My leader, Shannon challenged our group to do a “Shabbat.” Shabbat means to stop and rest, and open our hearts to God. As I was praying yesterday, I asked God what He thought of me. So many amazing adjectives came back to me, things I never even believed about myself until that moment. It was instant confidence. I didn’t know I had these holes in my heart until he filled and healed them. I thanked him for His kind words and then we had a conversation! He was hilarious! There was an easy familiarity that felt like I’ve known Him my whole life. And I have. Just not like this! This was a whole other level of intimacy. I asked Him why we never spoke like this before. He said that I closed the door. Whoa. But the first inklings of guilt and shame were whisked away and forgotten. He gently turned my face back to his and loved me even more. My heart swells as I write. His love is everything. So THIS is what people mean when they say they have a relationship with Jesus! I finally get it! It’s always felt one way. Like speaking into the void, hoping and trusting I’m being heard. He was so gentle with me yet also held me accountable. I told Him I’ve missed Him, and He said He’s always been right here in His word. He lovingly said, “I’ve missed you, too.” Holding me accountable for not diving in. Memes with memory verses on Facebook does not allow for that intimate connection that happens when you read God’s word in depth. I was instantly convicted but not condemned. I was honest with myself enough to admit I’ve been distracted. Sermons and worship and book studies are good, but there’s nothing like His Word directly from the source. But we have access without striving. Delving deeper into His Word will draw me closer. I just learned that Words of Affirmation are my love language. How cool is it that He’s available to talk to whenever I want?!

This changes everything! I can’t wait to intentionally “Pray always” in this new to me way, and continue this freedom, Grace, and Love that has been there all along. But God clearly said we have a lifetime in eternity to get to know one another. This is Love.

Love,

Tisa

When I was in kindergarten, we had a counter across the kitchen in our first home. Much like a bar, but short and with benches pulled up for us to eat different meals. This was the daily routine. We gathered around our big wooden dinner table for Sunday dinners and holidays. The bar was my favorite! It was at that lunch counter where my mom would serve me ham sandwiches after school everyday. I loved them.

I loved them so much, that when I was diagnosed with FOP, I created an imaginary friend who lived in Ham Sandwich City. Her name was Tina. Tina could do everything I couldn’t. Tina took ballet and had tickle fights and could still do headstands. It was through her, God comforted me. I could play dolls with her for hours or just have a conversation about how I really felt about the new world in which I lived.

My mom and dad forbid me from reading any literature on FOP. Outside of telling me to be careful, they kept the details to themselves. I never wanted to disappoint them, so I obeyed. It wasn’t until my twenties that a friend of my mom’s sent me the disease’s website. My worlds collided. I was a fish out of water. I had no idea how to navigate these new waters. But what the blessing was, was that I met others with the condition. God comforted me and my burden was removed and lifted when I met Jeannie Peeper, founder of the IFOPA. I met my real life Tina, too! She also has FOP and became my close friend. She taught me how to navigate my newfound information and made me feel comfortable knowing she went through what I went through. I was then elected to the Board of Directors of the International FOP Association. I was also editor of their monthly newsletter.

I believe God will heal me completely one day. He died on the cross for our sins and diseases. I think insulating me from the horrific truth of FOP was a good parenting call, because I grew up believing God can and will heal me. He has so far healed my knee that used to lock up, softened my arms, and I am sitting closer to ninety degrees recently. Believing that God is manifesting my healing. And soon!

Love,

Tisa

I grew up mainly going to Catholic Church, but my mom would also take us where the Holy Spirit was manifesting. She had her finger on the pulse. There was a lively preacher who would say, “I claim a duplicator!” In one name it claim it church. We mostly attended Holy Family Catholic Church where my dad’s booming voice would be heard in their yearly haunted house. At St Timothy’s Episcopal where the Gerard’s were holy and had a loving community. And at St. Viator’s, where we attended the elementary and middle school. I made many lifelong friends at all three churches over the years.

