New Site

 Please be advised that The Next Step is no longer an active blog site and we moved sites in 2021.  To be redirected to our new site, Real Talk With Doc, please click on the following link.

 Blessings!!

"Doc" Flores

https://realtalkwithdoc.blogspot.com/

But it Didn't

Directly in front of me as I write is a house that burned almost to the ground some time ago, but let me back up.  Since my husband's motorcycle accident in November of 2020 (see Crash Into Me), he finally had corrective surgery on his shoulder a few weeks ago.  As a result, I am now tasked with driving him to each of his construction job sites.  As a Superintendent for a construction restoration company, he has to travel to multiple projects throughout the day, an impossible feat when the operating surgeon has medically forbid him to get behind the wheel.  We're now in our third week of me serving as chauffer, and I can tell you this - nothing tests the heart and soul and love of a marriage more than driving your spouse to and fro five days a week.  Adultery? Deception? Poor money management?  Shoooooot. Those valleys seem like potholes right now as Alex's passenger seat driving voice rings in my ears.  I woke up at 3 a.m. today to the sound of "turn left," "stop speeding," "watch out, you almost hit that trash can!" and "honey, what are you doing, the light was red?"  I rubbed my eyes in a haze of wonder, looked to my right, and saw him sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me.  It was a dream. Whew.  I rubbed my head and lay back down, wondering if Jesus would be disappointed in me if I kicked him as an act of catharsis.  He was asleep after all.   I could always just say I was tossing and turning and accidently threw my leg into his.  Nah....I snuggled up next to him instead and breathed in the gratitude of having him by my side.  The driving I now do while he heals from his injuries is the result of a terrible accident that could have taken his life.  Could have robbed me of the deepest love I've ever known with a man.  Could have destroyed my world in a matter of seconds. Could have...  but it didn't.  

Crash Into Me

 In November of 2020, I drove at moderate speed on a nearby highway as I followed behind my husband back to our home. He weaved in and out of traffic ahead of me on his motorcycle, and I smiled as I drove behind in our car.  I've never liked his door-less seat with wheels, but the passion he has for it won me over and I opted to be supportive of his heart for it.  I knew as I trailed behind him that afternoon that he was enjoying the wind against his body and the thrill of the open road, so his pleasure was also, by extension, mine.  Plus, with me following close behind, I somehow felt he was protected - like I was keeping him safe in a way through the gaze of my eyes.  But then it happened.  In an instant, I went from quietly grinning as I drove to fearfully yelling the name "Jesus" as I watched him slide off his motorcycle and onto the pavement in front of me.  All at once I took in the visual horror of oncoming traffic, the car in front of him that had stopped suddenly, his motorcycle flying across the road, and his body rolling across the blacktop before me.  Without stopping to think, I slammed on my brakes, swerved to the right of the yellow line, and jumped out of the car to run to his side.  My eyes hot with tears that I forbid to fall, I knelt down next to him with an unspoken, but visible, desperation to see signs of motion and life. The world around me became blurry as I knelt on the road that afternoon.   In a matter of seconds, the crash in front of me became the crash into me.  

Identity Undone

 As the year comes to a close, I find myself contemplating what has been, what is, and what will be - reflections common for many of us as a new year approaches.  2020, especially, has been a trying year for individuals all over the world, and my hope is that by coming together as a community to share stories, we can also join hearts in prayer and encouragement.  For me personally, it has been a year of tremendous sacrifice and holy pursuit of the Cross of Christ.  I didn't realize just how profoundly the larger life oblations had affected me until my husband of just six months asked me to lay down something much smaller. As our identities merged following marriage (Mark 10:8), my impulse to retain my individuality kicked in to high gear.  I nearly burst into tears at the thought of letting one more piece of myself go to the black abyss of who and what I once was.   What he asked me to let go of would, ordinarily, be a simple release, and even an exciting one, but because I already felt my identity of the last decade slipping away, I clung with dear life to one of the only few remaining things that made me me.  He got it.  He understood the tears, the fears, and the reluctance to surrender.  I found myself taking deep, intentional breaths as I prayed through the experiential phenomena of an identity undone.  

