That elusive rattle
That faint hint of water trapped
Powerfully, forcefully expelling it out
Striving for breath
Yet with You,
There is an abundance of breath
No striving
No laboring
You are there
Filling me
To overflow
With Living water
Not stuck
But flowing freely out from my belly
All of my indiscretions
Washed clean
Your fresh Holy Spirit wind
Fills my being
There is no striving
No strings
Only freedom.
Sitting here
somewhere
Between
Wake and sleep
I think of You
with each breath
Even now,
You hold me,
Even now,
You bless me
Even now,
You call me
Your own.
No need to worry about details
My worship is for
You
Even now
You hold me
Even now
You love me
Even now,
I am
Home
It’s the eve of my first day of attending the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry. It focuses on miracles, signs and wonders as ways to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ. In my walk with Jesus, I’ve already experienced these things, and am expecting so many more. While bedridden now, and fully expecting to be healed in God’s perfect timing, the following happened when I was walking.
In the 1990’s, I was nineteen years old, and I had a sales job. I was the youngest on staff by at least thirty years. While these career sales people were putting food on the table and paying their mortgages, I was filling two walk in closets with clothes and shoes from Macy’s and Dillard’s. I was on a first name basis with most of the sales staff at each store, and would wear a new outfit daily. My sisters enjoyed searching my closet and borrowed my clothes, much to my joy and delight. We grew up wearing Catholic school uniforms, so my expanding wardrobe was truly special. My dad had his job at the Stardust for thirty one years, so in my young mind, that’s how I thought jobs worked. You get one, show up on time and do your best, and get a gold watch at some point. Although my dad never got a watch, but a dinner and a plaque celebrating his career.
So when my sales job started becoming competitive, it quite threw me off. I was to be later fired for not making my quota. I’d set an appointment with a customer, then use the restroom before they came. If they came early, and Sam or Barbara (not really their names) if either of them encountered my appointment before me, I would have to split the sale. I had to give tours of the facility, and if I was still on a tour and my appointment came, I’d have to split the sale. It worked that way for everyone, but they were older, smarter, and faster than me, so often met my customers at the pass and closed the sale. I was becoming bitter and angry at what I felt were stolen sales. I carried this thorn in my heart.
It was Easter Sunday, 1990 something, and I attended Central Christian church at their old campus near Pecos road with my older sister, Emily and her then husband Steve. During service, I saw my coworker, Sam, leading worship. I thought to myself, “How could he be up there worshipping God when he keeps stealing my sales?” Then a warm feeling came over me, and I instantly forgave him. My bitter root was removed, as I realized he wasn’t stealing, because house rules allowed for split sales. He had a household to care for, and I just had a wardrobe to build. I repented first being angry and jealous over him. Then, out of the blue, I started floating. My feet kept slipping out of my shoes and I was off the ground. I tried to step back down on the ground, but it was like a magnet’s opposite force keeping me elevated. I thought I was losing my mind at first. So after trying to resist, I just leaned in and continued to worship. It was the first time I was truly wrecked by the Holy Spirit, but until yesterday, didn’t understand what it was. My friend, Esse Johnson wrote a blog post that mentioned floating, and this memory came flooding back. My heart was contrite and repentant, and God chose to bless me with an undeniable encounter. I had never shared this experience with anyone, because I didn’t understand it. I am so grateful to be in a culture and community where signs, wonders and miracles are the norm. It is with an expectant heart that I begin my studies to truly understand and co-labor with the Holy Spirit to be a witness to others to glorify God and His power. Thank you, Lord for this amazing encounter, and for my church community for guiding my way.
You say you’re leaving
One foot out the door
You say you’re leaving
You can’t do this anymore
You can’t live in the desert
You can’t live in the valley.
I wonder if you are just unhappy
Have you surrendered?
Have you leaned in?
Have you submitted to
God up above?
He’s all around.
You say you want love but you are lost.
Be found.
God sings to us as relayed in Zephaniah 3:17. Just like He first loved us, He first worshiped over us!
The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.
When we speak the word of God out loud, we are prophesying. When we worship, we release heaven. I can’t help but think of a persistent problem in my life that I had no control over. I set my mind to overcome it, but things beyond my control kept happening and bringing it to the forefront.
