Seeds

Planting Day 2011

If my thumb had a color, it would be black. Some families have black sheep, but in my family I am the black thumb. Gardening runs in my blood, yet I absolutely stink at it. 

My Mee Ma and Daddy Bill had a garden that could feed an army. They had trees laden with fruit, and a field of Iris that would make you weep when they were in bloom from their beauty. Every year my  parents’ garden is meticulously nurtured and cared for by my mom and dad. It’s overflow of harvest is shared with neighbors. My mother’s rose garden should be featured in Southern Living.  It is glorious. 

And then, there is my garden. Dried up, neglected, with the only successful growth consisting of weeds. 

I should accept defeat. Every year I attempt a garden and yet I have never had one that I could brag about. I have never had enough harvest to share. I am a gardening failure. 

The problem is I LOVE gardening. I obsessively start planning my summer garden in the winter and count the days until the last frost. I spend hours wandering around garden centers (my happy place) and never leave empty handed.  I draw out schematics so that I can fit the most in the smallest space.  I mark out our planting day on the family calendar so we can have all hands on deck and I am giddy when that day comes. We get dirty and sweaty and when the garden is finally in, we celebrate and I daydream that this will be the year that I earn my place in our Family Gardening Hall of Fame. One can hope, right?

Recently I saw that the gardening gene must have skipped a generation.

These reminders kick me in the stomach. I can’t believe that 2 years ago Mark was here, vibrant, strong, beautiful. He was so determined to go live in Nicaragua that summer. And we were insistent that if he went he would offer the people there something of value. We didn’t want him to be one more American hanging out for the summer. So he asked what they needed and they needed a greenhouse. The fundraising was a daunting task for a teenager, but by the time he left for Nicaragua, he had accomplished it. 

He built the greenhouse. He planted seedlings. He never saw the reward for his labor. 

In June I joined the Norfolk Christian missions trip to Nicaragua. I had an afternoon off and we decided to go visit the orphanage that Mark had lived at when he spent part of his summer in 2013.  Knowing how harsh the storms can be there, and how limited the resources are, I really didn't even expect the greenhouse Mark helped built to still be standing. But Isaac, the house parent of the boys living in the Posada house (where Mark stayed) was eager to show me Mark's work and the teenage boys followed us in a pack eager to see our reaction. I prepared myself for the possibility that it might be abandoned, neglected and weedy...like my gardening failures.

But no. As Isaac showed me, it was flourishing.  Packed so full of tomato plants I could hardly walk in it.  Beautiful, vibrant and strong plants that would nourish the children living there and could potentially be a source of income.   

Mark built the greenhouse.  He planted seedlings.  He never saw the reward for his labor. But I have.  

The pride on the faces of the Posada boys was glorious.  Boys who have been abandoned and neglected, who would have no real future, no real training, no employable skills, were beaming with hope.  The future was on their faces.  That is the real harvest.  And they shared that hope with me.  I am quite certain that when Mark was pouring concrete and digging holes to build the greenhouse he had no idea what the harvest would look like.  No idea that it would be so much more than growing tomato plants...it would be all about growing people. 

"I want to love deliberately.  Selfless love makes incredible things happen."  Mark Rodriguez

God, today I pray Mark's prayer.  "Teach me how to love."

Fearless

I used to be fearless. 

But as I watch Will (15) leap from rock to rock in Acadia National Park, I think my heart will stop.  Everything in me wants him to sit down, to stop moving, to be safe.  Instead, camera in one hand, balancing with the other he scrambles over the rocks quickly and confidently until he stumbles a bit.  He turns to look at me with a wicked grin and I burst out "Will, please stop.  You are scaring me!"  "Mom, it's your PTSD.  I'm okay.  Chill out."  He's right, and I know it.  I have to stop watching him. I can't stop the surge of panic that now has taken up residence in my soul.  I hate this about myself.  I want to go back to the time where I didn't know that my child could die in a matter of seconds.  I want to be that mom again. 

Will pities me and slows down.  He pleads with me "Mom, come on. Stay with me.  I want you to see this.  This is good for you."  I hate when my own kid "therapizes" me.  He wants me on this adventure with him so he accommodates my pace.  Temporarily.

