Listen

the spirit saves. 

it saved me last week, yesterday, and about 45 minutes ago.

it also saved my tender little nine year old life one rebellious night.

a cousin of mine and one of my older brother's were feeling incredibly adventurous 

and decided to have a little campout in my small backyard. apparently, my underground tramp and swingsets just wasn't enough to entertain our giddy little selves, because the words "let's go to 7-11!" was tossed around. (i live about a two blocks from 7-11)

I remember the feeling when my cousin said those words. I suddenly became consumed in fear and I shook my head repeatedly. 

"come on! don't be a baby!"

"it will be fast and mom and dad won't know!"

"you're dumb and you're a chicken."

I, being the youngest, gave into this absurd peer pressure. I hurriedly threw on my tiny shoes and tiptoed out of my yard along with the others.

it was probably near two in the morning or so. 

us trio of tiny bandits arrived to 7-11 and out of the corner of my eye, i remember seeing

a white car gassing up. I looked over my shoulder and saw two grown men, pointing towards me with evil grins. even though i was only on the earth for nine years, i knew they were evil. 

they were dark.

they were scary.

they were the bad stranger men mommy and daddy had always warned me about.

we went inside and i remember clinging to my brother, trying to explain to him that bad men

were waiting and watching me. he shewed me away like a fly and kept on whatever his 12 year old self was doing. 

I peered out the window from inside and saw the men were done gassing up. they were coming.

I distinctively remember standing inside that 7-11 with a paralyzed body and a racing mind. to this day, I am incredibly impressed at how at that little age of 9, Heavenly Father gave me so many warnings and could so physically communicate with me. I knew I was going to be taken, and I knew I was going to be okay.

I remember taking deep breaths and lecturing myself before my captors arrived.

"you're going to be okay lu. be a good girl like mommy and daddy say you are and

they wont hurt you." 

before I could even mumble another little child's prayer, I looked up and saw my mother's black expedition pull in like nobody's business. how? how was this even possible? I ran out and threw myself into the car. I was safe. I was saved.

talking about it years later with my sweet mother, this experience is much more sweeter, much more incredible. 

she was laying in bed and in her sleep she clearly heard : "The kids. Lucia. GO!"

she hadn't even bothered to wake my father, nor did she bother to scope out our little campgroud. she drove STRAIGHT to 7-11. I asked her what she thinks would have happened if she would have just rolled over and ignored the voice. we both knew the answer: that i would have been taken. 

the spirit is incredibly vital. I am forever grateful for a mother who is always so in tune, and who cherishes it. the spirit truly saves -- whether it be the simplest of simple promptings, it is still a prompting from the One who knows better. listen.

finish line

how many times have we all heard the phrase "a change of heart?"

a kajillion times? once or twice?

let me share my little thoughts about this phrase.

in my fickle head, a change of heart is realizing the heartache you have caused others and yourself, and yearning to become more. it is receiving higher attention to the cuts and sores that seem to always ooze, no matter how many band-aids you yourself place. 

a change of heart is surrendering your rebellious ways.

yes, I do have the heart I was born with. and yes, it has been changed, removed and worked on through my entire earthly existence by the tender hands of my Creator.

as we choose to follow the Master, we choose to be changed. 

my Father in Heaven isn't trying to get me to do things.

He is trying to make me into something - something I myself nor you yourself can do alone.

these continuous "change of heart" moments are not easy, and i'm sure you agree.

I know one day I will be incredibly full of gratitude from head to toe for the times I realized I was wrong- for the times my sweet Savior softly chastised me.

He is my firefighter who puts out the scorching blaze in my heart.

He is my lifeguard who plunges for me when I seem to be drowning.

He is my teacher who over and over again teaches me that 

there is NO "change of heart" finish line. 

there is no "change of heart" finish line.

connect the dots

"Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely.

Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly.

Though we may feel lost and without compass, God's love encompasses us completely.

He loves every one of us- even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or

broken." --Dieter F. Uchtdorf

absolutely soothing, is it not?

I am flawed and rejected. I am ridiculously awkward, eternally sorrowful, and occasionally broken. And somebody still loves me? 

Yes.

my mind still remembers when a boy made a rude remark about my nose.

i recall my little seven year old eyes getting watery and covering my nose for the rest of the day. my best friend bounced over to me and told me she liked my nose, because every time she looked at it she wanted to play connect the dots with my freckles. 

my little self without comprehending completely felt flawed, rejected, awkward. that outspoken boy might have hated my nose, but my Heavenly Father adores it.

that first grade moment was incredibly small to what I have come face to face with throughout the years. but nothing rings more true in the midst of it all--

it does not matter what others think of me. Christ thinks I am lovely. 

and that is enough.

I Am Free

I was the tender age of 16 when I held a fiery grudge against a man who made my world very, very dark.

I took care of that grudge. 