The Catholic Church first entered our lives when my grandma was a little girl. She broke her arm playing and had to go to the hospital for a time. The doctor would carry her on his shoulders around the ward. She felt like a celebrity! Her parents were Presbyterian. It was a Catholic hospital that she went to. When they cleared all of her hospital debts, that got my great grandparent’s attention. They were quick converts. Over the years, my grandma developed a relationship with both Jesus and her priests. It was when my grandpa died that she relied on her priest friends a lot more in the running of her household. My grandpa handled all of the family’s bills and finances, and my grandma had no clue. She attended mass daily and even counted the collection plate on Monday mornings. I most remember my grandma’s reading her bible daily, with lots of highlighting and bookmarks in it. Her kindness when she let me move to Manhattan to live with her and my sister was so great.

I didn’t find out until later that she was throwing away flyers from a new church plant called, “Mosaic” in lower Manhattan held in a public school. I had been searching Manhattan for a pool that I could swim in. At the time, I had gotten bursitis in my hips and walking was becoming more difficult. I needed water. As I was walking along Chambers Street towards the new pool, I was handed a flyer for Mosaic Church. I immediately got excited! The missionaries were my age and super nice. I went the next day, which was Sunday. The worship was a little band, kind of like a Christian rock band. Worship was amazing. Then a young thirty something preacher got up and started talking about God’s love and I was all about it. Yes, it was a departure from me being the cantor at St. James, which was also my mom’s church growing up. I was fifty plus years younger than anyone else. At Mosaic, there were tons of people my age! I got plugged into a small group and a bible study and I was on my way!

I regularly received Holy communion in between singing the offertory and communion songs. Fr. C skipped over me one Sunday. He refused to give me communion. I was devastated. It sent me into a major depression. I just wanted to praise the Lord! I didn’t realize my attendance at a different denomination was a big deal. Well it was to my priest and my grandma. He was trying to excommunicate me in retrospect. I was volunteering as a greeter at the new church, and my grandma told me that if I had extra time, I should go back to teaching catechism to the kids at St. James. I sought counseling for my broken and confused heart, I was scared. Scared to speak scared to eat. I don’t know if it was my imagination but right before my first therapy session, my grandma made me stew with zero salt or flavorings. It was bland and tasteless. My grandma was an excellent cook with dinner ready like clockwork- on the table at 6:00pm sharp. So I knew I was in trouble. I think what broke my heart most was the denial of love from both of these people who I loved and admired. Were they that threatened over me attending a different church? I remember wanting to cuddle my grandma in her bed but feeling her walls up. If hell is the absence of love, then I was in it. Plus I was in constant pain. My hips would lock up while I was walking down the street and I’d have to stop and pretend I was a tourist looking up at buildings. This was during the time of flip phones with no internet so I tried my best to look busy. After the pill kicked in, I was able to walk again. So between my health issues and my broken heart, I ended up in the hospital.

In the mental ward hallway bathroom, there was a huge, sharp piece of metal sticking out of one of the bathroom stall doors. I reported it to the office staff right away and they were frankly surprised that I didn’t take the opportunity to open a vein. I knew I’d never do that, and after I reported it, a few staff members asked me why I was even on a psych hold, because I was obviously not suicidal. Just really sad. And I was also confused as to why where I worshipped was becoming more important than who I worshipped? I was released shortly after the hold was lifted with everyone, even my fellow patients wondering why i was in there. I’m usually never sad, so for my friends and family to see me so distraught was worrisome. I made friends and prayed over people in there, so maybe that’s why God let me go. Before I was discharged there was an older man sitting in a chair near the very loud door leading to the stairs. It was the only nearby exit except for the elevator down the hall. He looked at me but also through me. He asked me if I’d ever been hypnotized. In fact, I had listened to a self hypnotic tape over and over again when getting over the break up of my fiancé. He had began drinking heavily and said he loved everything about me except for my disease. My feeling was he should love all of me. Plus when he started getting behind the wheel drunk, that was too much. I couldn’t bear to lose him over a dumb choice. So this man was sitting in the only chair by the exit. When I answered yes, he said I needed to repent and apologize to God for seeking that treatment. I did immediately. And just then, a staff member called my name to leave and i tuned back around to thank him but he was gone. Evaporated. There was no way he went through the loud, creaky door, nor made it down the hall to the elevator in time. He was an angel. My grandma and my mom, who had flown out to see me also visited me daily in the hospital. They prayed with me and brought me Holy communion. I know God sent that angel to help me heal. I loved my grandma, and I also saw how devoted she was to the Catholic Church for all they did for her. I understand she was doing her best to try to instruct me on how she felt was best. And I’ll be forever grateful for her getting me safely through my twenties. I was a wild child in my teens but got serious about school and life after moving to New York. She had me elected President of the Ladies Auxiliary from the Fighting 69th regimen. Even when I’d be in pain, she’d shake me out of bed to go out to church or dinner or a club meeting. I learned not to be a moper from my grandma. I learned that daily bible reading is essential for inner freedom. I learned that a broken heart can derail you, but the love of God and of family is a healing balm. I have forgiven both my grandma and my priest, and am so grateful for the growth that came out of it. My confidence is much stronger when it comes to issues of faith. I know who my Father is, the Trinity that adores me and calls me His beloved. I have courage like never before in my decisions to worship and love God and people. I have been set free from the constraints of religious elitism. Jesus is for everyone. You are His beloved! He recently gave me this verse:

I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have called you, and you are mine. Jeremiah 31:3

I attend Encounter Church, Las Vegas which is a nondenominational church and where I experience the manifest presence of the Trinity with each visit. We speak in tongues together at each service. I love it. There is a strong unity of community here. We are a movement that loves one another and cheers each other on, praying for each other’s intentions on a regular basis. Plus their worship is so holy and anointed, my soul sings!

From the year of my religious freedom- https://youtu.be/5IlVfkY5q54

Love,

Tisa

Eugene J. Caruso was one of seven children, originally from the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, NY. They grew up in a Brownstone with relatives on each floor just like in the movie, Moonstruck. His parents then moved their family of nine to the Catskill Mountains in New York State.

He attended school up until the eighth grade. It was then he started working and giving his paychecks to his mother. They started the, “Caruso Villa” in upstate New York and he took odd jobs around town when not fixing up or working at the hotel.

Later in life he was an Arthur Murray dance instructor. When not teaching, he taught women how to waltz at various parties. He often waltzed in our kitchen with my mother. Some of my best memories!

He fought in the Korean War. When I’d ask him about it, he’d tell me he was on the clean up crew.

One of his jobs upstate was as maitre’ d and head bartender at the police camp. My mom says when she saw him, she knew he was the one, and told her grandma that night. They came to Las Vegas on their honeymoon and never moved back. Their priest asked them if they would accept any children God had for them and they said yes. Even adopting my sister, Suzy Q after her parents both passed away.

My dad was so funny! He’d read the morning paper and get ideas for jokes a la Johnny Carson. He was a bartender at the Stardust Hotel across from the Sports Book for 31 years. He had regular customers who would plan their vacations to spend time with him at his bar. One time, a famous comedian sat at his bar, then gave him and my mom comped seats to his show. My dad was tickled when the comedian used all of his jokes on stage.

He built us a forever home with his own hands. When the wood was delivered, it was supposed to rain. He and my mom prayed it wouldn’t rain on the wood. My sister Mary reminded me that it only rained on half of our street, and didn’t wet the wood! She said we danced in the rain, then jumped to the other side of the street where there wasn’t rain, dancing back and forth, rejoicing in the miracle! He and his siblings had sold Caruso Villa, and regretted not having a place to go back to over the years. So with his self taught knowledge, him and his friends built our 3800 square foot home. And he bought me another pool. He had bought the land from our neighbor, and a coworker gave him the blueprints. I helped him cut the wood for our pantry shelves. He was amazing.

He loved golf! He played weekly on his days off. There’s a plaque commemorating him at the Boulder City golf course where he was a Marshall.

When they moved to Las Vegas he worked as a bar back and a cab driver to make ends meet and support his growing family. Back then, casinos had a public announcement system to page guests. He told me he’d page himself after he applied for the bartender position. He’d hear, “Eugene Caruso to the front desk” or, “Eugene Caruso to the Lido deck” He said when he went in for his interview, they said, “Eugene Caruso? Sounds very familiar!” He was very smart!

