Toy Story, My Story

When’s the last time you had a good cry?

In honor of Father’s Day, my kids and I took my husband to see Toy Story 3. We entered the theater and, suddenly, a magical transformation took place: The lights dimmed, and we were no longer there, but back at our living room. We were a young family, again, huddled together on our big comfy couch, ready for movie time. What fun!

We were instructed to put on our 3-D glasses, and the featured film began to play. In this movie, Andy is a teenager getting ready to move out of the house and go to college. Like a sweet memory, short clips of a young Andy playing with his beloved toys appeared. An invisible fist began to squeeze my throat tightly.

Old clips of my own began to play on my mind’s eye, as if on a thick emotional fog:

Gracie as a 3-year-old sitting on her daddy’s lap while laughing at Rex, Mr. Potato Head, Slinky and Hamm’s hysterical lines, or squeezing Daddy’s big hand when Sid threatened to blow up more toys.

Ronnie sitting on our old, pink and gray couch in front of the TV at our little house in Kansas, sucking tirelessly on his binky, arms folded over his round belly and legs spread out on the seat, so short they barely reached the edge. He wouldn’t utter a sound or move a muscle, except during the funny parts, when he would pluck the well-worn pacifier with one hand and point with the other at the screen to say something only his big sister could decipher.

The movie played on, pulling me in and out of my reverie. I’d chuckle loudly here and there and would be ok for a while, until something flung me back to another day from the past. Like in the scene when a little boy runs across a Sunny Side Preschool’s classroom, while being chased by his classmates. He wore a blue cape and flapped his arms like a bird that was about to take flight.

The new scene that played in my mind featured me, as a young, frenzied mother. Two of my young kids were finally in school, but my youngest – Nick – was only a preschooler. The three-times-a week, two-and-a-half hour program didn’t give me much of a brake. In those early days, my neighbor Marlene and I took turns caring for our kids in order to give each other a brief but necessary respite.

One day in particular, I was trying to clean the kitchen. Nick and Ryan, my friend’s son, were four years old and were supposed to be playing in the family room. Except – as I suddenly realized with alarm – I hadn’t heard them lately. A youthful, high-pitch voice caused me to bolt toward the stairs.

“Ok, Ryan,” it said persuasively, “to infinity…!”

I reached the bottom of the stairway just in time. I saw Ryan standing on a stool (God only knows how and when they got it there), near a ledge that’s about 15-feet high, with a superman cape tied around his neck and arms spread out like Buzz Lightyear’s. Nick was standing right behind him. He had his king-for-a-day crown on, the one he got at Preschool for his fourth birthday. His right hand held a Star Wars lightsaber, poised against Ryan’s back, like Captain Crook’s sword on Wendy’s, pushing her to jump off the plank.

Aware that the wrong reaction would startle the daring pair, I forced my voice to sound calm and firmly said, “Don’t think that’s a good idea, boys.”

Mercifully, Ryan stepped down from the stool and away from certain death. Nick scurried in a hurry, looking for a place to hide away from me and from a similar fate (that is, certain death, but not by accident.)

Grace elbowed me. “You’re snoring, Mom!” she whispered forcefully, which startled me. I took a long gulp of soda, sat up, and told my sleepy self to focus on the story, which got my mind back on track and on the movie, where I wanted it to be.

No more trips down memory lane, please.

Randy Newman’s scores played on. The music was great; the scenes got funnier and funnier by the minute. The writers and animators are geniuses, I thought. I laughed with the audience and held my breath at the peak of suspense. How would the toys get out of this pickle? What would happen in the end?

What’s going to happen to my family now that my kids are turning into adults?

Andy appeared on the screen. He was a young man now, who needed to decide what to do with his toys before leaving for college. The tightness around my throat came back, but ten times stronger. My eyes burned. I was so grateful for the big Miami Vice-looking glasses on top of my nose. I furtively wiped the tears away. Didn’t want my kids to tell me, “Gosh, Mom, you always cry!” But there was little I could do to stop the flow.

Toy Story is a part of our family’s history; it is our story. Like Andy’s family, ours has moved, has added and lost a couple of good toys, has grown up, has had to say good-bye.

Fifteen years ago, I went to a movie theater to watch Toy Story 1 for the first time, grateful for a chance to enjoy an 80-minute breather. Like a young girl who bumps into a perfect stranger, one who’ll later become her life’s companion, I had watched the film unaware that it’d become a part of me and of my family.