He sees some tidal pools below us and is anxious to get there.  He believes in me more than I believe in myself and quickens his pace.  I literally flatten myself against the side of the rock and barely keep it together as I say "Will, I'm going back.  I can't watch you...you are going to have to do this by yourself."  He is disappointed in me.  He thinks I am afraid of falling.  But I am not.  I have no fear of myself falling.  I am absolutely terrified that he will.   The mom "before" would have overridden her fear in order to keep up, but not this one.  My fear owns me today.  I tell him, tell myself, that this is temporary.  That I am working on it and that this is me getting better.  The fact I am even letting him do this is taking everything I've got.  This has been a year of meeting the end of myself.  I no longer have the will power to push through.  And while there are moments like these where I curse my circumstances and wish I could be more than I am, I am deeply aware that I need grace.  Grace to be broken, and afraid and dependent on a very Grace-full, Fearless God.  He is Enough.  I don't have to prove anything to anyone...not even to myself. 

I creep back to the safety of the larger, flatter rocks, and from a distance it is easier to watch Will because I don't feel his every movement.  I see him jumping from rock to rock as he pushes his body and commands the mountain.  He gets smaller as he goes down, down, and then he arrives at the place where the ocean crashes into the rocks.  He looks up...wondering if I might still be there and I wave at him.  Will is euphoric. I feel such a wave of joy roll over me that the panic is pushed away.   Will is fearless and in this I find great hope that I will be again someday. 

*Photography by Will Rodriguez

Though He Slay me

10:36 Last text from Mark: "Leavin now, be home in a bit"

How can it be here?  May 30, 2015.  How can this year have been so painfully slow and yet now it is over.  The mercy of time is that it passes.  It can not stay still.  If it could I would have frozen Mark.  I would have frozen him airborne, in his Batman mask as he launched himself into the pool.  I would have frozen Will, Daniel and Maria, screaming with delight as they waited for the splash.  I would have frozen Carlos and I, sitting on the screened-in porch, before the pain came.

But it can't freeze.  Time can't stop, and really would I have frozen us? I don't know who I will be in 5 years but I know that today I am a better person because of what has happened.  That seems wrong to say, as if Mark's death hasn't been the worst thing in my life.  But the crazy thing about God, is that He will take the worst thing and make it beautiful.  When I think of my heart now, I see a portion of it is black and dead.  It will never come back this side of heaven.  But the rest of it is now vibrant yellow and orange and joyful.  I have changed because of who God has been to me this year, and a lot of that is because Mark has led me closer to Him through his writings.

Our family loves each other better.  We look in each others eyes more and show each other more grace.  We are gentler to and more protective of one another.  I don't think I have ever loved Carlos more than I do today.

I have learned that intense emotional pain doesn't kill you even when you wish it would.  So I have realized as I run my errands with this pain, that there are walking wounded all around me.  That jerk in the grocery store?  He has a story.  That driver that cut me off? She has a story.  And I really, really want to hear it.

I have learned that the verse about "carrying each others burdens" really works.  On days (like yesterday) when I should have been a train wreck of sorrow, I felt light.  Others carried my grief for me and gave me a temporary reprieve.

But the greatest gift I have received is the intimacy I have with God.  I know His comfort now like never before.  I know His love because it has shown up on my door in warm food and in my mailbox, and inbox with notes and gifts.  I have learned through Mark's journals to sit quietly and listen for God's voice and watch for His gifts.  And not just in the 30 minute devotional time that I check off my "good Christian" list....but all day long.  It is a love affair, this relationship with God.  And because of that I notice the beauty that has always been around me that sings of His love for me.  I have learned that birds sing differently at sunrise and that the moon can shoot light beams across the sky like a cross.  That rainbows happen in the early morning just for me to see.

And I have really experienced that God does inhabit the praises of His people (Ps 22:3 KJV) And so, because I desperately need His presence, the answer to so many questions becomes very simple.  What used to be answered with "I don't know" becomes a resolved and often despairing "I WILL Worship."  What will I do on Mark's birthday? Christmas Day?  Mother's Day? It might be from a fetal position in a corner of my room, but I will worship.