He had a lovely singing voice. When we’d have nightly family prayer time, he’d sing so wonderfully. I’d rest my head on his big belly and listen to his stomach gurgle. My favorite thing to do. He used to sing, “There she is! Miss America!” To me often. He stopped singing when he got older. He lost his voice completely when the cancer came. He went from a large, tall man to a skinny ghost of himself. He told me not to visit from college, but to remember him as he was. Of course I didn’t listen. That was the first time my heart was truly broken. This man, who built me an in ground pool because doctors said it was the best therapy for me. This man who would always see the best in everything and everyone. His humor didn’t come with severe barbs that left you feeling less than. There was always a compliment sewn in. He left you feeling good about yourself. Always clean jokes. He didn’t tolerate anything torrid.

I remember him comforting me when I broke up with my fiancé. He gave me the biggest hug and spoke words of love and comfort. When I moved to New York shortly after, he noticed I sounded depressed. He knew from my voice. He was so good to me.

His faith was very strong. He was head usher at St. Viator’s Church for many years. He served faithfully at the 5:00 mass, and donated generously to their new building fund. His name is preserved on their book of donors that hangs in the vestibule. He always said he had to pray about things before making any decisions. And he always said he had to see a man about a horse when he didn’t want us in his business.

He bought me a car to share with my sister Rachel when I was seventeen. I loved that 1985 Buick! It was a sofa on wheels. He’d always tell us, “Remember that you’re a Caruso!” whenever we’d leave the house. Cancer took him home to Jesus on March 16, 1997. We visited him in the hospital, singing worship songs around his bed. The nurses said they’d never seen anything like it. When it got closer to the end, he was glowing and smiling and said, “Jesus! You’re so beautiful!” I sat at his feet giving him a foot massage like I’d do nightly after he was on his feet all day. My sisters would, too! He’d say, “Grab a foot!” At the end, he held my brother Paul’s hand and my brother said he felt a surge of electricity when he left the earth.

I couldn’t be prouder to have had such an amazing dad. This song forever reminds me of that moment before he died when he saw a vision of Jesus.

And we sang this song at his bedside-

Love,

Tisa

My mom gathered us up into a circle in our living room. We each took turns reading passages from the Bible, we memorized scripture, and sang worship songs and hymns Von Trap style. She and my sister, Esther produced a performance at our local library’s auditorium. We sang and danced to a Larry Norman album.

Since I can remember, she got all ten of us plus an adopted daughter loaded into our fifteen passenger van for church with a few neighborhood kids tagging along. We read our Bibles for an hour daily. We weren’t allowed to listen to secular music, and were often told we were meant for Kingdom behavior not worldly behavior. We were God’s children and Caruso’s. That meant everything.

When I was diagnosed, Steve Wynn flew mom and I to Los Angeles in his little Cessna plane to go to UCLA because local doctors didn’t know what was wrong with me. The night before the trip, she gifted to me the most beautiful long satin nightgown with a matching robe. She also gave me blue and white dangling earrings. I always wanted dangling earrings!

It was also around this time that she asked me if I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart. I still remember the overpowering love I felt. I felt Him move into my heart and release joy over me. It was glorious. I am reminded of this abundance of Love every time we worship corporately as a church at Encounter Church in Las Vegas, NV. That intimacy and sureness. That tangible, thick presence of His furious love for me. For us.

My mom demonstrated that love when she let me help her cook healthy meals. She would be patient as I learned, encouraging me along the way even if it did take twice as long for a six year old to follow the recipe. As the years went by, I got better and better at cooking. We’d make fresh bread, homemade whipped cream for the holiday pies, and healthy meals for my dad and siblings. I was her mini me and I loved it!

She has the most beautiful singing voice. She can be heard singing worship or in her prayer language daily. Always standing under the waterfall of the Holy Spirit.

She’s really good at basketball! She hustles down the court and makes crazy shots sometimes. She’ll warm you up with a game of Horse, first!

She reads, sings in, and understands Hebrew. She discovered she’s Jewish after my grandmother passed away. The songs and prayers she grew up on she later learned was divided between her Jewish heritage and Catholic upbringing. She went to Israel for a month and had adventures touring Jesus’ territory.