We were so young back then (Nick hadn’t even been born.) We were so full of dreams… and so clueless.

And here we were, again, taken aback and by surprise by the same familiar characters. Unaware of the emotions this movie would stir, seeing our life story played out on the big screen, wondering how does time fly so quickly.

The movie ended and we left the building quietly.

Gracie broke the silence. “Man, that was a good movie!” she said as we walked through the parking lot. “I almost started crying when I saw Andy pack his stuff up… It was… it was just like me.”

“Yes, yes”, we all answered, shaking our heads very slowly. That was all we could manage. I wanted to touch my daughter’s arm and tell her how proud I am of her, but I really didn’t want to start crying again.

We got in the car, and Ronnie, who – like the first movie – is fifteen now, couldn’t help it anymore. He started bawling as if someone dear had just died. Gracie rubbed his arm, but didn’t say anything either.

“Oh, Ronnie”, I blurted, always the mom, trying to make things better, “I didn’t throw your Buzz and Woody dolls away. They are tucked safely on the shelf above your closet.”

“I know, I know,” he responded. “I’m just sad, Mom.”

“That movie was a tear-jerker, that’s for sure, Son,” Ron said, squinting a little bit.

Yes, it was. But I guess we all needed a good cry.

I Got My Worm!

This morning, I got a worm in the mail. And I couldn’t have been happier or more grateful.

Let me explain: Last Sunday my Pastor, Brian Anderson, taught a lesson about trust from Matthew 6, which he titled: “The Lesson of the Bird”.

“You all know that birds don’t worry about their next meal”, he said, though I’m mostly paraphrasing. “All they know is that they need a worm, so they look for one. But they don’t fret or suffer from high blood pressure or stomach ulcers, thinking about their next meal.”

I laughed at the amusing analogy, but at the same time I felt that oh-so-familiar Holy Spirit tug at my heart. I’m not really a worrier, but I do have a tendency to try to make things happen instead of trusting God to take care of me and mine. As Pastor Brian continued with his teaching, he encouraged us to do some soul searching to find out where our trust laid and to consider making drastic changes, if we felt led to do so.

My husband Ron and I got ourselves in a financial pickle a few years ago. We purchased a big piece of land we were supposed to “flip” almost immediately and make loads of money, so that we could pay off our house, retire and live merrily for the rest of our lives. (Well, maybe we would’ve not been able to retire early, but we would’ve made enough the pay off our house.)

Unfortunately, by the time title of the property was transferred to our names, the housing market and the economy collapsed. Arizona was one of the states hit the hardest. Soon we discovered that the land would remain in our names for a long, long time.

A second mortgage with the ensuing property taxes couldn’t be covered with Ron’s paycheck. A stay-at-home mom who dabbled in translation work just for extra money, I had to find full-time work and soon! But God faithfully provided. Through a friend, I found work as an interpreter, and continued doing translation work from home.

It’s been tough learning to juggle work, marriage, home, ministry and three very active children – coupled with my health and low-energy issues. But the toughest part has been surrendering our debt to God. Truth is no matter how hard I work, I’m not going to be able to get rid of it as soon as I want to. It’s going to take time, diligence, and – honestly – the Lord’s intervention.

But I have to keep on trusting. I don’t want debt to be the focus of my existence. The only way I can live at peace, continue to work hard and enjoy life and everything that it offers is by focusing on God’s goodness and by depending on Him to provide what I need.

So this morning, when I checked our bank account online and realized we only had $34 to make it with for the rest of the week, I had to take a deep breath and remember Pastor Brian’s teaching. Ron and I are committed not to use our credit cards unless we have to. God would provide somehow, and I needed to “chill” – like my teenage daughter often tells me.

“Ron, go check out the mailbox,” I asked.

“Are you expecting a pay check?” he asked in reply, looking hopeful.

“No, but you never know. Maybe God will provide a worm for these hungry birds,” I chuckled, somewhat nervously.

Picture my delight when I saw my handsome husband walk into our kitchen, waving a check with his hand. It was a refund for an insurance overpayment we weren’t expecting: $71 magnificent dollars. Not enough to quit working, but surely enough to make it until the next paycheck arrives.

And plenty of encouragement for this fretful heart.

