Rose Linda's Blog

Thinking out loud and enlarging my territory…

The Virtue of Patience in Real Estate

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I’ve been in the real estate business for more than a decade.  I would say that it is a privilege to be a part of this thriving industry: an industry that is a part of everyone’s life, whether you’re a real estate agent, a seller, a buyer, a renter, a reader, an affiliate. We all are aware of the existence of real estate.  It is where we live in, the neighborhood that we, daily, do our banking, grocery shopping, worshipping, buying and selling, creating relationships, entertaining and being entertained.

What is most exciting for me, being in this business, is what I have learned and am still learning throughout the process.  This is a journey.  And like any journey we step our feet onto, we learn along the way.

One of the best lessons learned through years of navigating the maze that is, sometimes, real estate and the busy life in and around it, is the virtue of patience.  Patience lends itself to our work: with and among others, or within ourself and the process that our work and relationships travel in and through daily. Because we are human beings, patience is not one that we are born with the moment God breathes life in us.

Patience, in my humble opinion, is like humility – a virtue that we learn.  We learn to wait in line and not cut across someone else’s space.  We learn to wait after ordering our food, knowing that there is that process of submitting our order and then preparing our plates.  We learn to hold off what our hearts dictate, especially when we get hurt and lashing out that pain seems the most normal thing to do.  We learn to even care less about the long minutes in the doctor’s waiting room, even when we have set the appointment, knowing that we have a certain time already registered in our physician’s schedule, no matter what.  We learn to say “thank you” even when we are rushing out to another appointment.  We learn to say “sorry” for the poor judgments we have displayed; be they private or public.

Just the same with the real estate world that we live in, we learn how to be patient.  How many times do we get asked: “When will the seller respond to our offer?”  Or “when will we know what the buyers think of our response to their inspection repairs request?”  Or “when are they removing the appraisal contingency?” Or “when are we really closing?” Through all this, I learned how to be patient.  And by being patient and worrying less whether something is being done behind the scenes, I also learn how wisdom in how I relate to others – from the other real estate agent to the other service providers, to my clients and anyone else I meet along the way.

I mentioned “humility” earlier, because I also believe that with patience comes humility. In my real estate world, we all work hard to make our clients’ dreams and lifestyles happen.  We are the catalysts for their household-building, for their family life, for their future hopes and dreams.  And as we create these dreams and lifestyles for our clients, we also build ours along the way.

It truly is a privilege to be part of an industry that holds family, dreams, homes, lifestyles, households and lives a reality.  The virtue of patience gives me the strength to create and fulfill in myself and others the lives they would love to create.



Written by roselindagonzales

May 31, 2017 at 1:46 am

Casting Burdens

with 5 comments


That Black Cloud on the 25th of July, 2016:

Exactly a week ago, I was discharged from Kaiser Permanente’s Sunset Hospital, not unscathed: I have bruises from needle-pokes and vein-searching; memories of that metal taste in my mouth from the previous day’s CT (Computed Tomography) scan; EKGs (electrocardiogram) taken as frequent as I felt like urinating after taking a diuretic; a discovery that my rapid heart rate took about two pill pops and four intravenous feeding of this beta-blocker to decrease the rate close enough to where a CT scan allowed. I heard medical terms, like paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia, troponin, arrhythmia that I never dreamed of being introduced.  I was left with a feeling of apprehension and worry about my future, about life, about dying and living.

Interestingly, for several months now, I have been meditating on these particular scriptures:

Isaiah 53:5 But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed. NKJV

Matthew 9:21 She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” NIV

Psalm 55:2 Cast your burden on the Lord, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved. NKJV

It was not even a conscious decision to memorize and meditate on these.  These words kept rolling around in my head.  Till one day, I asked myself: Why are these words here? Then I asked God, “What do these mean to me?”

Now I know, it might be a bit controversial to post my inner, spiritual thoughts; but, then again, I would rather post and meditate on these than what other negative and controversial issues are circulating out there right now.

What was evident, after having thought deeply while alone in my hospital room, was that I was being prepared for this particular moment.  By God.  By His word. By His promises.

How I got to Room 7103 of the Coronary Care Unit at Kaiser Sunset:

I came out of the shower, feeling super-stoked about having dinner at this new, local Sushi restaurant with new, foodie friends.  I was slathering some sunscreen, stared straight at the mirror, when I saw a black shadow descending from above my forehead down to my brow line.  In the past, when I was younger, I had two episodes of blacking out for various reasons, so I know what that looked like.  Then my heart rate thumped so fast and loud enough for me to almost lose my balance.  I held on to a towel rail next to me and started shaking off the nausea and the black cloud half-enveloping my sight.  I uttered, “No, no, no…don’t faint.”

Thank God that my husband just walked in the door.  I called his name and told him that I didn’t feel well, which was a definite understatement as I checked my blood pressure that posted 110/83.  Really good.  Then below it was a number that I never really paid much attention to: 195, which represented my heart rate.  I thought, ‘Well, that is a strange number.’  So I checked it again, and again, and again.  It teetered around that high number, which should not have been a surprise, since my body was uncontrollably shaking from the thump in my chest.  Was I having a heart attack?  Was this a prelude to dying?

