near to my heart: joshua gonder memorial foundation

I remember the morning like it was yesterday.  I was up ridiculously early for a Saturday, but duty called.  My friend, Cristin, recruited me to be her official sidekick.  Our mission of the day: to provide nutrition, hydration, sustenance and encouragement to those participating in the first ever J-Walk.

The J-Walk was organized by friends to raise funds for another friend who was in need of medical equipment.  It was a large undertaking for the walkers – a marathon to be completed over an entire day.  The distance did not deter participants, most would have been willing to conquer any distance to aid the one and only Josh Gonder.

Josh was diagnosed with Congenital Muscular Dystrophy as a toddler, but he never let his condition define him.  Josh’s parents, John and Maryanne, had a lot to do with that.  They accepted Josh for who he was and raised him with love and dignity.  He grew up to be an extraordinary man, who glided his way into everyone’s hearts as easily and gracefully as he maneuvered his wheelchair.

I had only known Josh a short time compared to his other friends.  I had met him at a youth conference the year before I moved to New Jersey.  Of course our paths crossed frequently after I moved east.  There was always something going on, whether it was a prayer meeting or a bunch of us hanging out, that afforded me the opportunity to see Josh.  These large gatherings of people were never my forte, especially considering I was a newcomer to the circle in which we moved and rather shy.  But Josh had a way of making people feel at ease.  Even though he was busy working the room, I knew there was always an open spot next to Josh’s wheelchair where I would be welcomed.  I appreciated that more than words can say!  I was grateful I had a chance to repay Josh for the friendship he offered by helping with the J-Walk.

I was up before sunrise on the day of the walk.  The air was thick with excitement as me and my roommates readied ourselves for the coming adventure.  Cristin and I loaded our cars with the necessary provisions and headed over to the starting line.

It was a long day for everyone – participants and volunteers, but Josh continued to inspire us.  From my vantage point at the food stations, I was able to witness the determination and drive shared by all to finish the course for Josh.  It was beautiful to see each person demonstrate their deep love and respect for the man of the hour in such tangible ways.

The walk was a success and Josh’s one request was that it take place the next year to help someone else in need.  It was Josh’s last request.  Just one week after the J-Walk, I answered the phone and heard the devastating news: Josh Gonder passed away in his sleep early that morning.

Josh’s request was honored and a foundation was set up in his memory.  The foundation has assisted many individuals since the first J-Walk in 2002, though now they hold a golf outing instead of a 26 mile trek.

My friendship with Josh had a profound impact on my life, more than anyone realizes.  I am honored to have known him, even if it was brief.  I still consider Josh my go-to friend, though instead of helping me out in a crowded room, he is able to do much more from heaven.

Please visit the Joshua Gonder Memorial Foundation website to learn more about Josh’s life, including a short video, and the many ways the foundation continues to honor the extraordinary man, Josh Gonder.

photo credit: the Foundation website

mission accomplished

I did it, reader!  After years of frustration, I finally accomplished the difficult task of skating backward!  Oh, reader!  I can’t tell you how excited I am!  Woo-hoo!!!  Honestly, this is tame compared to the way I told Rosario over the phone yesterday.  She thought I had won a million dollars or something the way I cheered and cheered until I could cheer no more.  But I felt like I had won more than a million bucks!

I realize this may not seem like a big deal, but it really is a big deal… at least to me.  I have wanted to skate backward ever since I first learned to ice skate when I was about eleven, but I turned out to be a defective skater.  Skating forward wasn’t a problem but for some strange reason the know-how for skating backward eluded me.  This was rather devastating for one who loved skating sports.  I had no intention of being a figure skating champion or a professional hockey player, but I would have liked to learn the basics: puck handling, evasive maneuvers, toe loops, sit spins, etc.  Unfortunately skating backward was an important element to learning the aforementioned skills.  Ice dancing wasn’t even an option!  (I realize hockey wasn’t really an option either due to my petite stature, but I prefer to blame it on the skating backward thing.)

