HamSanCity

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

Love Or Something Like It

by Tisa Caruso

Your voice like a subway, rhythmic and sure

You’ve mastered lightning

The warmth of your hand like a crackling, cozy fire. Home.

I sit, penless, willing myself to remember these words of my heart.

In safety, I wait. Once fooled already, I do not know the way.

But I pray. I pray it’s you. Finally. For all I have to offer you is my heart. Just me.

Falling in love with Jesus at age five was everything. But I never got my prayer language. I spent years embarrassed of the practice noises I made. I felt like a fraud. In His time, though, He came through!

In 2016, I attended a women’s conference with my new friend at the time, Kaycee. I was dancing in the aisle in my wheelchair, filled with the Holy Spirit. In my peripheral vision, I saw two women walking towards me. They were going up and down the aisles praying over us. As I stopped wiggling my wheelchair around to let her pass, she picked up a strand of my hair. Fire. Holy fire filled my body and I started weeping and speaking in tongues! It was a similar feeling when I was five, but much better if that’s even possible. It is.

I’m so glad to have found a church where we pray in tongues together. Corporate prayer is so powerful. You know you’re in a good church when you can pray openly and freely in the spirit, and your leadership does, too! Thank you, God for Encounter Church and for my prayer language!

Love,

Tisa

Every year, my parents would tell us ten kids,

“No Christmas presents this year.”

And we believed them. Every year. They were so convincing each time. They said Christmas wasn’t about presents, but about Jesus. And we were encouraged to sacrifice the idea of gifts for the idea of celebrating Jesus. We did. Our awareness for others was heightened. I remember getting along better with my siblings at Christmas as we showed each other extra grace and love. We were always very close, but there was something about preparing for Jesus’ birthday that made us bond more. We were probably on our best behavior.

My dad was a bartender for thirty one years at the Stardust Hotel, that used to feature the Rat Pack. One time, a famous comedian sat at my dad’s bar for hours and then gave my parents tickets to his show that night. The comedian used all of my dad’s jokes. My dad laughed at this. He had THE best laugh! My dad was hilarious! He’d read the morning paper and flip the headlines into something super funny. He could have written for Johnny Carson. Everyone loved my dad. He had customers that would plan their vacations just to sit at his bar and bask in his loving, funny self. One year, I needed shoes. Not just any shoes, but Buster Browns for my wide feet. My big toe is very short and bulges out. My parents prayed for the money to afford them. A tall black man wearing a white suit came up to the bar and ordered a beer. He gave my dad a hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change. It was an answer to prayer. My dad thinks he was an angel because he never drank the beer. My dad put a napkin over top and saved it for him, but he never returned. God provides.

I’d wake up on Christmas morning before the sun came up, and lay on the couch looking at the tree while I waited for my siblings to wake up. My dad had meticulously strung icicles on practically every pine needle to make the most sparkly tree I’ve ever seen! He was very particular about how we put the icicles on, when he let us help him. It wasn’t to be clumped on in haphazard piles. Every icicle had its own needle to adorn. His trees were magnificent. As the sun would come up, slivers of light would make the icicles dance and shimmer. It wasn’t until the sun came up and through our big bay Windows did I see the mountains of presents for each of us! Each tag read,

“Love, Jesus”

Our parents took no credit, pointing us always to Jesus. The real gift of the season! We would always have a birthday cake for Jesus and sing him, “Happy Birthday”

He can reach into the scars of your heart and heal them one by one. He’s closer than the air you breathe, He is your beating heart. May you feel wrapped in His loving arms this season and always.

Love,

Tisa

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