tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32077596085557118362024-03-21T10:51:03.882-05:00Mueller FamilyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-73352334049731328772014-03-07T11:28:00.000-06:002014-03-07T11:28:25.528-06:00Stitch Fix: on jeans. and sweatpants. and motherhood.<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D-J1pEm_oMU/UxjwNhJ4KlI/AAAAAAAAA9o/yY-9WnI_kxY/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D-J1pEm_oMU/UxjwNhJ4KlI/AAAAAAAAA9o/yY-9WnI_kxY/s1600/image.jpg" height="478" width="640" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">Less about Souls today, and more about Life's-Nitty-Gritty.</span></u><br />
<br />
Although, they are soooo very connected. Aren't they?<br />
<br />
I am battling a chest cold today,<br />
seems my husband likes to share.<br />
Which kinda makes me smile...<br />
<br />
Ahem, anyway.<br />
<br /></div>
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So, when I became a mommy...</div>
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my time for "me" became less.<br />
To the point where I didn't even notice. Partly pure glee.</div>
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And every errand is blessed by the pitter-patter of little feet.</div>
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Or, like last night at the tile store,</div>
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blessed by an acrobatic-like-bull-in-a-china-shop.</div>
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Magnificent.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So one day, when I saw a friend post on Facebook about this little</div>
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web-based business called "Stitch Fix,"</div>
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I started to wonder...</div>
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You mean.... someone.... would shop clothing racks <i>for me,</i></div>
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and really not charge me to do so?<br />
And ship what they selected FOR FREE?<br />
And I wouldn't have to spend time online--</div>
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searching all over for "my style" out there in the great beyond?</div>
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<i>(I gave up clothing shopping years ago,</i></div>
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<i>you know--when my little bulls came along).</i></div>
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You mean to tell me, therefore,<br />
no more looking for free shipping sites... and coupon codes...</div>
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wondering what will fit (those models are all so-opposite-of-me).</div>
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No more getting items only to find that I got all the WRONG sizes...</div>
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and then having to somehow drag myself to the store to return all those items<br />
that I didn't want to go to the store for in the first place...</div>
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to save on the blasted return shipping charges of course.<br />
Sigh.</div>
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Ok. --I'm fibbing.<br />
Want to know a secret?</div>
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I send my husband to the stores with my giant box of returns.<br />
Because he is sweet, and he doesn't mind it.</div>
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(One time the clerk scolded him and told him he should make his wife shop</div>
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in-store, because online returns really mess up their inventory.)</div>
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Yes, sign me up to stand in line with a big box of returns while holding</div>
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a wiggly toddler and listening to my son ask why</div>
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none of the models are really wearing pants,</div>
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while you try to match up sku's </div>
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and I wonder if</div>
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maybe</div>
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there</div>
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is</div>
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a</div>
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better </div>
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way?</div>
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<br /></div>
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It's no wonder that most moms survive in sweatpants.<br />
And that a good day is wearing a clean pair.<br />
<br />
WHOEVER INVENTED STITCH FIX?<br />
I WANT TO HUG YOU!</div>
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<br />
I'm not saying I'm giving up sweats.<br />
But I will tell you--when my Stitch Fix box arrived,<br />
I ran out there wearing those sweats and a smile to grab it.<br />
And then I locked myself in my bedroom for some alone time<br />
while the kids watched cartoons.<br />
<br />
LET ME TELL YOU A LITTLE ABOUT STITCH FIX.<br />
AND HOW RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE IT WAS.<br />
<br />
If you are anything like me,<br />
you think it sounds neat but you wish you could walk alongside<br />
someone to see how the process works.<br />
And what kind of financial stuff this involves.<br />
Because you've been burned before<br />
by things that just sound too good to be even-close-to-real.<br />
<br />
COME ALONG, FRIEND!<br />
HERE WAS MY JOURNEY WITH MY ~FIRST~ FIX.<br />
(I am writing this, in fact, in my favorite pair of sweats...)<br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. You set up an account online.</span></div>
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<i>Answer questions about your style preferences,</i></div>
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<i>including what colors you like/dislike. Tell them</i></div>
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<i>your honest measurements. Answer what parts of your</i></div>
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<i>body you like and what you prefer to hide. They will</i></div>
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<i>ask you what price point you prefer to stay below for each piece.</i></div>
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<i>You can even link them up to a pinterest board. They</i></div>
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<i>truly desire to get to know your style--not to change you.</i><br />
<br />
<i>**YOU DO NOT NEED TO SIGN UP FOR MONTHLY FIXES**</i><br />
<i>YOU TELL THEM WHEN -YOU- WANT A FIX.</i><br />
<i>This is not a sign-up-or-else program.</i><br />
<i>You call the shots.</i><br />
<i>They won't send you a THING unless you tell them to!</i><br />
<i>And, for special occasions you can hop online and tell them...</i><br />
<i>"I need a fix for this wedding that I'm going to...on this date."</i><br />
<i>And they will send you a specific fix.</i><br />
<i>Or you can tell them: "In this box I really need some starter pieces</i><br />
<i>to rebuild my wardrobe beyond sweat pants--</i><br />
<i>but please know my days consist of children and basketball games."</i><br />
<i>(this was similar to what I told them...)</i><br />
<i>But bottom line--they will never send you a fix unless you tell them to!</i><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Pick a date for your "<i>fix."</i></span></div>
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<i>They charge $20 when your fix is packaged </i></div>
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<i>and shipped to you.</i><br />
<i>(This happens about a week or so before your box arrives)</i></div>
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<i><b>However--this $20 is credited toward anything</b></i></div>
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<i><b>you choose to keep from your fix.</b></i></div>
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hS83ZKEYQNw/UxlXsuEAWXI/AAAAAAAAA-o/J0Fm-R7-Qbc/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hS83ZKEYQNw/UxlXsuEAWXI/AAAAAAAAA-o/J0Fm-R7-Qbc/s1600/image.jpg" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the pair of jeans they sent me, by Kensie. They knew my body type and sent a pair of jeans<br />
geared for curves. I told them to send me somthing that I could wear with my favorite boots.<br />
They did NOT send me skinny jeans, bless them.<br />
This pair of jeans, which I never knew existed--even prevent "plumber butt."<br />
Which you would only understand...well...if you are curvy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h5uVriU7nxg/UxlX8Oy787I/AAAAAAAAA_E/LfVPT0hn-RI/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h5uVriU7nxg/UxlX8Oy787I/AAAAAAAAA_E/LfVPT0hn-RI/s1600/image.jpg" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "cheat sheets" that come with each piece they send you, showing you what items will go well with each.<br />
So--they sent me (5) pieces, so I have (5) cards--one for each piece.<br />
My box did not include EVERY item you see here. Just the main piece from each card that is listed at the top.<br />
I clarify this because I don't want you to think they send 35 pieces in each box--leaving you overwhelmed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">3. BOX DAY!</span><br />
--oh wow, this is the best day ever--<br />
--and I am totally setting myself up for a box every month--</div>
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<i><br /></i>
<i>Try on your items.</i><br />
<i>They give you a cheat-sheet showing you </i><br />
<i>what will work well with each piece, </i><br />
<i>how to dress it up, or down.</i><br />
<i>And a clear list of each item's price.</i><br />
<i>{{and yes--they ship that fun little box to you for FREE}}</i></div>
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<i>Whatever you don't want?</i></div>
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<i>Put it into the prepaid, pre-labeled plastic bag</i></div>
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<i>that comes right inside your box,</i></div>
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<i>and put it into the mailbox.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
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<b>No cost for you to return <i>anything.</i></b></div>
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<i>N<b>o lables to print.</b></i></div>
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<b><i>No packaging tape to hunt down.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>It is a self-sealing envelope all-ready-ready.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Blew my mind.</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Return it within 3 days,</div>
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and meanwhile hop online to "check out."<br />
Tell them which items you are keeping, if any.</div>
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They charge your card only for those items.</div>
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Deducting the $20 you already paid.<br />
<br /></div>
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<i>If you keep it all?</i></div>
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<i>You get the entire box for 25% off.</i><br />
<i>That, my friend, was tempting.</i><br />
<i>And yes--I checked up on them.</i><br />
<i>Their prices are very realistic.</i><br />
<i>The jeans they sent me sell online for the very same price.</i><br />
<i>And many of the items actually were LESS expensive</i><br />
<i>through Stitch Fix by quite a bit.</i><br />
<i>Not to mention that 25% discount temptation!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
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If you have time, tell them briefly online why you are sending</div>
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back the rest--so that they can make your NEXT fix</div>
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even MORE tailored to your style.</div>
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The fixes, in theory, should get better and better!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">My box as an example:</span></u><br />
They shipped me: 3 blouses, a skirt, and a pair of jeans.</div>
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I kept the adorable skirt, $58.</div>
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It cost me zero to have this box shipped,</div>
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and I already had paid $20 when the box was packaged.</div>
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So, today I put 4 items in the prepaid bag and went online to<br />
tell them I was keeping the skirt. I was charged $38.</div>
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Had I kept everything in my box,</div>
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I could have gotten 25% off which would have</div>
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been an investment of $285,</div>
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for 3 shirts, a skirt, and a pair of jeans that retail at $400 total.<br />
(Yes, truly I looked up each item--it retails for that much, Stitch Fix was not inflating anything.)<br />
Maybe not the same as shopping the clearance rack at Old Navy<br />
or American Eagle--but the value of having items<br />
that were hand selected for me and shipped for free?<br />
I consider it quite worth every penny.<br />
And trust me, I'm a momma on a budget.<br />
But the one piece I kept will fit nicely with whatever<br />
clearance rack items I find during those once-a-year times I find myself without kids,<br />
shopping with my sisters or a friend.<br />
<br /></div>
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I am set up for them not to send me any items over $100.<br />
That is the lowest price tier they offer-- the $50-100 tier.</div>
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And I was impressed at the wide range of prices they sent.</div>
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Yes, one shirt was close to $100--and I may have kept it had it been less $$.<br />
And when I returned it, I clicked a little button that told-them-so.<br />
So that next time, they will be less apt to send me blouses that would blow my budget.<br />
<br />
What about sizing, did the items fit??<br />
I know your mind.<br />
I was soooo worried about this, considering my history of online shopping<br />
and how hard it is to fit things to my body.<br />
You see, Stitch Fix has your measurements.<br />
They know what works on you.<br />
So--in my box even the JEANS fit.<br />
Two of the shirts were a bit snug in the arms, but not terribly.<br />
Now I know to go to my profile and adjust my size for shirts,<br />
and my designer, Joannie, also knows b/c I filled out the online survey<br />
telling her which shirts fit too snug.<br />
She does this as her career, after all.<br />
<br />
The entire process of going online and plopping my package out for the mailman<br />
took 5 minutes.<br />
I won't tell you how long it took me to try on the 5 items<br />
and dance around like a princess in front of my mirror.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Momma?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>You are worth it.</b><br />
<b>Your time is precious and scarce, I know.</b><br />
<b>When you open that closet and wonder which of two outfits to wear,</b><br />
<b>and you have a little money saved up...</b><br />
<b>that you didn't use on coffee drinks...</b><br />
<b>remember the blog you read about Stitch Fix.</b><br />
<b>And that Stitch Fix is the real deal.</b><br />
<b>A real blessing to some of us mommas.</b><br />
<b>And send yourself a gift!</b><br />
<b>And then tell me all about it :)</b><br />
<b>How this perfect skirt ended up on your doorstep</b><br />
<b>while you were busy doing life.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b> Stitch Fix has a referral program, which means that if you decide one day to<br />
purchase a fix, and you tell them that I sent you using my code, they gift me with a credit.<br />
This had no bearing on my review of their services,<br />
I blogged this simply to share this wonderful little service with friends.<br />
Part of me didn't even want to include this credit link--<br />
because I don't want you to be skeptical that this swayed my writing.<br />
If this service blesses you, I want you to try it even if you forget all about me.<br />
Because I blog simply to encourage your heart.<br />
And sometimes to make your Nitty-Gritty a little less...gritty.<br />
Had my experience been terrible instead of skippingly-thrilling,<br />
you would never have read this.<br />
Because I wouldn't have taken time out of my day to write it.<br />
I could, after all, be quilting!<br />
Quilts don't mind coughing and sore throats.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://www.stitchfix.com/referral/3454664">https://www.stitchfix.com/referral/3454664</a></b><br />
{{Thank you for using my referral, bless you!<br />
And enjoy your adventure!}}</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-53306056609802350142013-10-03T22:13:00.000-05:002013-10-03T22:13:11.389-05:00Confetti.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHIvkfiGN16ThTQgP-E7jG4XedtBZG1E-O6PqbTQd0P5m1S1sWJrAgZRnQ1BejhAT1vj-72HERlhdURNr3g5jSiwotjlFN3tyhsDC-zkq9jCsGAayTwezX4OZtpJKBsMx9DRdUyWIFpPk/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHIvkfiGN16ThTQgP-E7jG4XedtBZG1E-O6PqbTQd0P5m1S1sWJrAgZRnQ1BejhAT1vj-72HERlhdURNr3g5jSiwotjlFN3tyhsDC-zkq9jCsGAayTwezX4OZtpJKBsMx9DRdUyWIFpPk/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+019.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXWl8rDDynbbD8AiwrR14VdrkHZ8okTYd07zvotI32Me4bTDaApqS01XqAFiyBZ1EQ1cO-oAcRodUTpgGlphNK5g9IKi7awJh86BgqmTcPAbpqVyU7dFI8F9OHyDmPt31uOswM2sNAcB-/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXWl8rDDynbbD8AiwrR14VdrkHZ8okTYd07zvotI32Me4bTDaApqS01XqAFiyBZ1EQ1cO-oAcRodUTpgGlphNK5g9IKi7awJh86BgqmTcPAbpqVyU7dFI8F9OHyDmPt31uOswM2sNAcB-/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+014.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjfHNGiWOjqJrxnQqFIyREusxw3bxc-dIE5R3e5xk4xk3vh9TA-p34pC85rc4ha4SkQK3qko20N9kLy229er9NCk-E3b6Wqj60td0CcxyuGP-VJWyhkL7iFYY3wgR_lt0kc_DvAUvf5GM/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjfHNGiWOjqJrxnQqFIyREusxw3bxc-dIE5R3e5xk4xk3vh9TA-p34pC85rc4ha4SkQK3qko20N9kLy229er9NCk-E3b6Wqj60td0CcxyuGP-VJWyhkL7iFYY3wgR_lt0kc_DvAUvf5GM/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+015.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u>Confetti ~ In the Inbetween Places.</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The kids tucked into car seats, warm October day with sun beaming.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Where is that rain the weather radio hinted of?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is the inbetween place.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Summer still holding on, gripping tightly,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it's last performance call, splendid brilliance and</div>