I never took official ice skating lessons.  If I had, I might have learned there, but I will never know what could have been… Still, plenty of people gave me tips, advice and instruction in the process of skating backward.  And I tried.  Really I did.  Every season, I would try again and again to implement everything I had been told but nothing ever worked.  Until this year…

I had tried several times to go skating ever since Rosa Parks Circle opened for the winter season, but it never worked out.  I couldn’t seem to find anyone who wanted to go with me.  So I made up my mind to go alone, and still every time I made plans, something else came up.

Finally, I decided that I would go on Friday.  I didn’t care what happened – I was going to go ice skating.  I left work with the intention of going straight to the rink, but I called my roommate Emily at the last minute to see if she was up for a little outdoor workout.  Although she resisted the idea at first, Emily eventually agreed to come along.

We made it to the rink fairly early to avoid the Friday night crowd.  And reader, it was exhilarating!  I loved gliding across the ice, weaving around the other skaters, with the wind in my face.  Sigh!  It was great!

Emily and I didn’t stay too long – it was quite cold, but just before our final lap, I stopped near the rail.

“Hang on, E.  I want to try to skate backward before we leave.”  I shifted my weight and brought my foot around.  Then the other side.  And the first one again.  I continued my pattern.  I was concentrating really hard, but I was still able to look up and grin at Emily.

“Check me out!!! I’m skating backward!”  I didn’t go far and it wasn’t very graceful, but it was a start!  I am more conscious now of balance and weight distribution than when I first learned to ice skate, thanks to all the dance training I’ve had the past couple of years, which is certainly what helped.

Yes, reader, it was a start.  I have overcome a struggle that has nagged me for years!  I can’t tell you how liberating that is!  I don’t even care about learning the basic of hockey and figure skating anymore.  I’m just praying it wasn’t a fluke and I’ll be able to improve on my new skill next time I go ice skating.  But for now: mission accomplished!

four fendered reality

I had quite the imagination as a child.  I spent many hours in my own little world, but I still managed to be aware of the realities around me, even when it came to traveling.  I was conscious of the different routes my parents took, whether we were going across town or around the block.  I may not have known street names, but I knew how to get to church, school, the store, etc.  I loved staring out the window, whenever I got a window seat, and absorbing my surroundings.  This absorption fueled my imagination.  I remember a particular car ride that was full of awe and wonder as I observed a great phenomenon take place inside the car.

I don’t remember how old I was – anywhere between six and eight, I think.  Mom and I were out and about in the old green Ford Fairmont.  I think we were alone, which was rather unusual, but I have no memory of anyone else being in the car with us.

I watched from the backseat as Mom made her way to our destination, wherever that was, and I noticed something amazing.  Our car knew exactly where we were going!  Every time Mom was going to turn, a little arrow blinked in that direction.  I saw it with my own eyes!  The little arrow blinked left and Mom turned left!  At the next turn, I knew she was going to turn right but I didn’t see an arrow pointing right, so I peaked around the other side.  There it was: an arrow pointing right!  And, of course, Mom turned right!  I was amazed!

My imagination frantically tried to figure out how the car knew what direction Mom was turning before she turned!  My mouth was agape as I witnessed the strange spectacle again and again.  I couldn’t figure it out, and I just had to know how the car got to be so smart.

“Mom?” I asked, trying to contain my wonder. “How does the car know which way you are going to turn before you turn?”

Mother answered quite matter-of-factly that there was a little lever by the steering wheel.  She pushed it up to turn right and down to turn left.  She told me that it made lights on the outside of the car blink so other cars knew which way she was turning.

I sat back in the seat utterly devastated.  Here I was thinking we had the smartest car since Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang and it wasn’t true.  So much for that!  I much preferred my imagined explanation to bland reality.  Before Mom told me about the lever, I was on the verge of singing “Bang-bang Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, our fine four fendered friend” and expecting the car to take off flying!

I eventually got over my disappointment and learned to appreciate the reality of the fine four fendered friends in my life.  Still… some aspects of my imagined genius of a car are much better than the smart cars of today.  Hello – Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang could float and fly!  No voice commands were necessary – she anticipated her passengers’ every need.  Although they did have to provide their own music…

Photo Credits:Car Gurus and Avia The Great

cecilia bedelia eats a comb

Ok, so I didn’t really eat a comb, but someone did try to feed one to me.

