{3 years}

I have written about 6 different opening sentences for this post. And I deleted all of them because it is so hard to put three years into a single blog post.

Three years ago today, Randy and I went on our first date after he graduated from the FBI National Academy. Our date happened ten weeks after he asked me out…which happened to be the day before he left for ten weeks.

Which happens to probably be the best thing that could have happened to us. Our relationship began with a lot of phone calls, text messages, emails, and letters. And when we were finally face to face, it was like we had never been a part.  It felt like we had been together and known each other forever.

Only we hadn’t.

Oh, the things that we have learned about each other.

In three years we have won and lost elections, moved each other in and out of houses and apartments, experienced life and death, weddings and divorces, we have traveled from one side of the country to the other, spent countless hours of “windshield” time together, bought cars, totaled cars (although most of that was me…), we learned to kayak, we have explored A LOT of bookstores, acquired too many books, we have dealt with family issues, friend issues, we broke up once and got back together (longest three weeks that have ever existed), learned how to parent together, gone through one surgery, a few bad colds, introduced each other to new (old) music, watched more movies than I could list, cried a little, and laughed a whole lot.

Three years of seeing God’s faithfulness in our lives on a daily basis, three years of learning how to love each other better, three years of each day being better than the day before (even when it wasn’t).

Here’s to the rest of our lives being AT LEAST this good!

The-Not-So-Skinny-On-Theresa

Recently I found a blog post by the mom of a teenage daughter who talked about the danger of teaching our kids to “be an example”:

And when she hears adults tell her to be an example, she thinks that means she can never mess up, can never have problems, can never just be a teenager with struggles like everyone else.

She might then mature into a woman who believes being a Christian means having it all together, saying all the “right” things, staying a few steps above everyone else.

Whoa.

Fact: I do not have it together.

And one of my biggest faults is acting like I do.

My husband is incredibly private. And I always want to respect that. But I also feel the need to acknowledge that we I am human.

I.need.Jesus.

And I have felt the Lord telling me this over and over and over again for the past few weeks. Through sermons, friends, and family, the Lord is calling me to be real.

Let me be clear. He is not calling me to air personal issues that belong to my family. He is not calling me to gossip. He is not calling me to be disrespectful to my husband and his need for privacy.

However…

I need to be honest. With myself. With my family. With my friends. (and, says Randy, the people who read my blog…ha. ha. ha.)

Instead of trying so hard to be an example, just be honest. “If you struggle, say so. If you hurt someone, apologize. Then they really will get to know you and they won’t have reason to call you a hypocrite.”

Yikes.

I am one of those people who hates to struggle, much less admit it.

My mother loves to tell stories about me learning how to do math and how I would get so frustrated because I somehow felt like I shouldn’t have to learn it, I should just know it already.

The same is true as I begin new things as an adult, whether it be a new job, workout, or relationship, I know-in my heart of hearts-that I always act like I have all the answers.

Paaaaiiinnfullll. (to the person on the receiving end and to me as I realize this about myself)

So here’s the not-so-skinny on Theresa:

I’m a mess. I need Jesus. And I do not have all the answers.

My marriage is not perfect. My relationships are not perfect.

I struggle with self-image.

And other people’s opinions matter too much to me.

Yeah, God is working on me, but it is not a pretty process. There are pieces of my life that are going to take a long time to “fix” and patience is not my strong suit. There are bad habits that I have formed that are going to be hard to break.

The same author of the blog I quoted above wrote this as well speaking of raising a daughter:

She needs to be reminded of who she is, not who she is expected to be. In Christ, she is loving, even if she is acting unloving. In Christ, she is patient, even if she is acting impatient. Appeal to her new creation identity rather than simply shaming her for her wrong behavior.

Tell her she is beloved. Tell her she is beautiful. Remind her what is already true. Invite her to live into the truth of who Christ is forming her to be.

So these are the things I am reminding myself of as I walk with Jesus. Being real. Being Theresa. And these are the things I invite you to call me out on as we experience life together.

Yes. I am a Jesus-needing-mess-of-a-woman. And I want to own that without dwelling in it.

But we’ll save that for another day…

A Daughter’s View {25 years later…}

If I had to count on one hand the number of things that my father and I agree on, I would probably be sitting here awhile. Our personalities make us polar opposites. We speak different love languages. We experience life from totally different places, views, and opinions. In fact, if you had asked me not so long ago, I probably would have told you that I considered myself to be my dad’s greatest disappointment in life.