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almost-impossible gifted days of last warmth.</div>
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Autumn hot on its tail,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
slowly orchestrating splendor.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You can feel the hint of chill in the breeze.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The inbetween place.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Out of the driveway,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the confetti rolls.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Breathtaking whirlwinds of tiny yellow leaves</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
swirling and enveloping the car.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We all gasp.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beam.</div>
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Confetti like a wild Creator party,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
heralding the coming of the new.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The new season.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
God celebrates the death of summer warmth--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
with confetti.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My kindergarten-wise-one asks,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Mom, do the trees not need their leaves anymore?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's exactly it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is beauty in the discarding and the death of the old.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is rest.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The trees know: this is the season of rest.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Get rid of the unnecessary--and let beauty be found in the falling sound.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What clues them in that this is the resting time?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The air?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The inbetween place.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The space between what was, and what will be.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Soft and subtle.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is their cue.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
God is at work, in the inbetween place.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When one season is closing, and the next is not yet revealed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I find myself often unsettled in the inbetween place.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wondering where I am,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Where God is.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yet He is conducting the entire show.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And He speaks: Child, REST.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Child, TRUST.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My day began with beautiful confetti,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I basked in the smiles of precious little ones,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
watched the tiny ripples on my "lake,"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and lost my breath when a crane</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
swooped over the water.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gifts.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Joy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yet why I end some random days with</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
anxiety and it's-ugly-tangled-twin depression on my heels again?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It mystifies me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I put up fists to fight wild hard.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I feel defeated--thinking I had already busted-the-jaw</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of this wild creeping beast.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And God declares: REST.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest in My goodness,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest in my working all things for your good.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest in My power over this.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Over every season of your life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest, knowing that:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I bring BEAUTY out of dying places.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Splendor untold,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
confetti parties,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
ushering in the new.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And you, fragile one?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are in the driver's seat,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
front row seat to watching my magnificence</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
erupt your tired places</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
into absolute </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
--unmatched--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
beauty.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yes, I dance in the confetti</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of the inbetween place.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My soul learning how-to-rest.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest being spelled:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
T.R.U.S.T</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"And the children of men <i>take refuge</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in the shadow of Your wings.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They drink their fill of the abundance of </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your house;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And you give them to drink of the river</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>of Your delights."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
{ Psalm 36: 7-8 }</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20AEpdh8TlU3XO0oZOpgx-sHB7ZrpUlDQ6T5uuK2WvqAOy8iltTuLWeFTsL6pehKeLDYfTr1x3YzYrFgpuzTuABR3VaVp65930kOnNYjzj0iZPtGQ0JN7nEfOEYBGiHDdHhjyUKXfKAhp/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20AEpdh8TlU3XO0oZOpgx-sHB7ZrpUlDQ6T5uuK2WvqAOy8iltTuLWeFTsL6pehKeLDYfTr1x3YzYrFgpuzTuABR3VaVp65930kOnNYjzj0iZPtGQ0JN7nEfOEYBGiHDdHhjyUKXfKAhp/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+126.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Drink your fill of His goodness.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Claim His promises over you.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>He is faithful.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-47983048268436787192013-09-09T15:09:00.000-05:002013-09-09T15:09:24.684-05:00Front row seat.<div align="center">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqt-l2qghDdKThzCgGXJM5q-w6n6UJeXtn9nA57qwN7_zc2WP90aW0Nf9u0tWdIV9CpWyCorQJSF-HPSqrMxYboun01rISZiMIoKYQ9q_Ru4bDQUyRcr2GlWsxVQk6VkU2APV7pGGlVhO/s1600/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqt-l2qghDdKThzCgGXJM5q-w6n6UJeXtn9nA57qwN7_zc2WP90aW0Nf9u0tWdIV9CpWyCorQJSF-HPSqrMxYboun01rISZiMIoKYQ9q_Ru4bDQUyRcr2GlWsxVQk6VkU2APV7pGGlVhO/s640/041.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">construction dust caught in a spiderweb</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTigW6s4A03IVr_ilfmPQnp-1AVbK1O2djHA9glhQfl9J3c5dZVstpomgN0AM8Wqvh95wZRoHi0Wq89lIsHgihPX7Z7iWTdCkfNMD6pdMfKoO_rJp_y29m4Sjk8kdasBN0dCC6EV5ypE8m/s1600/fall+adventure+2012+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTigW6s4A03IVr_ilfmPQnp-1AVbK1O2djHA9glhQfl9J3c5dZVstpomgN0AM8Wqvh95wZRoHi0Wq89lIsHgihPX7Z7iWTdCkfNMD6pdMfKoO_rJp_y29m4Sjk8kdasBN0dCC6EV5ypE8m/s640/fall+adventure+2012+009.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fall 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_812054905"></span><br /></div>
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</div>
<div align="center">
<u>Beauty from Destruction.</u><br />
<u></u><br />
The dishes done, <br />
I set down my dishrag.<br />
Enamored by the view.<br />
My lake-front property view.<br />
<br />
And it washed over me ~<br />
WOW.<br />
This view is a reminder to me,<br />
of God's incredible love for me.<br />
Of his faithfulness.<br />
<br />
When I look at it,<br />
I am reminded:<br />
To not look and be taken under by what I see,<br />
But to trust in Him who is unseen.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
There is NOTHING like God's faithfulness.</div>
<div align="center">
Nothing.</div>
<div align="center">
And often times it is the trembling difficult paths<br />
that teach me the most about God's character.<br />
Hard times?</div>
<div align="center">
They are a front row seat.</div>
<div align="center">
A front row seat to God's faithfulness.</div>
<div align="center">
The best seats in the house.<br />
<br />
I am learning that there is only one healthy fear.<br />
<br />
"Fear the Lord, you His Saints, <br />
for those who fear Him<em> lack nothing</em>.<br />
The lions may grow weak and hungry,<br />
but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing."<br />
<br />
We crazily, blindly bought this house over ten years ago.<br />
This blessed little haven.<br />
How naïve we were.<br />
Blessedly naïve.<br />
The roof was ancient.<br />
God said -- I've got that covered.<br />
Hail storm.<br />
New roof for the cost of a slight deductible. An amazing bargain.<br />
Oh. And a backyard that flooded. Deep.<br />
God stepped in,<br />
And before a decade of living here had passed?<br />
The backyard was dug up, drains were installed.<br />
The city paid half, the neighborhood split up the remainder.<br />
What would have cost us thousands, cost us one thousand.<br />
Which we just happened to have leftover in our tax return that year.<br />
<br />
We bought this house, in an instant, for ONE REASON:<br />
<i>for the forest across the street.</i><br />
<i>THE FOREST. THE FOREST. THE FOREST.</i><br />
It felt like a little cabin nestled at the edge of the city.<br />
Oh-how-I-loved-that-forest.<br />
I would seriously stop while putting down the garage door,<br />
stop and just stare as the sun settled behind the trees.<br />
Those beautiful, wild trees.<br />
<br />
I would joke, that when we outgrew this house we would <br />
simply add on a second story.<br />
A second story with large windows facing those beloved trees.<br />
A treehouse.<br />
That's where I would sink deep into a bubbly tub in my very-own-bathroom,<br />
up in the canopy of leaves.<br />
Dreams...<br />
<br />
And then last fall, that forest <i>was ripped up</i>.<br />
To install a <i>retention pond</i>.<br />
The city decided to trade trees for retained swampy water.<br />
It decided to rip up beauty?<br />
My immediate reaction to the city's plans were anger,<br />
anger, and more anger.<br />
Rage.<br />
And then -- helplessness.<br />
As I watched the bulldozers and machines make<br />
mulch out of beautiful trees, within the span of a single day.<br />
It wrecked me.<br />
It wrenched my insides.<br />
<br />
And I told my husband -- this was the end of our stay here<br />
at this house.<br />
My anchor was gone,<br />
and I wanted to move.<br />
<br />
The day that the machine came to rip out trees?<br />
I cried.<br />
Just sat there, watching, and grieving.<br />
<br />
Hopelessness has no place in the life of a believer.<br />
Fear has no place.<br />
My husband came home, handed me a blessed band-aid (mocha flavored)<br />
and said, <i>"God has a plan. You'll see."</i><br />
<br />
And from that moment,<br />
I determined to trust.<br />
To set aside my disappointment and just: rest in the character of God.<br />
<br />
There is a place in our neighborhood ~ my favorite place ~<br />
a beautiful lake, just blocks away.<br />
I often walk there just to sit and think. Or to hear the cranes sing.<br />
God and I have spent some deep moments there.<br />
It is where I fled to weep over my grandmother's death.<br />
And I would think to myself, as I passed those expensive homes --<br />
how GLORIOUS would it be to see this lake everyday as the view from <i>within</i>?<br />
<br />
And as I set down my dishrag today,<br />
it washed over me:<br />
my VIEW.<br />
My front window view.<br />
God brought that lake right to me.<br />
<br />
For free.<br />
<br />
<i>Ponder this: He intimately knows the desires of our hearts.</i><br />
<br />
This retention pond is somewhat, strikingly beautiful.<br />
It connects directly with my favorite little lake.<br />
Like an extension of my favorite lake, pulled and molded right to my door.<br />
It is lined with trees,<br />
still-the-trees.<br />
Less trees? Yes.<br />
But somehow, even more beautiful as they line the shores of my favorite lake-view.<br />
<br />
Yes, this morning I even saw a crane wading in the water.<br />
I have enjoyed a summer's worth of frog songs.<br />
I've watched geese families follow each other in unison along the marsh grass,<br />
and have delighted in the massive amount of dragonflies that ponds bring.<br />
<br />
I set down my dishrag and was overcome with truth.<br />
With the truth of God's character.<br />
Oh-how-He-loves-us.<br />
Why do I ever doubt that love?<br />
With the wave of his Hand,<br />
He brought a gift to my front door.<br />
And asked simply that I <em>trust</em>.<br />
Always, trust.<br />
Trust even in the midst of destruction everywhere.<br />
In the midst of noise, dreams fading, anchors being moved.<br />
Trust that He sees, and that He moves on behalf of his beloved.<br />
Do not forget, little forgetful one.<br />
Do not forget WHO I AM.<br />
<br />
And that I LOVE YOU.<br />
<br />
Is it possible to weep over a dishrag?</div>
<div align="center">
In my fear, and my anger, I almost sold this place.<br />
Almost cashed out before the blessing.<br />
I spent way to much time worrying, and way too little time praying.<br />
And I do that a lot. With much bigger things.<br />
<br />
Control is a response to fear.<br />
Control?<br />
Is an illusion.<br />
We control...well, we control <em>really nothing.</em><br />
Worry sets in as we try to control,<br />
and worry steals our joy.<br />
Worry is a thief that promises to help us,<br />
only it robs us blind the moment we let it in.<br />
<br />
Fear the Lord.<br />
<br />
He holds the lakes, and the trees, all of it.<br />
He holds our fragile bodies, and our dreams and our children.<br />
Even in death, we win.<br />
<br />
Anchor yourself to the One in control.<br />
Trust.<br />
Blindly, like a child.<br />
Take joy and dance, instead of control and fear.<br />
<br />
Oh-how-He-loves-us.<br />
<br />
This metaphor,<br />
of beauty coming from destruction,<br />
of swamp water where beauty once flourished,<br />
parallels much deeper seasons in my life.<br />
And if you've lived any amount of time here on this broken planet,<br />
you-get-it.<br />
Life throws curve balls, fells our trees, and rips at us.<br />
Seasons come ~ where it is hard to see hope among the impending.<br />
And when all that is left in the depths of your soul,<br />
is Who lives there.<br />
And you cling.<br />
Cling through the waves and destruction.<br />
Waiting for the beauty that <i>you know will come</i>.<br />
Because God's character? <i> Is only good</i>.<br />
And He <i>can be trusted.</i><br />
I have tasted His goodness in the land of the living.<br />
And I remember this sweetness when the bitter waves roll.<br />
<br />
<i>"Those who fear Him, lack no good thing."</i><br />
Fear where it belongs = a content heart.<br />
<br />
<i>Go in great peace!</i><br />
<i>And remember to give grace always,</i><br />
<i>as <strike>almost</strike> everyone you meet has broken places</i><br />
<i>and battles things you would not understand.</i><br />
<i>Love one another.</i><br />
~ Love God highest. ~</div>
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</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-16976207964179047962013-03-27T15:06:00.000-05:002013-03-27T15:06:26.666-05:00Easter ~ Hearts and TREASURE.<div align="center">
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"></span></u><br />
<u><span style="font-size: large;">The Rock That Easter Builds.</span></u></div>
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</div>
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Last year, Easter marked a time period for me right before a storm.</div>
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I believe that God holds those He loves,</div>
<div align="center">
preparing them for the coming waves.<br />
{If we are breathing, the storms will come, amen?}</div>
<div align="center">
It was during this time,</div>
<div align="center">
this calm...<br />
that my heart yearned to elevate Easter to its proper place in our home.<br />
To make it an event,<br />
something really special ~ marked.<br />
And in my muddled mind, was born the idea of pointing my children<br />
toward the ultimate treasure:<br />
Jesus.<br />
Somehow the teaching of my children always teaches me <em>most</em>.</div>
<div align="center">
<br />
This is how I yearn to spend my days.<br />
Pointing toward the Jesus treasure.<br />
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
My children are nuts about all things pirate, and all things treasure,</div>
<div align="center">
and adventure calls to them from every corner and every bedsheet.</div>
<div align="center">
So I am purposing to speak their language.</div>
<div align="center">
There is a verse that has always sung to me the song of adventure:</div>
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">"The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">hidden in a field.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">When a man found it, he hid it again,</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">and then in his JOY went and sold ALL HE HAD</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">and BOUGHT that field."</span></strong><br />
~words of Jesus, from Mathew 13:44<br />
<br />
In years past we filled their Easter baskets with yummy sugar,<br />
and then....<br />
we made them put that sugar in the pantry...<br />
having a little here and there ~ and most of it being forgotten,<br />
and uneaten, and tossed out.<br />
Or eaten by the wrong mouth...{sigh}<br />
<br />
Last year, we started a new tradition.<br />
Easter baskets, yes.<br />
But with just a few pieces of candy that they can enjoy right away.<br />
And then....<br />
A mysterious note?<br />
<br />
A mysterious note, that turns out...is a clue....</div>
<div align="center">