She told me tales of New York City that settled into my heart at a young age. She told me of ballets and Broadway shows. She told me of Shakespeare and poetry and plays that were happening. I romanticized about going to New York my whole life. My dream came true when my sister, Esther called from my grandma’s apartment and said,

“Tisa? I’m bored! Move to New York with me!” I had just ended it with my fiancé and lost my job. Perfect. Fresh start. I packed up a few paintings and a few outfits and I was on my way! I mention the paintings because a few weeks after I moved in, my grandma hung those paintings in her living room. I felt like I was welcome and that I was home.

I enrolled at Pace University, a five minute walk from grandma’s apartment. My uncle Danny went there, so I wrote a nice letter saying how I wanted to keep the family tradition alive. I got in. At first, I thought they made a mistake because I partied in high school. I paid attention in class but never did homework and took the tests without studying. I was too worried about fitting in during high school, and hadn’t convinced myself I was worthy. Now I was rolling with some serious students and I had to step up my game. So I buckled down and even swallowed my pride and asked for help. Mom. She helped me outline my first few papers to get the hang of it. I was accepted into the Honors Program and made the Dean’s list a few times. I worked harder than ever before. She became a high school English teacher after raising ten kids and going for her bachelor’s and master’s degree back to back in her forties. I wanted to be her when I grew up!

I volunteered to write on my school paper and got the front page for my first article. My mom encouraged my writing all along. Whenever I’d tell her a mundane story about my life she’d perk up and say, “That should go in one of your books!” Always positive.

After my diagnosis, she forbade me from reading any of the literature the doctors sent home with us. She said it’s up to God to heal me, and she didn’t want any negativity in my head. She instructed me and my siblings to be careful around me, and not to rough house with me anymore. I doubt they missed it, as they had each other to torture! I did not miss being on the bottom of the pile getting tickled to death! I’m extremely ticklish and they knew it. Relief! My whole life, my mom has believed for my healing. She tells everyone we meet that God heals and I will be healed one day. At my lowest points, she’s always picked me up and encouraged me. She taught me to always see the positive in a situation. To see God working even through the hard parts. There is always something to be grateful for.

She welcomed homeless people into our home and fed and lived them. She’s always feeding and clothing the homeless. She has a heart for the broken.

I watch her now, pulling endless weeds in our backyard, organizing all the relics of my sibling’s childhood to one day be collected or to just sit, enshrined in the museum of our childhood home. She sings in two choirs and prays weekly with friends at a retirement home. She drives me everywhere and cares for my dogs by cooking them healthy, homemade food. We read the Bible out loud together and take communion almost daily. We sing a lot, and host a weekly book club that’s really a Bible Study. My mom’s faith, her tenderness for her grandkids, and her sense of humor are just a few of the reasons I love her so much. I felt it in my bones when we went from mother/daughter roles to friends. Best friends. I love you with my whole heart, mom!

Love,

Tisa

When I was in middle school, my mom took me to a writing workshop at the local high school. My mom always said I have a big imagination. So I wrote a story at the workshop and was published in their publication. I was hooked.

I filled notebooks with poetry and stories galore. I collected quotes from famous authors and kept them in the front cover of my notebooks. These days I just meme them.

In college, earning an English degree, I won first or second place for both my poetry and a short story I wrote in the wake of my father’s death. I didn’t like all the attention I received and I shut down. Part of it was from grieving but some of it was because I felt too exposed and vulnerable. People would get to know me through my writing but who was I? At the time, I felt I didn’t have much to offer the world. That’s changed now. I know I am a daughter of the King. I thought writing would be shelved like my desire to learn American Sign Language. I knew my arms would stiffen and lock up from FOP so I never learned. I was told often that I had long piano fingers. I wanted to learn the piano but stopped myself because I couldn’t reach the pedals with how I had to sit with my crooked hips. And the violin! How I love it’s romantic sounds and the elegant way the bow gently touches the fine strings. And I briefly thought about not becoming a teacher because I was bullied and teased because of my disease as a child. I did not want a repeat of that. I want to say I prayed about it, but I’m not sure. All I know is, I was visiting a friend who just survived breast cancer, and her niece was visiting, too. Her niece was part of St. Joseph Church and their school needed a Pre-K aide.

I had an interview the next day at St. Joseph School in lower Manhattan. All I know was God showed up! As the sweet five foot nothing nun gave me a tour, I met a few of the staff, and I felt immediately at home. I got a job as a Pre-K assistant and absolutely loved it. The following year, the kindergarten teacher left and the sweet principal asked if I’d like to be head kindergarten teacher. I accepted and her offer came with a scholarship to Fordham University to earn a Master’s degree in teaching. I was on my way.