I nourished it everyday. 

My flaming tongue wanted to shout a million things at him, but I couldn't.

Instead, I thought them. And I thought them often.

I was the tender age of 16 when I noticed my spirit was horrendously disfigured due to the

fiery grudge I so boldly grasped.

I had utterly destroyed myself more than this man destroyed me.

I did not want it anymore.

I did not want to feel fire in my chest every time I thought of him.

What I wanted most was to feel my Savior's forgiving arms around my foolish self.

And in time, I can humbly testify to you all that I was forgiven.

I went through my own Gethsemane.

It was terrible and exhausting and wonderful.

I was finally mended.

The scourging heat toward this man is extinguished. 

He taught me what if felt like to carry the draining burden of not extending forgiveness.

It is a load I never again desire to carry.

The savior wants to forgive us of our sins.

He desires to bring us home.

The Atonement is possible. My pinky promises! It is possible.

But without Him, nothing is.

Only repentance can heal what hurts the most.

I am no longer hurting.

I am dancing and laughing and skipping because I am free.

He freed me, and He can free you too.

answers

Thursday, November 21st was supposed to be my day.

I said my morning prayer and danced around my room; Thursday was my day.
I curled my hair and put on my favorite lipstick; Thursday was my day.

Thursday was the day I went to see Dr. Ryan VanMoorlehem, a Endodontist specialist.

Since this face pain I wrote about in my earlier posts was a complete mystery, my patient dentist referred me to an Endodontist-- a doctor who specializes in the study and treatment of dental pulp.

The drive was exhilarating. 
He would tell me exactly what is wrong.
He would know.
Somebody, at last, would know.

As we pulled up to the Endodontist Suite, I wanted to burst out of the car and 
throw myself into this Doctor's arms. I wanted him to tell me he has seen this a MILLION times. I wanted him to take it away.

Dr. VanMoorlehem is absolutely wonderful.

He laid me down and carefully examined the teeth where the pain originated from.

As soon as I opened my mouth for him to take a look,
something in my heart said
"today is not the day."

A muffled sigh came from this throat.
"I cannot see anything. Your teeth and gums look incredibly healthy."
He looked over the multiple x-rays carefully. Nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
I had been daydreaming about the moment where I would skip 
out of the office with the answers. Why am I not skipping? 

Dr. VanMoorlehem believes I may have Trigeminal Neuraligia.

Tri whaty what? Come again?

Trigeminal Nueraligia. 
The Trigeminal nerve is the biggest facial nerve.
The left side of my face can at times be unbearable to move.
Eating is a burden.
Talking is a struggle.
I sleep sitting up; laying down is not an option.

Dr. VanMoorlehem referred me to a neurologist--a doctor who specializes in nerves.

As we drove away, my parents gave me encouraging words. 
To not lose the faith, that it would be okay, that this was only temporary.
I could not help but let the hot, silent tears stream down my face.

The answers I do have: 
the pain has nothing to do with my teeth.

I do not have all the answers right now.
And as frustrating and heartbreaking as it is, it is okay.
I believe the Lord gave me this trial to humble me. 
To make me grateful for the littlest things, such as smiling and talking.

I will firmly stand by His side.
I do not have all the answers; He does.

pinky promise

Oh Great God, Be small enough to hear me now.

In the short years I have lived, I have sinned greatly.

In the short years I have lived, I have been rescued significantly. 

He has healed my heartaches.

He has stayed up with me all night, listening to my cries.

He has healed me.

Repentance is not always easy.

It can be embarrassing, awkward, or uncomfortable.

But once you understand what is truly important,

the snide remarks and smirks thrown your way will not matter.

Our Heavenly Father rejoices for you.

He wants nothing more but for you to come back..

And you can! It is possible! I pinky promise.

Let Him heal your wounds. Let Him mend you.

He is beautiful, He is good, He is always there.

love you lots

My father has a booming singing voice.

When I was younger, I would always cringe or shrink down in the church 

bench because my father sang so loudly. 

He has a thick accent and would sometimes slur the words together. Loudly.

He served as a Spanish Branch President for about 6 years, and from the stand

I could still hear his thunderous voice.

This past Sunday, I got to sit by my father at church.

The organist sweetly played the introduction to the first hymn, and 

the booms from my father began.

But this time, there was no cringing.

This time, there was no shrinking down in the bench.

I sat tall, I sat proudly.

First: I am grateful for my father's strident voice. 

That means I can hear.

Second: I am grateful for the children in the surrounding benches 

who turn to look at my father. 

That means they can hear too.

Third: I am grateful my father comes to church.

He always stands as Christ would, and it is the greatest gift my father could ever give me.

His humor is incredibly dry and cheesy, and he laughs at his own jokes.

He makes the best hashbrowns. He makes up his own songs. He abundantly provides.

And I love him lots. 

I do, I do, I do.