But not too long ago, God spoke to my heart and opened my eyes. My dad and I are still vastly different. And we probably both think the other is difficult at times. But my view of my dad is very different now than at any other time in my life.

I truly believe that God found the perfect time to redeem my relationship with my father. I see him so differently than before. I see a man who loves people (especially his children) through words of wisdom, difficult life lessons, and by being a provider. My dad is a giver. He would give the shirt off his back to a total stranger. Knowing the types of gifts he has given to people he barely knows and people he has known for years, I can tell you that my dad is one of the most generous people I know. And yet, as his kid-while I never went without the things I needed-my dad made me work hard for what I had. In turn, he has worked hard to provide a home for my mother, myself, and my siblings. And he is still working hard. At almost 67. I am so grateful that my dad saw the virtue of teaching his kids that the fruit of hard work is sweet and incredibly rewarding and that genuine generosity and compassion without need of recognition or reward is just a way of life.

True appreciation of my father began awhile ago, but more so when I married a man who is a father and became part of a pre-existing family unit. As I experience a parent/grown-child relationship from the opposite view, I appreciate my father’s firm hand and no-nonsense parenting style on a whole new level.

As I experienced the gifts my dad showered upon my sister when she got married in my parents yard, I saw a whole new level of love and provider. My dad (and mom and siblings) tore down a barn and built a new one. Dad remodeled a bathroom. The yard and house are the most beautiful I have ever seen. Dad gave Caroline gifts that only he could give. He gave his time and talent. My dad provided. He did what he does best. And it was beautiful.

Being a parent of any kind/gender requires patience, love, perseverance, and the ability to speak truth into the lives of those you are influencing. As I grow as a person and experience more of life’s adventures, I am more and more grateful for my father and his own life experience. The experiences that shaped him, helped to shape me.

We may not agree on everything, but I know that in God’s perfect plan, He gave me the perfect Dad for me. For better or for worse, I am who I am because of Paul Garcia. I look at my life and the lives of my siblings and I see people who see their need for Jesus. I see seven beautiful siblings who all carry various traits of both our parents and I can see God continuing to work in each of our lives and using each for His own glory. How great the Father’s love for us that He gave the Garcia children a father who strives daily to live his life for the Lord and walk in His light.

{Fostering} The Newest Robertson Adventure

“Whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes Me.” – Luke 9:28

After a lot of discussion and much prayer, Randy and I are seeking to follow after the Lord in His call to become Foster Parents. We are nervous, excited, and ready to start this journey.

We started where, I suppose, most people start, by googling “Foster Care in Georgia.” And then “Fostering in Harris County.” Google can be a little confusing in this area. I must have looked at every suggested site. Oh, and we DON’T live in Harris County, Texas. But I know a lot about Fostering in Harris County, Texas, nonetheless.

We read up on stats, requirements for Foster Parents, etc.

Then I sought out friends I knew who are/who were Foster Parents. “Don’t let the paperwork unnerve you!” has been a common statement. Some of it sounds like “Survival of the Fittest.”

Or like they are trying to weed out the weak.

There are classes you have to take, like the three hour orientation class that has to be completed before you can take the BIG class called IMPACT which is “Foster Parent Training.”

Background checks (we are not too worried as a federal employee and a law enforcement officer)…

…and a psychological test. Randy would probably say I have a lot to worry about in that department…

But then I found Emily and Chance Carlisle, whom I have actually known for years. You can read their story here, but long story short, Emily led me to Jeeahs Hope, a ministry she and her husband, along with several other families began to help others in answering God’s call to be a “father to the fatherless.”

We were immediately encouraged by this strong network and support system right here in our own community.

And then I made a mistake.

I ventured out on my own into the world of state run child services.

It was like playing musical chairs.

I must have made a dozen phone calls. And some of those were back to the same people.

“But that number doesn’t work.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Can you send me to someone who does?”

“Maybe.”

Or the phone would ring 20 times.

And then there was sweet Ms. Farley in the Harris County DFCS office who was so excited that we were interested in Fostering.

But the woman I needed to talk to had just left the office.

Deep breaths. Patience. I need patience.

And then I got an email from Jawan. Thank you, Jesus.

Jawan and her husband, Mitch, are foster parents in our area (Jawan and I know each other through mutal friends). Jawan answered so many questions in such a short period and got Randy and I set up for our first class!

