I’m Back

It’s Friday! I have a few minutes before I leave for the weekend and wanted to share some great news: WordPress finally let me back on! I finally regained access to my account.

To be totally honest I have not made it a priority to regain account access (Two-way authentication, you’re dead to me). I am eager to write and share experiences with you. So much has happened. I cannot believe it’s been 6 months since my last blog. I need to dust off my Web site, roll up my sleeves, and share amazing stories with you; stories with the purpose of confirming we are all conduits of divine information.

As I head out, I wish you and your family a happy and safe weekend.

Much love and light,

theDrunkenMedium

Holiday Reflection

“We were poor but we had love. That’s the one thing that [momma] made sure of.” Loretta Lynn’s lyrics hypnotize me. It is Black Friday and North Texas’ first freeze. I fail to keep up with the conversation over dinner at Babe’s Chicken Dinner House. My senses are on overdrive. The crispy, double fried chicken thigh and buttery mashed potatoes and flashbacks of my past dominate my sensory motherboard. My Past plays in my mind. The Present enjoys dinner with my family which includes my father from Nevada and sister from El Salvador. On this holiday season, my Future affirms my children will not know the plight of a “miner’s wage,” thanks to momma’s hard work.

Holiday Reflection 1

“Momma loved and raised [four] kids on a [seamstress’] pay.” As a child, we never celebrated Thanksgiving. For my brothers and me, it was a break from school. My momma worked and usually only had Thanksgiving Day off. “I seen her fingers bleed, to complain there was no need.” Yes, I recall seeing my mom’s finger bleed through the gauze as she described a sewing needle piercing her thumb. She never complained as she drifts to sleep to start all over tomorrow morning. Spirit plays this moment just minutes after I complain about Wal-Mart’s ridiculous Black Friday crowd. After I make the connection that I should be gracious for this moment, in my mind, “she smiles in mommy’s understanding way.”

“In the summertime we didn’t have shoes to wear but in the wintertime we’d all get a brand new pair.” Christmas was always bitter sweet. To me, this season was bitter because I never had the opportunity to believe in Santa Claus. After a few disappointing Christmases, I was conditioned not to believe in Santa Claus against all earnest attempts of the contrary. Jesus’ birth was sweet because of non-profit organizations such as the Salvation Army and King’s Daughters. God blessed me with loving teachers. My Kindergarten teacher is my hero. She blessed our family with memorable Christmas: shoes, clothes, Christmas Tree, and a toy. I know momma worked hard to pay the bills and maintain our livelihood. Momma’s love prevailed over the poverty. I knew the trailer we lived in was no mansion, but somehow I was fulfilled. I was once a Salvation Army Angel, and I know the Lord blessed me with many Angels throughout my life.

“Well, a lot of things have changed since way back then.” “Yes they have,” I quietly thank God. My wife and I made a life for ourselves. By the grace of God, hard work that I learned from my momma, and education, I am prepared to give my children a life my momma and I always wanted. The glass of Malbec is empty. I pour one more glass and enjoy this humbling holiday reflection as the song continues to play, “and it’s so good to be back home again. Not much left but the floors, nothing lives here anymore, except the memories of a coal miner’s daughter.”

Bath Time

As I sit behind my Dell computer to type this blog, Rascal Flats lyrics suddenly flood my mind, “God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you.” Just as quickly as the lyrics appear in the back of my mind, I innately take it as a sign to share the proceeding blog dedicated to my beautiful wife, Andrea. Thank you for eleven years of marriage. Thank you for my beautiful family. Thank you for sharing this journey called life with me. 

Soap suds cover Gabriel’s tiny body. “Wow, Gabriel is only two and is completely in love with his mother,” I remember thinking as Gabriel shares giggles with his mother. It is bath time. BathTimeAs most parents know, bath time can either be a stressful situation filled with screams and tears, or on occasion, a pleasurable experience between parent and child. This summer night though, God graced me with a tender moment. Lavender suds, squeaky ducks and trucks, rubber letters and numbers cover the bath tub as Gabriel stretches out for his mother.  Gabriel grins. His smile is accentuated by an impeccably placed dimple. His honey-colored eyes radiate the subtle combination of innocence, vulnerability and love that only a child can exude. At this precise moment it all makes sense to me. Time stands still. This moment is a picture. My soul wonders off to the past and ruminates. It hits me. A lightbulb goes off. My son looks up to his mother with the same reverence and love as I have toward my own mother. This indelible moment leaves me humbled as I hold back the tears and shake off goose bumps (read Grounded).

At this precise moment I recall the many fights, tears, nightmares, moments of hiding below beds to avoid my drunken father, and endless prayers to God for a perfect family. My childhood was far from picture perfect. I witnessed my mother beaten against a tree, kicked and punched, choked and strangled, bruised and bloody by the hands of men. Despite the shitty men in our lives my mother remained selflessly committed to giving her children only the best. I revisit the dark valleys of childhood that extended to my teenage years. My years in middle and high school were scared by depraved acts by the hands of a man. As I learned from my mother as a child, I learned to cleverly mask behind my smile. The love my mother gave me, the guidance He provided, this broken road led me straight to Andrea.

At this precise moment I remember the summer of July 1999. After I graduated high school I was committed to leave my hometown, finish my job at HEB, and start my college life with no ties. God had a different plan. That summer of 1999 God ushered Andrea into my life. I was thrown off course; however, for the first time in my life I was excited. Something inside me changed. Admittedly I did not recognize it at the time, but I know now, my soul had met his mate. Just like an Angel tasked to provide guidance, Andrea was there as I professionally and spiritually resolved my inner demons throughout college, marriage, fatherhood and even a vital played a role in reacquainting me with God and Spirit.

At this precise moment bath time becomes a divine classroom. My son’s eyes evoke a beautiful journey of darkness and light. The Master Author can only script such juxtaposition of present and past, of love and fear, of wife and mother and son and deliver it in a way that I process the lesson in a matter of seconds. The soap suds that cover his chin, the lavender smell that conceals the pesty mold on the hard-to-reach corners, and the humidity that suffocates my nostrils form a divine backdrop as I learned His lesson, “Andrea is my mother to my son. Love your wife as you love your mother. You are in the perfect family you yearned and prayed for as a child. Just as you remember how your father treated your mother, your son will recall how you treat his mother.” Time resumes. I quietly turn away as to not interrupt this awesome, innocent mother-son bath time. At this precise moment I.LOVE.BATH.TIME and I am #BeyondThankful

imageIt is all about changing perspective. It is all about being grateful for those little golden treasures that get lost in chaos .It is all about surrendering and releasing your fears to Him.