So at 10:36 tonight, the time of the last text I received from Mark telling me he was on his way home, and likely seconds before he died, what I will do?  I will worship.  I will come before God and expect Him to show up, probably respectfully demand Him to show up (I am a very entitled, willful child) and He will, because He loves me.  I will offer a sacrifice of praise, likely with many tears and it won't be pretty.  I have the assurance that I will not be alone because God will meet me there....He lives in the praise of His People.  And I love to imagine Mark rocking it out with me just beyond the veil doing what he has always wanted to do.  His last text was exactly right.  He is Home.

The Extraordinary Ordinary Life of Mark Rodriguez

See the Book here.

Stay In It

THINKING IN POSTS (from www.markrodriguezphotography.com)

3.15.14

I recently read a post by a favorite singer of mine that really got me. She was talking about how she’d reached a point of shocking realization that whenever anything cool happened, she would “think in posts,” basically meaning she’d start composing a tweet or pulling up Instagram to capture the moment.

I can really connect with this. I have had many moments in life where I’m just in awe of God’s glory, oftentimes when I’m alone in nature or after being with loved ones. Those moments are so personal and sacred, but sometimes, as strange as it sounds, I kill them by beginning to devise a post in my head. I start thinking about how I’ll phrase it, if people will “like” it, if I’ll get any comments in response. And by the time all that’s done, the  moment is gone.

I’ve realized how simply sad it is to be a slave to social media. And I’m ashamed to say it, but I have definitely used Facebook and Instagram in the past as a place to give myself glory, to create an identity for myself that others will appreciate. And it’s such a bummer that there have been incredible, personal moments with God in my life that have ended as a couple hundred characters and a few hashtags just because I wanted to see what other people think of me, what they think of my life.

There’s a scene in the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty that struck a similar chord in me. Walter Mitty had been searching for this photographer Sean O’Connell the whole movie, and he’s finally found him perched up in a mountain, scouting for snow leopards through a lens the size of a cannon. Eventually, a snow leopard is seen through the lens, framed beautifully by snow capped peaks. Walter watches in eager expectation, waiting for O’Connell to take the shot. Finally, anxious that the moment is about to pass, Walter turns and asks:

“When are you going to take it?”

To which O’Connell replies: ”Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.”

“Stay in it?”

“Yeah. Right there. Right here.”

There are so many incredible places and people all around me, so many blessings and moments that I can’t even fathom. When I stayed on an orphanage in Nicaragua for a month last Summer, I’d go out for these prayer times where I’d sit on a work bench, all alone, and just pray surrounded by ridiculous testaments to God’s wondrous ability to create. I remember one time I was just resting on that bench, relaxing in God’s presence, surrounded by beautiful mango trees that rustled as a light breeze filtered by. And I am so thankful I didn’t have my camera then, because there was overwhelming beauty all around me and nothing to take my attention off of it.

I don’t want to think in posts. I don’t want to be constantly checking to see what people think of my latest photo, or my latest status. Sometimes, I’ve just gotta turn off my radio, turn off my iPod, turn off my phone, and just be thankful, engaged with life and engaged with God. Because I know when I do that, I feel fulfilled in the most amazing way.

Chasing

I loved watching Mark run.  The Norfolk Christian Cross Country team was a small band of guys and girls that ran hard, encouraged one another and left their hearts on the trail.  The sport is unique in that you win and lose as a team, but only you can run your race…there is no passing a ball, handing off a baton, taking turns at bat…it is you and the course in front of you.   And you hope there are some fans on the sidelines cheering you on. 

When Mark was 12 years old, we decided to run Mark’s first official race together.  As my boy was getting older, running was something I could share with him as His mom.  As we trained, he would share stories from school, and I heard the latest events happening in the Percy Jackson books he loved. It gave me a chance to encourage him as he learned to pace himself, and I knew it would not be long before he could easily out run me.   As we neared the end of our training we realized that the timing of our Fall vacation (with my extended family) to Bald Head Island coincided with the annual Maritime Classic Road Race. 

Bald Head Island is a small, hilly little island off the coast of North Carolina.  You can only drive golf carts there and it feels very remote.  The scenery is beautiful and it was a place we both loved.  The race was a perfect fit.  I remember the pre-race nerves as we gathered with the other runners at the start.  My family was all there on the sidelines; my brother and sister, their spouses and children, and my parents were there hanging out with Will, Daniel and Maria.  We had lots of support.  But because of the nature of the island, there would only be a couple of places we would see them, and much of the course we would run without any spectators. 

