GUEST POST: forgiveness that transforms
When I have angry, mean-spirited, hurt kids at church who are hard to love, I think about this story and the man that Julian has become. Help me be quick to forgive offenses and extravagant with my love for those kids Lord! Thank you Lord for "Pastor D" and his willingness for forgive.
blue eyed cutie-pie
Be quiet. No you be quiet. No you.
people change.
It's inevitable. We all change. Hopefully in good ways but probably in some bad ones too.
Jonathan just shakes his head in silent wonder when I craft or sew or read internet tutorials on how to bring a dirty cookie sheet back to it's original shiny glory...because that is NOT the woman he married. Indeed, 10 years ago I counted Martha Stewart as one of the most ridiculous people on the planet; now I admit to having watched a tutorial or seventy on her website.
I think those are good changes.
I have changed in ways that might be bad too. I'm bolder, and quicker to speak my mind. (Good and bad.) I'm more likely to hold grudges. (Am I getting crankier as I age? Working on that!) I have accepted that some things about me will never change, that probably should change. Acceptance can be good; acceptance of faults that need to change, that's maybe not so good. (My bed is currently piled halfway to the ceiling with laundry.) (We have 10 foot ceilings and I was being literal.) (I'm kinda nonchalant about the pile of laundry.) (I'm pretty much okay with it actually. It's our normal.)
He's changed too.For the sake of marital bliss, I'll stick with the good ways. I can really only think of good ways:
He's slower to judge people. He's quicker to say Thank You and I love you; to everyone, not just me. He never says a word when he's forced to sift through the dryer for clean socks; manages to do it pleasantly in fact. He sees some things in gray and not always in black and white; I think that's a good thing. He speaks his mind but it's with less abruptness and more gentleness. He's quick to offer a sincere apology. He's an even better speaker and preacher, and he's always been my very favorite.
So people change. I think young love birds would do well to know that the person they marry will not be the person they are living with some 15 years later. But the fun part is that you get to be a big part of shaping that change, you get to see prayers answers (just keep praying), and you get to enjoy watching a person become who they were created to be.
Cliff: Lubbock Branch
Bird Nest Necklace
graphic chicken carcass image ahead
not just for spoons and forks
thinking about small moments
(That always feels like a word with a lot of weight to me, like it should be typed as PURPOSE. and imagined in your head with a resounding echo. If that word makes you cringe a little because you're not sure you've even figured it out, let alone are living it out, click on over and enjoy the posts this month! You are not alone.)
it was a sneak attack!
I let out a loud, compulsory "OUCH!", and was grateful I didn't say anything more colorful. (Not that I get a whole lot more colorful, but still...I was glad I didn't teach the 2 year old a new word-o-the-day.) I grabbed my head, sure there would be major blood loss, but alas there was just a small cut and moderate size knot. The knot was a decent size when it initially happened, but when I finally got home to try and get sympathy from anyone it had shrunk significantly. I knew I should have taken a picture.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Note from Starr: I met Julian Gonzales and his wife Minerva nearly a decade ago at The Pathway of Life church in Dallas, TX. I respect his authenticity, his love and passion for his family, and the work he does to minister to "the least of these." I asked him to share this story on my blog, because I was challenged and humbled by it. Forgiveness matters.
I can't remember the last time someone smiled at me without having the feeling that something bad was about to happen. Usually when a stranger smiled in my barrio, it meant several things and all of those things were bad. Nevertheless, he was smiling and walking towards me. I didn't do the normal procedure; watching the whereabouts of where his hands were on his person. I didn't visually blitz his clothes, trying to discover a bulge or slight impression of a gun, knife, or tire iron for that matter. I didn't even look for an escape route, nor did I reach into my pocket and make ready my recently acquired .380 pistol that I bought from the local heroin addict. I knew he wasn't "Five-Oh", because he was calm. He didn't swallow hard, his breathing was consistent; neither shallow, deep, nor hard, but just right. He was now close enough to me to be a problem if he wanted to, but I didn't feel threatened by him. I did however feel uncomfortable at the pace he was approaching me, so I said to him in the best poker face I could muster, "Whatcha looking at ese'?" Immediately spitting out my gum, and where it landed became the symbolic demarcation point. He stopped about 1 millimeter away from where the wad of gum landed so close that the front of his British Knights tennis shoes would bump it occasionally. He never stopped smiling.