Rosario and I headed to the east side of the state on Saturday to spend the day with our cousin, Katherine, and her family.  We had a fantastic time talking and laughing the day away.

Katherine, Rosario and I went out for a little tea party and when we returned, we all pitched in to make dinner for Katherine’s husband, Chris, and their two adorable kids, Olivia and Josh.  By the time dinner was in the oven, Olivia and Josh were ready for cousin-time.  That’s when Josh decided I looked hungry and tried to feed me the comb he was playing with.

First, he showed me how to eat the comb:

Josh demonstrates how its done.

Then, he tried to put said comb in my mouth:

Josh offers me a taste.

I resisted as long as I could, but he was so persistent and so darn cute!  It made me laugh, and as soon as I did I learned how to eat a comb.  Yuck! 

I give up.

At least he was persistent, which is more than I can say for a lot of the men I’ve met recently.

It wasn't so bad - I'm still smiling!

But the smile can be attributed to the handsome man in my arms!  And the fact that the comb was no longer in my mouth! (Again, yuck!)

The rest of the evening was filled with stories, chit-chat, more laughter and giggling.  The kids also provided great entertainment while me, Rosario, Katherine, and Chris finished our meal. 

We left much later than planned, but it was worth it!  Next time, we’ll plan on spending the night… that way we can talk about our love of Newsies into the wee small hours of the morning without worrying about a drive home.  The only thing we’ll have to worry about is waking up to breakfast in bed.  I think I’d rather Josh stick to combs than the more substantial brushes.

near to my heart: hands for christ

I spent the first Saturday in December running back and forth across a gym floor all evening long – in high heels, I might add.  It was the night of the Juarez Hands for Christ Benefit Dinner, and I was tasked with bringing everything together.  There had been a few teams of people who planned different aspects of the program: the venue, the meal, the entertainment.  I helped with entertainment, and being the stage manager, most of my work happened the night of, which explains the running in heels.

The annual dinner was hosted by the Shrine of St. Francis Xavier & Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish in Grand Rapids, MI, with the proceeds benefitting the Hands for Christ Ministry, which supports El Centro Comunitario del Espiritu Santo in Juarez, Mexico (Community Center of the Holy Spirit).  The center is located on an abandoned garbage dump and serves the many families who call the dump their home.  (Visit their website for more info.  Also see the video at the end of the post.)

I first heard about the center when I was in high school.  The Shrine of SFX/OLG hosted one or two mission trips to the Community Center every year, and fellow youth group members who had gone to Juarez would come back with amazing stories of hope and love in the midst of hardships and poverty.  The students from SFX/OLG assisted in the director, Frank, with anything that was needed, from hard labor to meal preparations, helping at the daycare or visiting families.  The year I was there, we painted a building our previous group had built and filled in a pit so it could be used as a soccer field.  I had longed to see with my own eyes the beauty spoken of by my peers, so my parents sent me on the mission trip for my birthday fourteen or fifteen years ago.

The people I met were truly beautiful.  Their hands may have been empty but their hearts were full of love for the Lord.  They put my faith to shame.  I was only able to go that one time, but the experience was unforgettable. 

SFX/OLG continued the mission trips, and I was able to stay updated and involved even if I wasn’t able to go personally.  My involvement increased last year when Amanda Vernon approached me about helping with the benefit dinner.  She was giving a special concert at the dinner and asked if I would be her stage manager.  The annual dinner helped raise extra funds each year for the mission trips, but not as a way of offsetting the cost for volunteers.  Every dime raised at the dinner purchased supplies and necessities for the center.  These  essential items were delivered by families from all over West Michigan who sacrificed their Christmas break to travel to Juarez via bus and serve the poor. 

That year, however, was different.  For the first time in twenty years, the trip to Juarez was cancelled.  It was a difficult decision made by Deacon Ken Baldwin, who leads the trips, and Frank, the director of Hands for Christ, but it was too dangerous.  There had always been an aspect of danger but the recent increase in violence was significant.  Our lack of physical presence in Juarez was devastating not only to the volunteers, but to those who relied on our support at the center.  The dinner was of utmost importance.  It was a chance for us to show Hands for Christ that we had not forgotten them and we would still be beside them in prayer. 