The gun sounded and we took off.  We were mindful of the starting adrenaline and tried to manage our pace.  It was exhilarating.  My family was cheering and dancing as we passed them and we felt great.  But as the race went on, the course turned onto a part of the island that is one rolling hill after another.  We would not see our family until the finish line.

We had not trained for hills and my older body wasn’t loving the incline.  Mark kindly slowed his pace a bit and started telling me more stories.   It was then that it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen hardly any young boys running.  And as he slowed to accommodate his old mama, I told him, “Hon, I am thinking you need to run ahead.  I haven’t seen many other boys running, and I think you might have a chance to place in this race.”  At first he refused.  He said we had trained together and he didn’t want to leave me.  I assured him, I would be fine.  That I really, really, wanted him to run his best race.  I told him I would see him at the finish line, and to TAKE OFF!  And he did.  As I saw his small frame sprint ahead I eventually lost sight of him and was left to finish the last mile or so alone.  As I finally came out of the hills, my body loosened up and I picked up my pace.  I was so curious how he had finished, and I couldn’t wait to see him at the finish line.  As I came into the harbor area, the crowd was cheering their loved ones in, and I saw my family, and Mark, excitedly cheering for me.  "Go MOM!  Run it in!  Almost there!  Go!" It was awesome. 

The larger group headed back to the house to make lunch, but Mark and I decided to stick around for the awards.  We hoped he had placed, but to our great delight the Race Coordinator announced that Mark Rodriguez had won 1^st place in his age bracket.  We went nuts.  This was the first and only race he would win on this earth.  We reveled in the glory.  As he walked back through the small crowd with his “trophy” we were beaming at each other.  Who knew it would turn out like this?  What a day!  And then we heard the next surprise…”The First place winner in the 35-40 age bracket for the 25^th Annual Bald Head Island Maritime Classic Road Race is….Leigh Ellen Rodriguez!”  What????   What???? That can’t be.  I have run my whole life and have never won a race.  NEVER.  Not even close.  Mark and I whooped, jumped, victory danced, our way home with our trophies in hand.  Team Rodriguez owned that race. 

God so kindly has brought that memory to my mind over and over these last 10 months.  I am reminded that while Mark finished his race earlier than I have, I still have some miles to go.  The terrain is hilly and lonely, and I get really tired.  I am so thankful for the crowd on the sidelines helping to spur me on.  Mark ran his race so well, and he finished so strong.  With God’s help I hope to do the same. 

Mark is now out of my sight, but I know we run after the same goal.  And sometimes, I think I can hear him cheering me on "Go Mom! Run it in! You are so close!" In honor of him, to the glory of Christ, I will push on. 

“ I will run, and I won’t quit.  Chasing your heart…just like David did.  I’ll come running through the gates, looking to your face…Oh I can hardly wait” 

Carry my soul, by Phil Wickham 

Happy 18^th Birthday, Mark!  Thank you for showing this Mama how to run the race well.  I’ll see you at the finish line.  

As It Should Be

3-31-2013 (Easter)

Afternoon:

Father,

Death has lost its sting.  You, though you died, defeated death and rose so that I may relish in eternal life with you.  I don’t understand.  How was my sin, my rebelliousness, my spite, my narcissism worth that? I know, your death and resurrection brought you glory, but why would you want me to give you praise?

I think it may be because when I praise you, it’s another victory.  When I praise you, it shows your triumph over darkness because that which was once sin has been made beautiful.  Your light has pierced my darkness, I have become a new creation. 

Thank you.  Thank you for sacrificing so that I may have this.  Walking...and feeling the gentle breeze of your breath on my skin, reminded me how undeserving I am.  How blessed I am!  To experience so much joy, so much peace, and know that the best is yet to come. 

Thank you.  Thank you so much for giving air to my gasping mouth, blood to my empty heart, sight to my blind eyes.  I may be undeserving, but you are deserving of whatever I have to offer. 

Here is my heart.  My soul.  My voice.  My arms, my feet, my eyes, my tongue.

I am yours.  Though my mortal body will fall and decay as the beasts of the field and the birds of the air, my soul has seen light. 

And someday, my final chains and ties shall melt to ash, blown into oblivion. 

No more fear, no more pain.  Just eternal consuming love.

As it should be.

Mark