I was 16 years old when this happened, and I was standing near the Lambrano St. bridge, by Elmendorf St. in the Mechaca Courts section of San Antonio. My uncles, who were alcoholics, recently started going to church, and for me it was scary because I didn't know who these guys where anymore. They talked about how great church was on Sunday morning and then again on Sunday night, they were even going to church on Wednesdays too. Then one day about four o clock in the morning when one of my uncles began singing, "I will dance like David" I said, "What the hell is going on here?" It only got worse when Grandma busted out her tambourine and played it so hard that Tina Turner would have envied her. God was moving in our home, and I didn't understand it one single bit. I was living my life just a half step in front of death; I was selling drugs and getting paid to beat people. I was involved with the San Antonio Kings at the time we where a known as a "wolf pack" for a bigger, more violent and established prison gang.
Two days later on a Friday night I found myself at church. You see, that young man who walked up to me in my barrio just graduated from Latin American Bible Institute, and he was the youth pastor and worship leader for East Central Assemblies of God Church in San Antonio, Texas. He was no older than 20 years old and grew up in the church; I guess that's the reason why he thought he could sneak up on me and "jokingly" apply a choke hold. I was talking to several people at the time, and I noticed their eyes would flare off of me. A true sign that someone was behind you, but I ignored the massive urge to turn around. That is when I felt someone apply pressure around my neck. From then, I really don't remember what happened, other than when it was finished this pastor of about 50 youth lay on the floor of the church gym, bleeding from his mouth holding his arm with a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist. I stood over him and someone pushed me away. I went into failsafe mode; I was ready to fight everyone if I needed to. He saw what was going on, so he got onto his feet and placed himself in between I and the others even though he could barely stand the pain. He said something to the youth, and for the love of God I don't remember what he said, but whatever he said calmed everyone down. In the mean time I was sizing up the guys that had begun to charge me before the pastor interceded.
I remember that night I felt like I was going to hell, because I just beat up a pastor. He called me later after he got out of the hospital and apologized for doing what he did. I remember saying to myself, "He is apologizing to me for kicking his ass?" I didn't know how to act, but he showed up at my door and made sure that I would go to church. It was a new experience for me. He, by example, taught me how forgiveness should work. I in turn taught him how to apply a correct choke hold. I made a lot of friends at that church, and gradually left the street life. I will never forget how Pastor D, a youth pastor, took the time, got beat up, and extended forgiveness, for me to have a relationship with the Lord. I now have been married for 18 years have two wonderful children and I still go to church happily. I reflect at times what would have become of me if that youth pastor would not have listened, and taken the time to share Christ's love with me? What would have become of me, if he did not stand up for me on that Friday night that I broke his wrist and dislocated his shoulder? I don't know, but I thank God that he did.
I was 16 years old when this happened, and I was standing near the Lambrano St. bridge, by Elmendorf St. in the Mechaca Courts section of San Antonio. My uncles, who were alcoholics, recently started going to church, and for me it was scary because I didn't know who these guys where anymore. They talked about how great church was on Sunday morning and then again on Sunday night, they were even going to church on Wednesdays too. Then one day about four o clock in the morning when one of my uncles began singing, "I will dance like David" I said, "What the hell is going on here?" It only got worse when Grandma busted out her tambourine and played it so hard that Tina Turner would have envied her. God was moving in our home, and I didn't understand it one single bit. I was living my life just a half step in front of death; I was selling drugs and getting paid to beat people. I was involved with the San Antonio Kings at the time we where a known as a "wolf pack" for a bigger, more violent and established prison gang.
Two days later on a Friday night I found myself at church. You see, that young man who walked up to me in my barrio just graduated from Latin American Bible Institute, and he was the youth pastor and worship leader for East Central Assemblies of God Church in San Antonio, Texas. He was no older than 20 years old and grew up in the church; I guess that's the reason why he thought he could sneak up on me and "jokingly" apply a choke hold. I was talking to several people at the time, and I noticed their eyes would flare off of me. A true sign that someone was behind you, but I ignored the massive urge to turn around. That is when I felt someone apply pressure around my neck. From then, I really don't remember what happened, other than when it was finished this pastor of about 50 youth lay on the floor of the church gym, bleeding from his mouth holding his arm with a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist. I stood over him and someone pushed me away. I went into failsafe mode; I was ready to fight everyone if I needed to. He saw what was going on, so he got onto his feet and placed himself in between I and the others even though he could barely stand the pain. He said something to the youth, and for the love of God I don't remember what he said, but whatever he said calmed everyone down. In the mean time I was sizing up the guys that had begun to charge me before the pastor interceded.