inviting them to partake in an Easter morning:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>~ TREASURE HUNT! ~</u></span></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
That FIRST clue will lead them to their SECOND CLUE,</div>
<div align="center">
and so forth....</div>
<div align="center">
and clue number THREE?</div>
<div align="center">
Will lead them to their treasure.</div>
<div align="center">
One clue for each of the days that Jesus lay hidden in a grave.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
They will find their treasure wrapped in paper, with hearts taped on it.<br />
One heart per child, with their name scribbled across it.<br />
And the paper will have the following verse:<br />
<br />
<em>"Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses</em><br />
<em>for yourselves that will not wear out,</em><br />
<em>a TREASURE IN HEAVEN that will not be exhausted,</em><br />
<em>where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.</em><br />
<em><strong>For where your TREASURE is, there your HEART will be also.</strong></em><br />
~ words of Jesus from Luke 12:33-34<br />
<br />
As I type~ in our dining room, taped upon the door,<br />
is a colorful cross.<br />
Colored yesterday by little hands grasping crayons in delight.<br />
Wondering what mommy had up her sleeve this time?<br />
All week long we live in this house, in the shadow of that cross.<br />
When we falter, when we fail,<br />
we pick a little piece of scrap paper out of a basket in the center of the table.<br />
We pray, reflect, and blot down our misses,<br />
and put them right up on the cross.<br />
I was the very first one to nail a transgression up there yesterday:<br />
"selfishness."<br />
And when my husband arrived home late and I missed a few minutes<br />
of my webinar, and was snippy? I volunteered up "impatience."<br />
Yes, this cross will be full up around here over the span of a week.<br />
On Easter morning the children will have the chance to <br />
remove: every.single.sin.<br />
To take them down, and toss them in the garbage.<br />
Washed clean.<br />
And they will have the chance to put their heart,<br />
the one stuck to their treasure:<br />
<em>right at the foot of the cross</em>.<br />
To remember where our real treasure lies.<br />
Taping our fragile hearts right <em>there</em>.</div>
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Then we will rip open the paper, and delight in our treasure!<br />
We will talk about how Jesus is our FOREVER treasure!</div>
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And how His followers found Him alive on that third day!<br />
HALLELUJAH!</div>
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And how He was seen alive by over 500 people, after his death upon that cross.<br />
And how we carry the Holy Spirit inside us, ALIVE, everywhere, <em>all the time</em>,<br />
if our hearts belong to Jesus.<br />
<br />
Death, where is your sting?<br />
Hell, where is your victory?<br />
<br />
These are the hard-core-truths<br />
that can carry us through any storm.<br />
Sing!<br />
Sing it LOUD!<br />
This will be the song infiltrating every room of our home on Easter Sunday...<br />
The miracle, the love, the thrill of the Easter story ~ the rock to build our days upon.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-5454931873860929372013-03-19T14:44:00.000-05:002013-03-19T14:44:49.573-05:00Simple.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Simple.</u></span></div>
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I am a simple girl.</div>
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All twisted up in a life of swirling options.</div>
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I get sidetracked easily.</div>
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Like a child, chasing after butterflies.</div>
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Have you noticed</div>
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how distracted the world can be?</div>
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It is a very easy age to be entertained to death.</div>
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It wraps it's silent hands around the most precious, most scarce of jewels:</div>
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our time.</div>
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And it steals our focus.</div>
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Steals our mental clarity.</div>
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I was standing in my basement, gathering laundry,</div>
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when like a flood it washed over me.<br />
Knocked me clean-over inside.</div>
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I looked there, at my four year old son,</div>
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giggling and jumping and playing in the playroom</div>
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just a few feet away.<br />
His laugh, infectious.<br />
His joy, exuding.</div>
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And I just stood there, basking in his childhood.</div>
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In his temporary, whisping status.</div>
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He is not a permanent fixture in my home.</div>
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He is here, just passing through.</div>
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<em>Just passing through</em>.</div>
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What distracts me from being all-in?</div>
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What takes my time away from getting on my knees,</div>
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drinking in the joy, giggling right along with him?</div>
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Whatever it is that distracts me, better be worthy.</div>
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Extremely worthy.<br />
<br />
There is the necessary.<br />
The tyranny of the urgent.<br />
The laundry to graciously consume piece by precious piece.<br />
The dishes to prepare. To present. To clean.<br />
The minds to fill.<br />
The necessary ~ yes.<br />
The necessary in and of itself can take the entirety of a day.<br />
Maybe there is even more necessary than there are hours.<br />
It is a matter of sleuthing out priority.<br />
Those precious moments of time,<br />
when the necessary-of-the-necessary are covered...<br />
are fleeting, temporary treasures.<br />
Some to spend on my soul.<br />
And some to pour out into the banks of memory,<br />
which will be all that remains<br />
once childhood vanishes.<br />
All that will last ~<br />
is what I've poured into those banks of memory.<br />
<em>I pray it be a river of life.</em></div>
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I am on a mission to simplify.</div>
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Cutting the clutter of all the time wasters.</div>
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Of all the wispy, cute little butterflies that flitter across my mind...</div>
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and send me chasing.</div>
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Distracting me from the worthy.</div>
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Distracting me from the main event.</div>
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I'm on a mission to elevate the <em>important</em> in my life.</div>
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It is easy to think that everything is worthy.</div>
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So to help myself gain clarity, all the unnecessary must go, for awhile.</div>
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</div>
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It's just a little experiment of mine.</div>
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A journey.</div>
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I don't want anything to hold power over me, </div>
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and when the thought of deleting facebook made me cringe,</div>
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I knew it had to go.</div>
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Simple.</div>
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<br />
I was walking a street in Milwaukee this weekend.<br />
Turning the corner of Oakland and Bellview.<br />
Walking briskly, frozen snow crunching beneath boots.<br />
Sun spilling and breaking late in the day between naked trees.<br />
Trying to escape the frigid cold.<br />
When I heard it.<br />
A small song.<br />
It hit my soul, woke me up ~ and I stopped.<br />
Right there.<br />
The sound of spring?<br />
My eyes had to search, my ears had to be tuned carefully...<br />
to find it.<br />
And there, yes there--up about twenty feet perched on a branch,<br />
was a Robin.<br />
Orangey-red chest swelled.<br />
Singing her little heart into spring.<br />
And my heart sang with her.<br />
She can sense it.<br />
Despite the cold, the bitter, the weariness of a long winter...<br />
the snow so bright it blinds and makes eyes quench shut...<br />
there are signs of spring everywhere.<br />
<br />
Walking through life can be head-down, fast.<br />
Get it done.<br />
Get through.<br />
Focus on the next task.<br />
But what joy we miss, when we are distracted and <br />
flitting from one thing to another? </div>
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There is incredible joy in the simple, <br />
in the simple journey.<br />
In waking up to it.</div>
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I want to be alert for the gentle voice of God.<br />
The opposite of alert? Distracted. Asleep.</div>
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And one of the enemy's greatest strongholds upon our generation?<br />
Distraction.<br />
Putting the soul into a trance-like-sleep.<br />
<br />
I know what sleeps me, what reaches out and steals my clarity.<br />
So I purge, and reorder, and find quiet.<br />
Until the cold grip of distraction loses its hold.</div>
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I want to leave you with this:</div>
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one of my favorite passages in the Bible.</div>
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So. Good.</div>
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May you be listening for Him, my friend.</div>
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********************************************</div>
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Elijah, a prophet,</div>
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is weary.</div>
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He is running for his life.</div>
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He is the last one standing for the Lord,</div>
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He is alone.</div>
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He is full of dread, fear, and defeat.</div>
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Overwhelmed, you could say.</div>
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And he wants to give up.</div>
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And the Lord feeds Him.</div>
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Elijah finds strength, and wanders on.</div>
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Wanders for 40 days until he reaches a mountain,</div>
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and he spends the night in a cave.</div>
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And God meets him there.</div>
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~Literally~</div>
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In Elijah's exhaustion, and his overwhelm.</div>
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He speaks to Elijah,</div>
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and asks him WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, ELIJAH?</div>
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Elijah replies basically: I am alone, and running for my life.<br />
Alone. Overwhelmed.</div>
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And what does the Lord bless Elijah with?</div>
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Not treasures, or an army, or instantly taking away his problems--</div>
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God blesses Elijah first with the ONE thing that is beyond compare:</div>
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His very Prescence.</div>
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He tells Elijah...</div>
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"'Go out and stand on the mountain in the prescence of the Lord,</div>
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for the Lord is about to pass by.'</div>
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Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart</div>
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and shattered the rocks before the Lord,</div>
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<em>but the Lord was not in the wind.</em></div>
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After the wind there was an earthquake, </div>
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<em>but the LORD was not in the earthquake</em>. </div>
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<span class="versetext" id="1ki19-12" style="display: inline;">After the earthquake came a fire,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="24"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/1-kings/19.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-24" id="24" title="S Ex 3:2"></a></sup> </span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;"><em>but the LORD was not in the fire</em>. </span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">And after the fire came a GENTLE WHISPER. </span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;"></span><span class="versetext" id="1ki19-13" style="display: inline;">When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="26"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/1-kings/19.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-26" id="26" title="ver 9; Ex 3:6"></a></sup></span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave."</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">~I Kings 19:11-13</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;"></span> </div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">And here is where God</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">tells Elijah where to go, and what to say.</span><br />
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">God, powerful enough to be preceded by grandeur,</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">was...</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;"><em>A gentle whisper.</em></span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">WOW.</span></div>
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<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;"></span> </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-18880196099165122242013-03-03T16:20:00.000-06:002013-03-03T16:20:16.100-06:00Navajo fry bread.<div align="center">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_M4z4IViKt6mR8sm0jMrpUlN021BhkEdIJl-Zaj7ajMwGNO54U4OvcFSoplBpDiu1E_xQW4SeTnQ3r7cXM_0gV4fyJmCllzsKI1CC7OBcTW6uEKaxnudBaWMmZI5tpA-vmH-R-skrrIN/s1600/070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_M4z4IViKt6mR8sm0jMrpUlN021BhkEdIJl-Zaj7ajMwGNO54U4OvcFSoplBpDiu1E_xQW4SeTnQ3r7cXM_0gV4fyJmCllzsKI1CC7OBcTW6uEKaxnudBaWMmZI5tpA-vmH-R-skrrIN/s640/070.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's probably a good thing:</div>
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that I don't know how to "fry" things.</div>
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A testimony to the excellent upbringing I had,</div>
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where: if it didn't come in a box labeled "Helper,"</div>
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It was just never served.</div>
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The second-last week of our </div>
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"Adventures in US History"</div>
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and we are called to pretend to be Navajo's</div>
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and make up this easy, 5 ingredient thing called:</div>
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Navajo Fry Bread.</div>
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The kids get all sticky,</div>
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I get all sticky,</div>
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and I am determined that this is gonna be super awesome.</div>
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And it was.</div>
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The boys asked for triple helpings.</div>
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And then some.</div>
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And then it was time for me to clean up the kitchen.</div>
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Now, please have a little sense of humor and cut me a little slack here.</div>
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It was the end of a REALLY long day, and I went straight</div>
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into "cleanup mode autopilot."</div>
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I grabbed the pan of hot-frying oil,</div>
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one inch deep hot oil...</div>
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and I thought to myself,</div>
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"I really need to get the oil outta here so I can get this cleaned</div>
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and put away for the night."</div>
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</div>
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I then remembered that my grandmother used to pour hot oil</div>
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into a little container.</div>
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So I pulled a half n half container out of the recycling bin,</div>
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opened up the top really wide....</div>
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and prepared to pour.</div>
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</div>
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My tired brain stopped me.</div>
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I cannot pour this oil--it's going to slop all over the sink</div>
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if I just up and pour willy nilly.</div>
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So I instead grab a ceramic bowl.</div>
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A ceramic bowl with a little pour spout.</div>