25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" (Matthew 6, NVI)

Have you asked God for your worm today?

Ana

¡Visita Mi Rincón!

Te invito a visitar mi rinconcito. Dirígete a: http://visitamirincon.blogspot.com/

Bendiciones,

Ana

Taste and See

This is my friend Marlene's amazing pasta salad. You can read my story about it in the Vineyard Women's blog: http://women.vineyardnorthphoenix.com/

Chicken Bowtie Salad

4 chicken breasts
1 chicken bouillon cube
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 box bowtie pasta
1 creamy Ken's Cesar salad dressing
4 tomatoes
1 large bundle of spinach
shredded parmesan cheese

In a slow cooker, cook the chicken with bouillon and garlic (about 4 hours). Shred.
Prepare pasta per box directions.
Mix chicken and pasta with dressing.
Chop tomatoes and spinach and add to mix.
Chill.

Enjoy!

Ana

Ooops, I Did It Again!

Do you ever find yourself wondering – much like Brittany did in her song, back in the day when singing, dancing and her skimpy outfits were all she was famous for: “Why did I do that again?”

I do. More often than I care to admit.

Why in the world do I insist on repeating the same behavior that:
a) gets me in trouble, and / or
b) makes me look like an idiot (or a bigger one), and / or
c) causes me to hate my own stubborn guts?

And when the deed is done, and the dirt is smeared all over my reddened face, I solemnly s-w-e-a-r never to do it again. Ever.

But I still do.

Take the first months of this year, for example. I found myself doing the same things that about did me in last year, when I devoted the better part of 2009 preparing for my Federal Interpreter’s Certification Exam. Since this infamous test is so difficult to pass – in fact most of its victims fail it on their first try – I spent month after month either studying or stressing about it, obsessed and determined I wouldn’t suffer the same fate as those who went before me.

Last year, I quit going to the gym. I barely prayed or read my Bible. I pretty much ignored my family, locking myself in my room to study almost every evening, right after supper. I let go of my house, pets, yard, laundry and finances. During my commute to work, instead of listening to uplifting worship music or to my beloved books on CD, I practiced, practiced, practiced with my Interpretapes. I got so crazy, I even listened to lists of vocabulary I had taped, repeating each word over and over – like a parrot on crack – while taking a shower, doing my hair, brushing my teeth or putting on my makeup.

Crazy does not even begin to describe how bad I got. It is no wonder my family deemed it prudent not to disturb mommy except when they really had to. A matter of self-preservation, simple intuition or pure smarts, I suppose.

Thankfully, after I took the exam, I dropped all the nonsense and strived to regain whatever level of normalcy, kindness and sanity I’d once possessed. But it took quite a while. I had neglected my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual well-being for so long, that getting back to normal (though “normal” has never been the best word to describe this blogger) took long weeks of intense TLC.

Despite sacrificing so much, I still couldn’t “make it happen.” Yes, I failed the stupid test. (And nobody dare saying anything along the lines of, “tests are not stupid, people are” cause I might smack you, and I’d much rather we stayed friends.)

Let us fast forward instead to January of 2010 – five meager months after becoming yet another victim of the Federal Certification Exam. Once again, my friend Nic and I began to meet regularly to practice for THE TEST. And though the painful memories of ill effects suffered from severe neglect were very much alive, once again I started acting all crazy – not praying, or reading my Bible, or working out as often as I should’ve, and isolating friends and family – all for the sake of a passing grade.

By the end of February the same symptoms I had experienced last year came back with a vengeance: feeling excessive fatigued, overwhelmed by simple every-day chores, emotionally dry, spiritually empty, feeling removed, and not very patient with my poor family.

For Heaven’s sake, will I ever get it! Is it impossible for someone my age to gain any knowledge from her errors? Humans in general are obstinate. Jesus’ disciples were slower than my ice dispenser. The early people of Israel were ridiculously headstrong. But – when it comes to stubbornness and the inability to learn from one’s multiple mistakes – I , Ana Claudia Ortega Burgos de Stine, sure surpass them all!

Didn’t Paul say something along those lines?

Romans 7:19,

For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.

So true.

