Do Boaz and the Proverbs 31 wife really exist?

(This post didn’t quite make it for Valentine’s Day, which was my original intention. The family was still recuperating from our whirlwind of a trip, and 4 out of 5 of us were sick.)

I was having a conversation with Ate Ruth Dignadice about counseling, relationships, young people, etc. The tête-à-tête led to her mentioning how young men idealize finding a “Proverbs 31” wife – a.k.a. “The Wife of Noble Character.” But shouldn’t that be the case, you ask? As Ate Ruth pointed out, if you read the whole chapter again the “Proverb’s 31 Wife” had a husband, children, home and business. In short, she wasn’t young and single; she was a mature, married woman.

That was when I made the observation that young women fantasize about finding a Prince Charming like Boaz. Boaz was an old, unmarried man as well. For whatever reason (he was physically undesirable, girls rejected his offers, what have you) he was, as Ate Ruth put it, “the old, single guy that the family approached when they needed money.” He was rich, or at least well-to-do, had a business and no family to provide for. In fact, when Ruth approached him with her (Naomi’s, rather) proposition, this is what Boaz said after he discovered her lying at his feet; “The Lord bless you, my daughter… this kindness is greater than that which you showed earlier, for you have not run after the younger men, whether rich or poor,” Ruth 3:10 (NIV). First of all, he was old enough to call Ruth “daughter,” and he considered her act a “kindness” for not running after younger men. Therefore, at one time in his life he must have been trying to find a wife, then he must have given up.

So what’s your point?

My point: sometimes our expectations when looking for our future life partners are a bit unrealistic. Disney did that for us. Young women fantasize about a knight in shining armor or a prince charming on a white horse sweeping her off her feet, when perhaps he’s the unassuming guy with the unremarkable features. Men, I’m not sure exactly what the men look for. My textbooks have stated men are more inclined to go for women with aesthetically pleasing features. That’s really what it said! - Ok, ok, ok! Maybe they are also looking to capture the heart of a woman with noble character. After all, we are only searching for God’s best for us, aren’t we?

But God’s best doesn’t necessary come “ready-made.” Most of the time, they come in a model kit, with pieces that He has yet to put together, with your help. To use another saying, “God’s not finished with me yet.” If He isn’t finished with us yet, then why do we expect that of our future life partners? Lowering our expectations does not mean settling. It simply means being more realistic; nailing down the essentials and non-negotiables, then making compromises with the rest. What are those essentials? That you share the same faith, beliefs and values; that you both have an undeniable love for God, the desire to serve Him and raise your children to become Godly; that your goals, while not completely identical do not clash with each others. There’s no such thing as perfectly compatible people. From what I have seen, many successful couples are the most incompatible people – humanly speaking. They don’t necessarily share the same interests, but they’re willing to at least be attentive to one another.

We, none of us, are finished products. The Wife of Noble Character and Boaz were not made; they were the results of life experience. Just imagine, when you are looking for your future spouse, you get to become a part of the process of them being the husband or wife that God wants them to be – maybe even surpassing those two. So when looking for your mate, look for the one with the potential to become either one of these two and help them, support them, in becoming all that God has created them to be. God's best for you is a work in progress - as are you.

"Mommy, What's 'Ugly'?"

I learn new things about my four-year-old daughter, Breanna, everyday. For example, yesterday at breakfast I gave the kids their Trix cereal (little balls of fruit-flavored, rainbow-colored, puffed corn). I had not noticed before that Breanna would eat her cereal one-by-one leaving behind the purple-and-blue colored cereals and saving them for last.

For the past two weeks, Breanna’s lips have been chapping. She would pick at the dry skin, which exacerbates it, and causes her lips to crack. I have been applying, or attempting to apply, lip balm to it whenever I could. She would always cry out in protest.

One night, as I again attempted to apply the medication to her lips, she pushed my hands away. Vexed, I said, “Breanna, your lips are… (I looked for a word to explain it in a term she could understand, and couldn’t find any)… ugly.” The word must have confounded her as she succumbed to the administering of the blasted and awful-tasting ointment.

As I generously applied lip balm to her lips, Breanna asked, “Mom, what’s ‘ugly’?”