I also found out that a few of my poems would be included in a book called, the Hat. I was officially an author! I was so happy teaching. I loved thinking of lesson plans and teaching my students about the love of Jesus. I’ll never forget when little Winston came up to me and tugged on my blouse at my hip.

“Miss Caruso! I love Jesus with all my heart!” He said with all the enthusiasm I felt everyday in my heart. We prayed every morning as a school and I prayed three more times during the day with my students.

I spent everyday for the next seven years writing lesson plans and thinking about their needs and writing papers, I hardly wrote creatively anymore. But every so often I’d think of a poem or copy down a quote.

In 2004, I was sitting on a low bed and got up too fast and pulled a hamstring. From there, the knot in my muscle turned into a fibrous tumor. I flew home to Las Vegas for Christmas break. Around January first. I could no longer move my hip to sit. Pulling that muscle ultimately caused my muscles to have what’s likened to a heart attack, and immediately began to grow bone. I couldn’t sit to get back on the plane to get back to my students. For the next year I was in excruciating pain and due to an allergy to the strong OxyContin my doctor prescribed, It made me vomit. I took only ibuprofen and rubbed arnica gel on my thigh that tripled in size and felt like stretched rubber. This ended my teaching career. But God wasn’t finished with me yet!

At one point I decided I wasn’t going to talk myself out of writing as a dream like I talked myself out of so many dreams before. My friend, Christine Cartwright prayed over me and saw little hearts being blessed by my writing. One of my dreams was to write children’s books.

In my friend Tony Robinson’s Dream Academy, I began dreaming with God and He showed me an empty page in my notebook with a golden light shining on the page. God showed me I’m writing five books. I am writing books about inclusion from a Christian perspective.

All of Heaven is behind me, all of Heaven is behind you! I will not squander this gift. I will not let physical limitations stop me from what I’m perfectly capable of doing regardless of my circumstances. I no longer think into the future what my body can’t do. I am healed. I am not a slave to this disease.

Philippians 4:13
I know what it means to lack, and I know what it means to experience overwhelming abundance. For I’m trained in the secret of overcoming allthings, whether in fullness or in hunger. And I find that the strength of Christ’s explosive power infuses me to conquer every difficulty.

Love,

Tisa

In 1974, while my mom was pregnant with me, my family attended the first Gerard Family Camp. The Gerards were humble servants of God who started this camp for family and friends to get away for a week to pray and reflect. Various campers were asked to speak on a topic for the week. Sunrise services were every morning at 7. When my brothers were little, they’d practically hang onto the rope to ring the breakfast bell. For thirty years off and on, our family would get together once a year to fellowship. My dad would grow his hair and fish and make everyone laugh. It was a glorious week each year.

In 2010, the same year I bought my service dog, Eli, I was praying about whether or not to go. I was in prayer and I heard very loudly,

“I am the Lord your God! Go!” Then I shook my head and in disbelief and kept praying. With urgency, I heard God a second time.

“Go!”

So I asked my friend, Joan if she’d take care of me for the week and she said yes. So off I went. My pastor at the time, Fr. Howard Giles, also attended the yearly camp. Fr. Howard and I grew up together in St. Timothy’s Church. He told me he some others were going to pray over me for healing. Go.

He heard my confession and told me to ask God to get past all of the times my healing didn’t come instantly. My expectations get so built up with each prayer, and with no manifestation, I’d sometimes be disappointed. He prayed with me to let all that go. I did.

We went to the chapel which is Holy Ground. Bishop John David Schofeild led the prayer. I heard God’s voice again,

“Walk!” He said just as clearly as I heard Him tell me to go. But I didn’t.

He said it again. I was scared.

They all started to leave the chapel, but I told my friend, Jim to undo my seatbelt. I was going to do it. I was going to walk. This was a year post injury where I had been bedridden.

My friends, Jim Falk and Steve Crocker each supported an elbow and I walked halfway across that chapel and back across to get back to my chair. It was phenomenal! It hurt really bad but I did it. I obeyed. God had shown Fr. Howard that my healing would manifest slowly, like tiny locks unlocking and circulating out of my body.