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Perfect.</div>
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As I am about to pour, something inside me begins to wonder...</div>
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just how HOT do I think this oil still is....</div>
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is it going to damage this ceramic bowl?...</div>
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oh well, what's the worst that can happen....</div>
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And by this time I am already pouring.</div>
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Hot, sizzling oil.</div>
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Into this precious little ceramic bowl.</div>
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And the bowl begins to sizzle and TERRIFYING noises erupt,<br />
LOUD noises--</div>
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and I yell to the boys who are snacking on their fry bread just a few feet away:<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">"RUN!"</span><br />
</div>
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I grab them and grab the high chair and </div>
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I'm pulling kids and pushing them fast into the living room.</div>
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Kids covered in sugary fry bread and pizza hands from supper.</div>
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One of the kids smiles and yells,</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"incoming...!"</span></div>
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They are looking at me, and I am totally clueless.</div>
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They are safe on the other side of the wall and the sizzling continues...</div>
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we are all listening.</div>
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and I am wondering if this--if this is how this little house will end.</div>
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"In flames, after a homeschool <strike>experiment</strike> <em>recipe (!)</em> gone awry."</div>
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I stand there with the boys, waiting.</div>
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I am seriously expecting the bowl to just start exploding all over the place.</div>
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I am picturing Thanksgiving fry turkey fires...</div>
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and wondering if this whole oil/ceramic mixture</div>
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is meant to just KABOOOOOM!</div>
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That MUST be how oil fires start?</div>
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Curiosity is my middle name...</div>
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</div>
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I venture back to the sizzling sink...</div>
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</div>
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I peek to see a bowl with hot oil sizzling in it...</div>
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a bowl that is still in tact.</div>
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and I realize that we are all going to be okay.</div>
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That we are all okay,</div>
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and that the house is still standing.</div>
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And I begin to laugh.</div>
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</div>
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I begin to LAUGH like a little girl ~</div>
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straight from the gut.</div>
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Hysterically.</div>
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Earlier I had posted a story about the mess of the house,</div>
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and how sometimes it's tempting to push all the mess out the back</div>
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door and start a bonfire.</div>
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Who woulda thought I almost started a bonfire in my sink?</div>
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The laughter began to peel out of me,</div>
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and the boys laughed, too.</div>
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We were all just rolling, doubled over in laughter.</div>
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Joy.</div>
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And I find it ironic that after a stressful day full of the mess</div>
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of motherhood,</div>
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that THIS, ~This~ is how my Saviour allowed me to end my day.</div>
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My mind earlier, talking of pushing the mess outside and just roasting</div>
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marshmallows over it,</div>
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and my day ending in crazy rolling laughter that the mess is all safe.</div>
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That I DIDN'T start it on fire!</div>
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My Lord certainly has a sense of humor.</div>
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Me at the brink of explosions,</div>
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realizing that all that noise was simply hot-oil-poured-into-a-room-temp-dish.</div>
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The laughter must have brought my tired mind back to reality.</div>
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Back to scientific explanations.</div>
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And I remembered that grandma used to use a TIN can for her hot oil.</div>
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Funny how that came to mind so easily,</div>
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effortlessly,</div>
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after my mind was allowed some deep, pure laughter.</div>
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Oh, Grandma, if only you could hear this one.</div>
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I can just see this story, handed down to my grandchildren someday:</div>
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<em>"the day that mom told us to take cover during supper."</em></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-41347062773097956962013-02-14T15:30:00.000-06:002013-02-14T15:32:24.393-06:00The Insanity of Motherhood.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">When did ~THIS~ become my normal?</span></u></div>
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It's quiet time, and I am looking for: a REMOTE.</div>
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Not to watch tv. I don't really ever watch tv. {gasp?}</div>
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I am looking under basement couch cushions...finding lost toys...</div>
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I am hunting shelves that are piled with dust.</div>
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I look behind a giant speaker from my husband's-bachelor-days</div>
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and find random clothing tossed by a son, toys hidden there, too.</div>
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An empty, tipped bottle of rubbing alcohol?</div>
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I am on my knees, thinking it HAS to be here, somewhere....</div>
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And it washes over me like a wave: WHEN did THIS become my normal?</div>
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</div>
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I want to find this black remote, which holds the key to my health~</div>
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the one non-negotiable that is MINE: my workout dvd, Insanity.</div>
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The DVD will not work without that remote.</div>
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So the intro of the DVD plays over and over...calling me....</div>
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and I realize that time is ticking, and I'm already behind schedule.</div>
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And this was THE WEEK that I was going to start fresh and</div>
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not miss a SINGLE workout.</div>
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And I begin to feel the tears well up.</div>
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</div>
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I swore, before kids--and even with my first kid--</div>
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that my house would always be organized.</div>
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That our toys would be well-cared-for, and neatly-arranged.</div>
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That I would get down on the floor and play with toys, with my kids.</div>
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That we would, yes, play with all those organized toys, all pieces present.</div>
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A game comes in, pristine, with all its hopefulness of pure family fun</div>
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and giggles and all the promised-happy-memories.</div>
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And then it spends just a few months here,</div>
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and its identity is lost,</div>
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its soul is wandering,</div>
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it is a shell of its former glory.</div>
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Used as a jumping board, or shoved in a tight space,</div>
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or emptied out to play pirate ships.</div>
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</div>
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My ideals were high.</div>
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Now look at me, on my belly searching the deep darkness, the-under-spaces.</div>
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How did every toy in this place end up looking like a battered rummage item?</div>
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I search for the remote, and lift up puzzle boxes with missing pieces and</div>
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BENT edges. Game boxes half closed, half empty. {sigh}</div>
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I rummage through glorious green bins that I bought to "organize" toys,</div>
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that now hold random pieces of games here and there...</div>
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Nothing in one place--all scattered. </div>
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My mind is spinning in chaos.</div>
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I find myself muttering that ol' saying that mother's through time say:</div>
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"Now THIS, THIS is why we can't have NICE things!"</div>
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I lift a couch pillow and find a piece to a game that I don't</div>
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even think the kids PLAY.</div>
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And how did it make it's way here??</div>
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I bet that's an interesting tale...</div>
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</div>
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I think about my morning,</div>
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of the milk that spilled down the unreachable-crack...</div>
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the one between the fridge and the cabinetry.</div>
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How in the early part of a fresh day,</div>
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anything can be spun into joy: </div>
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how I had counted it an Opportunity. </div>
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An excuse to finally: clean behind that old-piece-of-ancient...</div>
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whirring, buzzing, stained refrigerator.</div>
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With it's broken deli drawer.</div>
<div align="center">
Reminding myself it's all about perspective.</div>
<div align="center">
Reminding myself that Laura Ingalls grew up without one of these.</div>
<div align="center">
I thought about how the dog hates me.</div>
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How I take her aging bladder out for "business" twice an hour,</div>
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and she still found a way to leave me presents THREE times today.</div>
<div align="center">
THREE.</div>
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One which a child handed me, one a child stepped in.</div>
<div align="center">
Disinfectant wipes, skin washings, and more laundry.</div>
<div align="center">
Yet I still rescue her from a tragic death of eating plastic and spare my own</div>
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fingertips as I pull a plastic-wrapped piece of forgotten-child-size string cheese</div>
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from between her snarled teeth.</div>
<div align="center">
Trying to remember that one day she will pass,</div>
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and I will be sad to see her go.</div>
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Because she follows me everywhere,</div>
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and keeps me warm on chilly winter nights.</div>
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My footsteps are followed in beat by the click-clack</div>
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of tiny dachsie claws.</div>
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It's the sounds of: home.</div>
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</div>
<div align="center">
School lessons with a runny-nosed, miserable toddler </div>
<div align="center">
who tipped over a tote full of school supplies. Cracking it.</div>
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Again.</div>
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Countertops piled with randomness waiting for my "free time"</div>
<div align="center">
to organize and put things away.</div>
<div align="center">
I just keep piling, waiting.</div>
<div align="center">
Thinking every day: tonight I'll take some time to put</div>
<div align="center">
all of this away. Instead, piles GROW.</div>
<div align="center">
Into pile-trees. It's a bountiful harvest of clutter now.</div>
<div align="center">
The crunch underfoot in a kitchen needing sweeping.</div>
<div align="center">
The jersey that needs washing and the stars</div>
<div align="center">
that yet need be ironed on it.</div>
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Laundry baskets full of clean laundry--</div>
<div align="center">
somehow it cleans, but the folding part and away part is </div>
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akin to impossible.</div>
<div align="center">
I feel like when I do get it folded and put away it </div>
<div align="center">
lasts there for about 12 hours and then</div>
<div align="center">
I turn right around to repeat.</div>
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</div>
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Yes, there are days that I want to just sweep it all into a big heap,</div>
<div align="center">
Right into the backyard.</div>
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And then sit it afire.</div>
<div align="center">
And read a book.</div>
<div align="center">
Quietly, warming my tootsies.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
I wonder if the kids feel the same?</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
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I resist the temptation to sit there in the basement, and cry.</div>
<div align="center">
I felt the tears welling,</div>
<div align="center">
and I reminded myself that this: IS ALL blessing.</div>
<div align="center">
For me it takes deliberate REMINDING.</div>
<div align="center">
It's a blessing to have mess, to begin with,</div>
<div align="center">
remember?</div>
<div align="center">
And I did what every overwhelmed mother does:</div>
<div align="center">
I took five.</div>
<div align="center">
This is my five.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
I set aside all the mess and the walls caving in,</div>
<div align="center">
to write.</div>
<div align="center">
Not to turn on the tv, or cry, or yell.</div>
<div align="center">
Although I wanted to yell about the remote, and the cry part we-know.</div>
<div align="center">
I tucked the children down in the mess, to play.</div>
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They seem to enjoy themselves amongst the chaos that makes me cringe.</div>
<div align="center">
And I'm sitting here writing.</div>
<div align="center">
Clearing mind clutter.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
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And in front of me, the verse...</div>
<div align="center">
bound by a clip:</div>
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</div>
<div align="center">
Psalm 34:</div>
<div align="center">
Of David. When he pretended to be INSANE before Abimelech,</div>
<div align="center">
who drove him away, and he left.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
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"I will extol the Lord at all times;</div>
<div align="center">
His praise will always be on my lips.</div>
<div align="center">
My soul will boast in the Lord;</div>
<div align="center">
let the afflicated hear and rejoice."</div>
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</div>
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I think it would be therapeutic to pretend to be outright insane.</div>
<div align="center">
Sometimes motherhood can take my mind to insane places.</div>
<div align="center">
It can take me away from my Insanity workout.</div>
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But it does one thing well: it reminds me that I am weak.</div>