The question stunned me. In a world where young girls are pressured to conform to what the media and society states as being the standard for beauty, we made it a point that Breanna understands fully that she is “fearfully and wonderfully made.” We repeatedly tell her that she is a beautiful girl and that God has made her special (we’ll deal with issues of pride later, that’s easier than insecurity :P). We would often tease her and call her “our baby” and she would berate us with, “I’m not a baby! I’m a beautiful girl!” You would smile, of course. But she is merely declaring, with all the guileless humility of a child, the simple truth. We are teaching her that God is the Creator of beautiful and special people. She has never encountered the word “ugly” prior to that night.

I fumbled for words to say to make her forget what I had just let fall. In a feeble attempt to turn back time, I mumbled, “Your lips are sick, Breanna, that’s all. There’s no such thing as ‘that.’ You are a beautiful girl.” And shrugged, nervously hoping that what I said was enough. And it was. In childish simplicity of mind, my daughter accepted what I said without question and the ugly word was soon forgotten.

As far as Breanna is concerned, she, and every person in this universe, is beautiful and special as God has made them. We would like to keep it that way and would appreciate it if you would help us keep that atrocious four-letter word out of our children’s hearing. Our God “don’t make ugly.”

A Plant's Worst Nightmare

Germination Process

As if I’m not busy enough already, I took on this new project: gardening. No, no… I left it to my hubby to beautify the front lawn garden. I’m talking about vegetable crops. We purchased seed starting kits, seeds, potting mixes and gardening gloves and the planting started. I didn’t have much faith in my gardening abilities so I tried not to get my hopes up. I opened my Jiffy seed starter kit, watered the peat soil pellets and voilà! Instant seedling pots! These things are innovative, I tell you. I planted beans, tomatoes, sugar snap peas, eggplants, lettuce, okra, and spinach and within four to five days my seeds began to germinate. I kid you not. I thought I finally had it and began to dream of fields of fresh produce and cornucopias brimming over with vegetables grown by my own two hands. In less than two weeks I had beautiful sprouts out of most of my seedling pellets. The most difficult to grow were the tomatoes, so I bought a Topsy Turvy and an already grown tomato seedling. I placed my seedling in as directed and hung the Topsy Turvy filling it with soil, but alas! My gardening luck ran out. I underestimated the weight of the soil versus what I was hanging my Turvy up with and it fell, killing my upside down seedling in the process. The directions said that, sensitive as tomatoes are to grow, should the seedling be injured in any way it should be tossed out and replaced with a new one. I took my chances, cut off the injured main stem and was left with the pitiful remnant of what had been a flourishing tomato seedling. It all kind of went downhill from there.



Bountiful and alive, bowing to the sun

The sprouts were too crowded and grew close together so, as per the directions, I transplanted the lettuce and spinach by breaking open the pellets and replanting them in the soil one-by-one thereby spacing them out from one another. None of the prolific lettuce sprouts survived and I was left with maybe two decent growths of spinach. Unfazed, I figured “no matter, I can plant some more since they grew so fast.” I proceed with the rest of them. The beans, snap peas, okra and eggplant were growing so well and the roots were beginning to break through the pellets covering so I needed to move them. They seemed to do so well, but in my eagerness to attain that dream of overflowing veggie baskets I fed them with plenty of plant food. The directions said two tablespoons per plant, but I figured that might be a tad too much, so I only did one and sprinkled them directly on the roots and around it. Apparently, that was still excessive as my plants slowly wilted from the roots as though they had burned from beneath the soil (somewhere, I can hear my father, the agriculturist, laughing).



Transplants on my kitchen counter



So, as it turns out, I am a plant's worst nightmare or would-have-been plants; me and my black thumb. The beans and snap peas proved to be hardy plants despite my shortcomings as an ambitious cultivator. The okra, well I still have one or two good seedlings. The tomatoes I have not much hope for and as for the rest, well… It’s still too soon to tell. They’re all in the ICU.

In order to find a moral out of my inept attempts, unless you are truly a professional you will not necessarily be saving any money growing your own produce in comparison to purchasing them at the grocery store. Instead, the real success in that venture is the satisfaction of harvesting the fruits of your own labor.