The situation did not improve, and there was no trip again in 2009.  But we still rallied to the aid of our brothers and sister in Christ.  The dinner was a success, thanks to the grace of God and the generosity of many.

I was about to fall over by the end of the evening.  Coordinating the cooks, set-up/clean-up crews, sound/lighting crew, performers and speakers made for a full evening, but I was grateful to be involved in a worthy undertaking.  

I am already looking forward to helping at the dinner in 2010.  I might even start training so I won’t be sore after a night of running in heels… or I could find some walkie-talkies…

faq: are you twins?

This is obviously a question that is not only asked of me, but of my sister, Rosario, as well and usually when we are in each other’s company.  And I get it – really: two brown girls who look related and whose ages are difficult to decipher… they must be twins!

Okay, so I really don’t get it.  Sure, Rosario and I have some physical similarities; we are close in age; and we share many of the same tastes and interests, but Rosario takes after Mom’s side of the family while I take after Dad’s.  Are you sure we look like twins? I often want to ask.  We have actually been asked if we were identical twins, if you can believe that!  More than once, but I don’t believe the askers of that question, even though adults, fully understood the meaning of identical.

We get asked the twin question in the most random of places, and the answer depends on how mischievous Rosario feels.  We usually answer that we are not in fact twins, just sisters who are close in age.  Sometimes Rosario will have a little fun with the questioner and answer “Yes, we are twins.”

“Really?!  So, how far apart are you?” is usually the next question.

“About nineteen months – it was a really long labor,” Rosario says in all seriousness, while I try to keep a straight face.

Typically other person will catch on.  We then explain that we are just sisters who happen to resemble each other, even though we don’t think we look similar enough to be taken for twins.  Once in a while, the asker will walk away with a confused look on her face as she tries to make sense of our mother’s extended labor.

Once, we were out with a bunch of friends and our brother, Charles, showed up.  Some random person asked the usual twin question.  Charles was standing close by and quickly answer, “Actually, we’re triplets!”  The duped guy brought some of his friends over to meet the “triplets”.  Rosario and Charles had an easy time convincing the guys as they put our smiling faces on display to prove the similarity (Charles is a combination of me and Rosario) and rattled off “our” birthday and other info that was asked.  We enjoyed every moment of our evening as triplets!

Recently, my youngest sister, Rita and I were asked if we were twins.  That one surprised me, considering I am nine years older…  Again, two brown girls who look related… I suppose the Schwartz sisters are ageless, since others are unable to determine our ages based on physical appearance.

I don’t understand why people think we look like twins, but perhaps that is because I’m keenly aware of each sibling’s unique individuality.  Still, I don’t mind them asking.  I would never claim to have the same intense, distinctive twin bond with my siblings, but it is an honor that others see the strong love between us and assume we must be twins (or triplets).

the "triplets"

the nine-year-difference twins

near to my heart

Allow me to turn your attention to the sidebar, where you will notice a new category of links labeled ‘Near To My Heart’.  The organizations and charities listed here hold a special place in my heart for various reasons.  During the month of February, I will highlight one organization each week.  Stay tuned to learn more about that which is near to my heart!

non nobis domine

I’m taking this opportunity to give thanks along with many other Catholic bloggers.

Find out why: Non Nobis Network

confessions of a vegetable snob

I stopped by the grocery store on my way home last night to pick up a few essentials.  I was tired after the long day, but I zipped through the aisles, picking up only what was needed.  I was rather impressed, considering I was not only tired but hungry too.  I finally made it to the check-out lane, where the poor young man at the register got a crash course in produce.  Obviously, he wouldn’t have known that I don’t eat peas of any variety when he first mistook the green beans for snow peas.  The error was quickly corrected, and I was saved from sounding like a know-it-all vegetable snob.