It was all I could think about, and all I could do to not feel frustrated. Everyday I’d pray, and I didn’t hear back from God at first. But I kept pursuing peace. I kept hoping things would change. I started worshiping. I began to soak in His presence and give up control. Everyday f I just postured my heart towards God and began to trust Him and trust He’s good at His job.
Then I had breakthrough. The situation turned around for the better. He made the impossible possible. When we worship, heaven and earth come into agreement. In Deuteronomy 10:21 we learn, 21 He is the one you praise; he is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes.
Mission- Think of a problem you’re facing. Does it seem insurmountable? Impossible, even? Worship through it! Even if and especially you’re feeling discouraged, ask God what He wants to replace it with.
I was recently asked to be an administrator for a mental health Facebook page. I said yes right away, because mental health is important. Then my friend said, “But you can’t post a bunch of Jesus stuff. People get offended.” I said that I no longer wanted to participate. Then she changed gears and said that some Jesus was okay, but just not too much.
I have to confess that I agreed. I began looking for memes that touted Christian concepts, but not in-your-face quotes. I still felt uncomfortable, but I didn’t follow my gut to bow out. I felt like I compromised my values.
Then I listened to the book called, Heavenly Man by Brother Yun. His captors put essentially what was a taser in his mouth when he wouldn’t deny Jesus. A taser. In his mouth. They beat him mercilessly and made him crawl through a septic tank. They broke his legs. The entire time he held his faith. He never once told them what they wanted to hear, which was for him to deny Christ. To join the political church in China. Not once. Talk about convicted. My willingness to try to hide my light under a bushel wasn’t nearly as dramatic, but not where I should be in my walk. So today I texted her and told her that not posting about Jesus as the Way through depression and anxiety just isn’t my style. I declined the position and said a little prayer for Brother Yun. I’m not saying that therapy, self help books, and wisdom from those who have walked in your shoes isn’t valuable. All of that is good and necessary. For me, watering down who I am to not glorify God as much as my heart wants is the issue. A city on a hill can’t be hidden.
“Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.” Matthew 5:15
Letter from Tisa July 25 1995
To the fam,
Growing up, we were all loved the same. Where one would go, the rest would follow behind. We were taught strength, compassion, love, and gratefulness. As our faces have changed and our hearts are growing bigger, we are taking different paths. Changing as we look behind us and there aren’t eyes looking back at us, but the back of each other‘s heads going in different directions. We choose our paths and blaze them with our individual fires. Dad said the most profound thing that I have ever heard “My kids want to go set the world on fire, but they keep coming home for matches.“ I translated this match book into being what we were coming home for.
For dad‘s jokes.
For mom’s smiles.
For Emily’s warm understanding.
For Esther‘s creative ideas.
For Eugene’s catchphrases.
For Paul’s gentle heart.
For Mary’s infectious giggle.
For Rachel’s sparkling heart.
For Sharon’s hysteric‘s.
For Joshua’s strength.
For Johnny’s brilliant mind.
We each have our gifts and each other. If our ashes get cold, or we just need a spark or a match like,
Emily,
Esther,
Gene,
Paul,
Mary,
Rachel,
Sharon,
Josh,
Johnny,
and mom and dad
we need look no further. We are Caruso’s! And if we truly understand what that means, break out the marshmallows, I smell fire! And yet each characteristic I described is present in all of us. But each of us is unique in our own thoughts and dreams and realities.
When I was a child, my parents always brought everything to God in prayer and supplication, as a son and daughter of the most high King. I had a growth spurt, as most kids do. I was born with a very large big toe, making my feet wide and required special Buster Brown shoes. They made them wide and sturdy. My parents prayed for the funds to afford them. The next day, my dad went to his job at the Stardust Hotel and Casino as head bartender of the race and sports book. A tall black man, wearing a pristine white suit, stood at his bar and ordered a beer. My dad served him with his big smile, and placed the beer on a napkin. The man smiled and said thank you, putting a hundred dollar bill on the bar. My dad turned to enter the approximately two dollar beer into the cash register. When he turned back seconds later with his change, the man vanished. Not only could my dad afford my shoes, he had an encounter with what he thought was an angel! He placed a napkin over the beer to hold it for him, but knew he was gone.
