Moving to Word Press

Dear Readers,

Catie's Corner is moving to a new page on Word Press. Due to the change, those of you that have subscribed will need to re-subscribe on my new page. I am sorry for this inconvenience.

Please visit: www.catiecordero.com or www.catiecordero.wordpress.com.

Thank you for reading!

There's more to come.

Catie

Band-Aid the Broken

God amazes me.

I have a vivid mind and oftentimes that is how He speaks to me, through colorful images.

As many of you know, I lost my daughter Shiloh in December, and my heart broke. I felt like it was split wide open, aching and bleeding. Four months later, my sister lost her first baby. I felt my heart’s wound widen and the pain grow deeper.

In that pain I journaled:

   Surviving a Broken Heart
   The news comes so unexpectedly
   At first all is well, then ends in tragedy
   To lose a life so small it seems
   Unfair with all the sorrow it brings
   How can a heart survive the blow
   That grief drives in so deep, so low
   It filters through the body and more
   The spirit, the soul, they all feel sore
   Lord mend the wound that bleeds inside
   Send peace and grace into my mind
   I can’t walk this journey alone
   I need your help to make me strong

A few nights ago, I lie in bed thanking God for helping and healing me through the heartbreak of the last five months, and He showed me an incredible picture.

I saw my heart with a jagged wound down the middle, but pulling the wound closed was a big pink “Hello Kitty” Band-Aid. I could tell the wound wasn’t bleeding anymore and that it was sealing shut with the help of the Band-Aid.

A memory flashed through my mind of me as a child repeatedly falling off my bike and scraping my knees. I’d come into the house crying. My knees would hurt so bad. They’d be torn up and bleeding. Dad or Mom would rub my back and tell me it’s going to be okay. They’d wash away the blood, put on triple-antibiotic ointment, apply a Band-Aid, and place a kiss on the boo-boo and say, “All Better.”

This is what Father God did for me.

I came to Him with my torn heart. He looked at the wound and said, “It’s going to be okay.” He wiped away my tears and rubbed my back. Then He washed the wound clean with His love. He applied a potent triple antibiotic salve of peace and covered the wound with a Band-Aid. Placing a kiss on the boo-boo, He says, “It will heal.”

Thank you Lord.

Thank you that you Band-Aid the broken hearts.

I put my trust in you.

My heart is safe in Your hands.

Thanks Daddy, I’m feeling much better.

Farm-girl Freedom

There’s a song by Alan Jackson that says, “She's gone country, look at them boots. She's gone country, back to her roots. She's gone country, a new kind of suit. She's gone country, here she comes.”

You know what? I like that.

There’s a lot of freedom in going country.

I love throwing on my rubber boots and trekking out to the coop in the morning to let out the girls. My hair isn’t done. My pajama pants are still on. And my face hasn’t seen a slick of paint. It’s a beautiful thing…maybe not for my neighbors, but for me…it’s refreshing.

My mother lived on a farm until age five, and my father grew up on a full-fledged hobby farm.

I believe that country blood filtered into my veins:

Age Nine –

We moved to the farming city of Hamilton. While our house was being built, we rented a small house on a pig farm.

Five months later, we moved into our home across from a cow farm. On the lot next to us was a field of tall weeds. I decided to make a fort using my dad’s clippers. I cut out a spot and put down a blanket. It was fanciful fun until I noticed that I had company. Hanging inches from my head was a large yellow and black spider and a white and brown-striped one was crawling up my leg.

Sister Carmen styling in her jeans.

Me, trying to be a pig whisperer

Age Ten –

My dad taught me how to shoot a 22 rifle. He also taught me that when the safety is off, I had to keep it pointed at the ground and not at my sister. (What can I say? I was hyper.)

Dad also taught me how to fish and bait my own hook.

Aunt Sandy's horse obstacle day

Age Eleven –

My Aunt Sandy, who has a horse farm, taught me how to ride.

Age Fourteen –

I mucked out my first horse stable at a friend’s house.

Age Seventeen –

I got bucked off a horse named Hershey. (But I rode that sucker for a good three minutes before he jolted me into the cornfield!)

Age Twenty-Six –

I rode with my 21-month daughter on a horse named Midnight.

Age Twenty-Seven –

Cordero Family Farm began with two hens and six chicks. 

Tiffany and Lily

The Little Girls