I am a lover of most vegetables – the proof of which can be seen in my extravagant holiday veggie trays – but that wasn’t always the case.  There was a time when, as with most children, I loathed vegetables.  My siblings and I had no choice when it came to what was served at meal time, but we were given the choice of eating the food or going hungry.  Mom always served up a well-balanced meal, which included a side of detestable vegetables.  My refuse-to-eat veggie list was rather extensive in my youth.  (See example.)

I look back on those days wondering how I survived, and then I remember my ingenious veggie-evading tactics.  My parents’ always thought I was a very clean child because they never had to remind me to use my napkin.  On the contrary, I made good use of that napkin.

We didn’t have a dog to eat anything that “accidentally” fell to the floor during dinner, and if anything did “accidentally” fall to the floor, we were given another serving.  I learned from experience, not mine – my siblings taught me what not to do.  That’s when the napkin became my friend.  You can guess where my veggies went when I daintily wiped my mouth.  It worked for a while – my little scheme.  I thought I was so clever until the fateful day Mom made vegetable soup.  My parents caught on pretty quick when the crumbled napkins piled up next to my bowl.  Before I knew it, I no longer had access to the napkins and there was more soup in my bowl.  Knowing me, I probably cried.

I remember Mom and Dad both saying at various times, “You may not like vegetables now, but you will like them when you are older.”  That never went over well with the younger, more stubborn version of myself.  I would insist that I would never like vegetables, usually with a stomp of my foot for dramatic effect.

Well, reader, Mom and Dad were right.  Veggies are now an major part of my daily diet.  They are a favorite snack, a desirable side dish, even (I hate to admit it) a comfort food.  Many of the vegetables I couldn’t stand as a child are now on my can’t-live-without list.  But there are still a few veggies I won’t touch.  Peas fall in that category, along with lima beans and cauliflower.

When I saw snow peas appear on the register screen last night, I began to panic a little.  For a split second I had the urge to grab a napkin.  I regained control of my senses and recognized the error was not mine.  I looked at the fresh, yummy green beans that were hand-picked from the bin with relief.  I’m not a know-it-all vegetable snob, I just know what prdouce I’ll eat and which ones I’ll let the napkin take care of.

surviving sappy sonnets

In less than a month, one of my most dreaded holidays as a single woman will arrive: Valentine’s Day.  I am not one of those single women who is completely opposed to the holiday of love, but I still dread its yearly appearance.

You see, I am reminded of my singleness every day.  Some days are easier than others, with most being not only endurable but enjoyable, but the one day that I find almost unbearable is Valentine’s Day.  It’s not even the actual day – usually it’s just the weeks and days leading up to it that get me.  Those are the days when sappy sonnets of romance are smeared in my little single face.  And though I don’t enjoy being taunted by the over-commercialization of heart-shaped candy boxes and bouquets of red roses, I would never begrudge those who are in relationships a chance to celebrate their love just because I am single.

For reasons unknonwn, being single has been especially difficult as of late, which means I’m rather wary of Valentine’s Day this year.  In all my years of dating, I’ve never dated anyone on or near Valentine’s Day.  Perhaps that has something to do with my current loathing, but one thing I’ve learned from those lonely evenings is how to survive!  For me, that means spending Valentine’s Day weekend with my favorite single man: my grandpa. 

The year after Grandma passed, Rosario and I spent Valentine’s Day weekend with Grandpa to cheer him up, and it became a little tradition.  Rosario hasn’t been able to make it the last couple of years (she was in Mexico two years ago, Los Angeles last year and will be there again this year visitng her man), but I still keep it up.  I don’t think Grandpa realizes that I visit every year on that weekend or the service he renders, but that doesn’t matter.  He welcomes me with open arms, fills me up with his homemade wine and keeps me laughing with his adventerous stories, which is what he does every time I visit.  And I love it!  It has been a while since I spent quality time with my grandpa, and it will be good to drink his wine again – I mean see him again.

While I may not enjoy visions of red and pink hearts everywhere I turn, I am looking forward to Valentine’s Day and spending it with one of my favorite men alive!

(And in case you are wondering, I am very excited that my sister gets to spend Valentine’s Day with her man!  That means I get Grandpa all to myself!)