New Eyes

This is the season of darkness, literally. We go from about 15 hours of sunlight a day to ten then six. I appreciate the beauty of this season: the golden glow of the turning leaves, the angle in which the sunrays hit in the morning on my drive to work, the way sunlight extends its arms to reach into my special upstairs corner. Still, I prefer the summer solstice.  With the drop in sunlight comes a drop in my energy and a downcast mood. My anxiety rises as if dark days were a prelude to bad things happening. There is no rule which stipulates that the things I fear have to come to pass during this dark season, yet evil and fear grow larger in my mind.  What to do, then, to keep fear in check in the long dark months ahead? I am already on anti-anxiety medication. It helps, but it is not enough. I noticed that as the days started to grow dark my need for reassurance of God's presence increased. The activities I enjoyed in the summer lost their appeal, including my appetite for reading

With a pang of guilt I confess you are no longer my first thought when coming down the stairs each morning. I don't think of medications to prepare, formula to mix, and diapers to change. I don't always look at your picture in your special corner and say "good morning." Nor do I play your Pandora station every day. It makes me sad, and I don't want to feel empty. This morning I leave for work as always — a few minutes later than I had "planned." I turn on the radio and catch the weekly news round-up from 1A on NPR — Roe v Wade, the January 6th attack... I decide to play some music instead. It's an old CD with worship songs from Woodland Hills, the church which was my refuge after you were born. I think of you. I get to work and head to my first assignment. A boy about your age is getting his GJ tube changed in radiology, like you before the central line was placed. I watch him on the table, the trach protruding from his neck. You would have needed on

My second son, Caleb, was diagnosed a few days after birth with full trisomy 13, a chromosomal abnormality characterized by serious health issues and profound developmental delay. At 8 years of age, my son is, developmentally speaking, only a few months old. Even though a couple soft markers had been observed on ultrasound prenatally, I believe his diagnosis came as a surprise to all, including doctors. Caleb was born strong for a trisomy 13 baby. Many die shortly after birth, or require very aggressive interventions to survive. Had he needed to be in the Intensive Care Unit, our story would probably be very different. Eight years ago, “the incompatible with life label” loomed even more menacingly than it does today in our hospital and everywhere else.   If I had to divide Caleb’s life in seasons, season number one would be a very difficult first year of life, which included frequent apnea spells for a week starting at 3 weeks of age (for which he spent two days in the hospital), fee

I wrote this poem in December of 2019 in response to the prompt to write my most recent experience of God watering my dried-up hope in an expected way. God in a cat… Giving me someone to take care of Someone to nurse and to keep warm Someone to reassure, “I am here. I will take care of you.” God in a cat… Giving me someone to hold Someone to caress Someone to sing to Someone to keep me awake at night God in a cat Watering my dried-up hope By a leap and sudden landing on my lap he breaks the spell of grief... Perhaps God's here with me Perhaps God knows and cares Note: I was praying, and crying, for Caleb during our Advent devotional when our cat, Tajín, suddenly leapt unto my lap. The association I make of God with a cat comes from the book  The Horse and His Boy from The Chronicles of Narnia where Aslan shows up as a barn cat to comfort the boy. God has used Tajín to comfort me more than once since Tajín showed up under our house. 

Antes que nada, quiero agradecer a Itzany por invitarme a dar mi testimonio.  Creo que más que ser un testimonio de mi fe es un testimonio de la manera en que el Señor ha sido paciente y bondadoso conmigo. Mi fe no se distingue por ser firme e inquebrantable. Al contrario, a lo largo de mi caminar como cristiana, he sido, como dijera el escritor cristiano Philip Yancey de sí mismo: "Una peregrina infestada de dudas y esa es la única perspectiva que puedo brindar". Mi deseo, entonces, al compartir mi historia con ustedes es alentarlas y recordarles que el Señor es paciente y bondadoso con sus hijos.   Soy originaria de Iguala, Guerrero, pero vivo en Minneapolis, Minnesota desde hace ya 25 años. Trabajo como traductora e intérprete médica en un hospital infantil y asisto a la Primera Iglesia Bautista de Minneapolis. Mi esposo ayuda con la música y yo doy clases de escuela dominical a los niños.  Mis padres no eran religiosos y aunque me bautizaron de niña, lo hi

Lessons on the Job "We're not in the business of creating a community of people with poor quality of life..."  I look at him and ask myself as I listen, "Where are you going with this, doctor?" At this very moment, I am wearing not only my interpreter thinking hat. I am also activated as a mother. "The kind who can't talk, and you have to push in a wheelchair." How am I going to remain focused and neutral so I can render an accurate and faithful translation of his message to this expecting mother? She had inquired about the developmental challenges her baby would face due to his heart condition. Thankfully, they only involved the baby's inability to keep up with his peers when it came to physical exertion. I say "only" not to diminish the pain that this news brought to her. Yet, at least, her baby "wouldn't be part of the community of people with poor quality of life who can't talk and have to be pushed in a wheelchair,&q

April 11th, 2019. Late at night in Children's PICU. Trembling. Dear all, Caleb was admitted into the PICU after I brought him in for respiratory distress on Monday. He looked pretty ill, but we all thought we would "simply" end up spending a few days on the 6th floor dealing with an aspiration pneumonia. As he began to look more ill, he was moved to the intensive care unit. We found out yesterday that he had a yeast infection in his central line. The line was removed today. The yeast is also in his bloodstream, so he is septic. His lungs have been affected too either by the sepsis, or by being infected as well. They are confirming whether or not the infection is in his lungs. Regardless, he is getting treated for a generalized fungal infection.  We know he is getting good care, but we also know this is very serious. We know he could die from this. I am compelled to share my theological understanding of things: I don't believe God is causing this for some mysterious re

So Satan went out from the presence of the  Lord  and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.   Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes. His wife said to him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” In all this, Job did not sin in what he said. Job 2:7-10 "Curse God and die!”  “You are talking like a foolish   woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” We are quick to take sides in this couple's quarrel. Of course, it is obvious. Job is the pious one. His wife is the foolish one. We are even told that Job did not sin in what he said, which proves we are right to side with Job. "See? See? He is the one to emulate!" The problem, as I see it, is that we usually stop reading there. As this drama continues to unfold, we tend to skip Job'

Elvia y su prima cruzaron la mirada y se echaron a reír. Íbamos de regreso en la combi de mis abuelos tras pasar quién sabe cuántas horas nadando en "el cerro", como comúnmente lo llamábamos. Todas las tardes, mi abuelito Salvador y mi abuelita Susana subían a la colonia Burócrata en la inconfundible combi naranja, a limpiar la alberca y a desyerbar el terreno que ahora era el centro de las reuniones familiares.   En sí, no tiene nada de raro ni de chistoso que alguien se persigne al pasar frente a una iglesia (millones de mexicanos lo hacen a diario). A menos, por supuesto, que dicha persona no sepa hacer la señal de la cruz y haga un simple garabato en dirección vertical y luego horizontal, que fue lo que hice yo cuando pasamos frente a la capilla de la Virgen de Guadalupe. No lo hice por respeto a Dios ni a la iglesia, sino por imitación y sentido del deber. Elvia y su prima se habían persignado y yo no quería quedar mal delante de ellas. No vengo de una familia religiosa.