I remember that night I felt like I was going to hell, because I just beat up a pastor. He called me later after he got out of the hospital and apologized for doing what he did. I remember saying to myself, "He is apologizing to me for kicking his ass?" I didn't know how to act, but he showed up at my door and made sure that I would go to church. It was a new experience for me. He, by example, taught me how forgiveness should work. I in turn taught him how to apply a correct choke hold. I made a lot of friends at that church, and gradually left the street life. I will never forget how Pastor D, a youth pastor, took the time, got beat up, and extended forgiveness, for me to have a relationship with the Lord. I now have been married for 18 years have two wonderful children and I still go to church happily. I reflect at times what would have become of me if that youth pastor would not have listened, and taken the time to share Christ's love with me? What would have become of me, if he did not stand up for me on that Friday night that I broke his wrist and dislocated his shoulder? I don't know, but I thank God that he did.
 |
| Julian and his awesome family |
permalink | posted by Starr at 9:29 AM
blue eyed cutie-pie
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Do yourself a favor: Get your daily fix of too-cute-to-believe, and click here to admire my nephew, the world's most adorable 1 year old. (And follow my sister-in-law's blog while you're at it!)
Whenever Jonathan and I see a new picture of this guy, we go on and on and on about how stinkin' adorable he is. Sometimes the kids will hear our gushing and have to clarify, "But Dad, you thought I was a cute baby too, right?" "Geesh Mom! Did you think we were as cute as him?!?" And the answer of course is "Yes!" Just like my other niece and nephew are the world's cutest as well!
God made one-year-olds in a way that just captures hearts. He probably made them so cute because they're so much work.
permalink | posted by Starr at 3:52 PM
Be quiet. No you be quiet. No you.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Does this you-be-quiet ongoing sibling quarrel really have to happen right outside my bathroom door? So. Annoying.
"BOTH OF YOU!!! BE QUIET!!! AND LET ME GO TO THE BATHROOM!!!"
I'm not so precious that I require silence to use the bathroom. In that situation I just happen to be a trapped party who can't help but listen to the squabbling nonsense and it drives me bonkers.
The quarreling between brother(s) and sister has definitely gone up a notch around here lately. "Both of you, to your rooms" is a common phrase.
It's tiresome. I makes me tired. I tire of it. I am tired, you see!
That is all. Goodnight.
It's only 5:05. I haven't fed anyone dinner. We haven't finished homework. No one has had a bath.
So it's not really goodnight. But I wish it was.
permalink | posted by Starr at 5:07 PM
people change.
Monday, January 23, 2012
people change.
It's inevitable. We all change. Hopefully in good ways but probably in some bad ones too.
Jonathan just shakes his head in silent wonder when I craft or sew or read internet tutorials on how to bring a dirty cookie sheet back to it's original shiny glory...because that is NOT the woman he married. Indeed, 10 years ago I counted Martha Stewart as one of the most ridiculous people on the planet; now I admit to having watched a tutorial or seventy on her website.
I think those are good changes.
I have changed in ways that might be bad too. I'm bolder, and quicker to speak my mind. (Good and bad.) I'm more likely to hold grudges. (Am I getting crankier as I age? Working on that!) I have accepted that some things about me will never change, that probably should change. Acceptance can be good; acceptance of faults that need to change, that's maybe not so good. (My bed is currently piled halfway to the ceiling with laundry.) (We have 10 foot ceilings and I was being literal.) (I'm kinda nonchalant about the pile of laundry.) (I'm pretty much okay with it actually. It's our normal.)
He's changed too.
He's slower to judge people. He's quicker to say Thank You and I love you; to everyone, not just me. He never says a word when he's forced to sift through the dryer for clean socks; manages to do it pleasantly in fact. He sees some things in gray and not always in black and white; I think that's a good thing. He speaks his mind but it's with less abruptness and more gentleness. He's quick to offer a sincere apology. He's an even better speaker and preacher, and he's always been my very favorite.
So people change. I think young love birds would do well to know that the person they marry will not be the person they are living with some 15 years later. But the fun part is that you get to be a big part of shaping that change, you get to see prayers answers (just keep praying), and you get to enjoy watching a person become who they were created to be.
Labels: deep thoughts from the laundry lady
permalink | posted by Starr at 9:09 PM
Cliff: Lubbock Branch
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Cliff Family.
Lubbock, TX branch.
Fun together time - just us - is required. We all notice when we haven't had enough.
We laugh and squabble and laugh again within seconds.
We watch a lot of movies. Not enough princess movies to make it fair.
We pray together but not before every single meal.
Goodnight kisses and special handshakes happen every night. Sometimes the parents rush through it.
We recognize each others strengths. We encourage.
We tease. Sometimes too hard. So we apologize.
We love Jesus and trust God. The kids sometimes have questions the adults can't answer.
All five of us scramble to clean the house before guests arrive.