This is not going to be a quick process. But Randy and I are trusting the Lord to guide us. God promises to be faithful and we can already see that in just the short time we have pursued this.

“Learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless.” – Isaiah 1:17

The number 25.

For the past few weeks I have been doing a lot of thinking and reading and searching. I have tried to look up writers with wisdom/food-for-thought on turning 25 since it seems like an age where a little wisdom would be, ya know…wise.

But it’s not been just any kind of wisdom. I have been looking for wisdom that society would see as unconventional by today’s standards for the “normal” 25 year old. Afterall, I live an unconventional life for a 25 year old. I have “step-children” ages 20 and 18. I have a “granddaughter” who is 9 months old. My husband can retire in 3 years. And all that is just scratching the surface.

Needless to say, all I have found is a lot of 25 year olds who think they are wise. Their wisdom looks a lot like this (and by “looks a lot like this”, I mean I am quoting verbatim):

• Hangovers do not get better with age (duh…they get worse.)
• Facebook Statuses may come back to haunt you (like so many words we say and write)
• Follow your passion and screw what everyone else has to say about it (no comment)
• Life’s too short for bad sex (again…no comment)
• You’re “not a girl, not yet a woman” and that’s fabulous…(Really, Britney…what does that even mean?)

And then I found this gem of a quote:

Turning 25 is like accidentally missing the last stair step. It’s that mini-heart attack you have when you think you’re about to fall, but then you don’t.

Yeah. Disappointment only mildly explains what I felt as I tried to gear up for this, what I thought was, momentous day.

So, I wised up.

What about looking for wisdom from the people who have actually walked the roads I am wondering down?

Bingo, Waldo.

This is the wisdom I was searching for:

• Humility is underrated.
• Notice the good.
• Let go of certainty.
• “Get cash, keep cash” (i.e. work hard and save your money)
• “Green side up.” When laying sod, it’s always a good idea to put the green side up. The moral of the story: work hard and do a good job at whatever you’re doing. Even if you don’t enjoy it, being faithful in the small things will pay dividends toward your future.

God has been incredibly faithful for the past 25 years. His goodness OVERFLOWED this past year. I have been praying over this birthday year, seeking a word from the Lord and here is what I found (emphasis my own):

So I turned my mind to understand, to investigate and to search out wisdom and
the scheme of things and to understand the stupidity of wickedness and the
madness of folly. -Ecc. 7:25

Twenty-five is a number. And although I can often be heard saying “Y’all, I am 82 on the inside”, that is not so fair to my 82 year old grandmother who recently told me she feels the same way she did at 16. Age is a number. Age is a number. Age is a number.

So here is to the number 25. May the next milestone numbers be just as sweet.

A Week of Love {Day Five}

You would think I had written enough mushy stuff about Randy Robertson. You probably hoped that after “the new” wore off, I would stop.

Nope.

I didn’t think I could love Randy more than I already did. But the last 7 months have proven me wrong. He is my absolute favorite person in the world. Even when I find piles of dirty laundry instead of just one or better yet, in the hamper. Even when he makes fun of my Downton Abbey obsession. Even when he doesn’t like the way I worded something. He is always my favorite person.

He makes my life richer. I have never been happier or more content. I have never been more me.

I hope that I make him just half as happy as he makes me, not just on Valentines Day, but every day.

Wiley, I love you. So so much. And I am so very glad you are my husband and I am your wife.

A Week of Love {Day Four}

Today belongs to Oscar.

Oscar the Dachsaund who loves me unconditionally. I remember telling Randy that I wanted to have a dog that loved me as much as Catfish loved him.
If you knew Catfish and Randy, you know that this was a tall order. But Randy got to work and surprised me with Oscar one night at dinner with Sherrell, Robert, and Logan.

Oscar has yet to let me down. He knows stuff. Weird stuff. He understands when I am sad or anxious. He knows when I need a good snuggle. He has stayed in bed with me when I have been sick and he has sat beside me for hours while I read a book.

Oscar Wilde Garcia-Robertson (because Europeans like to hyphenate), you are the best gift Randy has ever given me (besides the whole marriage thing). I am glad that you are mine and I am yours. I love you.

A Week of Love {Day Three}

I love my parents.

All of them.

