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1 chron 15:16 ..

¹⁵ He remembers^[c] his covenant forever,
the promise he made, for a thousand generations,
¹⁶ the covenant he made with Abraham,
the oath he swore to Isaac.
¹⁷ He confirmed it to Jacob as a decree,
to Israel as an everlasting covenant:
¹⁸ “To you I will give the land of Canaan
as the portion you will inherit.”

¹⁹ When they were but few in number,
few indeed, and strangers in it,
²⁰ they^[d] wandered from nation to nation,
from one kingdom to another.
²¹ He allowed no one to oppress them;
for their sake he rebuked kings:
²² “Do not touch my anointed ones;
do my prophets no harm.”

David orders specific people to sing, play instruments, and give thanks to the Lord as they minister around the Arc of the Covenant.  Even though this would have just been a symbol of ‘promises kept’ to westerners like us, I think to David and his crew, this Arc was as sacred as God’s very presence.  A cross is a reminder to us.  This box was holy…

David leads them in praise and worship.  Reminds them of how God has kept covenant with all the generations before them:  Abraham, Issac, Jacob.

Why does this stand out to me?  I’m reminded why we sing and praise and worship.

Our modern day “arc of the covenant” is our place of worship: church.  Its the “box” that we anticipate that the spirit of God and presence of God will be present in.  And we go there with expecting hearts, we come prepared with our offerings, and we praise and honor our lord in that “box”.  The Holy Spirit is reminding me why I sing…

Sometimes I’ve forgotten that He’s called me…and sometimes I even questions that I’m chosen…and sometimes I have a tough time remembering that I’m anointed.  He always remembers me. He’s never broken covenant to protect me, to guide me and to take care of me.  He always remembered me.  I have seen the world and how He lives in every part of it.  He always remembered me and made room for me in Napa, in NYC, in my work life, my soon-to-be married life, my family life…He has never left me.  Thats not to say that I haven’t faced some heavy hardship, but just as David rejoiced over God rebuking many opposing Kings, I can say too, that he has taken down some spiritual principalities in my life; even saved me from deathly experiences.

So now I’m entering one of the oldest forms of covenant: marriage. I see that in this new stage of my adulthood, He has remembered me.  Mama said it so well at the bridal shower this past weekend…When Papa learned he was having (me) a little girl he told my mom that he would be fending off the boys, he’d protect me and care for me.  I imagine that that was his promise to me, Mama and to himself…knowing my Papa, and how later, we prayed every night for a baby brother, until my mom was preganant with Emil, I know that this must have been a promise heard by God as well:  That Papa’s girl would be watched over, protected and taken care of…

God, even until now, 20+ years after Papa has passed away, you have minded my Father’s promise.  Even though, in years past, I have had my share of bad experiences, but I’ve come out alive, well, healthy, blessed and sometimes RENEWED!  Now I  arrive at this crossroad: getting married.  And Lord, I see that you have orchestrated the fulfillment of your promise throughout my years growing up.  Did you make covenenant with my Papa?  Did he let go of earthly life while on that hospital bed willingly?  Did he ask you to care for me and my brother?  Did he worry that we wouldn’t be cared for?  That there wouldnt be a man in my life who would ward off harm for his little girl?  I think he did.  And I think you promised him.  And I think my step dad, the man my brother has turned out to be and most especially, my fiance is proof that you keep your promises.  I have been cared for, protected and taken care of.

I have never been hungry.  I have never been so hurt that I couldnt stand anymore.  I have always known that I was loved.

Thank you, my heavenly Father for upholding the promise a man made to his little girl before passing away.

I love you, Lord and I lift my voice to worship you and all of my soul rejoice.  Take joy my King in what you hear, let it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear.

today we honored the memory of my friend/cousins dad.  he passed this most recent monday after a quick bout with cancer.  it was a beautiful, sad, and hopeful service.  his 8 children did an amazing job of exemplifying the good man their father was through their own character.  they told stories, said goodbyes and thanked us all of loving them.

and naturally: I miss my dad today.  Papa is at the forefront, the back, and filling every little space of my mind.  Such should explain my antsyness, turned irritation at my fiance.  I suppose i could defend my attitude by using the “action-reation” clause.  But, after a few shed tears I’m uncovering the real reason why I’m so EMO tonight…because when I think of the silly argument between me and my fiance and I can just shake my head, raise my hands and say to myself with simultaneous assurance and frustration, “…yes, I still do…” and recognize that this moment is just a moment.  But, when i think of Papa, my stomach folds, my breath shortens and my tear ducts well up.  Even now as I type.

cue random(purposed) pandora.com playing, This too shall pass (Yolanda Adams) and I’m in fetal position holding on tight to my pillows, sounding like a little girl. 

