A Life of Grace

Copyright © 2013 Grace Baldonado.

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-8487-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-8974-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013902581

WestBow Press rev. date: 4/25/2013

Foreword

I am happy to endorse Grace Baldonado prior to the publishing of her new book (which my wife and I are excited about reading). We have known Grace since our newlywed days, during the fall of 1986, when she was serving as the U.S. Ambassador’s Executive Assistant in Baghdad, Iraq. God used Grace to bring both of us to faith via her enthusiastic personality, example, faith and kindness during our many Bible Studies at her home – where we were welcomed from the beginning as a brother and sister in Christ. I remember my wife being particularly drawn to Grace initially after an Iranian launched SCUD missile interrupted our official Baghdad welcoming party – they have been friends since. We shared several Mesopotamian adventures with her – including a Thanksgiving trip to Nineveh (Mosul) with our Bible study group, a trip to Babylon with some of the Marine Security Guard detachment and even a showing of A Wonderful Life to our multi-national Bible Study group audience during the Christmas Season. We do not see Grace as much as we would like, but have kept up with her (mainly by Grace’s efforts) over the years via phone calls and occasional get-togethers. We have met most of her family and had a wonderful camping and travel experience in her neck of the woods back in 1991, in and around Albuquerque, Santa Fe and Durango. Grace is our dear, well loved and admired Christian sister with a heart for all of the people she has met along her life’s adventurous journey and a never-ending sense of wonder with the world and the rest of God’s creation.

Todd E. McCarrick

{U.S. Government Employee (30+ years)}

A Life of Grace

An Iranian plane had come across the Iraqi border and as the air raid sirens screamed, the Ambassador and the rest of the upstairs Embassy staff fled to the main floor and stood under the stairs which was supposed to be the safest place in case a bomb hit. As I stood there under the stairs, I thought back on my life and what had brought me to this point in time and this place. I definitely had a peace and was not afraid, and I could only attribute this to that peace that surpasses understanding that can only be found in Christ Jesus. During my time with the American Embassy in Iraq, I was asked why I wasn’t panicking like so many there during the Iran–Iraq war, which gave me opportunity to share life in Christ.

My thoughts took me back to when I was about ten. I was sitting on an old rock wall in front of St. Francis church in the small town of Tularosa, New Mexico. As I watched cars and log trucks whiz by on the highway that ran through town, I could not help wondering: where are they all going? Quite imaginative as a girl, I would make up adventure stories about the destinations of the cars and passengers. I could not in my wildest dreams have imagined the adventures my future held.

My earliest recollection was when I was five years old. We lived in Los Angeles, California at the time, and I managed to wander away from our home. A policeman picked me up and took me to the police station. My father had to come and pick me up.

We lived in California again during World War II when my father was struggling to make ends meet. He packed up the family- my mother, all five children and we moved to Alameda, California where he had taken a job in the shipyards. I was the middle child with an older sister and brother, and a younger sister and brother. As expected I always got the wrong end of the stick in our disputes. My older sister was the beauty of the family. A talent scout tried to put her in the movies, but my mother would not hear of it.

Those were the days when Shirley Temple, a child movie star was popular. Actually we got to see Shirley Temple in a Rose Bowl parade in Pasadena, California one year.

During my early years we moved back and forth from New Mexico to California. My father never wanted to stay in Tularosa, although my grandfather owned a service station/grocery store with a motel along with a farm, fruit tree orchards, a grape vineyard, cows, chickens, pigs and a few cattle. My grandparents had milk cows, and I would help my grandmother sterilize and bottle the milk that she sold in the store. I also helped feed the pigs and chickens. My favorite thing to do was picking tomatoes for canning. I would take a salt shaker along and eat tomatoes as I went along the rows. Whenever we were in Tularosa, I loved spending time with my grandparents, which was most of the time. I was quite a tomboy and my cousins and I would take turns riding a young calf to see who could stay on the longest before the calf would buck us off, I also loved my grandparents’ rain water well which filled with rain water every time it rained. I loved the taste of rain water, though we used it practically for washing our hair. My grandmother even preferred to use the outhouse over the indoor toilet. Thankfully, my grandparents had indoor plumbing, since I was afraid I would fall in if I used the outhouse.

One time as a child, two of my cousins and I found some cigarettes – the roll-your-own kind; we went to the barn and we were trying to smoke them, but we were caught by my grandfather and he made us eat the cigarettes! I was very sick; so were my cousins. I never tried that again until I was in a foreign country in my early twenties and that was because it was the fashion and all my friends smoked.

Looking back, I see that I was forced to grow up rather fast. I quit playing with dolls by the time I was eight years old. I was exposed to all kinds of issues living in Alameda. I don’t think my parents realized what I was exposed to in that Navy town during that period of history. During that time, whether because I looked older or because of overcrowded schools, I don’t know, but I was skipped from the fifth grade to the seventh grade. I learned of prejudice in school and real life situations. Because I babysat for some of the Navy people, I learned what adultery is among the Navy wives (did not know that is what it was called at the time) while their husbands were at sea. Not all of them were unfaithful to their husband, but nevertheless I was exposed to the ugly side of life too young. Although I ran around with an older crowd I was called miss untouchable, so apparently my parents must have given me high standards.

Also, during that period of time, I was told that someone we knew was on her way home from work one evening and was attacked and raped by a Black man. My father always warned us not to stay out after dark or a Black man would attack us. The Blacks were always to be feared, especially when I stayed with my aunt who lived in Alamogordo. There were no Black people in Tularosa, so I never actually met one until I was an adult. I was married and my husband was in the military when I first met a Black person.

I learned that racism works both ways. Although Tularosa did not have any Blacks, there was definitely a Mexican population. I spent the eighth grade in this New Mexican town and on several occasions I feared for my life because three or four Mexican girls would waylay me on the way home from school and beat me up. They had fingernails like claws. I would try to leave school later or sometimes earlier just to avoid another beating. They called me gringa. Because my surname was Fields and I did not speak Spanish, I considered gringa a bad word, and so I called them Mexican greasers. When I arrived home I would be punished for fighting. My cousins took pity on me and taught me how to fight with my fists to defend myself which helped a little. I learned that my grandmother’s maiden name was Lopez, though it came from Spanish ancestry, not Mexican. I used some psychology on the ringleader of those beating me, since her last name was Lopez. I told her we were related, so she stopped the beatings.

By age twelve I had passed the eighth grade when my parents decided to send me to St. Mary’s Academy for girls, a Catholic private school in O’Neill, Nebraska. My aunt, Sr. Margarita, was my father’s sister, a nun and a teacher, at St. Mary’s. I had turned thirteen in March, and the latter part of August I was put on a train at the train depot in Tularosa, NM. My wardrobe was very limited, so I was wearing my school uniform on the trip, a dark blue suit, but by the time I had arrived in Kansas City I was perspiring and quite hot; however,I did not take my jacket off for fear of losing it. I had to change trains in Kansas City and wasn’t sure where to catch my train, so I approached a man with a young woman, who apparently was with her father seeing her off to college. He directed me to a train that turned out to be the wrong train, and I ended up in Des Moines, Iowa. A porter told me where I could get a bus to O’Neill, NE, which was my destination.

I finally arrived in O’Neill with no one to meet me. I lugged my suitcase up the hill to the academy, which looked like a castle on a hill with its turrets and spires. The academy covered several acres. I knocked on the door and was met by one of the nuns, who called my aunt, and my aunt took me to an alcove next to hers in a dormitory where I would be sleeping until the school year began. When school started, I was then assigned to the