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And that I cannot get through this insane job-description</div>
<div align="center">
without a really BIG head-choreographer.</div>
<div align="center">
Who knows my insane.</div>
<div align="center">
Who gifted me my insane.</div>
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And that in my afflicted states,</div>
<div align="center">
I can still rejoice.</div>
<div align="center">
Because when you sweep it all into the backyard--</div>
<div align="center">
peel away all the clutter and overwhelm:</div>
<div align="center">
All of this is a gift.</div>
<div align="center">
Every sacred overwhelmed day,</div>
<div align="center">
is a gift.</div>
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</div>
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Ahhh. Back to peace.</div>
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Now, to get the kids...do a little school,</div>
<div align="center">
and dance amongst our mess.</div>
<div align="center">
Dear God, please be our peace today.</div>
<div align="center">
Keep my mind fixed on blessings.</div>
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Praise always on my lips.</div>
<div align="center">
I stray so easily.</div>
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Amen.</div>
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(Better yet, Lord...I'll bring the book, you bring the marshmallows...)</div>
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</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-87772403538764860122013-02-08T10:00:00.000-06:002013-02-08T11:57:36.759-06:00The Logic of English ~ WITH LITTLES.<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>The Logic of English with young children.</u></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"></span></u> </div>
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This post delves deep into some of the sweetest moments of our learning day:</div>
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Using the tools within <u>The Logic of English</u> with my sweet Littles!<br />
<br />
The GO-TO book for getting started with ABC's and littles:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Doodling-Dragons-ABC-Book-Sounds/dp/1936706229/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1360106835&sr=8-1&keywords=doodling+dragons" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmXy0O2m0dno6-vwwOXIAcN50NehjTNkYtnevwOtO1ZBX5LfLPeRxPOxwNzVLDTjYvE6z6BE8b2MyD09MrZRMf89s5HIk4Yg8-hJvOxx-8kEZUQ3BevrvyZ2MMsQ6oiX800CG-ZLQtfN2/s320/DoodlingDragonCoverFront_600.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Image belongs to LOE)<br />
Need help finding where to purchase this book? Click <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Doodling-Dragons-ABC-Book-Sounds/dp/1936706229/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1360287440&sr=8-1&keywords=doodling+dragons" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I <em>love</em> this book.<br />
And we've had many, many alphabet books make their way through here.<br />
This one? The best.<br />
I bought it for my littlest little, age one, for Christmas.<br />
I bought it early in the season....but loved looking at the illustrations SO MUCH<br />
that I left it out on my bedroom side table and <br />
refused to wrap it until the very-last-minute.<br />
It is <em>THAT</em> beautiful.<br />
<br />
WHY IS IT THE BEST?<br />
It differs from other ABC books in that it teaches <br />
~ALL~<br />
the sounds of A-Z letters.<br />
If you are wondering about the "logic" behind this philosophy of teaching<br />
letters, parents may find it very helpful to read <br />
<u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Uncovering-Logic-English-Common-Sense-Approach/dp/1936706210/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1360287783&sr=1-1&keywords=uncovering+the+logic+of+english" target="_blank">Uncovering the Logic of English</a></u>, also by Denise Eide.<br />
<br />
Come sneak a peek into one of our letter adventures...<br />
using a preschool curriculum written by Winterpromise<br />
alongside LOE.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><em><u>Alphabet Books!</u></em></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">{part one}</span><br />
</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s3lHSazNCak/UQC1tdp_92I/AAAAAAAAAwA/7hheU22Jgi0/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s3lHSazNCak/UQC1tdp_92I/AAAAAAAAAwA/7hheU22Jgi0/s320/046.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The book on the right is Doodling Dragons, by Eide.<br />
The book on the left?<br />
<em>That</em> is little guy's "alphabet book."<br />
It is a blank story book that I purchased from a local school supply shop.<br />
<br />
Each week we "study" a different letter.<br />
The week here, we are investigating the letter "I,i"<br />
<br />
Day one, we open <u>Doodling Dragons</u>.</div>
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We enjoy illustrations that help us remember all the <br />
different sounds "Ii" can make: four sounds.<br />
</div>
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We work a little on alphabet book each day.<br />
<br />
Day one: we color and cut out a little printout of the letter.<br />
Great to practice cutting and pasting.</div>
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<br />
A different day, little guy will get to think of words that start<br />
with the letter-of-the-week, or even words that have the letter-of-the-week<br />
INSIDE them.</div>
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And he'll illustrate them in his book.</div>
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Since he knows what printed letters look like,</div>
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he will often write words all by himself in uppercase letters.</div>
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I do not correct spelling--this is not the purpose of our time.</div>
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I encourage!!</div>
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If he thinks of a word, we celebrate! </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VRgeZ1k2uAk/UQC1yl1vz7I/AAAAAAAAAwk/XWzPHqMkn3g/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VRgeZ1k2uAk/UQC1yl1vz7I/AAAAAAAAAwk/XWzPHqMkn3g/s320/049.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I let him think and draw as long as he wishes.</div>
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Or until the page is full up!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E-DCbhT9xxc/UQC1-0JpryI/AAAAAAAAAxc/J_E7j-4LYko/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E-DCbhT9xxc/UQC1-0JpryI/AAAAAAAAAxc/J_E7j-4LYko/s320/056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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You can see here, that he is thinking of ALL the sounds "I,i" makes.</div>
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Not just the traditional short sound of I in "igloo." But also, he thought of "item."</div>
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And to my glee, he spelled it correctly without any assistance.</div>
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He said he learned it from playing Wii. {sigh}</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K8Teg1sP7Zw/UQC2Csy_DMI/AAAAAAAAAxs/fjaa_S8MiIs/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K8Teg1sP7Zw/UQC2Csy_DMI/AAAAAAAAAxs/fjaa_S8MiIs/s320/058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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Since "I,i" is a vowel, it is everywhere!! And by teaching ALL of its sounds,</div>
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and enjoying the beautiful pictures within Doodling Dragons,</div>
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my son has visual pictures in his mind of all-the-wonderful-things-"I,i"-can-do!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MI8R34oLM4A/UQC2ETkNl7I/AAAAAAAAAx0/fspKsbVg7gc/s1600/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MI8R34oLM4A/UQC2ETkNl7I/AAAAAAAAAx0/fspKsbVg7gc/s320/059.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stay tuned for "Alphabet book" {part two}: handwriting practice!<br />
<br />
A NOTE ABOUT OUR PRESCHOOL:<br />
I love the preschool curriculum written by Winterpromise,<br />
titled "I'm Ready to Learn."<br />
We use this as a reference for fun games and resources,<br />
such as "alphabet books."<br />
It is so rich with ideas!<br />
However, we do NOT use IRTL's reading methods/program.<br />
Wherever IRTL has reading suggestions,<br />
I substitue in the philosophies of LOE.<br />
LOE is currently working on a kindergarten-specific curriculum,<br />
called "Foundations."<br />
We already purchased and loved IRTL long ago,<br />
so we are using what we have on hand<br />
and meshing the two!<br />
<br />
<u>RESOURCES:</u><br />
Winterpromise "I'm Ready to Learn" preschool curriculum.... <a href="http://www.winterpromise.com/ready_to_learn.html" target="_blank">click here</a>. <br />
The Logic of English "Foundations" beta testing K curriculum.... <a href="http://www.logicofenglish.com/store/beta-testing/kindergarten-level-beta-test" target="_blank"> click here</a>.<br />
(*Note ~ I believe that the beta testing is closed, but the program<br />
is coming out sometime in the future....so click the link to find out more or<br />
to contact Pedia Learning/LOE.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***I am not affiliated in ANY way with The Logic of English or Winterpromise. <br />
I did NOT receieve any free curriculum or incentives<br />
to write this review. I do NOT know the author(s). I purchased</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
all of our Logic of English and Winterpromise material with my own money.<br />
I do not get kickbacks or profit from readers clicking links.<br />
I write to help other families, that is all. Enjoy!*** </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-55875720799484165562013-02-01T14:17:00.000-06:002013-02-01T14:17:08.583-06:00Snow ~ and STILLNESS.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am patiently waiting for my littlest guy to fall peacefully asleep...</div>
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as the afternoon is calling, with all of its blessed demands.</div>
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I am taking the little weiner dog out to do bathroom duties,</div>
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my little circle dog,</div>
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opening the flimsy screen door to the glory of the backyard.</div>
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Painted in white, glorious washing.</div>
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And I am struck with the mundane beauty of the everyday.</div>
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There really is nothing left untouched, is there?</div>
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Untouched by majesty?</div>
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It's abounding everywhere.</div>
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And it's in the grasping of this,</div>
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that time can stand-right-still.</div>
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In learning to acknowledge and appreciate, to give thanks...</div>
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life somehow stills and slows.</div>
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There is something about fresh snowfall that stills me.</div>
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As if God is calling: PEACE.</div>
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I stopped all day yesterday to embrace the moments</div>
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of these little people running at my feet.</div>
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Often, I rush.</div>
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I rush through school, rush to exercise, rush to make dinner.</div>
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Rush to bathe the babies.</div>
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Rush to do their laundry, get it folded...</div>
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my unfocused eyes looking forward and missing all-the-now.</div>
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The snow sings it loud: there is no rush in nature.</div>
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There is order, and there are seasons.</div>
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But rushing is futile.</div>
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The snow calls: STILLNESS.</div>
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Life frozen, and washed white.</div>
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I wrapped in the thought like a quilt.</div>
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Stillness.</div>
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"Be <em>STILL</em> and know that I am God."</div>
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In the rushing of life,</div>
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the-get-it-all-done,</div>
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it is hard to know that God is God.</div>
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It is maybe easier to fall into the trap that we are god?</div>
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That somehow by rushing fast and accomplishing much,</div>
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we foolishly think we have it all under control.</div>
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We take hold of something that really belonged to God all along.</div>
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The outcomes.</div>
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The everything.</div>
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All ~ God's.</div>
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And when we rush we merely are forgetting.</div>
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We are not changing anything.</div>
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We are merely forgetting,</div>
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forgetting that the minutes slip right between the fingers,</div>
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and that it is simply not worth the-plow-ahead.</div>
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It's not worth rushing.</div>
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Time is not traded in.</div>
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Time is lost.</div>
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Be STILL.</div>
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And time slows.</div>
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The soul wakes.</div>
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I watched the full cheeks of my one year old, rosy pink.</div>
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Those cheeks puffed out and eyes squinting saying, "ME!"</div>
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When I asked who-would-like-more-milk?</div>
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I scooped him up and tickled him silly, and just held the moments</div>
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like golden treasures that will one day be-no-more.</div>
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I rubbed the back of my 7 year old as he did his reading,</div>
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I listened intently to his entire narration of the cartoon that he watched:</div>
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a mystery of the stolen jewels...</div>
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Told scene by scene with passion spilling from sky-blue eyes.</div>
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I consciously listened to him instead of listening-while-doing.</div>
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To tell him: I will always be here, to listen.</div>
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I am setting the stage for our future relationship.</div>
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I wrapped him in his robe after his shower,</div>
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realizing that very soon there will be a wall between us</div>
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as mother and son ~ the wall of a boy becoming a man.</div>
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When a mother no longer enters post-shower,</div>
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to wrap her baby in a bathrobe.</div>
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I tucked in a 4 year old who makes-my-soul-laugh-silly.</div>
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Looked at his smile and the way he jumps and kicks around this place...</div>
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donkey kicks, we call him.</div>
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I tucked in all-his-silly with a smile as he smiled back,</div>
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wrapped beneath Thomas the Train blankets and surrounded</div>
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by plush animals.</div>
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I marveled all day in the belly-rolls of laughter that erupt from him.</div>
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Praising God that these, these are my gifts.</div>
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I plunged hands deep into soapy water, to barely clean a house that </div>
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is full-up with living.</div>
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A house that is no longer possible to scour clean:</div>
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a little clean, and a little living comes...and does away with the clean.</div>
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I bounded down the steps to the deep lair,</div>
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where I rinse diapers.</div>
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And marveled at how many dirty ones can be made in a day by one child.</div>
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I stepped around toys forgotten.</div>
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Wondered how the kitchen counter attracts clutter like a magnet?</div>
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And counted it all: JOY.</div>
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Stillness does something to the nature of the soul.</div>
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A stilled soul beats in rhythm with</div>
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a marvelous God....</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-240361838694576612013-01-28T06:00:00.000-06:002013-01-28T06:00:17.888-06:00ART. therapy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">ART: <em>therapy</em>.</span></u></div>