What is this sudden purge?  How could the loss of someone else’s father cause me so much grief and mourning again?  And I’m hurting.  and feeling slightly alone. When I saw Tori and each of her sisters,  I just wanted to CRY out loud.  I looked at each of them wanting to connect through our tears.  Its an odd feeling when someone goes through grief over their dad.  It makes me feel like we’re all in this club…only we understand what it feels like to be a daughter who’s lost their daddy.  And today I’m crying over not remembering what it felt like to be a daddy’s girl.  or i’m digging into my memory bank of all emotions and I’m trying to find what it feels like to feel comforted as an adult by her dad. 

stomach folding.  nose stuffy. tears. tears.

my heart is feeling so broken.  its odd to feel this after so many years. I’m engaged to the man I’ve been with for 2 years so  heartbreak is not something I’ve been familiar with for a long time.  but thats what i feel. i feel a failed emotion–an emptiness that, from faith, I know that only the Holy Spirit can comfort and fill.  I just really need something to hug onto. 

When you lose something (and its fully out of your control), all you look for is connection…but unfortunately our human defenses get in the way of showing THAT much vulnerability.  In my case: I was reminded of what I lost so long ago. I watched my friends/cousins beginning the journey of grief, and even seeing that made me want to connect…I lost someone too.  I cried some nights too.  I was daddy’s girl once before. 

the faith and hope in me, has got me imagining my Papa hosting TitoBoy through the pearly and golden places of heaven, showing him around, introducing him to the place he’s called home for the last 21 years.  Although they never met here on earth, I do suspect that they’re raising a cold one to their pain-free bodies.  Then another to their awesome kids.

(Babe. I’m sorry.  I think it took some conflict to get me to the root of my grief.)

21 years.

Just the thought of how much life is squeezed into 21 years gets me a little choked up.  21 years is puberty, boys, graduations, career feats and defeats, relationship feats and defeats, and emotions of every kind…PHEW!  Today, it has been 21 years since my Papa passed away.  Believe me, there’s a couple of times every year that memories of him sneak into my dreams and remind me to remember him: 1) around his birthday in Jan and 2) around this time in March. Mustard seed blossoms bloom everywhere to remind me of life after death.

21 years. I suppose this should be a somber time.  “Paying respect” is always an awkward term for me to grasp…because how, exactly, do you pay respect?  With memories?  My memories with him don’t go beyond those of a 9-year-old girl, still giggling, still singing, still running away from my mom trying to brush my hair, still finding “safety” on the couch with Papa watching Pro Wrestling (remember when we called it “safety” or “home base”–that was the couch for me).  So how does one “pay respect”?  I’ll admit that at so many times its become just a gesture of putting flowers on the tombstone, and if there’s time, cleaning up the overgrown grass around the marble corners that protect his name.

This winter-spring season I’ve been working pretty hard on an Easter production for our church (Jubilee Christian Center).  Just like with anything new, you run into multiple obstacles and challenges, we did.  And like any production, the director becomes a blend of stress and peace (hope, hard work and few other things mixed in there)–every day the percentage of the parts (stress and peace) change; sometimes 90% stress +5% peace +5% other stuff.  Don’t blame me for the 90% stress without understanding my love/hate relationship with ‘art’ and ‘the church.’  That might need to be saved for another blog entry, but saying so should tell you enough about me (or talk to my friends Renee Sagon, Jenn Guirand, Stephanie Gonzalez and Cecile Miras–the poor souls who have had to hear my ranting about such things for the last 3 years!)  This week has been the first time that my Peace% has outweighed my Stress%–that’s a LOT to say for me. It’s the final days of rehearsal and I’m letting go.  I love this part. Its my favorite of every production I’ve been a part of: the “getting it” part that all the actors fall into.  The “letting go”.

I’ll connect these two thoughts: 21 years ago today my Father passed away, leaving me, mom and 1year old Emil to a family who flooded us with love and support.  Easter of 1989: My mom took me to Jubilee (now my home church) for the Easter Sunday service. (Small note: I researched that year, and realized that Easter was the very next day, March 26th.  I can only imagine how hard that was for my mom…) I remember it so clearly, because mom was standing along with the rest of the congregation during the final song.  Pastor Ron Kenoly lead with singing: “HALLELUJAH! JESUS IS ALIVE!…Death has lost its victory and the grave has been denied…” (or something like that.)  And the most vivid part of this memory was this:  Mom hugged me and said, “Papa’s alive too, Trina.  His spirit is in Heaven.”  That has resonated in me until this day.

21 Easters ago we buried my Papa.  21 years later, I’m directing an Easter play. It’s quite ironic and humorous.  God’s way of keeping me on my toes?  I’m letting go (again). And through tonight’s rehearsal we “pay respect”, if you will, to the Man who died and rose again, and along with so many other reasons, he did that so my Papa could have a spiritual life in heaven beyond the death of his body.  Geez!…I’ve been working on this play since January, but it wasn’t until today that I remembered all of these Papa/Easter moments of my past.  An “a HA!” moment over lunch with my boyfriend.  Usually it’s so bittersweet to realize that its his “death anniversary”. Not today.  I’m not sure what I’ll feel like by the end of the day….I’ll find out after tonight’s rehearsal!! (haha)  But what this director does know is: its back to 90%peace +10% other stuff (hope, thankfulness, joy, remembrance, grief, responsibility, change, repentance, humility, love…faith.)

thanks for reading.

Richmond Leather Weekender

I found this fantastic vintage leather weekender!  She’s a cleaver little bag as she unzips like a suitcase.  She’ll be up for grabs after I get her polished up.  Anyone intrested???  Stay tuned…