do i care for 
His precious one?
"there's a lot of stress around here, 
as hard as i try to keep it at bay,"
she manages to speak, 
as though to explain 
the logic of this lupus flareup. 
oh, little darling, 
i am sorry you are in this bed of suffering. 
you are stronger than anyone, 
but this disease doesn't give two shits
coming and going when ever it feels like it.
she is in the middle of trying to be a rock 
of stability and hope 
while her husband gets threatened every day
that he might lose both his legs, 
it is only a matter of time,
she is mothering 3 kids,
making sure the licenses gets renewed 
and bills get paid
all while fighting this auto immune disease 
and migraines?
how can one face it all?
and yet she does. 
she has been and i have 
yet to hear her complain. 
but right now, 
she is on her face,
her body throbbing 
and that other stuff has to be put on hold. 
i gently put my fingers in her hair, 
talking softly and do my best to offer 
even the smallest piece of comfort. 
she closes her eyes 
and we talk here and there, 
and then i quiet her.
she does not have to entertain me. 
she does not have to take care of me. 
i only want sleep to take her, 
so she can leave her body 
the only way it can
for now. 
she lets me continue to rub her back, 
she lets me rub her head,
little sighs and soft hums escape 
here and there from her tightened lips, 
now gone soft. 
i move my fingers over her soft waves,
into the roots, working my way 
over the entirety of her head,
making sure to step around her 
painful spots. 
i do not stop 
until i hear her breathing
slower and slower 
until i know sleep is now her company 
and i silently 
slide out of the bed 
and close the 
door behind 

rest dear precious one. 
may He give you His peace and rest. 


she thinks me incapable.
she underestimates me.
she expects me to be slow, 
to fall behind, 
to not push through. 
and yet
i have.
i do. 
and i will continue to do so.
she brings to mind 
who quietly think what they will 
about my ability, 
my capability, 
i don't need to scream 
i am not that way,
but i can press on quietly, 
as i do 
proving them wrong 
action at a time. 
i have been told i tremble and fear, 
how can i possibly go far without help?
i traveled half way across the globe, 
by myself, 
me, a brown skinned minority, 
to the middle east of 
all places. 
and i managed just fine.
i thrived actually. 
my mother says i have always been slow, 
i could never keep up,
and she must 
still think i will keep everyone 
i lived in a country where we walked 
e v e r y w h e r e,
loving every single second, 
i hiked all over 
another country that was filled with desert 
and hot sun, averaging 
10 miles a day.
i don't know anyone else in the family who has done any of 
those things. 
i have been told i must be treated with kid gloves,
i avoid pain, and it has been implied i 
am lazy.
yes, that has been a struggle, 
that wretched laziness, 
a thorn yes,
but that is not who i am. 
that is not what i am.
i have given birth, naturally, 
vaginally, 4 entire times
with only my own body to tear itself open
to bring forth life,
and i have done so quickly, 
with little medical aide. 
i would hardly qualify that as lazy, 
would you?
kid gloves, those are long gone. 
i have endured pain, 
loss of blood, 
death, debilitation, 
my share of suffering, 
and i count it joy, that God has considered
little weak me, up to the task 
of enduring, with hope.
so. think what you will.
if your mind is already made up,
i can't exactly unchange that. 
but what i can do, 
is that Christ in me and beside me, 
has given me an immeasurable strength 
far more than meets the eye. 
He has planted me firmly, 
on solid ground, 
and though i don't look like much, 
He tells me to move this mountain, 
and i move it. 

Monday, March 11, 2019

journal entry 28924, oh and Salsa

man, it's been a bit since i've had the time to write, let alone spend any amount of time in my kitchen to recipe tinker, my husband graciously sent me out after dinner to get gather myself, my little mac, and park myself at a coffee shop to just exhale. you'd think i would feel refreshed after just being on a week long vacation sans the children, and don't get me wrong, our trip to the United Arab Emirates was incredible, but it did feel like a whirlwind and sometimes you come back bewildered from all that you have done and seen, and then you need another vacation from your vacation! ha. if that don't sound like a first world problem-"ew", as Alexis from Schitt's Creek would say..