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Yes, that right there is my coffee cup. Treasured.</div>
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Surrounded by chalk-dust.</div>
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(..the kind-that-doesn't-wash-out-easily)</div>
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And instead of it being a full-up mug of hot java,</div>
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It was today, our <em>INSPIRATION</em>.</div>
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The boys laughed at me,</div>
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because I refused to put marshmallows in my drawing.</div>
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I said that my drawing was one of my favorite drinks: coffee.</div>
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And you just can't toss marshies into coffee.</div>
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Of course, their imaginations were full of sugary treats,</div>
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fluffy marshmallows, and chocolately cocoa.</div>
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They drew with delighted abandon.</div>
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I will admit,</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I ....LOVE....art.</span></div>
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LOVE.</div>
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However, since I've had children?</div>
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I'm ashamed to admit, I just feel overwhelmed getting out the art supplies</div>
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with them. Their little excited grabby hands and inability to keep</div>
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their sleeves in the right places...the paint brushes flinging everywhere...</div>
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the stains! Oh, the stains.</div>
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Oh...the cleanup....</div>
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It drives my mother heart a little bit into a pandemic.</div>
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And that's EXACTLY why I need art in our days.</div>
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I stumbled upon a great book,</div>
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A Simple Start in Chalk Pastels.</div>
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(available over here, at <a href="http://www.southernhodgepodge.com/a-simple-start-in-chalk-pastels/" target="_blank">Hodgepodge</a>)</div>
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And as I paged through this neat little E-book,</div>
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and their neat little website full of INSPIRATION,</div>
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I decided: art is not optional.</div>
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Art is necessary for our souls.</div>
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I felt it, as we gathered up our materials--felt the soul sing.</div>
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We shared my tiny college-box of soft chalk pastels.</div>
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(who woulda thought--back when I bought these...that all these little hands</div>
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I had brought into the world would be holding them one day with glee?)</div>
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I looked up at Quinn,</div>
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who was brimming ear to ear, his tongue hanging out in his classic think-mode,</div>
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pastels smudged across his face.</div>
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He looked like a chimney sweep straight outta Mary Poppins.</div>
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And then Gabe, who is meticulous and hates to get his hands dirty--</div>
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he was putting finishing touches on his perfect drink of choice on a cold day:</div>
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a peppermint hot cocoa.</div>
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Perfect.</div>
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Our little souls were as warm as our mugs.</div>
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Then came the REAL therapy: the cleanup.</div>
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Would you know, that I left an old rag at the bathroom sink </div>
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for my guys to clean up their messy hands with...</div>
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and they...forgot?</div>
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They used my brand new towel, instead?</div>
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The light green one??</div>
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That my little chimney sweep</div>
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wiped himself clean as a whistle?</div>
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A light green towel smudged with ...stains....</div>
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Therapy.</div>
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Therapy for a momma's heart, to embrace mess</div>
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and exchange perfection</div>
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for laughter and joy and memories.</div>
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And we all know--</div>
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Ecover stain stick got that stain right out.</div>
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Quinn's sweatshirt though...that thing will never be the same!</div>
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And to think.</div>
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I am already looking forward to next week's art gathering,</div>
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together at our dining room table.</div>
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I think we are going to draw mountains.</div>
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There's a verse I am working on:</div>
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</div>
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<em>"I tell you the truth. If you have faith and do not doubt,</em></div>
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<em>not only can you do what was done to the fig tree,</em></div>
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<em>but also you can say to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself</em></div>
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<em>into the sea,' and it will be done."</em></div>
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~Jesus.</div>
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Art therapy. For the soul.</div>
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Gabe was so inspired, that he spent his entire quiet time</div>
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working on a piece in colored pencil.</div>
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He told me that he drew it in honor of the book we just finished</div>
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during our evening read-aloud time: <u>Mountain Born</u>.</div>
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A book describing the life of a shepherd,</div>
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to help us understand what the Bible means when it describes</div>
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Jesus as the "Good Shepherd."</div>
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Art is highly infectious!</div>
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Planted in the soul by the Great Artist Himself.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-49346406218074017582013-01-23T23:45:00.002-06:002013-01-23T23:45:24.453-06:00The Logic of English ~ THE WHY. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u>How the Logic of English has changed our homeschool</u>.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_xRqJ_imo0s/UQCzoTC6yOI/AAAAAAAAAnc/yevuwrY4L8o/s1600/057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_xRqJ_imo0s/UQCzoTC6yOI/AAAAAAAAAnc/yevuwrY4L8o/s400/057.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7 year old playing a phonogram game of Dragon (similar to "OLD MAID.")</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7yzku_CVtXM/UQCzmj0KxcI/AAAAAAAAAnU/CpSFLLJjubQ/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7yzku_CVtXM/UQCzmj0KxcI/AAAAAAAAAnU/CpSFLLJjubQ/s400/056.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess who has the Dragon??</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wzs-dS_e4No/UQCyQO-ZCtI/AAAAAAAAAhs/zV-w2LwXNCM/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wzs-dS_e4No/UQCyQO-ZCtI/AAAAAAAAAhs/zV-w2LwXNCM/s400/008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 year old working on his cursive J (LOE handwriting program)<br />
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We do life and learning just a little bit different than most folks.</div>
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If it's not wicked silly,</div>
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and crazy fun...</div>
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it just doesn't find a permanent <em>home</em> in our homeschool.</div>
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I like to use laughter as the vehicle of learning.</div>
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Mainly, because I love to laugh myself.</div>
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And I REALLY am addicted to hearing the belly-giggles</div>
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of my little guys.</div>
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And serious is fine,</div>
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but passion is not fueled by constant furrowed brows.</div>
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We get silly, we get hands-on,</div>
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and we get serious lasting learning done.</div>
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</div>
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<em>Self-education is the only possible education;</em></div>
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<em> the rest is mere veneer laid on the surface of a child's nature.</em></div>
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<em>~Charlotte Mason.</em></div>
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It wasn't always this way around here!</div>
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I bought into the lie that certain subjects just have to be TACKLED.</div>
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And wrestled to the ground.</div>
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Like English and spelling.</div>
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Then I realized that our English and spelling</div>
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WERE NOT STICKING</div>
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in my son's head.</div>
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And I attended a local homeschool conference where I sat</div>
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in on a lecture that changed our homeschool life.</div>
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Fun and <em>laughter</em> and passion in spelling and English? INDEED!</div>
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After attending the lecture, I knew it would fit us well.</div>
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It took me awhile to come to grips with setting aside our</div>
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already purchased-and-paid-for-drill-and-kill-failure-english/spelling-style.</div>
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But one day, I had had quite enough of the wrestling and sad,</div>
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and I made the best decision ever.</div>
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Meet our English and spelling of choice:</div>
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</div>
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<u>THE LOGIC OF ENGLISH!</u></div>
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Did you know that teaching your child,</div>
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"when 2 vowels go a-walkin' the first one does the talking"</div>
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is really misleading?</div>
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Well, blah. I taught that to my very logical-thinking kid</div>
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and then wondered why I would watch him spell things all wrong.</div>
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Spell things all wrong: with the very tools I had taught him.</div>
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I got exhausted saying, "You're right to think that way...</div>
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but this word is an exception to the rules..."</div>
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Or..."This word is a SIGHT word...we memorize it b/c it breaks all the rules..."</div>
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I would just get this sad, blank stare back at me...and I started to wonder myself...</div>
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just what kind of CRAZY mixed up language IS English, anyway?</div>
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And how on earth did I ever learn it??</div>
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</div>
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I almost jumped up and down when I sat through the Logic of English</div>
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presentation. It totally grabbed my logical-mind and </div>
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MADE SENSE.</div>
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I went straight to the vendor hall and bought Denise Eide's book:</div>
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Uncovering the Logic of English.</div>
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This little, well-thought out book explained everything to me.</div>
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There ARE rules that apply to English.</div>
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But when we teach our children "funny phonics" like</div>
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"the E at the end of a word makes the vowel say its name,"</div>
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we are creating the myth that these rules apply on a consistent basis.</div>
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And when those funny rules DON'T apply--</div>
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it creates a great deal of discouragement.</div>
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The Logic of English has a set of consistent, reliable rules.</div>
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</div>
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Children memorize:</div>
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30 spelling rules</div>
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and 74 phonograms (these 74 include A-Z)</div>
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That's it.</div>
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104 tools, total.</div>
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All the tools needed to decode 98% of the English language.</div>
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A language that boasts between one and two MILLION words in its lexicon.</div>
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A well-trained mind has up to 200,000 words in its memory bank.</div>
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THAT is a lot of memorizing without tools.</div>
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The BEST part??</div>
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These 104 "tools" are delivered via my favorite vehicle: laughter.</div>
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We play games and learn our way right into the </div>
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very MEAT of the English language!</div>
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I bought this curriculum for my seven year old,</div>
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but the most amazing thing is: </div>
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I have watched my 4 year old memorize spelling rules,</div>
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and memorize every-single-phonogram-I've-introduced-thus-far.</div>
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Which is somewhere around 50.</div>
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The other day he did our spelling list right alongside,</div>
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and my jaw dropped as he spelled "clock."</div>
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Now--tell me--what 4 year old knows that clock is clock and not klok?</div>
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The kid who learned,</div>
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"ck is used ONLY after a single vowel that says its short sound."</div>
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Then he spelled "human."</div>
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Because he learned that A,E,O, and U "usually say their names at the END</div>
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of a syllable."</div>
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Huh.</div>
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4-year-old-man also knows ALL the sounds that A-Z make.</div>
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(Did you know that A says three sounds?? I didn't either, until LOE!)</div>
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</div>
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And the thing is--my 4 year old is NOT required to sit in on our English or spelling lessons.</div>
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He does it for the pure JOY of it, it is <em>THAT</em> fun!</div>
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I will be posting more about our journey with the Logic of English.</div>
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But for now--if you are curious,</div>
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it all starts with Denise Eide's book:</div>
