If Passion Had A Name...

After Mark and I started hanging out, it was never that we were "boyfriend/girlfriend". He was 26, and never even formally asked me to be his. We were just us. He worked at the hotel, and I worked at the video store. He'd get off work late, and come help me close the store. It was just us. We talked about the world, politics, religion, passions, future plans, etc.

One April night, there was a chill in the air. Enough of one to make me shiver. He slipped his puffy vest off, with ease, and helped me slide my arms into it. I stuffed my camouflage, man wallet, adorned with a little Razorback (Judge not.), into the vest, and forgot about it. The next day, I was back at the video store, and the chime of the door rang. I said the standard greeting, and looked up. Immediately my heart started beating harder, and my stomach did flips. He came in hurriedly, with the wind that blew in behind him. His shaggy hair, messy, on top of his head. His smile, brilliantly white, as he looked deep into my eyes.

"Hey Mark!" I said with enough enthusiasm to let him know I missed him, but not so much so that I accidentally yelled it.

"Hi! You, uh, left your wallet in my-." He said, as he struggled to pull the giant rectangle out of his pocket.

"Ahh! Thank you so much!" I quickly grabbed it from his hands.

"I didn't even realize! But, I've also lost it on way too many occasions, so I rarely even remember to bring it." I was chatting, nervously.

Deep breath. You sound like you've drank too much espresso. 

I drew in a quick breath, closed my eyes, and forced myself to speak calmly.

"Uhh. Sorry. You were talking, and I interrupted! What were you saying?" I said, as I casually rested my head on my chin, and my elbow on the counter. All the while, bouncing one foot, behind the counter, in an effort to expel my nervous energy some where.

"Yeah! As I was saying, there's your wallet. I, uh, looked in it, and saw on your license where you lived. Then, I uh-" He pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, in his own nervousness.

"I was going to bring it to you, last night, but then I thought that might've been a little creepy. So, here I am, and there it is."

"Yes, that would've been creepy!" I said, as I stifled a nervous laugh.

"But I'm glad you chose to come to my work! It brightened my day!"

I could hear my heart beating.

"Well, good!" He said, with a smile.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked like he was searching for something to say.

"Well, I gotta go!"

My heart sank.

"What? You're not going to hang out, like normal?" The disappointment on my face was beyond obvious.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm going to play tennis with my buddy Jason. You need to meet him. He's awesome!"

"Okay! Sometime soon?"

"Definitely!"

He started out the exit, and quickly turned, with his hand still on the door.

"Oh yeah! I left something in your wallet for you. It made me think of you, so I thought you should have it."

He flashed a smile, "See ya!"

"Bye!"

My heart exploded.

My cheeks were flushed a brilliant red, and like a child unwrapping a Christmas present (because, remember, I LOVE presents), I quickly picked up my wallet, ripped it open, and along the length of the wallet was a hand woven bracelet. I ran my finger up and down the length of the bracelet, feeling the texture of the intricately woven braid. It was a dusty tan color, and every few braids, whoever made it, wove in a beautiful lilac, purple color. My face was radiating heat, and my coworker asked me if I was going to keep staring at it, or put it on.

I laughed, nervously, and asked for help, in tying it. A simple knot, secured it firmly around my bony wrist. I kept feeling the texture between my fingers, and would get nervously excited, every time.

That bracelet, was purchased in Mexico, about a month before we met. He had went to visit his Mom and brother, and was at a local street market. He saw a tan bracelet, with silver string woven every few braids, and sitting beside the silver one, was a purple one. He thought they looked really cool together (and probably got a 2 for 1 special), so he bought them both. He quickly tied the silver one around his wrist, and stuffed the purple one in his bedside table, when he got back to the States.

The night he let me borrow his vest, we played the game "20 questions".

"What's your favorite color?" I asked, playfully.

"Well, I like a lot of colors, but I guess if I had to pick a favorite, it would be silver."

"Silver?!"

"Yeah! It's a cool color!"

"Well, sure, but I've never heard of someone's favorite color being silver." As we walked beside each other, I jokingly nudged him with my shoulder.

He nudged me back, smiled, and said "Well, it's mine."

"What about you? What's your favorite color?"

"Purple!" I exclaimed, without hesitation.

Mark laughed, "You sure? You didn't seem excited enough about it!" He said, sarcastically.

I smiled, "Yep, I'm sure."

"You know what color I think goes perfectly with silver?" He said, almost whispering.

He stopped walking, and looked at me, intently.

"What?" I asked, perplexed.

"Purple."

My cheeks flushed, I smiled, nudged him with my shoulder again, and started walking.




I'm an all-or-nothing kind of gal.

Either I'm 150% in, or not interested, in the slightest.

I've been told I'm passionate.

Which is very true. When I wasn't pursuing God, I was passionately, without hesitation, pursuing the world. When I started pursuing God, I passionately dove into who God was calling out of me:

A woman.

A wife.

A Momma.

A writer.


Chosen.

His.