We've been back for almost a week now, and the same craziness that was there before was waiting for us when we came back home. an unfinished bathroom. it is gutted and filled to the brim with tools, buckets, tile, and paint-it just stares at us, mocking us at least a little that we haven't moved far forward with that project. there are school responsibilities that i have to manage and sort through. koko needs to be worked closely with concerning reading, she is falling far behind. this discourages me a little bit because we have been trying to work hard with her at home and my hope is that she would have been reading fluently by now, like her older brother, but i know i can not compare them and if she needs a little extra prodding, than so be it. we can do this.

the children in general take up the largest chunk of my time and energy, as they should, there are 4 of them..refereeing and defusing quarrels before they outbreak into complete pandemic, tending to dripping noses and tired eyes, absorbing the unrestrained
commentary on what i am cooking for dinner-if a vegetable is mentioned, the commentary quickly turns sour and i just want to just hold my hands up in surrender and just hand over the massive Jiff peanut butter jar and a few spoons, letting them fend for themselves. sigh. i love my kids so much, but man, mothering can be downright exhausting. i sound like i am complaining, and i did not mean for it to sound like that, i was so happy to come home to them and they were equally, if not more relieved and overjoyed to have their mum and dad back. our middle daughter must have cried heavy held together tears for a solid 3 minute straight as she clung to our arms, so emotional to have her parents back home from the other side of the world.

No, i am happy to be home, but maybe just some days, they  just get to you. I just need quiet, i need room to think. i need interaction with adults. i want to wear a lighter color without worrying about snot or boogers showing up on the shoulder. i want a minute to respond to a question and someone genuinely want to hear what i have to say without interrupting or it feeling like i only get 2.3 seconds and then i lose their interest. is it bad that i was looking forward to my youngest child's doctor appointment this morning because that means i would get to converse with nurses and the grown up doctor, even for a small period of time? who cares that ari weighs 23.4 pounds, the nurse and i had a pleasant conversation about California and the Patagonia Outlet store. Oh, he has to get 3 shots? Doc and i got to chat casually about the financial infrastructure of the wedding industry and i feel smarter for interacting with an actual real live adult. hahaha. have i lost my dang mind. who knows. 

i guess this ended up being a real juicy journal entry, when i was actually setting out to write a recipe for fresh garden salsa. 

i did actually char the veggies over the stove top, blitz them in the blender, and even quick took a few pictures all while i was preparing dinner for the family. should i still include it, or have i gone past the point of no return with this blab all blog post? well, given the freedom i feel with such a small homey audience i've got here, i think i will include the salsa post..

it is delicious, smokey, smooth, and textured-all the things you would want in a salsa. i love making it closer to the warmer months, and when the sun is out all the time, but today it peeked out and i couldn't help myself. i will probably write a more proper recipe this summer, but i'll share my fast one here. 

you'll need:

3 roma tomates 
1 large white onion, peeled and cut into large chunks 
1 jalapeno, cut in half, seeds included if you want some added heat 
1/2 cup roughly chopped cilantro
squeeze of fresh lime  
salt to taste 

in a large pan on medium to high heat, no oil, place all the veggies except the cilantro in the pan and char them up, getting all sides a little bit black. 

throw in a blender along with the cilantro and freshly squeezed lime juice  

add a bit of salt. 

blend. pour into jar and dip your chips in it. 

again, this is a fast version of the original recipe, but sometimes you need fast without skipping flavor.  i hope you like this! moms, this salsa is for you..

Sunday, February 17, 2019

for mom english

There is no 
qualitative or quantitative measurement 
for pain. 
It is simply there-
sharp or dull, 
shooting or stabbing,
bearable or excruciating,
local or general.
It is unexplained, 

I was not strong. 
I was not constant or confident.
But i had another much more 
dependable source of
one guaranteed 

It is a merciful Father 
who strips us when 
we need stripped,
as the tree needs to be 
stripped of its 
He is not finished with us 
whatever the loss we suffer,
for as we loose our hold 
on invisible things,
the invisible becomes more 
where our treasure is, 
there will our 
hearts be.

On Suffering, by Elizabeth Elliott

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

it is no bad thing 
to celebrate a simple life. 

-bilbo baggins