Thank goodness there is still hope for hardheaded people like me! Such hope lays on Someone who is mightier than the strongest of wills, who extends mercy beyond what we will ever deserve. Thanks be to God, the Apostle exclaims on verse 25, through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Yes, thanks be to God! I might be mulishly thick and unbelievably slow. But there still remains a place in my heart that cries out for God’s will to be fulfilled. And He still honors even my weakest prayer. So when I started going nutso once again, our faithful Lord whispered in my ear: It isn’t worth it. Try putting your trust in Me this time.

And so I saw the light. Thank you, God! And I managed to realize that studying hard is ok, but completely letting go of everything else – including my blog – is not.

Hence this long, convoluted explanation to why I haven’t posted anything since December, and how I plan to get back on the swing of things. The old Ana is back!

I’ve gone back to spending time with those I care about – including God. I do practice with my Interpretapes during my commute, but only on the way back home. On my way to work, I enjoy listening to worship music, recognizing that this is good for my soul. And in the evening, instead of memorizing legal terminology, I read for sheer pleasure. Oh, yeah.

Do you know what I’ve discovered as of lately? That the time I spend studying seems so much more productive when I take care of myself. And I’m way more pleasant and happier when I put my trust in God instead of in my own strives to make things happen.

I’m about to get up and move on to the next item on my to-do list. But this time I’m not feeling overwhelmed. Instead, I’m taking a deep breath, exhaling very slowly. A glace through my window lets me know that the weather outside is beautiful. Taking my dog Princess for a walk will be a delight. I can hear the birds chirping and the wind blowing. Can’t help but smile. The soft tumble of my dryer reminds me it’s time to put laundry away. I’m alive again.

Present

The other night, I stopped at the mall for some last-minute shopping. Tired and eager to get home, I zoomed from one pit stop to the next as focused and determined as Tom Cruise’s car racing character in Days of Thunder. The race, however, came to a sudden halt when I encountered the Christmas tree section at a big department store. The trees, brightly lit and expertly decorated, stood silent and magnificently erect in the midst of all the hustle and bustle hurried shoppers created.

I stood still, mesmerized by the glitter; caressing the soft ribbon and pretty ornaments – shopping, purpose, time and fatigue all forgotten. Then I remembered a Christmas, years ago, when I had escaped motherhood for a few hours and had slipped away to this very same mall to buy presents for my family.

Free from little feet too swift to chase and slender bodies that loved to hide beneath clothe racks, I strolled about leisurely, gazing at storefront windows and bobbing my head in tune with the merry music of the Season.

Back then, I had met the same majestic scene: Tall and dense Christmas trees, some lush and green, some sparklingly silver; all of them perfectly decorated with elegant ornaments and matching ribbon. I, too, had stood in awe and had thought with a mix of shame and self-pity about the limp fake tree we decorated every year with cheap ornaments bought on clearance or at garage sales.

One day, I had consoled myself with the thought, we’ll have a tree like these.

But this night, years later, the beautiful sight made me sad for a different reason.

It’s been a while since we discarded of the poor rickety tree we had gotten at Wal-Mart when the kids were little. Finances have improved so we are allowed the luxury of a fresh-cut evergreen, which we get every year on the day after Thanksgiving. We decorate our tree with precious handmade ornaments our kids crafted throughout the years and with ornaments collected on family vacations or received as gifts from friends on previous Christmases.

I looked at the fancy ornaments hung from the trees at the store and compared them with the ones hanging from our tree back at home. Few are as delicate and as costly as these, yet each one of ours has meaning and a rich history that makes them priceless to us.

One day, I pondered with sadness, I’ll probably have a tree like these.

I pictured myself as an older woman, in a clean and perfectly organized home, putting the finishing touches on a beautiful tree like the ones at the mall. By then, my children would be grown and no longer living at home, and the memories of a sorry little tree with cheap ornaments that didn’t match would warm my heart on a cold winter night.

Oddly enough, the words of Cindy Crawford came to mind as I reflected on my future. I had read an article about the super model and entrepreneur. When asked what she would like to accomplish in her forties, she had answered: “I’d like to be present.” After experiencing fame and success, she had realized she wanted to be “present” for herself and for her family. “I don’t want to be so rushed,” she continued, “that I miss what is right in front of me.”

Right in front of me.

What was right in front of me, at that mall, were beautiful trees that might represent something in my future. But at home I still have a tree not-so-perfectly decorated, a house in the constant disarray caused by loud, hungry teenagers that rush in and out of my kitchen and family room like Attila the Hun and his rowdy troops, and a life that is worthy to be savored to the fullest extent.