We have grace with each other. And then we don't.
The kids learn from observing. Then the kids act like the parents. Good and not good.
All of us dote on the baby Cliff. She's six and not a baby.
Card games end in hysterical laughter and high fives. Other times in sore-loser tears.
None of us like green vegetables that much. The mom tries to pretend.
We all know we have it good. Very good.
We open our home to kids who need a temporary family. We love it. It's hard and sometimes we complain.
We love Texas, but the five of us could live anywhere. Together.
photos by Andy West
letters from flickr set
permalink | posted by Starr at 6:00 AM
Bird Nest Necklace
Friday, January 13, 2012
How cute is this "Mama Bird" nest necklace, with three little eggs for my three little birdies?!?
And, of course, I saw the tutorial for making this precious pendant on Pinterest. (I have never made jewelry unless you count braided friendship bracelets in sixth grade, but this was a quick, easy project.)
I made a necklace for my friend Danielle too. I'm quite sure when I give it to her the first thing she'll say is, "Oh! I saw this on Pinterest!" Pinterest, making it impossible to pretend as though you're creative all on your own without the aid of the internet!
I adore it.
Labels: craft
permalink | posted by Starr at 6:00 AM
graphic chicken carcass image ahead
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Admittedly, I am no culinary genius. But I have recently made a startling discovery. Did you know that you can LIFT UP the skin of a chicken, and rub the seasonings directly on the meat?!? (Told you. Not a culinary genius. I'm pulling a good C average in all things culinary, aiming to increase my GPA this year.) I was always annoyed at creating rubs out of various spices to rub on the chicken, that would then just get discarded as none of my family eats the skin.
So, there you go. My fact-o-the-day for anyone out there who was not previously enlightened about the lifting-of-the-chicken-skin. If there, uh, are any of you.
 |
| Sorry good chicken, for exposing you in this way and then photographing it. |
Click here for my favorite recipe for roasting a whole chicken in the crock pot. So easy! So good! And then, as seen on the recipe link, just go right ahead and make some homemade broth! You'll feel so good you did. You will feel your culinary GPA elevating with every container you fill with your homemade broth. Or maybe that's just me.
Labels: food
permalink | posted by Starr at 6:00 AM
not just for spoons and forks
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
I saw this idea for toothbrush/toothpaste/misc. storage on a friend's Pinterest page, and had to go that same day - yay, that very hour- to buy a flatware utensil organizer. Is this brilliant or what?!? Fits perfectly in the top drawer in the bathroom. Ahh the joy that simple solutions bring to my home management heart.
I already keep my earrings in ice cube trays and was excited enough about that for a blog post too. This whole concept could be becoming a thing with me.
Labels: home management
permalink | posted by Starr at 4:00 PM
thinking about small moments
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I'd love for you to check out my post today on Prize31: small moments and spilled syrup
Join the conversation this month as all the Prize31 authors talk about purpose!
(That always feels like a word with a lot of weight to me, like it should be typed as PURPOSE. and imagined in your head with a resounding echo. If that word makes you cringe a little because you're not sure you've even figured it out, let alone are living it out, click on over and enjoy the posts this month! You are not alone.)
Labels: deep thoughts from the laundry lady
permalink | posted by Starr at 8:19 AM
it was a sneak attack!
Monday, January 9, 2012
I was doing feeding therapy with a precious 8 week old premature baby boy this week. Mom was holding the baby, giving him a bottle, and I was leaned in close beside them on the couch. I was deep in therapist mode, noting the strength of his lip seal, his breathing coordination, etc. Deep in thought, mind you. Focused completely on this baby, you see.
Out of nowhere his 2 year old big sister approaches in a sneak attack and wallops the heck out of my forehead with a plastic rain stick.
 |
| Make no mistake. This thing looks innocent enough, but when wielded like a baseball bat it can pack a punch. |
I let out a loud, compulsory "OUCH!", and was grateful I didn't say anything more colorful. (Not that I get a whole lot more colorful, but still...I was glad I didn't teach the 2 year old a new word-o-the-day.) I grabbed my head, sure there would be major blood loss, but alas there was just a small cut and moderate size knot. The knot was a decent size when it initially happened, but when I finally got home to try and get sympathy from anyone it had shrunk significantly. I knew I should have taken a picture.
I have never been in a fight, nor played a contact sport...so at the age of 33 a two-year old managed to give me the hardest hit I've ever experienced to date. That's....kinda sad. Ha!
permalink | posted by Starr at 4:28 PM
I'm Starr Cliff. A domestically-challenged mom, climbing over mountains of laundry to bring you my stray observations and amusing stories about my kids. (more)
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