Angels Attend Us

s13181p1__19517-1415300260-300-300I firmly believe in angels as I’ve had several experiences over my life that have reaffirmed my faith in them. Some of these experiences are too sacred to speak of, but this is one that I wanted to share as sometimes angels are there to protect us from ourselves.

It was a Saturday night in Cartagena, Colombia.  I had been practicing songs at church with the choir preparing for the following day. We walked out of the building and began our walk home, laughing and talking, arms around each other and singing just for the pure joy of it.

Normally, as we all walked home, several of my friends would accompany me until they felt I was safe.  This night, however, we all went out separate ways after a few blocks. I reached the place in my walk where I usually cut across a mechanic’s yard and hopped a wall to go home.  It cut off a good 5 blocks and I had done it a hundred times, though usually it was during the day.

That night as I began my trek across the dirt yard to the dark wall at the back, I saw a young girl on a bike riding off to my left in the light from an open door.  I then noticed a group of men sitting off to my right.  They were all drinking and laughing and joking.  As I got halfway through the yard and they noticed me, they all suddenly stood up. It was as if I had hit a wall and I immediately stopped.  My stomach clenched and I sensed danger.

My first instinct was to turn around and walk back the way I had come.  But then I thought “No, if I turn around, the men will know it was because of them and I don’t want to offend them.”  Though my heart was in the right place, it was definitely not the wisest of ideas I’ve ever had.

As I took a few more steps, I noticed how dark the back of the lot was.  It seemed almost pitch black with several large trucks parked.  At this point, a little voice in the back of my head was telling me to turn around and I began to hesitate.  I glanced again at the men out of the corner of my eye.  They were still all standing and I could feel their eyes on me.  My steps slowed, but I again shrugged off the feeling telling myself I was being silly.  I had passed these same men a hundred times without a single problem.

Just then, the little girl on the bike rode right in front of me and stopped me in my tracks. She looked at me and said in Spanish “You can’t go that way.  The wall is blocked.”  I wasn’t sure if I understood her correctly as my Spanish was still pretty bad at the time.  I asked, in my broken Spanish, if the wall had been repaired.  She just simply looked at me and said again “You can’t go that way.” I understood that and I also understood her firm body language and bike standing resolutely in my path.  I looked at her and said thank you and relieved that I now had an excuse, I quickly turned around and walked away very quickly.

The next day, I passed the wall on the opposite side.  I was curious to see if the wall had indeed been fixed.  As I came near to it, I stood in surprise that it was in exactly the same state it had always been.  It most definitely had not been repaired.  It was then that what had happened slowly dawned on me.  I stood there in the field staring at the broken wall and realized that I had been protected by an angel.  A small, innocent and very determined angel had stood between me and what could have been a very bad outcome.  I silently said a heartfelt thank you to my Heavenly Father who loved me enough to protect me from my own naivete.

Angels come in all shapes and sizes and often they are there as an unseen hand helping us out when we need it the most.  But sometimes they are also there to protect us, even if they are protecting us from ourselves.

Very similar to my little angel



My Unconquerable Soul (The National Gallery of Art)

I originally wrote this over a year ago on my other blog, but realized few have seen it as I did not publicize that blog very well.  I still think it to be one of my better posts and I hope you feel the same.  Please remember that I love comments of all kinds!  :)

“I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul” Invictus by William Ernest Henley I have always appreciated paintings, but I don’t believe I ever really was absorbed by t…

Source: My Unconquerable Soul (The National Gallery of Art)

Waiting for the Rain…

It’s been an excruciatingly long, very hot summer.  We have had an unusually dry season with almost no rain for more than 3 months. I have spent much of it driving around in a car with broken air conditioning in scorching 90 to 110+ degree temperatures.  I have sat in rush hour traffic with open windows begging mentally for a breeze that would cool me off, even feeling a little sick at times.  It has seemed almost unbearable.

Over the course of the last six weeks, I have watched the wild grasses dry up and turn yellow. The leaves on the trees look withered and parched and the dust from construction sites and fields would blow over everything.  Smoke from nearby wildfires would smother the sun and I began to imagine that this is what hell would feel like.  As clouds and winds would blow through, I would get my hopes up that it would rain, but Mother Nature seemed to mock us with a sprinkle that just turned the dust to splotchy drops and then blow away again.

As I have thought about it, I couldn’t help comparing it to those times that we endure, what seem to be, never-ending hardship.  We struggle through fiery, painful trials that seem to weary us to the core.  Like the dry storms that blow through, we get our hopes up only to find out they are empty promises.  It does seem, at times, as if the rain will never come to quench our parched lives.

But tonight…the rains came.  I cheered as I watched the black clouds roll in at sunset and thrilled to my toes as I watched the lightning flash in the distance. Now I’m sitting next to the open window, listening to the rain pour down washing away the dust and dirt. I can feel the cool breeze blow gently across me and the scent of fresh rain is enticing and delicious.  I am listening to my quiet music and feeling completely at peace.  A little smile hovers around my lips as I listen to the last of the drops fade away.

Just when we think we can’t bear it a moment longer, the relief finally comes.  An all-wise Father seems to know exactly how long we can bear something and then He steps in and mercifully tends to our scorched lives.  We just have to learn to trust that there will be an end to the Refiner’s fire. And like the rains that end a long drought, the gentle peace that comes at the end of a long trial is so much the sweeter, because we appreciate every drop.



His Song

This was written long ago and originally meant to be a song, but it turned out to be more of a poem. I might turn it into lyrics someday, but for now, I felt it should be appreciated for just being what it is.  I think there’s a metaphor in that somewhere…we should all be appreciated just for what we are.  :)  Love to you all…

London couple in the snow

His Song

Turning, whirling, around and around
Painted masks dancing
To a chaos of sound
Dawn comes, your face fades away
The fantasy ends
In the cold light of day.

