My Heart of the Matter

I Love My Kitchen But Hate To Cook

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Maddie, Sonja, Russ, me, Mike, Jacob, Lucas, Wil, Jenny, and Mikos

Psalms 37:4 NKJV

Delight yourself also in the LORD, And He shall give you the desires of your heart.

Ten years ago Mike finally agreed to have our kitchen remodeled. We have been living in the same home for 37 years. This house was built in 1974. It is a solid lath and plaster home, which means that no drywall was used in the original building.

We did a small kitchen remodel shortly after we moved in. I made the worst decorating mistake in the world by installing a white tile floor and white tile counter tops. I became a slave to the floors, having to mop them every time we used the kitchen.

Me, my beautiful Mom, and sister Norma, in the flower kitchen
The puke green walls of the gutted kitchen

To add character to the old kitchen, it went through many metamorphic experiences. It was wallpapered, painted a hideous green, and we had two electric stove tops replaced. When Mike took over the cooking, we switched to gas. Gas made all the difference in our meals and Mike’s meals taste like we hired a personal chef.

I had a great desire in my heart to redesign the kitchen,  I started a campaign by nagging; when that   didn’t work, I prayed. It took a long time before I could convince Mike, but he finally agreed. We had a lot of expenses that took precedence over this huge undertaking. Both Mikos and Sonja were attending private colleges, and I decided that it was time for me to finish my education. So I applied and was accepted to Biola University. Mike was overwhelmed with paying part of three tuitions. After a little breathing room, we seized the opportunity and started the project.

We researched and got several estimates, but I wanted was a dream kitchen. Originally I wanted to expand the kitchen, but that idea quickly ended when the estimates came in at over $90,000.00, and that was without the kitchen remodel or new appliances! I prayed again on how to expand without breaking walls.

Our wonderful designer and friend Jonathan

When we were about to make our decision between two contractors, I received a dream from the Lord. In the dream, two bay windows were added to make room for seating. The following morning Jonathan, one of the designers, called me. Jonathan  shared with me his idea on how to expand the kitchen. He told me that we should add two bay windows for seating. This was exactly what I dreamt! It was a clear confirmation for us to go with his company, Le Gourmet Kitchens. This is how God takes care of those who trust and believe in prayer.

My custom kitchen was a project of love, which took over 3 months to complete. I wanted Jerusalem stone for my countertop, but it was too porous, so I went with Caesar stone, which is also from Jerusalem. It was important for me to have products from the Holy Land. I brought back decorative tile from the Old City in Jerusalem. Jonathan is Jewish, so he really understood what I wanted. He ordered Jerusalem crosses from Israel to complement the tiles that I purchased.

My cabinets were made in Salina, Kansas, because there are too many E.P.A stipulations in California on how wood is treated. Also it does not compare to the quality of the wood from this part of the country. My cabinets have a lifetime guarantee.

Tile from the the Old City in Jerusalem, and gold Jerusalem crosses for each corner
Mint Julep stove

I wanted the stove to make a statement, so we picked a Viking mint julep stove. It was perfect!

If you are wondering why am I writing about my kitchen, it’s because this is where families gather, where bonding takes place, where heartfelt stories are shared. The kitchen is the heart of a home, and it should be  filled with love.

All of my cooking is done without a recipe. If I do use a recipe, for some strange reason it always comes out different. I have accepted that cooking is not my gift, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Sometimes I cook the worst meals; at other times I surprise everyone with a tasty meal. Such is life.

I thought for sure that the beautiful kitchen would improve my cooking, but it didn’t. Once I tried a quinoa recipe and it kept growing so much that I had to change pots twice. Nowhere in the recipe did it warn that it was going to keep expanding. Dinner that night went down as another adventure that finally had us eating at 8:30 p.m. Never take the advice from a well-meaning friend who told me to cook the corned beef in a crock pot. That was a disaster that lasted until the following day, when we were finally able to enjoy the meal.

I am currently creating videos to give cooking tutorials for others who share my dilemma. Just recently I ruined a pot of rice; even the dog turned his nose up at it.

Mornings in my kitchen are my favorite. You can find me sitting in my breakfast nook every day around 7:30 a.m. I eat the same breakfast every day: a cup of coffee with Ezekiel toast. My cat Prudie usually joins me. I use this room to pray; sometimes when I’m overcome with uncertainties and unanswered prayer, I sit and cry in that same spot.

Our granddog Rosie and the Dutch door

When our grandchildren were younger, all ten of us would gather for dinner every Monday night. Now that they are in sports and have their own busy lives, we try to get together at least once or twice a month. The kitchen is my favorite room of our home because this is where the sun greets me every morning after Mass. I look out the Dutch door and thank God for my beautiful bougainvillea that Mike planted.

I thank God for my ten-year-old kitchen, and am grateful that it still brings us together as a family. Happy, sad, mad, we are family, and will always meet in the kitchen for healing and laughter.

1 Corinthians 10:31 New King James Version (NKJV)

31 Therefore, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

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My Heart of the Matter

My Father

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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)

7 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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My Heart of the Matter

The Yearbook

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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)

2 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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