A few days ago, my friend and brother in Christ had a Word for me to buy running shoes. I am currently bedridden, but believe Jesus healed me on the cross. He will keep His promise to manifest my healing when it will most glorify Him. I bought the shoes right away! I declared I would wear them as an act of faith and worship. Then my friend, Audrey Fukao texted me that she and her husband, Kevin wanted to bless me and pay for my new sneakers. I was so blessed and grateful.
Last night, I had a dream that I was in a city with bright white buildings. It looked somewhat like India. My baby sister, Sharon was with me. I had to use the bathroom, and for some reason, had to walk across the whole city to get there. When we got there, it was a tiny two story house with two beautiful little old black women. They had bright smiles and were baking something that smelled delicious. I used the bathroom and left, walking back across the city. I realized I had left my phone in the bathroom. When I looked at the skyline, I wasn’t even annoyed that I had to walk all the way back. I parted from my sister, and made the trek back, praying the whole way there. I searched the entire bathroom to no avail. I spoke to one of the women, and she offered me what she was baking and a cup of tea. But I just thanked her and told her I had to find my sister. I walked down the flight of stairs, all of a sudden aware of two bags of groceries. In the bags were three eighteen packs of eggs, but each carton only had a few eggs each, all broken. I stacked the cartons into one bag, carefully collecting the shells into a pile on their porch. Seconds prior, I heard my phone ping in my purse. I called my sister right away and arranged to meet. I had left her going with a crowd of people into a museum.
What I got out of this dream is confirmation that my healing is coming. That I’m ready to walk the city, praying as I go.
2 Corinthians 5:7 says, “for we walk by faith, not by sight.”
Proverbs 3:5-6 says,
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”
Deuteronomy 5:33 says,
“You shall walk in all the way that the Lord your God has commanded you, that you may live, and that it may go well with you, and that you may live long in the land that you shall possess.”
Shoe my feet, Lord, with the gospel of Peace. I thank you for positioning my heart for this miracle, Lord. Amen.
Thinking about the first biblical miracle that manifested in my life. The story of the loaves and the fishes came alive with sauce and spaghetti!
My 9/11 Experience
.
Before becoming bed ridden, I lived and worked in lower Manhattan from 1995-2004, nearly seven years teaching kindergarten and nearly ten years living with my grandmother, Emily.
On the morning of 9/11, I felt St. Joseph’s RC School in Chinatown shake. My mind was juggling lesson plans, learning centers, pizza or dim sum for lunch? and beaming at a student who just ran up to me and said how he loved Jesus with his whole heart. How I adored my career choice and knew noping out of a job at NPR had been the right choice. I was in my element.
The librarian, Michael came downstairs with eyes like saucers and said there were reports of a commuter plane veering off course and hitting a tower of the World Trade Center. I realized that was the shaking of the over on hundred year old building and was tipped off by the often sarcastic librarian that a plane that small would not cause us to shake like that.
I took action. I had my students line up and called across the hall to my mentor and Pre-K teacher, Roseanne.
“Let’s head down to the basement. Something big is going down.” She calmly lined her class up and we descended the five flights to the basement/lunchroom. Minutes later, a group of about five or six gentlemen were milling about our payphone. I sent Roseanne over to investigate. She returned saying they were just here to use the phone. One by one, parents frantically came and retrieved their kids saying, “Miss Caruso, it’s really bad!”
I immediately felt a wave of perfect peace overcome me. I began singing hymns with both classes, and told the children that something really bad has happened, but they’re going to be okay. I said a prayer with them and told them if they got scared to say their prayers and Jesus would be with them.
I grew up in a largely conservative Catholic home, attended Catholic schools myself, and spent the majority of the eighties doing duck and cover drills in case the Cold War came to be. That was partly why I was in the basement. If a school desk was adequate coverage in an attack, surely a basement was better. I still admire the schools for coming up with a drill that gave us a sense of safety, albeit inadequate.
Soon all of my students were picked up, and just then my younger sister, Sharon Caruso Sadler came looking for me. I hugged our cafeteria worker as she continued preparing the children’s lunches. But after she went outside, her dark complexion was sheet white as she fell into my arms sobbing. "We will be okay. God has this." I said. She relaxed a bit and smiled. She never smiled.