Bye-bye, Jack Frost!



Photo by: Kristine Esmalla



Like bears emerging from their den rubbing their eyes and coming out of hibernation, the inhabitants of The Gallery stepped out into the sunlight waking up from their winter trance. Going out for my first run of the season since autumn it seemed that everyone in the neighborhood was experiencing the same sense of urgency to escape from their cabin fever.

Earlier that morning as I saw Jasper off to work we discovered that the first of our spring blooms had torn back their soil-y prison and stretched their leaves forward, reaching for the sky whilst unfurling their vibrant petals like saying, “In your face, winter!” Just as Noah opened the window of the ark to release the dove, I finally got to open the windows and glass doors of our house later that afternoon to allow the cool, sweet, fresh spring air to circulate. The neighbor’s dog barked in their backyard at me as if to say, “What are you doing in there? Can’t you see that it’s a nice day out?”

Breaking my reverie, I heard birds singing, their gleeful chirping chasing away at the heels of Jack Frost. Here, the sound of children laughing as they once again gathered together to play on the sidewalks could be heard. There, a young father chased his little girl across the yard after her mother had helped her down the backyard playground’s slide whose twin swings had stood idle for the past three months. “Daaaadd!” I turned to see another father helping his son put on his skates, and then he blew the dust and cobwebs that had collected over the past season off of his helmet before putting it on his son’s head. The last lingering traces of winter could still be felt in the chill that blew in the air so I turned and headed home when I began to feel the cartilages in my ear sting from the cold.

On my way back I saw grill recently taken out of the garage as if to imply the owner’s eager expectation of being able to use it soon, promising a many delicious barbecues to be had. I suddenly remembered it was trash day the following day as I came up a house and a man came out of his front door carrying a black trash bag with a cigar in his mouth. Across the street, I saw the same two golden retrievers hanging out on their front lawn I passed by earlier keep a watchful eye on me. When they began to bark the man, obviously familiar with his neighbors and their dogs, gently reprimanded them. With one hand placing his trash bag in the bin next to the mailbox and the other pulling his cigar out of his mouth, he rebuked, “Abby! McGee!” I grinned to myself in recognition of where the names came from, thinking about home where the television was playing reruns of NCIS everyday from 5pm onwards.

Speaking of home, I finally turned into our street and our rental house soon came into view. My children caught sight of me and cheerfully ran towards me sharing their excitement about being able to help their dad with his gardening.

“Ahhh… Spring! You have been eagerly anticipated and finally you are here. And not a moment too soon!”

600,000 Gallons Per Second



Photo by: Jasper Esmalla



It is rare moments like standing only a few hundred feet away from something incredibly awe-inspiring as the Grand Canyon and, only recently, Niagara Falls that makes me wonder how anyone could refuse to believe that there is a Creator. As I admired the glorious sight before me while standing beneath the frost-laden branches of what used to be trees thick with foliage, my amazement was amplified by the majesty and power of pouring – nay – crashing water at a flowrate of 600,000+ gallons per second. It caused me to reason whether this phenomenon might be a result of the Flood, much like the Grand Canyon itself. Whatever it may be, there is definitely a Creator who thought of these things in His infinite mind, Whose hands brought them into being, so that mankind can marvel at them and enjoy His handiwork.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.” Psalm 19:1



Photo by: Jasper Esmalla



Veterans Day Tribute

I was searching for the history of Veterans Day when I came across this question someone posted on Yahoo! Ask. Either the girl was inquiring for a school research or just honestly did not know the answer I was intrigued to find out who answered her and what answer they gave. She posted this question:
“What do veterans sacrifice?”

What indeed? There were different kinds of people who posted replies: A former marine (Female, can I add; my kudos to her), a retired corporal, an army sergeant, regular civilians and civilians with family or friends that are veterans. People who answer questions on Yahoo! Ask are given points by the person who asked the question by choosing a best answer, and she gave her points to someone who answered such provocative a provocative inquiry with all of five words.

