My Father

My father, Bob Cruz

Not all of us are blessed with good fathers. My father was a great man to many; he was handsome and charming with a charismatic personality.  He was a professional boxer in his twenties, a successful building contractor, a wonderful friend and had a gift to make others laugh. I did not know this side of him.

What I remember of my childhood was not normal and we were rarely happy when he was around. Our mother suffered greatly because of his misogynistic behavior. I was 8 years-old when my father decided to pack up and leave. In my heart I could not have been happier. I could hear our mother crying in the privacy of her bedroom, and all I could think was, “Why is she crying? We should be having a party instead.” I never asked my mom why she cried, but as an 8 year-old I understood a lot for my age.

I do have some pleasant memories of our dad. He built us a home with his bare hands. The boys had the best room with built-in desks, and all of us girls shared a room. He also built us a cement swimming pool that we used durning the summer.  He would load us up in the back of his red pick-up, and we would go to the Brawley Drive-in theater to watch a movie.

He struggled having a relationship with us girls, but I do recall one of the times he talked to me. We were sitting on the steps near our front door. He told me that we were going to move, and that the new place was going to have water that came from the ground to water the grass. Sprinkler systems were not around, so this conversation really intrigued my young imagination.  Other than that he scared me, because his voice was always angry and loud.

Our father was good to his sons and taught them his trade in construction; two of my brothers worked alongside him. Several other relatives and friends benefited from his trade as a lathing/plaster contractor, and several cousins and uncles worked in this industry because of him.  One of my brothers remembers all the great humor our dad shared on job sites, because he was so entertaining. My father had a talent for jumping rope like Sugar Ray Leonard. He loved watching boxing matches. He was loved by everyone he worked with.

My father had a heart to be good. It was not until I was an adult that his sister, my aunt, shared the story of his upbringing. I do not know why, but he was raised by his grandmother. She was old-school strict so came across as mean. This was his first interaction with a matriarch, and the reason for his great distrust of women and believing that they were all the same. He had moved up in the ranks of boxing, winning 92 amateur bouts representing the local contractors’s union. He fought in New York, Chicago and Florida, but mostly at the Olympic Auditorum in Los Angeles. He only had 4 professional bouts, when his grandmother persuaded him to stop. This may have been another reason, why he did not like women, because he held her accountable for this decision.

I never had any resentment towards my father. Our mother had great cause to badmouth him, but she never once spoke ill about him. All of us kids knew the real story, but it was our mother who taught us to honor him. I am so grateful for her strong belief in protecting us from the toxic behavior of a woman scorned. She handled this matter with God’s grace. And thanks to our mother, we all turned out God-fearing.

Years later, when my father was in the hospital, I went to visit him. He was vulnerable and weak and had developed a softer side, but our conversation was still strained. In a strange way I recognized that he was attempting to atone for our past.

My father may not have been very religious, but my brother recalled that whenever he worked on a project for a church he would tithe 10% of his earnings.

Have you ever wondered why the same sin follows the next generation? If someone is angry or holding on to hurts from the past, it can easily warp the next generation. Forgiveness and prayer severs this from your bloodline.

Exodus 34:7 New King James Version (NKJV)

keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children and the children’s children to the third and the fourth generation.”

I thank God for my father because he did give me life and a great sense of humor.

We are to honor our fathers always, but especially on Father’s Day. If you are not speaking to your father, today would be a good day to forgive him. God Bless!

My Prayer: Dear Lord, I pray for all fathers, that they may learn to love You as their Father. We sever all generational curses off the bloodline, (name the curses here). Heal their brokenness and allow them to become the fathers that they were meant to be. Strengthen your families, Lord, so that we can all love one another. Let fathers take the role of becoming the spiritual leaders of their families to bring balance to Your Kingdom. Amen.

 

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The Yearbook

My only yearbook (my senior picture in the backdrop)

I only have one high school yearbook because my husband accidentally tossed all the others ones away, including his.

When UMAS was an innocent organization

While perusing through the yearbook, my mind went back to my youth and how I was always trying to be a goody-two-shoes. In my high school days, I never drank alcohol, smoked pot or got into any awkward situation with boys. This was a transitioning stage of my life. In my Junior year I was involved the Spanish Club and UMAS (United Mexican American Students). UMAS claimed to be for everyone, but in reality it was just for Mexican/Latino kids. UMAS later became MECHA, which was much more radical.