Roseanne hugged me goodbye, uncertain if or when we’d see one another again. We did, and she’s been an inspiration and taught me so many things about teaching, classroom management, and how to keep a straight face after getting barfed on by a student who ate too much birthday cake. I regret not wearing socks that particular day.
Sharon grabbed a tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and we passed the gentlemen and exchanged hellos. We went up to Ms. Anna’s classroom where many of the classes congregated, and passed out the sandwiches. My principal said I could leave since my class had all been dismissed.
As I walked down Madison street, scores of people were walking up the street in a daze, covered in white powder in varying states of panic and shock. I’ll never forget one man with an enormous gas mask on. He took it off as he walked toward me and stared right through me. Had I not stepped to the side he may very well have walked through me.
My thoughts went to my priest from St. James, the late Fr. Rafael Corneil. He had type two diabetes and my first mission was to check on him to see if he was okay.
My church had an ambulance out front, and bleeding, ash covered people were going in to have their wounds cared for. My dear friend and gym teacher for Transfiguration and St. James, Coach Jackie Maher, was hosing people down, mostly getting ash from their eyes. St. James school which sat directly across the street from St. James church, had nuns and children passing out milk, fruit, and water bottles to passersby.
My sister and I began to help after knowing our priest was safe. I looked across the street from the school where my grandmother’s apartment was, and saw blue NYPD barricades blocking access to downtown. Manning that particular barricade was two of the gentlemen whom I’d seen at my school that morning. They were undercover NYPD detectives. I approached with a smile and gave them some water. It was rounding up to about 11:00am and I said,"You guys must be starving! I have four brothers and they'd be looking in the pantry right about now. Let me order you guys a pizza." One detective smiled like I read his mind. He was watching my face as my flip phone refused to connect my call. Little did I know a major cell tower was on top of one of the buildings that fell, making all cell calls impossible.
I had gotten it in my head to go buy cups to pass out now that the school’s supplies were depleted. I sent Sharon home to get a tray of sandwiches from baby Adele’s christening the day before. They insisted we take the leftovers, and as Sharon went to each nearby barricade and passed out sandwiches, I was grateful and blessed by the abundance. Although I could walk, my feet were getting sore. As I filled the last cup of water after buying out the bodega’s supply, I decided to go home and change my shoes.
As I left my post outside my church at the entrance to our church hall in the church basement, another familiar detective’s face from that morning passed me to go use the restroom, as Fr. Corneil had specifically opened the church hall so people had a place to stop.
I am greeted by my then eighty six year old grandma with a big smile and a hug and told her how Coach Jackie was hosing people down. She immediately produced a bag of giveaway clothing that she had meant to donate but hadn’t yet. God’s timing. I later gave the bag to Coach Jackie Maher and couldn’t help but giggle at a six foot tall man wearing my five foot two grandmother’s black polyester pants that came mid calf and her flowered turtle neck.
I changed my shoes and said how we had enough sandwiches to feed the detectives and some passers by, but I wanted to do more. Grandma then produces her stash of pasta and Classico spaghetti sauce. I piled it my arms, kissed her goodbye, and made my way to the church hall where there’s a full kitchen. As I passed the detectives I said,"Dinner will be early but soon!" And pulled various pots and pans and began doing one of my most favorite things, cooking!
Now we had fed about ten to fifteen people from the sandwich platter. I only had a few skinny boxes of pasta, and a few jars of sauce. Some friends from the neighborhood went around to tell the officers that dinner was ready. A lifelong believer, I wasn’t quite prepared for the first of many miracles that would so bless me from 9/11 to December 15, 2001.
Each time I scooped a serving of pasta and sauce, three more officers would walk through the door. And each time I dipped my serving fork into the pot, it seemed to stay full. The sauce as well. The miracle of the loaves and the fishes came to mind and I fed between thirty five to forty officers. There was enough even for one man who hadn’t eaten all day and had just been relieved from his post to come eat. These heroes who had stood all day protecting us from the unknown were able to sit and eat and by then my hilarious sister had them all laughing and forgetting for a brief moment the chaos and the still burning embers in our now altered world outside.