In my opinion, this was the best, most heartfelt, most truthful answer; “Well my husband is a Veteran. He sacrificed a year without me and our daughter. He sacrificed missing his daughter's bday (sic), his wife's bday (sic) 2 years in a row, Christmas, Thanksgiving 2 years in a row, holidays, his daughter's first day of school, his Civilian job, money (he made much more as a civilian than as a deployed soldier) , he missed the red Sox winning the World Series , he hasn't see his mom and dad and siblings in 4 years as they live in another country and he hasn't had the time. Those are just a couple.” And still another from a retired marine captain, “I sacrificed my hearing, my knees, 2 broken ankles, a ruptured disc (L4-L5) and several close friends.”

Spouses can go for years without their loved one, while parents dread a fateful visit at their door because it can only mean one thing. We’ve watched too many war movies that it has desensitized us from the reality of what our veterans go through in the field. It’s funny watching Tom Hanks running through makeshift jungles in a movie studio while Gary Sinise loses his legs and ends up a raging alcoholic. Meanwhile, someone out there knows what it felt like to be cold, for their skin to resemble prunes from the endless, pouring rain. Resigning themselves to their fate, they sat in the mud of an unfamiliar land wondering just how long it would last, while all they could think about is the comforts they’ve left behind for someone else’s sake. Now they have to live with those indelible memories.



 Hollywood has a knack for over-romanticizing it as well. Ben Afleck goes Missing in Action (MIA) and his best friend ends up impregnating his girlfriend after romping on the flight line. We’re used to the storyline that we neglect to understand that there is actually someone out there whose beloved is among countless others who never made it home and no one knows what happened to them. They will never have that closure, no chance to bury their dead and say good-bye in order to move on.

Don’t forget how Viet Nam veterans, after all they went through with the war, were poorly and inexplicably received because of the anti-war sentiments happening during that time. Let’s not let that happen again.

What do veterans sacrifice? More than those of us who are not one can understand. But for the sake of it I will enumerate some: Family, comforts, energy, time, mental health, physical bodies, and ultimately, their lives. All for the sake of others.

For fighting for our lives and for the freedom we sometimes take for granted, I salute you.

In Pursuit of Fall



(Photo: Kristine Esmalla)


I had been exceedingly determined since the beginning of the season to make sure that I get my Fall shots. Week after week passed by and I was getting increasingly disappointed, anxious even, that time was not being set apart for that photo op. Today, I realized that perhaps the best date with Fall is one that is not planned, but rather, spontaneous.

With winter fast approaching, the weather has become increasingly colder as Frosty the Snowman drew closer and closer. I decided to warm up for 20-minutes with Beto Perez before going outside to mow the lawn. Sweaty and satisfied that I wasn’t going to freeze my tail off while tackling the grass that was verdant and green, thanks to the Autumn, I grabbed my Ipod and my camera and headed on outside. It was a perfectly lovely, sunny autumn day. I wanted to take a brisk walk to where there were some trees that were still wearing their seasonal colors, while others were already completely bare. So I circled the block to where the trees towered over the rooftops and began to take snapshots; yellow, red and orangey-brown. Some trees still had a full-coat of leaves, while others have already shed more than half of theirs.

I headed on home after being convinced I had taken enough photos without raising suspicion amongst my neighbors, a few of whom were sitting on their porch enjoying the cool midday sun and perfect weather. As I drew upon our house, something pulled me to move forward. I ignored the red machine waiting for me on our driveway and followed my impulse and kept on walking.



(Photo: Kristine Esmalla)


Hiking up the slope towards the orchard road that led into our community I was not prepared for what met my gaze. As I reached the top, my breath was taken away by the panorama staring right in front of me. In the distance was the Blue Ridge Mountain, with trees in the various stages of fall and a flock of migrating birds passed by in flight. I caught my breath as I drank deep of the moment when all my senses were being stimulated at the same time. The smoky fragrance of firewood burning in someone’s furnace wafted into my olfactory senses, while icy, cool breeze gently caressed my dermis. My eyes were utterly captivated by the vivid array of color and there was no mistaking it – this is autumn in West Virginia.



Words cannot do justice, neither do still photographs bear proper semblance of half of what I experienced in that cathartic moment. But I must at least attempt to do so in order that I may have some token remembrance of that day; the day I went in pursuit of Fall and found her.