The Promise in the Pain

A few days ago on my walk, I stopped by the body of water that you see below.  It was enclosed by

black and gray rock and reminded me of Psalm 91:2 that says God is our "refuge and fortress."  Next to the water was a bench where I sat to take this picture, and it was as if the Lord strategically placed it there just for me to rest my weary feet (Matthew 11:28) and meet with Him in prayer.  I sat down to pray and seek His guidance on a number of issues, and as I began to commune with my Father, the fountain gently sprayed tiny droplets of water on me with each brush of wind.  I closed my eyes and smiled.  I was reminded of Ezekiel 36:25 that says I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you of all your impurities...a refreshing recollection of the gentleness of God.  When the world rains down hurricanes of hatred and tornadoes of intolerance, God ever so gently sprinkles His cleansing waters on us. I needed that reminder in those moments on the bench as I recalled the venomous verbal assaults hurled my way in recent months.  Buckets of bitter waters had been poured on my head by former friends, family, and strangers. Some days my spiritual umbrella seemed to break, but while the judgments of others can drench our mind, the sprinkling waters of Jesus strengthen and revitalize our soul.  I sat silently praying to the God who knows me most and loves me best.  I was deeply hurting because of certain circumstances in my present that release an ongoing and consistent flow of pain.  Sometimes, if I close my eyes tightly enough, the sting of the situation pierces my heart a little less, but for the most part, it just aches.  Until the matter can be adjudicated, I remain in a spiritual fetal position on the Lord's altar of grace, mercy, and hope, while calling to remembrance the words His Spirit spoke to my heart that day - the promise is in the pain. 

What promises are you waiting on God to deliver in accordance to your faith (Hebrews 11:6)?  I used to struggle with daily anxiety attacks.  They were crippling.  People who are familiar with my story know that this was an incredibly dark time in my life.  During those years, I tirelessly read Psalm 34:4 that says I sought the Lord and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears, but the promise of peace was in the pain of panic. The promise of deliverance was in the pain of bondage. I was so tightly chained inside the demonic dungeon of fear that the promises of peace (John 14:27) and faith (Ephesians 2:8) and trust (Proverbs 3:5) seemed distant and unrealistic.  Over time and with much prayer (James 5:16), however, the promise became present.   My reality shifted, but to get to the promise I had to go through the pain. 

If you've experienced healing from any sickness or disease, then you know the pain that preceded God's promise of healing (Psalm 103:3).  The promise of God's provision (Philippians 4:19) comes from the pain of knowing lack and poverty. Jeremiah 31:3 says that God loves us with an "everlasting love," but we often don't understand the depth of His love unless we have first experienced the pain of hatred, indifference, or rejection.  Similarly, the promise of God's presence with us (Matthew 28:20) is found in the pain of feeling His absence.  The promise of strength comes through the pain of weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).  The promise of freedom comes through the pain of imprisonment (Isaiah 42:7).  The list goes on, but I wonder what valley of pain you find yourself in today.  When your pillow is moist from the tears that fall as you cry yourself to sleep...when the emotional cut is so jagged that you feel the bleeding will never stop...when the weight of despair is so heavy on your shoulders you can't get out of bed in the morning...look for God's promise sweet friend...it's in the pain.  

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.’" - Jeremiah 33:3

Discover You, Discover Me

In the midst of major life transitions, I have been able to see some things more clearly than ever before, yet some people and issues remain a blurry haze. My overall purpose, my circle, my own understanding of life happening in me and around me - these things I know intimately and can see with certainty.  Outside of the sovereignty of God (Colossians 1:16-17), I do have some level of control over these domains.  Over other people, however, I can exert very little power.  Frankly, I neither want nor need to control anyone's purpose, circle, or life perceptions.  It's exhausting and causes more damage than anything else. What I'm finding in the rubble of various painful circumstances that occurred so far this year is that God uses our valleys as places of separation that result in deeper consecration. Psalm 91:15 says "He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver and honor him."  While I've been fiercely judged this year by friends, family, and strangers, for the path I've walked and decisions I've made, I'm learning a new dimension of God's presence with me in troubling times.  It's a process of discovery really.  In the pain of my deepest, darkest valleys, I get to discover you and also discover me.  

No More

The call to transparency.  Do we all have it?  I'm not sure, to be honest. I know that when I mess up or fall short, the Lord often prompts me to write about it - transparently.  On the other hand, I know of others who don't feel led to go international with the innermost details of their lives or to even divulge the intimacies with family and friends, but instead find solace in the arms of Jesus - privately. Sometimes, I wish that was my allotment, but once again, I find myself called to share - publicly.  If you've read some of my recent posts, it's no secret that difficult times have arisen and the descent of the valley has been low.  And steep.  With jagged rocks and ominous boulders.  I've fallen more than once and was even bitten by a dog along the way.  It hurt.  So has the venom of various snakes that have spit words of hatred my way in recent weeks, but the most painful thing wasn't the bite or venom; it was the revelation of my own sin in an area I had completely overlooked throughout the last several years. When God pulled back the veil and I saw the reflection staring back at me, I began to sob.  I didn't know until He showed me just how badly I had grieved the heart of not only God, but also some of the people I love most.  The revelation was painfully clear, and even though it was delivered through arms of grace and love and necessary correction (Hebrews 12:6), His Spirit felt far from me as I lamented my behavior.  So, what do we do when God places a spiritual mirror in front of us to illuminate our own sin? We "go, and sin no more." (John 8:11).