As the hours passed and I cleaned the pots and dishes, our priest came downstairs from the attached rectory and said he was thinking about closing the church hall for the night. Sharon was a waitress at a popular pizza restaurant at the South Street Seaport, and was used to staying up until about three in the morning. Her restaurant as well as the Seaport would be closed for weeks. I asked Fr. Corneil if we could stay open so they could use the bathroom and take a seat. Sharon would stay up and I’d go home and get some sleep and come back in the morning. A detective stepped forward as our priest expressed concern for our safety and said he’d keep us safe. Fr. Corneil thanked him and went up to bed.
Most stores had shut down and there was no place to eat for a three mile radius. News of the bodega where I bought the cups came out that the owners were dancing and rejoicing at the attack. I would never shop there again. I had just missed a fist fight when a patriot socked the male owner in the nose.
Closer to my apartment was a bodega named, “Peter’s” Pete was a friendly old guy who growled at kids that ran in and out but always had a smile for me. On my way to the church hall I stopped and bought his supply of bacon, eggs, butter and rolls. While grandma was generous with her pantry, I didn’t want to leave her short.
Arms full, I began cooking at 7:00amand approximately one hundred police officers came through for breakfast. They were on sixteen hour shifts, and besides Peter’s bodega, the nearest large chain grocery store was three miles away.
I asked a few neighbors to hold down the fort and I bought groceries until last week’s paycheck was spent and my two carts of food would last a week. Sure enough, at week’s end we were out of food and I was out of money. My school closed for a week and in the meantime I went to my adviser, Sr. Joan, at Fordham University where I was earning my master’s degree in teaching. , I asked for the semester off. She seemed rather shocked but I knew God had me cooking at St. James and ministering to the officers and then troopers that were passing through. There was no question in my mind it was the right call. She signed me out and I took the subway from Lincoln Center all the way back downtown. A native of Las Vegas, NV, I have to note here that although I’d been living in Manhattan for six years by then, I hadn’t yet gotten a NY state ID. Taking a semester off was a wise move, as soon after, the only people allowed below Canal Street were those with an ID showing a current home address. The officers knew both me and my sister from both St. Joseph’s and St. James, so we were trusted to come and go past the barricades in our neighborhood without incident.
As the week came to a close, I began telling our heroes in blue that the church hall would soon be closing, as we were out of resources. Everyone was bummed, and a group of officers from the projects across the street from the church told me to hold that thought.
The next thing I know, their fifteen passenger police van pulled up with boxes of groceries that had been donated at that large chain grocery store where I had stocked up a week prior. Back in action!
All week I had been making chicken Parmesan, eggplant parmesan, Shepherd’s Pie, tacos, quesadillas and anything else I could think of to feed large groups of people.
Once my school opened, I had arranged an army of volunteers to hold the fort down while I was at work. We had tons of power bars, snacks, and drinks.
As soon as that food was gone, I again started letting everyone know that resources were low and we had to close. As I’m finishing my sentence, a huge semi truck pulls up and troopers and officers begin unloading box after box after box.
Tears streamed down my face as I was humbled by the outpouring of love from around the country. Letters from students in Oklahoma, California, Idaho, Michigan, Arkansas and more! Clothes, food, toys, supplies, snacks- the works.
So much togetherness and joy amidst a tragedy. We were considered Manhattan’s “best kept secret” as amazing donations of air mattresses and pillows and blankets filled the usual dance floor. God shows up in the bleakest of times and uses us for His glory. As I watched folks come together around a tragedy, I’m reminded of how great America can be!
Today is like being in a time portal. Looking back on all the people we fed in the Spirit and with old family recipes. The togetherness was the feeling that we were all old friends. Long lost family. Brothers and sisters.
Many sent prepared dishes to St. James, and FEMA wanted to take over at one point. We declined as we wanted to make sure we could still pray with these officers troopers, and a few displaced residents. A couple came for some food on their way back downtown to try to find their cat. Many local residents came to eat and chat alongside these brave officers.
One night, Sergeant drove Sharon and I down to Ground Zero. There were tents surrounding the site that had food for the first responders. Many welders reverently dismantling the steel. We were handed a rock from the rubble. It had its place of honor among family photographs on a shelf in my grandma’s apartment.
