In the Dead of Winter…Spring Happens

We’re barely one-third into winter; spring is just under two months out, and it’s already springing.

Go outside right now, and take a close look at the bare limbs of a tree. You’ll see what you otherwise may not have noticed.

Spring is happening

Tiny buds.

All the promise of Springtime renewal preparing for the pageantry of blooming.

Go take a look. And do it again tomorrow. And the next day…

…so when springtime winds rustle the leaves that seemed to appear overnight, you’ll not be one who says, “Spring is here…when did that happen?”

You’ll be saying, “I was there.”

©Aja Lopez, 2012

Fear is a Deal-breaker

Don’t know why I am just now, at forty-two years old, figuring this out.

When a decision to do — or not to do — something has its roots in fear, I must rage against it.

Being ruled by fear is a deal-breaker for me.

Fear of being alone. Fear of abandonment. Fear of being judged. Of criticism and of expectations that wish to force me to be someone I am not.

I am not afraid.

I am not, I assure you. And because I fear not, I am free.

©Aja-lexa Lopez, 2012

From Legalism Fled

I am a Christian. Depending upon your legalistic bent, you may not consider me so. But that’s none of your business because I know where I stand.

It saddens me when rude, unpleasant customers hand me a Christian tract on their way out the door and say, “God loves you.”

Here’s my message to such people: Hypocrites! Don’t do that! Don’t take a dump on people and turn around and tell them God loves them! Guess what you’re really saying when your behavior betrays your words? You’re saying, “I am a pharisee.”

Yeah, I KNOW that God loves all of us. I know it better now than I ever have; I wasn’t able to fully demonstrate that love for others until I fled legalism.

And when I experience the noxious dichotomy of one’s insolence with his or her flagrant Christianity, I remember why I’m happier now as a Christian than I ever have been…

…and I am ever thankful.

©Aja-lexa Lopez, 2011

2AM — Riál, mi vida

Riál, mi vida,

Eleven years ago tonight, I went to dinner with your papa, relieved that you seemed to be holding your own and getting some rest after seven weeks under the care of the Infectious Disease team at the hospital.

Eleven PM, eleven years ago tonight, I kissed you goodnight and went to my parent sleeping room at the hospital, confident that the next day would be the best day in seven weeks.

Riál, none of the doctors told us you were as sick as you were. None of them ever indicated to us that the odds were ever against your tiny body; they kept telling us that you were such a fighter, that you didn’t look as sick as the tests said you were, that things were turning around for you…

They even said that you would face obstacles in life that you would certainly overcome because the brain is mysteriously resilient, but that you would pull through.

They lied. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they believed the fight in you would be the victor, just like your papa and I did.

When I awaken for work at 2am tomorrow, I will remember that your life ended at that very moment on November 21, 2000.

And when I get in the shower at 2:20 as I do every morning for work, I will remember that was the very moment the nurse called us in our room with the sorrowful news that we hadn’t thought we’d ever hear.

I will think of you. I will remember your soft brown hair and your deep brown eyes, your precious smile, the smell of your skin…

…and I will remember — now and always — the strength within your seven-pound frame.

Te amo, mija. Ahora y para siempre.

©Aja-lexa Lopez, 2011