And with the proverbial "snap" of my fingers, I was reeled from the season of searching, to a new life. Mark was an important part of that life, and I didn't even realize it. Sure, I liked him, but the thought of marrying him? Honestly, I didn't think I was worthy enough. He was the catalyst in silencing the many lies I had filled my heart with.

You're too energetic.

You're not good enough to be talking to Mark.

God isn't going to want damaged goods. 

Mark isn't going to want damaged goods.

He silenced them all.

About 6 weeks into "us", he showed up at my house, flustered. Mark was never nervous, but was peacefully, confident, anytime we were together. So this change in personality was definitely alarming.

He came through the back door, hurriedly, and I jumped, as the springs banged it shut. He stood at the threshold of my bedroom door frame, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Hey, uh, we need to talk." He said, nervously, as he slowly walked into my room.

"Okay?" I said, cautiously.

I was sitting on my floor, organizing DVD's that were in a pile, in front of me. I stared, intently at them, as questions reeled through my head.

Is he about to break up with me?

He can't! We're not even officially dating, right?

I wonder what he finally decided was "enough"?

"Can you please stand up?" He said, firmly.

"Why?" I asked, guarded, as I slowly got to a standing position.

I crossed my arms nervously, and threw up my guard. "You're really freaking me out."

He crinkled his forehead, confused.

"What? Freaking you out? Okay, sit back down, sit back down." He said, motioning for me to sit down on the floor, with him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well you did! What's going on, Mark?" I sounded annoyed. (Defense mechanism.)

"Okay, okay!" He pushed his shaggy hair off to the side, took a deep breath, and just stared into my eyes.

"I.............I L-O-V-E you." He stammered.

He pushed out a deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time he'd been there.

"Did you just spell the word "love"?" I scoffed. (Again, defense mechanism.)

He suddenly looked confused, "What? Yes. I spelled it. Can we not focus on the fact that I spelled it, but rather, on the fact that it is now, out there?"

He was exacerbated, and I was enjoying it.

"Fine," I said firmly, as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"I L-O-V-E you, too."

I set my jaw firmly, and looked at him seriously.

He smiled, and my defense was cracked.

"Thank you."

He grabbed my hand, and gently caressed the top of my hand with his thumb.

"Thank you, Mark."


At that nanosecond, I realized: My life is going to be nothing that I imagined.

I didn't know what God was going to do, but that was when I realized who I was going to do it with.

The gentle wind, to my passionate flame. Coaxing me to burn bright, but remain controlled.

Mr. Dominguez.

Even today, when I called him, and was having a challenging day, with teaching 3 boys the importance of respecting their Momma, I started rambling about a couple fears in my heart, and also intertwining certain things that I thought were coming up in the near future. Sputtering through requirements for future endeavors, and the excitement/nervousness that comes with that. Talking way too fast, because I was on my second cup of coffee, for the day.

He always encourages my passion. Helps me reel it back when I'm coming in too hot, and helps push me to jump, when I let cautions overtake me.

The gentle wind to my passionate flame. 

I recently started reading a book (Fervent By: Priscilla Shirer), and the first chapter was on, you guessed it, Passion.

The excerpt I've sent to about a hundred people is this:

Because as much as someone who is passionate, will go at something, with gazelle-like intensity (thanks Dave Ramsey for that analogy), they'll also doubt themselves in new territory. They'll allow a lie,

(You're not good enough.)

to slip deep in their soul. I've done it, more times than not. The difference is what are you going to do, the split second after the lie enters your heart?

Two options:

1. Allow that lie to sink deep, like a rock dropped into an ocean. A small bloop, as it breaks the external surface of earth, and enters the internal depth of the ocean. Sinking quickly, without hesitation, deep into the bottom, where it gets dark, quiet, and lonely.

2. Listen to a word, a sentence, or look at a picture, that reminds you who you are. Who you are in Christ. Beg God to take your thoughts captive, and dig deep, pluck out that tiny rock that's sinking. Grab it, before it's gone, and takes root. Remind yourself that you are important. You matter. Your passions matter.


We all are passionate about something.

It's when we lose that passion about that unique thing, that we lose ourselves. My passion has always been facing life head-on. Pursuing whatever I'm doing with a fervent strength. Going at it with everything I am, so that at the end of the day, I'm exhausted.

I'm passionate about speaking life in this world.

I'm passionate about seeking God, with everything that I've got.

I'm passionate about standing with my husband, hand-in-hand, and facing life together.

I'm passionate about my children, encouraging them to obey, love, and forgive in all moments.

I'm passionate about my small business, and making sure that I'm blessing people. 

I'm passionate about choosing joy, in circumstances that seem completely void of joy. 

And ultimately, I'm passionate about telling people about a God that somehow saw goodness in me, and pursued me. And about a man, His Son, who died for me. 

Those are my passions.

I'm so grateful I have a husband that isn't intimidated by my passion, but rather breathes life into it.






What are you passionate about?


Keep. Marching.