I was almost squeaky clean, with the exception of me being a bully to one person. I bullied a popular dark- skinned Latina girl because she did not hang out with the other Latinas, and refused to join UMAS. She was a mean girl, not for the reasons I mentioned, but her bad behavior of entitlement. I don’t really know why, but I started to call her “Oreo.”

Back when everyone’s race was falling into order, we all took our position. If you were not part of our Mexican/Latino group you were referred to as coconut (brown on the outside and white on the inside). If you were black and did not identify with those of your race, your were considered an Oreo (black on the outside and white on the inside). In an atrocious behavior, I gave this poor girl the nickname of Oreo, and I got others to do the same. I had developed thick skin, because my brothers bullied us on a daily basis. I am not trying to make an excuse for this shameful behavior, but truly I did not really understand how mean-spirited this was. I had no idea of the adverse effect this had on that girl either. Years later, while I was working at a retail store, one of that same girl’s cousins was my co-workers. The subject of high school came up and the fact that the girl (the one we called “Oreo”) was her cousin. The cousin told me that it hurt her cousin deeply. I felt so bad for what we made this girl go through, that this episode caused me to profoundly regret my actions.

I can recall that during this period, most sixteen year-olds at my school considered driving and having a car as the most important thing. I never had those desires. Only a handful of my friends had drivers license’s and fewer had cars. I can’t remember which friend had a sign on the glove box which read, “This car runs on gas, not friendship.” I always wondered about this sign, and though I enjoyed riding in the car, I never felt comfortable. My friend Cindy had the best car, as her parents bought her a VW Bug. Cindy gained great notoriety with her cute ride; she was my good friend (and still is) as she always included me in her ridesharing.

Later that year I was selected and appointed team leader of a conference representing Colton High School. This conference was held at Chaffey College. Believe me, I was shocked at being given this title, because I was on the main panel of students from other high schools in Southern California. These students were scholars, with high academic scores, I, on there other hand, was average in the world of academia. A good friend, Fred, was also representing our school, and asked me, “How did you get on the panel?” My reply was, “I have no clue.”

How I conducted my role as a panel leader was beyond me, God must have taken over, because He gave me the confidence to fulfill the role. The questions were all about the war in Viet Nam. This subject was near to my heart because my brother Mike was in the front lines fighting for our country. I, like most kids my age, opposed the war. This conference changed a lot of my thoughts, It built enough inner courage, and determination for me to get more involved with other passionate groups. I represented the youth at city council meetings and was brave enough to be talked into running for Miss Colton. I lost that competition, but gained more personal confidence. I made my rounds until I found the path that God had so long ago paved for me.

My yearbook is filled with how nice and sweet I was, and one of my friends even wrote that I should learn to drink, I never mastered that.  A young man poured out his heart, professing his love for me, but I did not reciprocate.  However, I’ll never forget those sweet words. Others wrote of my sarcasm and how I would get away with things. Sarcasm is part of my personality, I use it to make light of things. So to most of my high school friends I was, “the funny, cute, sweet, girl” and I have one yearbook to prove it.

We never get away with bad behavior; it always catches up with us, because God wants us to be loving.

 

Junior year yearbook
Page from my yearbook

Romans 12:2 New King James Version (NKJV)

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.

 

 

 

 

 

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Skid Row Calling

 

2 Timothy 1:9 New King James Version (NKJV)

who has saved us and called us with a holy calling, not according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace which was given to us in Christ Jesus before time began,

Mrs. Donaldson, me, and her sixth grade class

The first two years of college are to establish the route we are taking as far as a career is concerned. It’s the same way with our calling to serve the Lord, because we are all called to serve.

In the almost 20 years that I have served, I always felt a natural comfort in going to Skid Row. Many of my friends have gone with me but never returned  because God did not call them to serve there. I have never felt anything but gratitude for all who have helped with this ministry.

Those who are called feel that tugging in their hearts; this feeling does not go away until you answer your call.

For the past 11 years Mrs. Donaldson has opened the doors to her classroom by allowing our ministry to make the sandwiches. We usually have as many as 20 volunteers. The wonderful thing about this is that we get the job completed in less than two hours, and the sixth-grade students also do the clean up. This has facilitated and changed everything for the better because when we made sandwiches in my home, after everyone left I still had to put my kitchen back together, and I only had half of the help.