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Uncovering the Logic of English.</div>
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I have a copy on my shelf--it is priceless.</div>
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I only purchase books that I cannot live without.</div>
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This is one: I cannot live without as a homeschool mother.</div>
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The book changed my heart and revolutionized our homeschool </div>
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spelling-wrestling-matches.</div>
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I will post more on what our days are like with LOE,</div>
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in case it is helpful to any other families out there</div>
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looking to bring the logic and JOY</div>
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back into English and spelling!</div>
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</div>
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the book: </div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Uncovering-Logic-English-Common-Sense-Approach/dp/1936706210/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1359004835&sr=8-1&keywords=the+logic+of+english" target="_blank">Uncovering the Logic of English</a></div>
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</div>
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the curriculum:</div>
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<a href="http://www.logicofenglish.com/">http://www.logicofenglish.com/</a></div>
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</div>
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</div>
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the presentation:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4ilthoEG39M?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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</div>
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***I am not affiliated in ANY way with The Logic of English. I did NOT receieve any</div>
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free curriculum or incentives to write this review. I do NOT know the author. I purchased</div>
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all of our Logic of English material with my own money.</div>
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Yes, it is that good.*** </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-64655805130478895402013-01-17T14:19:00.001-06:002013-01-18T15:56:10.060-06:00A life lived well.<div align="center">
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/-mXeA0G_xKc/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-mXeA0G_xKc&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-mXeA0G_xKc&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<em>What we are called to?</em></div>
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This weekend, on Saturday, </div>
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my Great-Aunt Marion passed from this earth.</div>
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She was 99 years old.</div>
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I remember when my grandmother passed, at the age of 92,</div>
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many well-intentioned folks made mention that 92 years was </div>
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"at least a long, full life."</div>
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The thing is,</div>
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it's just never long enough.</div>
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92 years is not long enough when you have to say goodbye to a </div>
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grandmother whose soft lips you will never feel give you a kiss again.</div>
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It's not long enough when you find yourself having to really focus</div>
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and remember the sound of your grandmother's laugh.</div>
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It's just never, never long enough.</div>
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It's always too soon to say goodbye to a loved one.</div>
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Always.</div>
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There are always things you wish you'd have said,</div>
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There are still things you wish you could have learned from them.</div>
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Stories you wished you'd have asked them to tell.</div>
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Crochet hooks that you long for them to show you to hold.</div>
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You know?</div>
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Death comes too soon.</div>
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God knows.</div>
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He knows that for us death is a thief, </div>
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coming at an hour unknown and always unwanted.<br />
Jesus experienced the death of the-one-he-loved, Lazarus.<br />
Seeing the grief of Lazarus' family and friends,<br />
He wept.<br />
The God-Man who had come from heaven and was here with us,<br />
on this broken-twisted-grieving-planet:<br />
Immanuel--He wept.<br />
He knew his friend Lazarus was in heaven.<br />
Still, He wept.<br />
He knew that He would raise Lazarus within minutes.<br />
To God's great glory, to prove the Truth of Himself.<br />
Still, He wept.<br />
He wept, <br />
and <em>then</em> He up and raised Lazarus.<br />
A beautiful reminder that there is grief in the mourning of this moment,<br />
but joy in the temporal state of death's earthly goodbye.<br />
Jesus later laid down His life, nailed to a cross.<br />
And <em>ripped the sting right out of death</em>.</div>
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In our honor.<br />
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</div>
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Death is now but a waiting.</div>
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Sometimes a long waiting.</div>
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But I'll take waiting.<br />
I'll take waiting to hear her throw-back-her-head-and-laugh again,<br />
over a forever goodbye grave.</div>
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Hallelujah?</div>
<br />
These are not just words I hold to, for comfort.<br />
I am a realist.<br />
I believe that the evidence for Jesus<br />
is astounding.<br />
And if you always have thought Jesus a fairytale,<br />
a "nice story" that the weak hold to,<br />
to explain the profound and the sad ~<br />
I assure you that Christ followers of history are not weak,<br />
but crazy-life-giving-fanatics who died for what they saw.<br />
If you want to weigh the evidence for yourself,<br />
Here's a link to one of my all-time fav podcasts/blogs,<br />
weighing the evidence for this <br />
<em>grave-defeating</em> Jesus.<br />
<br />
The Please Convince Me podcast is by a former athiest: <br />
Jim Wallace.<br />
He thought Christians to be simple minded goofs,<br />
until one day he studied the evidence for Jesus.<br />
And turned his life right inside out.<br />
He is a cold case homicide detective who found the truth of Jesus<br />
to be overhwhelmingly accurate, able to stand trial,<br />
and he started this ministry to<br />
point others toward the truth of Jesus.<br />
He accepts zero donations.<br />
It's all heart, and his own personal donated time.<br />
His ministry is funded entirely by himself and a few friends<br />
who believe in His mission.<br />
He approachs Christ as a cold-case detective, zero fluff.<br />
I love it.<br />
<a href="http://pleaseconvinceme.com/">http://pleaseconvinceme.com/</a><br />
<br />
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When I read Great-Aunt Marion's obituary, I sobbed like a child.</div>
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Huge, water droplets spilling from my face onto the keyboard,</div>
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onto my chin.</div>
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Onto my sweatshirt.</div>
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I was transported to my own death.</div>
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To the overwhelming place of overviewing one's own life.</div>
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Every minute and hour spent,</div>
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and what would be said of the sum total.</div>
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Great Aunt Marion married when she was 35.</div>
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She had one son, and it filled her with joy.</div>
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She poured her life into her family.</div>
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Her obituary says that she NEVER raised her voice.</div>
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Imagine.</div>
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If someone read that in my eulogy, I'm pretty sure that Quinn</div>
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would stand straight up in his pew and raise his hand to correct the typo.</div>
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</div>
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I remember my Great Aunt with fondness.</div>
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She was always smiling. Always.</div>
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A truly gentle, loving soul.</div>
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Smiling, and laughing.</div>
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I am thinking about my week,</div>
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about my month.</div>
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How it has all been covered in laughter.</div>
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In smiling.</div>
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And I wonder if that laughter runs-in-my-ancestoral-veins?</div>
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Laughter covers our homeschool.</div>
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Literally, if it does not make us laugh --</div>
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we just find a way to learn, that WILL.</div>
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We play and laugh our way right through our days.</div>
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(and yes, the laughter fades at times, and we fatigue,</div>
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but in an overarching way, laughter and joy mark our days</div>
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and carry us right through the hard places, and heal us.)</div>
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I was at a dinner gathering not long ago,</div>
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and the moms were gathered up, chatting.</div>
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Suddenly a dear mom just opened her soul and shared:</div>
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"I just have been loving time with my kids this week.</div>
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I just love being with them.</div>
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I love the time that we've spent and I'm thankful."</div>
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And I was touched, deep.</div>
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Because I feel that, too.</div>
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The thankfulness of gathering my kids around me </div>
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and doing life with them.</div>
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Touched also at how quickly I forget this.</div>
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Just that day I had YELLED (in my yelling voice?)</div>
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at my husband for not giving me UN-interrupted</div>
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workout time <em>without</em> my kids.</div>
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The baby was crying, which I could hear during my workout,</div>
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and I was distracted and unfocused and angry that </div>
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in-all-the-world-can-i-not-just-get-in-time-for-my-blasted-health?</div>
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Out of breath, in-a-crank,</div>
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I came barrelling up the stairs and just unleashed a nasty sentence</div>
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upon my resting husband.<br />
My hard-working, resting husband.</div>
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Sigh.</div>
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I get tired, I get cranky,</div>
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and I forget: what it IS that I am called to?</div>
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</div>
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Motherhood is the grandest journey of turning one's soul inside out.</div>
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Of pouring out.</div>
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How quickly I forget the joy of it.</div>
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Forget to laugh.</div>
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I get mySELF right up in front and am blinded by MEaness.</div>
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And then I am asking forgiveness,</div>
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and tucking it around healing laughter.</div>
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Hoping and praying that the laughter </div>
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outweighs all my shortcomings.</div>
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Smothers my lack of mother-nice.</div>
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Thankful that God's mercies are new every <strike>morning</strike> MINUTE.</div>
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</div>
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I am blessed by those who have gone before me,</div>
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who have done this "life" thing well.</div>
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My Great-Aunt Marion's life-story is tucked securely</div>
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in the back of my Bible.<br />
Her picture there, smiling still.<br />
The words "her husband won the prize for best wife,"<br />
reverberating in my soul.</div>
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A reminder of what I aspire to.</div>
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A reminder not to chasten the little laugh lines that creep</div>
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up in the laughter places upon my face.</div>
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But to welcome them as time-worn marks of </div>
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a life lived smiling, in laughter.<br />
A reminder that I am not called to "perfection,"<br />
but to aspire after holiness.<br />
That maybe God gave us laughter,<br />
knowing we would need a glorious blanket<br />
to cover our shortcomings with.</div>
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</div>
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A reminder that this Bible book holds my map.<br />
Pour in more of you, Jesus?<br />
And empty me right out.<br />
<br />
In honor of a great lady, Great Aunt Marion.<br />
I invite you to read her obituary, it will warm you on this chilly January morn!<br />
Her spirit will be missed here.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/fdlreporter/obituary.aspx?n=marion-muellenbach&pid=162358745&fhid=14031#fbLoggedOut">http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/fdlreporter/obituary.aspx?n=marion-muellenbach&pid=162358745&fhid=14031#fbLoggedOut</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-18613965175041383372013-01-03T23:10:00.000-06:002013-01-04T10:55:00.412-06:00In honor of Nellie and baby cubby.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A little break from the usual?</div>
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My sister sweet is halfway through her first pregnancy,</div>
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and I am over an hour from her.</div>
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I deeply desire to sit down to nice cups of decaf coffee and chat baby.</div>
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But until that happens...<br />
I brewed myself a cup, and am enjoying the silence of a sleeping house.<br />
Watching the clock tick wee late hours...<br />
Joyfully typing as if we were chatting.</div>
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This list is in her honor.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u>The Go-To Gotta-have-it List for New Mommies.</u></span></div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">~Great Reads~</span></div>
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</div>
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<u>Ina May's Guide to Childbirth</u>, and <u>Spiritual Midwifery</u> by Ina May Gaskin</div>
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<em>Ina May is nationally known as an expert on all-things-birth, being a highly respected, certified</em></div>
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<em>midwife. She is not a professed Christ-follower, but she treats birth as the mysterious</em></div>
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<em>miracle that modern medicine in missing. Her books are full of wisdom and strength, telling</em></div>
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<em>the bare bones of what birth is really like.</em></div>
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</div>
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<u>Baby Catcher</u> by Peggy Vincent</div>
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<em>I could not get enough of this book--hard to put down! Wonderful birth stories told</em></div>
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<em>through the eyes of a midwife.</em></div>
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</div>
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<u>Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way</u> by McCutcheon</div>
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<em>A great book for pain techniques and learning labor stages, etc.</em></div>