At Encounter Church a few months ago, I heard God tell me to remove the bar from my chair. I hesitated again because it’s a hassle to get off. But I eventually obeyed. It was a step of obedience and of Faith. Jesus already died for my healing on the cross. So I’m waiting upon the Lord and declaring my healing. And if you’re ever around me and I ask you to remove my wheelchair bar and seatbelt, it’s the big one! It’s a, “Go!” My heart is ready.

Love,

Tisa

In June of 2009, I went to a medical appointment and left in an ambulance. My foot got stuck in the chair and I broke my fifth metatarsal bone. This made me confined to my bed, and two years later, a wheelchair. The last ten years have been a lesson in resting in the Lord.

I started out watching and listening to Perry Stone. Then Joyce Meyers, Andrew Wommack and Beth Moore. I read my Bible, gave up sugar and caffeine and prayed over and with my caregivers. I led and participated in Bible studies these last ten years, as well as small groups. And church. Always church.

I guess my life has been waiting on Him. I had long since stopped driving before the accident. I really enjoyed it, despite my limitations. It was my favorite thing to do. Just drive. I only got a speeding ticket once. My dad bought my sister and I a 1985 Buick from a friend at work in 1993. I loved that car! Driving was my favorite thing. The night before my second jaw surgery in 1995, I hopped in my Buick and took my little brother, Josh to the beach in California. We crashed at my friend Natalie’s USC dorm. I rented him a boogie board and just sat on the beach and watched him enjoy himself. I was restless and scared, hence the spontaneous road trip. But I experienced the presence of God on the beach that cold morning.

After my jaw surgery, the surgeon stood next to my bed and said,

“I love you like I love my wife or my daughter. I did my best by you.” I was sleepily coming out of the anesthesia, and smiled to myself when I heard his words and noticed his hair wild and sticking every which way. A sweet and funny moment. Days earlier in his office he was dressed to the nines and coiffed impeccably. But standing before me exhausted, he was unkempt and humble. He did do his best by me. My first surgeon just broke my jaw open and it locked again. He scraped out most of my jaw bone in anticipation of the new, diseased bone and the room it would need to grow.

The nurses later told me that my heart stopped on the table. That’s three times my time card wasn’t punched, praise God! My season to rest in Him continues, but I’m strong and confident in my healing. Frankly, I’m okay if I don’t get healed in my body, because the healing in my mind and heart is so profound that I often wonder who I’d be as a healed person. I couldn’t point to my circumstances and point back to God for giving me abundant peace and joy. However God chooses to use me, I am ready. I am here.

Recently, I was asking God for something close to my heart. He responded with, “I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have called you, and you are mine.” I am yours.

Love,

Tisa

This time last year, I almost died from an accidental overdose. Key word, accidental. I caught the flu and was vomiting for four days straight. Volumes I couldn’t possibly have consumed. It was awful. Moreso because I went into withdrawals from not taking my pain medicine.

My back was killing me. All I could think about was the relief I would get once I reintroduced the medicine into my system. I took a half. But then when it was time when I took my long acting, time released pill. I started to feel better. I started to keep food down. I didn’t know I was dehydrated and that my judgment was compromised. In eight hours, I took another time released pill. It was supposed to be twelve. Normally I was so careful. I barely knew what day it was. I fell asleep early.

The next morning, I woke up with a fountain of white foam in my mouth, trailing down my right cheek and shoulder. My mom came in as I was wiping it away. I told her I was still tired, and wanted to go back to sleep. I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was being rolled in my bed. The EMT’s hands pressed firmly on my ribs, causing me to scream out in pain.

“Who are you?! What’s happening!?”

“It’s okay ma’am! You’re going to be okay!” The EMT reassured me as she then stabbed my thigh with Narcan. Twice. I was covered in my fluffy sweater that was a Christmas gift from my big sister, Esther. It was freezing. My head felt like it was in a bell. I could only hear the nervous barking of my dogs. While I was blue with purple lips moments before, my best friend Natalie had administered gentle CPR by lightly tapping my sternum, at which time, I’d take a quick breath. In my life for over forty years, God sent her that morning to protect me from the potentially overzealous pumping on my chest, potentially breaking my ribs. She saved my life. God knew. Three of my sisters came to the hospital to nurse me back to health. And Shea Jackson, her daughter Trinity, Pastor Chris Ritchie, and Al Patitucci all came to pray for me. Since then, my pain has been so much less, God healed me. I haven’t had nor needed a strong pill like that since.