Being at Ground Zero was the first time I was able to shed tears for the lost. I had steeled myself for the work at hand and with God’s peace upon me, had no fear. But the overwhelming smell of burning steel and the somber faces of the clean up crew touched my heart to where the magnitude of all that happened and all who perished overwhelmed me. Our time was up, and as we left we met some military officers who had been sleeping on the grass in Battery Park City, further downtown from Ground Zero. That night and for a few more, they slept on the air mattresses that had been anonymously donated. God knew.
The next day, as I was walking up Madison street near the end of September, when many NY State Troopers had come in to relieve the detectives and officers manning the barricades. I heard,"Tisa!? Is that you?!" I look up, and the dad of the baby Adele who's christening we had attended, and had provided the sandwiches we fed the officers was before me. "Hey Steve! Fancy meeting you here!"
He said he’d heard about what we were doing from my grandma, his Aunt, but didn’t realize we were so close! Ground zero was ten blocks to our south and he was manning a barricade close to where I had seen the man with the gas mask days earlier. On his next break he came to St. James and ate the first home cooked meal since he’d been rotating to different barricades in the downtown area. Every intersection had a barricade. Hundreds upon hundreds of officers and troopers protected our great city. Everyone in America was a New Yorker, and every New Yorker showed up in a big way.
Steve was one of the many troopers we fed. And when Thanksgiving rolled around, upwards of ten turkeys were donated. Game on! My sister, Sharon makes the most amazing melt in your mouth turkey. She had the church hall oven, the rectory oven, and the oven in grandma’s apartment filled with Butterballs.
I made pans and pans of stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, you name it. In several shifts throughout the day, hoards of officers and troopers came in and celebrated with us. The church hall was an oasis of sorts.
Several said it was so delicious, and to be away from their families on that day, they were grateful for the food that was, “better than the hotel” that was also feeding them at the time.
My mother Susan had flown in from Las Vegas both in early October as soon as she could get a flight and then again for Thanksgiving, and joined us for dinner. She rolled up her sleeves and cooked, cleaned, and had a few laughs with our new family.
There was a dark time when a young gentleman came in with a backpack to “use our restroom.” He was sketchy at best, and had a scary and creepy vibe. Three of the detectives ran into the bathroom after he left and found a box cutter hidden behind the toilet tank. They took off down the street after him. I don’t know what became of him but I wasn’t scared. I felt safe in the company of so many men and women with their head on a swivel and bravery in their hearts.
Early on in our work, Coach Jackie Maher had set up a chair near the entrance and watched who entered the church hall. Among all of these brave officers, an unlikely hero emerged. That man swept the entire church hall nightly, took out trash and helped maintain the hall. One of many wonderful volunteers from our community who stepped up.
I used to have a book with everyone’s names, some phone numbers as Facebook wasn’t around then. It has been lost, so to thank each person individually was my intention. But they know who they are and I’m grateful to have been able to work alongside them as we provided fellowship to those keeping our city safe.
Louise and Kostas Mavrianos sent several platters of food, St. Teresa’s made bowls of pasta salad, my mother made her famous cornbread among other things, and many volunteered their time to keep the church hall running.
I’ll be forever grateful to God for calming my heart in that chaos. For allowing me to step up and serve. Many thanks to my ever hilarious sister, Sharon for making everyone laugh. And if only briefly, overcoming the darkness outside.
The NY State troopers sent a town car to pick up Fr. Corneil, Sharon, my grandmother, and myself. We were driven upstate to an award ceremony, where Fr. Corneil was honored with a plaque, thanking St. James for our efforts during one of the most tragic events in our then recent history. It hangs in the rectory at St. James to this day.
God showed up! To God be the glory, honor, and praise!
While this pandemic may eclipse September 11th in devastation, nothing can eclipse the power of God to overcome. So many stepping forward and helping their fellow man at this time is such hope. Love is what this country is about. As survivors recover from this long quarantine, and mourn the dead, our collective love as a great country will propel us into togetherness and solidarity. My prayer is that love eclipses hate, and loving our neighbor is paramount.
We pray for all of us affected by this pandemic. And for all those affected by 9/11, we will never forget.
HamSanCity 