The two that got me to planet earth. The two who carried me from Upatoi to the Springer on a regular basis and allowed me to be the brunette in the blonde/red headed crowd. The one who made the Springer my other home. The ones that lived across the pasture. The ones I call aunts and uncles. The ones who live on Wildwood Avenue. The ones who have nurtured me and grown me into the person that I am today.

To be clear, I am most grateful for the ones who made me. (Don’t get all jealous, Mom…I am grateful for all the hours of labor that it took to get me here. You are my favorite mother).

But, I love the others too.

Believe me, it took a village to get me raised. (Can I get an “amen”?)

And here I am. Raised. Mostly. Making my own mistakes. Burning my own thanksgiving turkey. Cleaning my own house and washing my own clothes (and my husband’s. Sometimes). Making car payments. Holding a job. I mean, I have health insurance. That’s pretty “raised” if you ask me.

I love you all for making sure I was a responsible, well-adjusted, polite, well-rounded, human being.

Lent: Refreshing the Soul

Growing up we did not participate in the Season of Lent, even though we were in a Methodist church. My dad’s reasoning was that with the death of Christ on the cross and His resurrection from the grave, we are freed from the act of sacrifice. I get his mindset, I really do. But as I get older and my focus is torn in so many directions, I find the idea of 40 days of determined focus on my sweet Savior refreshing and much needed.

Randy and I discussed several options when we were deciding what to give up for Lent. We agreed it had to be a lifestyle change. It had to be something that we would have to make a conscious effort to maintain, thus a reminder that sends us back to the cross, pulling our focus to Jesus. We talked about social media, we talked about food, we talked about deeds of omission vs. deeds of commission, we talked about it all. At the end of the day, we decided on one thing to do together and then personal choices as well.

Together we will be forgoing meat, eggs, and dairy for the next 40 days. We are meaters. Big time. And we eat eggs almost every day. Dairy is in everything (salad dressing, sauces, and ummm…how do I go without cheese??). It will be different than doing The Whole 30 not only because we could eat meat then, but because I whined a lot through that process and it’s kinda hard to whine when you are doing something for Jesus. I mean…come on.

I will also be cutting back on Facebook, allowing myself 30 minutes in the evening to share anything for work or charity. But I cannot peruse or read through my newsfeed or look at friends pages. I will be taking the Facebook app off my phone and out of my taskbar on my computer.

I’m not Catholic or Methodist or any other defined religion (although I probably most identify with the PCA). My husband and I attend First Baptist in Columbus, Georgia and we love it. But if asked what I am (a very common southern question), my response is that I just love the Lord. Someone once told me that I was their “organic” Christian friend because I so adamantly opposed “religion.” The more I study, the more I pray, and the more God grows me in Him, I am convinced that He intended for us to share in an incredibly simple faith walk. He tells us to love Him with everything that we are, love each other as we love our own selves, and to share His word with the world. Yes, I believe He wants us to know His word and study His commandments, and I believe that comes through prayer, time in His word, and the gathering of believers (church, bible study, small groups, etc.), but I don’t believe that He calls for us to identify ourselves as anything other than Followers of Christ.

So my reason for celebrating the Season of Lent is not out of a need to sacrifice anything to my Lord who gave the greatest sacrifice of a perfect life and death on a cross, but out of a need to refocus my attention on the One who loved me first. My prayer over the next forty days is that God would speak to mine and Randy’s hearts as we use earthly food to be heavenly fed.

A Week of Love {Day Two}

Caroline has just now experienced this and I suppose that sooner, rather than later, the others will hear me say the same thing to their significant others; “Just remember, I loved her/him first.”

I’ve loved Caroline the longest and there is a part of me that can’t let that go as she gets married and moves far away from me. Sarah Ann has always been independent, not needing me…or anyone else. Mary Lou and the younger four are stuck with me being the second mom for the rest of their lives. Although, as I told my mom recently, I think I am loosing my touch. I think they are all realizing that they can take me, via wit, physique, or just playing the old-fashioned heart strings.

These 7 people have given me unconditional love, without fail, for over 20 years. They get me and I get them. I understand the ins and outs of their thought processes (for the most part) and they get mine. We understand because we have the same DNA, the same make-up, the same foundation. And for all the good times and the bad times, we have always had each others backs. Yeah, we let each other down from time to time. There have been fights and hurt feelings, but we know how to communicate that to each other.

I am so very grateful that my parents allowed God to do the choosing and just kept right on having babies. I can’t imagine life without a single one of these sweet faces.