I recited Psalm 91 – a favorite psalm which I have memorized in my heart – because it practically screams of being spared from all kinds of threat and ends with His promise to those who love Him.  I asked God that moment for forgiveness, since I thought I could die that instant.  Yes, it sounds a bit dramatic, but that was how I felt right then.

I scrambled for clothes to wear to Kaiser’s Urgent Care facility in Pasadena, another 20-minute drive from our house.  Pretty sure it became evident that Ricky didn’t know how grave I felt; or otherwise he would have called 911.  Upon arrival at Kaiser Pasadena, I slouched, with my still-wet, uncombed hair, on the first vacant chair I saw.  The Urgent Care room was packed and Ricky was about number eight on the line; after all, it was around 6:10 in the evening. That should have already convinced my husband how intensely awful I felt: I would never have slouched, nor left the house with uncombed hair.  I kept looking at my husband, with my eyes begging him to hurry up.  I looked around and the sound of urgency in the room didn’t seem to be in the same rhythm as mine.  Of course, optimistic me thought it better to faint right there, with doctors and nurses nearby, than anywhere else.

Another twenty-five or so minutes later, or even longer perhaps, Ricky waved and motioned me to the receptionist’s station.  The minute the receptionist saw me, plain worry showed on her face.  She told us to sit down and said that we will be called immediately.  It was not even two minutes and we were called in.  A bed was set up for me to lie down.  The Filipino nurse stuck sticker-like buttons – on my chest, sides and upper abdomen -where the wires are set up for EKG, ran it, then took the paper off the machine to show the doctor.  Then the doctor came in and asked me what happened.  I went through the whole story – beginning from getting out of the shower, then the mirror, and the black thing descending upon me.  Not even five minutes passed and blue-uniformed men and a woman, all paramedics, about six of them plus the doctor, started assembling wires and machines around me.  One of the paramedics started the vein-search on my right, the other on my left.  They stated numbers back and forth, told me to clench my lower abdomen as if I were to do a bowel movement, then asked to hold my breath for a few seconds, then breathe.  One of them said they have to inject a medication in my vein that would drastically slow down my heart rate, as if to reset it.  I thought, “anything to keep me from feeling like I’m on a race.”  I gave them a nod.  I never had to have an oxygen tank near me, so I started feeling like I still got it, somehow.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ricky, actually seated on a chair, looking stoic and, more likely, secretly stunned.  This has never happened to us before.  I wanted to make sure he was there with me.

When you’re spread out on an emergency hospital bed like that, your other burdens seem to fade in the background: even the thought of having your tummy exposed for the medical hands to place buttons where they should be attached became like nothing; to having to care how I looked, as vanidosa (vain) as I could sometimes be; to knowing that none of this is within my control.

I was ambulanced from the Urgent Care in Pasadena to a Methodist Hospital in Arcadia and stayed there till 3:00 in the morning.  My sister came to join us and, as usual, my sis and I made light of things around us.  Before the next ambulance ride to Kaiser Sunset, my spirit was already uplifted and I physically felt a little better.

The ordeal went on from Monday evening through Wednesday afternoon with blood work, EKGs, CT scan; two catheters attached where they could take blood and administer medication; long needles doing their periodic intrusion to prevent blood clot; three doctors doing the rounds and updating me on what they were doing and what was happening to me.  Two hardworking nurses were on my beck and call; helping me walk four steps from my bed to the restroom;  monitoring the screens with all those stats unique to my body; to making sure my medication was taken and their desired effect reflected in diagrams and numbers.  I have never been hospitalized before, so I didn’t have an idea how stuff are done in a hospital setting, when you’re the reason for the hospital setting.  What I know, for sure, is that they – doctors and nurses – have a tough job in making sure that nothing goes haywire and that everything goes back to normal or whatever is considered normal for that patient.  A tall order when dealing with life and its abnormal normalcy and normal abnormalities!!  I just couldn’t wait to get home, have a normal shower again and get off the hook, literally, from all the wires and the screens and the constant, hourly checks on my state of existence.

The Revelation:

What I came out of, as one of the nurses rolled me to the elevators last Wednesday, other than where my health stands in the natural, is the revelation knowledge of those scriptures: they live in my mind, but now they have to live in my heart; I speak them then, now I have to speak them with faith in its supernatural reality.

Cast your burden upon the Lord is just as easy to say as lean in to your resistance; though not as sweet like a stroll in the park as making it alive and real on a daily basis.  I may have memorized scriptures, but I now have to really let the Word permeate the recesses of my heart – where, in the natural, has an electrical malfunction that caused it to beat rapidly and abnormally –  to where, in the supernatural, will create a glorious manifestation of “casting your burden” and strengthening that kind of faith that moves mountains.

Matthew 17:20 He replied, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” NIV

I am to speak the Word, hear it, let it live in my heart.  My heart that, by His stripes, was already healed.

Written by roselindagonzales

August 3, 2016 at 10:18 pm

Posted in Uncategorized