So I decided then and there that on this Christmas, I will give myself a wonderful present (pun intended), which I plan to open every morning of the year: Freedom to be there for those I love and permission to enjoy the gifts each day brings.

And my Christmas wish for you, my friends, is that God’s grace will abound in you so that you may be present and able to recognize and to enjoy each and every blessing He richly bestows upon you.

“The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it is called the present." Sun Dials and Roses of Yesterday: Garden Delights, by Alice Morse (1902)

Enjoying the Ride

I pranced down the stairs, rubbing my hands excitedly. My husband had left for work, the kids for school, and I was about to treat myself to my favorite show while I folded laundry and caught up on my ironing. I didn’t have to leave for work until later, so that would give me one whole hour all to myself before it was time to get ready. One whole hour without anyone asking me for food, clean socks, money or a ride.

That was the life.

As I made my way to the family room, the shrill of the phone ring caused me to halt. Who could it be? I cringed. A telemarketer, I’m sure. I tried to ignore the call, but the motherly side of me wouldn’t let go.

Say it’s a recorded message from the school! Say it’s a recorded message from the school! I chanted as I made my way to the phone. Fat chance. Those pre-recorded, automated phone calls the school makes to announce something usually come in the evenings.

The caller ID box read “Peoria School District”. Rats! This couldn’t be good. I picked up the phone and uttered a weak hello.

“Mrs. Stine?” a friendly voice asked.

Oh, oh. This was definitely not good.

A tiny creature clad in a tight red outfit appeared out of nowhere and landed on my left shoulder. He whispered, “Just lie, woman! Nobody will ever know. After all, you don’t sound like a Stine. Just say she’s unavailable or something.”

“Don’t do it, Ana!” cried a winged little creature, dressed in a white robe. She stood near my right ear waving her tiny hands in earnest. “Remember: Lying is wrong!”

“Mrs. Stine?” the voice at the other end of the line asked again. I motioned for both creatures to zip it. I can only pay attention to one person at a time, and that with great difficulty. They vanished with a puff.

“Speaking.”

“This is Ms. Hostetler, head nurse at Ironwood High. Your son is not feeling well and we were wondering if you could come pick him up.”

Rats, rats, rats! The school is 20 minutes away from my house. By the time I came back, it’d be time to jump in the shower and start getting ready for work.

My luck exactly.

I told the nurse I’d be on my way, begrudgingly grabbed my purse and my car keys, and left the house.

I turned on the radio hoping to improve my mood, perhaps even my attitude, which wasn’t exactly exemplary at the time. Christmas music filled the air. I began to relax and soon found myself smiling. Memories of past Holidays when Ron and I were newlyweds and when our children were little eased my frustration. Such wonderful memories. Next thing I knew, I was already at the school.

My teenage son came to the front office looking relieved. “I’d hug you, Mom,” he said, “but I don’t wanna get you sick.” How sweet. I wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything in the world – not even my favorite show. We got in the car and conversed briefly, then Ronnie leaned against the seat and we were placidly quiet for the rest of the ride. An immense sense of peace filled my mind, so rare during this hectic season.

Every year, I begin the Holiday Season with great expectations for the things I’d like to accomplish. I want to decorate my house and send pretty Christmas cards. I want to buy and wrap our presents with plenty of time. I want to bake enough cookies to share with our neighbors. And I really would like to remember watering our evergreen before it looses most of its needles and turns into a fire hazard.

But as Christmas Day draws near, my plans dwindle. Reality gradually sets in and I’m forced to pick and choose what I can actually do. However – in spite of my gross ineptitude and ensuing disappointment – Christmas has always been great fun at our house. No matter how crazy and how messy things get. No matter how little is “accomplished” or how incompetent I feel, nothing has quenched the joy this Season has brought to our family.

I turned to look at my son while he rested in the car. How amazing, I thought realizing the ride to and from school had actually been an enjoyable one. We got home. Ronnie went to bed. I got myself ready and, after making sure he was comfortable, left for work feeling renewed.

Dear friends, it is my prayer for you that even if things don’t go exactly as planned, you may still delight in this Season. That in the midst of the busyness and the ruckus it often brings, you may somehow focus on the Reason we celebrate and that your heart is merry and light. And I pray that this Christmas – just like I did this morning – you are able to enjoy the ride.