In the spring, I was sitting in the back of Encounter Church. I didn’t want to get in the way. One day, a man named Stan approached me and asked if I’d like to sit up front with him. I declined. I was overwhelmed and unsure. He persisted, inviting my mom and I out to lunch after church. I was okay with that. Eventually, I started sitting up front and engaging more. I have made so many sweet friends, and am grateful for Stan getting me out of my comfort zone.

Then God sent Wayne. Wayne is such a good friend to me. He gives me bites of food when the fork is too short, then wipes my mouth when the bite is too big. For me this is a huge trust, as I used to solely eat in private due to my jaw issues. He is a great musician and fantastic artist. He makes me laugh and I can be silly without judgement He prays with me and sends me sermons and songs. I could go on about all the friends I made, but then this blog would never end. I’m so grateful for the loving, and caring people in my life. Family.

Starting in the summer, I participated in discipleship at Encounter for six months, and I have grown by leaps and bounds! Entering into to true community and learning about the character of God has been the highlight of my year. Learning who I am in Him has been the most freeing and wonderful thing so far! My small group is so encouraging and prayerful. We have become sisters. I look forward to the second semester in January! Join me if you can.

Next year, I’m planning on writing more in 2020, while exploring other gifts. Im in Tony Robinson’s Master Dream Academy getting in touch with my dreams. I’m working on a children’s book series and this blog, for starters. Praying that as my words reach you, that you remember that God loves you beyond all telling, and He died for our sins.

Love,

Tisa

This time last year, I almost died from an accidental overdose. Key word, accidental. I caught the flu and was vomiting for four days straight. Volumes I couldn’t possibly have consumed. It was awful. Moreso because I went into withdrawals from not taking my pain medicine.

My back was killing me. All I could think about was the relief I would get once I reintroduced the medicine into my system. I took a half. But then it was time when I took my long acting, time released pill. I started to feel better. I started to keep food down. I didn’t know I was dehydrated and that my judgment was compromised. In eight hours, I took another time released pill. It was supposed to be twelve. Normally I was so careful. I barely knew what day it was. I fell asleep early.

The next morning, I woke up with a fountain of white foam in my mouth, trailing down my right cheek and shoulder. My mom came in as I was wiping it away. I told her I was still tired, and wanted to go back to sleep. I passed out. The next thing I knew, I was being rolled in my bed. The EMT’s hands pressed firmly on my ribs, causing me to scream out in pain.

“Who are you?! What’s happening!?”

“It’s okay ma’am! You’re going to be okay!” The EMT reassured me as she then stabbed my thigh with Narcan. Twice. I was covered in my fluffy sweater that was a Christmas gift from my big sister, Esther. It was freezing. My head felt like it was in a bell. I could only hear the nervous barking of my dogs. While I was blue with purple lips moments before, my best friend Natalie had administered gentle CPR by lightly tapping my sternum, at which time, I’d take a quick breath. In my life for over forty years, God sent her that morning to protect me from the potentially overzealous pumping on my chest, potentially breaking my ribs. God knew.

I was sitting in the back of Encounter Church. I didn’t want to get in the way. One day, a man named Stan approached me and asked if I’d like to sit up front with him. I declined. I was overwhelmed and unsure. He persisted, inviting my mom and I out to lunch after church. I was okay with that. Eventually, I started sitting up front and engaging more. I have made so many sweet friends, and am grateful for Stan getting me out of my comfort zone.

I’ve been in discipleship for six months, and I have grown by leaps and bounds. Entering into to true community and learning about the character of God has been the highlight of my year.I look forward to the second semester in January! Join me if you can.

I’m planning on writing more in 2020, while exploring other gifts. I’m working on a children’s book series and this blog, for starters. Praying that as my word reach you, that you remember that God love’s you beyond all telling, and He died for our sins.

Love,

Tisa