How is it possible
That you still invade my dreams?
You flash upon my life
Like an unwanted memory
An unfinished painting gathering dust
Still waiting on the edge of my reality…

Please let me go
Please let me mend
Tear your soul from mine
Please let this agony end

With you I first tasted passion
Embracing on the callous streets
Soulmates at our first caress
Strangers after lies confessed

But if I let go of my tight control
I will lose this mask of sanity
I have tried so hard to hold.
Even with the passing years,
You are still the
Broken part of my soul.

Please let me go
Please let me mend
Tear your soul from mine
Please let this torment end

When will your tender touch
No longer caress my skin?
When will your soft voice
No longer echo within?
When will your words fade from my mind?
When will I put your love behind?

Please let me go
Please let me mend
Take your bittersweet memories
And please, dear God, just let this love end…

For the Hopeless Romantics

5. Woman looks out on sea from cruise - 141670436 - Getty - 506x380_tcm3317-1018716I used to be embarrassed by the fact that I was a hopeless romantic. When I was a child, it was fine to believe in love at first sight, romance, soul mates, and happily ever afters.  I loved dressing up in old dresses pretending that I was Cinderella at the ball and my Prince Charming was about to sweep through the door.

In my early teenage years, I would sit quietly in the corner during class and lunch and devour romance novels.  My favorite author at the time (Emilie Loring) was a woman who had written more than 30 books from the 1920’s to the 1960’s.  I loved her characters: the heroines were always beautiful, graceful and elegant.  The heroes were always true gentlemen that would fall in love with the wholesome, positive and courageous women. The books were full of optimism and adventure and sprinkled with just enough romance that they thrilled my innocent heart. I firmly believed that my own hero would find me someday and I would have that relationship that I so yearned for.

Yet, as I grew older, I discovered from many of my peers that believing in these things were considered immature and childish.  It was fine to seek a relationship, but I had to do so with a sophisticated, cynical veneer.  I had spent so many years as a child being bullied that I was afraid of not fitting in, so I adopted the cynicism and mocked silly romantics with the best of them.  I found it was easy to do since so little romance came my way.  It was easy to make fun of it and pretend that it didn’t matter to me, when inside my heart was crying out for that tenderness, affection and passion that I had believed in as a child.

As the years passed and the gulf widened between my secret hopes and reality, I began to truly believe in the cynical viewpoint of relationships and love.  My own marriage had failed and I have never experienced the love I had dreamt of all those years before.  Did anyone have good relationships or was it all just a show?  My own graveyard of broken hearts had just about convinced me to give up altogether.  I found it ironic that the woman who had written a book about hope was feeling the complete opposite.

But then the universe stepped in yet again.  One night, as I watched a documentary regarding a motivational speaker, I felt a little tug at my heart.  He spoke of dreams and possibilities and the passion required to accomplish them. Facing my own stark reality, the floodgates in my soul opened and I sobbed.  Was there really a possibility that my dreams could still become reality?  I had buried those hopes so well after so many failures. But it was as if a little pixie dust from a passing star seemed to sprinkle itself on me reminding me of who I am.

I am a hopeless romantic.  I love flowers, nature, beautiful clothes and soft music. I love mystery, adventure, romantic movies and above all…happy endings.  I can honestly say that I still believe that my “one” is out there somewhere seeking for me and that one day I will have that relationship I long ago hoped for.  And best of all, I can say that I have found faith in my dreams again and in myself.

For all the hopeless romantics out there, embrace who you are.  We remind people to believe in magic and miracles and to hope again. Through music, art and words, we help others to find that indescribable “something” that lift souls above the ordinary.  And most of all, we believe in love and the power it has to change lives.

Keep staring at the stars, romantic one, and maybe…just maybe, one day you will finally be able to touch one.





Pushing Through The Pain


A while ago, one of my lifelong friends and I were discussing how we go through many times in our lives that are incredibly challenging, to say the least.  There are days when getting out of bed is a struggle and when even a smile is painful. These are times where breathing is difficult and the tears will come no matter how you try to stem them.

We talked about what helps us through it: music, books, exercising, spending time with loved ones, movies and more.  Then I brought up the point that, at times, nothing seems to help.  That’s when she said something that has stayed with me. “Some days you just have to push through the pain.”

She was right.  There are times where hope is diminishing and you seem to see no end to the trial that you endure.  Logically, you know there probably will be an end either through others, a miraculous intervention or yourself making the necessary changes. But until that happens, it seems at times as if there is no way out.

But you are strong.  You were made strong.  Even when you think you can’t endure another day, there is a tenacious will buried somewhere inside of you that won’t let you give up completely.

Laughter and joy will enter your life again. It may not come for a while, but it WILL come.  I’ve said this before, but I’m saying it again. Healing comes, laughter and smiles come, joy comes again.  Until such time, hold onto the thought that by being strong enough to push through the pain, you come out a better person.



I have known you all my life hands
Though we have never met
From my first fears as a young girl
You were my fierce protector

When I faced another lonely weekend
While others kept each other warm
Your words caressed my dreams
And softened the cutting cold

When solitary sadness
Would seep into my soul
You were my comfort
My retreat and my sanctuary

And as the years passed
With broken hearts and empty hands
When tears wet my pillow
You were close by
Reminding me gently
That you are still out there…

My cherished one
I feel the fog of the years lifting
And I’m beginning to
See your face.
My hand is reaching out…
Take it
And let’s end this lonely journey