I’m so grateful to Mrs. Donaldson for saying yes, and for teaching her students the value of servanthood. These students get a taste of what God may have in store for them, and they will never forget the experience.

With me this weekend were Jane, Mary, Robert and Veronica (a newbie). Mary has been coming for over a year; she is definitely called to Skid Row. How do I know? For one, she keeps coming back, and she is never squeamish about the horrid conditions and smells of Skid Row. If you can get past the scent, you’ve passed the test and can tolerate just about anything Skid Row throws at you. Mary has earned magna cum laude with her services. Jane has for years been a part of this ministry: she keeps me going in the right direction when we drive to LA, but mostly she is the quiet prayer warrior. She can change circumstances for those she is praying for. Jane also has a special gift in looking into the souls of the lost and knowing how to reach and touch them spiritually. Robert  has always been and will continue to be our rock. Robert has a calling to minister to the drug addicted, because he was once in that same rut.

We always try to park in the same spot, and on Saturday we were able to secure our usual parking. I never feel fearful because when you are doing the work for God we are protected. I always feel that there are angels assigned to protect our vehicles so we do not worry about this. We do, however, take precaution and make sure that our vehicles are locked.

They loved the blankets
Malcom

Robert was late in meeting us, so I recruited Malcom, a citizen of Skid Row, to watch over us. Malcom was obliged to help. This precious man stayed with us for a while. He followed us on his bicycle and watched as we handed out the meals. By the time we ran out of sandwiches, we had to go back to refill our wagon. We remembered that Michael and Trisha had donated about 20 green blankets. These blankets were handed out in a flash, but I made sure Malcom received one.

As we made our way to the front of the Midnight Mission, I could not help but notice a sleeping couple. They were dangerously close to the street, sleeping soundly. I could see peace over them. The woman’s hair was done up in several neatly woven braids tied with some type of yellow ribbon. The man’s head was snugly against the woman’s neck, almost as if they were sleeping in the privacy of their bedroom; nothing seemed to disturb them. Even the screaming woman who woke up from a nightmare, yelling as she reached for her pint of hard liquor, did not wake the slumbering couple.  A rude man was antagonizing the screaming woman and making her suffer great anger. This type of behavior catches our attention but only for a fleeing second. We do not get involved because the homeless read body language better than anyone. If they feel you are judging them, they come at you. We are trained to give them their space and respect them; if you break these two sacred rules you will be in big trouble.

Me, Jane, Estefon (holding blanket)
Veronica, me, Estefon, Mary and Robert (behind Mary) did not get the names of the others

On the same block we met Estefon, a talkative young man. In about three minutes I learned so much about him. He was adopted by a German couple who made their home in the San Fernando Valley. He then moved with them to Germany, then back to California. He is homeless because he cannot keep a job. He explained why he could not keep a job: he did the job so well and got ahead of himself so he would get fired. He went on and on about how no one would hire him. My head was spinning with all that he shared. I prayed for him to get solid direction from the Lord.

Me and Craig

We met Craig, a man with a million-dollar smile and serene spirit. I prayed for him to find his way, he has not been on Skid Row long, and the sooner he gets, off the better for him. After we prayed for Craig we passed a woman sitting against the curb. She was on the phone, yelling so many obscenities; if you think of the two worst bad words and add pedtophile them, this describes the person that owes her $4,000. We steer clear of that type of anger.

City scooter
City scooter stripped

The city is providing scooters, but it’s not such a good idea in this neighborhood; parts are taken off, used for other things or sold.

Overall our mission is complete with seed planted and prayer for a good harvest in the souls of the destitute.

Thank you, Michael and Trisha, for the beautiful blankets. Thank you, Sarah and Jason, for donating the cookies. Thank you, Jane, for your financial support and for being there in the flesh handing out all the goods. Thank you, Mary, for being part of this ministry and helping us distribute the meals. Thank you, Robert, for your protection and for your faithfulness in supporting this ministry, And thank you, Veronica, for helping hand out the meals. Great is your reward!

Matthew 22:14 New King James Version (NKJV)

14 “For many are called, but few are chosen.”

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