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<em>Not necessarily just for natural childbirth.</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
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MOVIE: <u>The Business of Being Born</u>, starring Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein</div>
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<em>Birth is a business. Hospitals need to turn a profit. Learn about the </em></div>
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<em>cycle of pitocin, pain, and c-sections that plague American hospitals.</em></div>
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<a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/">http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/</a></div>
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</div>
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<u>The Vaccine Book</u> by Sears</div>
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<em>Babies are given dozens of immunizations in their first year of life.</em></div>
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<em>Learn what each shot is for, if it is necessary or simply convenient, and what </em></div>
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<em>the possible side effects to your child could be.</em></div>
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<em>Our government has a fund set up for children harmed by vaccines.</em></div>
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<em>That should alarm you.</em></div>
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<em>Especially since babies are vaccinated in their first moments of life!</em></div>
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</div>
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<u>Vaccinated</u> by Offit</div>
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<em>Read both sides of the vaccine argument!</em></div>
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<em>This book is pro-vaccine.</em></div>
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<em>Very informative, telling how immunizations were invented.</em></div>
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<em>Includes information on what years to FEAR flu viruses, and what years </em></div>
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<em>to skip the flu vaccine.</em></div>
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<em>Includes information on the use of fetal cells in vaccines.</em></div>
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</div>
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<u>The No Cry Sleep Solution</u> by Pantley</div>
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and</div>
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<u>Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child</u> by Weissbluth</div>
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<em>Babies sometimes don't like to sleep?</em></div>
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<em>Great books on sleep techniques, encouragement for overtired parents,</em></div>
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<em>research on how naps develop and change throughout childhood,</em></div>
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<em>colic advice, and sleep charts to determine sleep quantity needs per age group</em></div>
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<em>and how sleep affects learning/development.</em></div>
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<em>Note:</em></div>
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<em>I do not agree with all Weissbluth says about techniques for "crying it out," </em></div>
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<em>although he does offer several alternative options with no-cry solutions.</em></div>
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<em>His book is very choppy reading, not very organized--but the meat </em></div>
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<em>and research it contains is invaluable.</em></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">~ Breastfeeding ~</span></div>
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</div>
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1. My Brestfriend nursing pillow<br />
<a href="http://www.mybrestfriend.com/">http://www.mybrestfriend.com/</a></div>
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<em>superior to the Boppy because it offers back support.</em><br />
<em>It also buckles on, so you can use it while standing. Carefully!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
2. Nursing cover<br />
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3. Nursing tank top</div>
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<em>these are nice b/c they allow you to breastfeed in public places</em><br />
<em>without exposing postpartum tummy/back</em><br />
<br />
4. Lily padz<br />
<a href="http://www.lilypadz.com/">http://www.lilypadz.com/</a><br />
<em>Great for under t-shirts, as conventional breastpads are bulky</em><br />
<em>and make you look like you stuff your bra, lol!</em><br />
<em>Very simple to clean.</em><br />
<br />
5. Medela breastpump<br />
<a href="http://www.medelabreastfeedingus.com/products/145/swing-breastpump">http://www.medelabreastfeedingus.com/products/145/swing-breastpump</a><br />
<em>Often insurance policies will reimburse you for part</em><br />
<em>of your breastpump cost.</em><br />
<em>The Medela "swing" is my fav! Great for occasional pumping,</em><br />
<em>and simulates the natural rhythm of feeding.</em><br />
<em>Worth every penny!</em><br />
<em>(that said, milk storage bags are great, too).</em><br />
<br />
6. Breast hot/cold packs<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gerber-Breast-Therapy-Relief-Reusable/dp/B005FE5SDK/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1357272867&sr=8-2&keywords=gerber+breast+relief+pads">http://www.amazon.com/Gerber-Breast-Therapy-Relief-Reusable/dp/B005FE5SDK/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1357272867&sr=8-2&keywords=gerber+breast+relief+pads</a><br />
<em>When your milk first comes in, or when you are weaning--</em><br />
<em>and even if you have plugged ducts or other pains,</em><br />
<em>these are so, so nice!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>********************************************************</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><em>~</em> Baby Care ~</span><br />
<br />
These are just a few items I could not live without!<br />
<br />
1. Booty Balm by Lusa Organics<br />
<a href="http://www.lusaorganics.com/natural-handmade-organic-baby-skin-care-booty-balm-p/booty-option1.htm">http://www.lusaorganics.com/natural-handmade-organic-baby-skin-care-booty-balm-p/booty-option1.htm</a><br />
<em>The smell of this reminds me of babyhood. I always</em><br />
<em>have it onhand. GREAT for preventing diaper rash:</em><br />
<em>slather it on baby's bum every evening before bed.</em><br />
<em>Safe for cloth diapers.</em><br />
<br />
2. Triple Paste<br />
<em>Cures bad cases of diaper rash EVERY time!</em><br />
<em>I keep this and Booty Balm in the changing table at all times.</em><br />
<em>(Do not use with cloth diapers without a liner.)</em><br />
<br />
3. Baby soaps:<br />
Dr. Bronner's Organic Castille soap baby mild, unscented<br />
<em>(be careful not to get this into baby's eyes. We use it at our house,</em><br />
<em>as an entire family--but the CA baby soap is more gentle on eyes if you </em><br />
<em>are worried at all about avoiding baby's eye area)</em><br />
or<br />
California Baby Super Sensitive baby wash and lotion<br />
<em>Beware of traditional baby soaps, as many contain "fragrance" or sulfates,</em><br />
<em>and other skin irritants that newborn skin </em><br />
<em>(or any skin for that matter!) cannot handle.</em><br />
<em>Skin is the body's largest organ, and it absorbs what</em><br />
<em>you put on it.</em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: #cc0000;">Best shop to get "crunchy" baby products at low prices:</span></em><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Vitacost.com</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">GET $10 OFF YOUR PURCHASE USING THIS LINK:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">(it also will give me $10 off a future purchase, so thank you!)</span><br />
<a href="https://www.vitacostrewards.com/Rqp4nsz"><span style="color: #cc0000;">https://www.vitacostrewards.com/Rqp4nsz</span></a><br />
<br />
<br />
4. Ecover Stain Remover<br />
<em>a natural, eco-friendly stain stick that is AMAZING!</em><br />
<em>I have tried it on just about everything...</em><br />
<em>including ground in, old stains.</em><br />
<em>I am a fanatic!</em><br />
<em>(I just ordered a --CASE!--)</em><br />
<em>you can get this on vitacost for a great price.</em><br />
<br />
Best resources:<br />
Baby and cloth diaper supplies/blog: <a href="http://www.nickisdiapers.com/">www.nickisdiapers.com</a><br />
Breastfeeding support: La Leche League <a href="http://www.llli.org/">http://www.llli.org/</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">~ Enjoy! ~</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-70912468115911476692012-12-20T15:21:00.000-06:002012-12-20T15:21:31.446-06:00May you find a Light.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/oXEcplj8DMM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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My world is covered in snow.</div>
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It is glorious.</div>
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The snow makes the dead decay of winter</div>
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look clean again.</div>
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Pure.</div>
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Had a little extra time today,</div>
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to sit at the feet of Jesus.</div>
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I got up from my place there,</div>
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grabbed the dog from off the bed.</div>
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And felt a prompting for me to sit right back down.</div>
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That He had more for me.</div>
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And did He ever.</div>
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My soul, full up.</div>
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My soul feels like the whitewash outside my window.</div>
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A blizzard of new,</div>
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pure joy.</div>
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</div>
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Friend, I wish I could take your hand,</div>
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and touch it to this place.</div>
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Where the soul finds peace.</div>
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Where fear is gone.</div>
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Nothing but hope abounds.</div>
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</div>
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The talk today is of the Mayan calendar,</div>
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and prediction of the world's end.</div>
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The chatter, the talk, the superstition...</div>
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It reminds.</div>
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That we all have this gaping hole</div>
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in our soul.</div>
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That longs to be filled.</div>
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We wonder about the end of the world,</div>
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We wonder about the start of the world.</div>
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It is too big for us to grasp.</div>
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We push heads hard into entertaining our</div>
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minds to death.</div>
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Stare at screens.</div>
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The empty in our soul</div>
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cries out for us to hear.</div>
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</div>
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May you find the Light.</div>
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</div>
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May you drink, </div>
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even just a sip,</div>
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from the well that Jesus is.</div>
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Living Water.</div>
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</div>
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This Christmas,</div>
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may you find the Light </div>
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to guide you home...</div>
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</div>
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"I will extol the Lord at all times;</div>
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his praise will always be on my lips.</div>
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My soul will boast in the Lord;</div>
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let the afflicted hear and rejoice.</div>
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Glorify the Lord with me;</div>
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let us exalt his name together."</div>
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~from Psalm 34~</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-47674735072024915772012-12-08T15:08:00.001-06:002012-12-08T15:08:15.192-06:00The Jump from Inertia.<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRYCQ8EsPe-7BI6qsS0oWC9B7wzB9_qQ49C8PQLfmeHGjOuAgca7RmPr2zHeWfRA-Ivoa4jsDlV6KN6wBGfuTHmAGefFx3D9vK1zrfAuaQkhbiVfb2k0-aN8km2ke5R6LQwEUchu4Qxu5/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRYCQ8EsPe-7BI6qsS0oWC9B7wzB9_qQ49C8PQLfmeHGjOuAgca7RmPr2zHeWfRA-Ivoa4jsDlV6KN6wBGfuTHmAGefFx3D9vK1zrfAuaQkhbiVfb2k0-aN8km2ke5R6LQwEUchu4Qxu5/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+146.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicoyl7lbNEeGNG-vPwDgCcQzf9mcDme4wY9zgoT9BsUDxWUPbUiIeRC44tH0xPMUCO3MpUukIAiWZzJnrDbYerpwc9lvYq2mX1j81uCZgvpQGOVMnKz7JIuLMpd21DeAnmGGsYJcD2VDnH/s1600/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicoyl7lbNEeGNG-vPwDgCcQzf9mcDme4wY9zgoT9BsUDxWUPbUiIeRC44tH0xPMUCO3MpUukIAiWZzJnrDbYerpwc9lvYq2mX1j81uCZgvpQGOVMnKz7JIuLMpd21DeAnmGGsYJcD2VDnH/s640/Loon+Lake+Oct+2012+148.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How to point precious children toward Love, God of the Universe?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Without letting blundering, stupid self trip them all up along the way?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How to just keep head lowered, pointing them to The Way?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Apologizing all along the path for mistakes, for harshly spoken words,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for undeserved reprimands...for tired.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For a brain that doesn't always do well with all the noise.<br />
I actually calculated it one day: my noise limit.<br />
My brain can handle two things at once, music and a chattering child,<br />
head-noise of reading a recipe while gently disciplining the running of feet, <br />
but throw in a third?<br />
And that third hits my overwhelmed button.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How to lasso up the pharisee inside of me, who always wants cut-and-dry,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
black and white rules, and to herald flaws?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In my search for a pure Christmas,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am face to face with my own heart, which can be so ugly.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So in need of washing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And even in all my mess,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that baby born in a manger, DIED for me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I imagine the incredible sacrifice of forgiveness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Him laying down His very life,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and washing all of my mess away.<br />
And not just my mess,<br />
but the mess of billions just like me.<br />
How to hold all of that mess, but supernatural?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I sit right there, at His feet, pure white.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How undeserved!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yes, that's the entire reason He came to this wretched, broken earth.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And so I venture to remove stumbling blocks from their little paths,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To not place anything there that glitters temporal, distracts.<br />
To not point them toward idols that woo, stuff that pleasures for a mere breath.<br />
How to find balance of this in a world where stuff takes over?<br />
How to teach LESS, when my basement is clogged?<br />
When I just placed my sixth amazon order?<br />
When my eyes are always roaming.<br />
<br />
I desire to teach it,<br />
to learn it myself.<br />
<br />
Stuff never satisfies.<br />
Never.<br />
And to herald the ancient birthing of miracles, with eyes focused on stuff?<br />
Is missing fulfillment.<br />
Is missing out on the gift that IS fulfilling,<br />
soul-filling-fulfillment-eternal!<br />
I know the pureness of joy of this filling!<br />
I would trade everything I own just-for-His-soul-filling.<br />
And yet how do I let myself get distracted so easily?<br />
In the words of my favorite author and blogger, Voskamp,<br />
I am plagued,yes, by perpetual soul-amnesia.<br />
<br />
I know how easy it is for eyes to fall, for time to rush forth unstoppable,<br />
for the overwhelm to set in.<br />
How easily amnesia can creep into a soul.<br />
It is a deliberate eye-fixation on that baby wrapped in a manger,<br />
that <em>cures</em>.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It seems like, often, the prayers that God answers profoundly for me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
are not the prayers that I word-just-right.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The prayers that He jumps on top of are the ones that I utter in spirit.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just a few thoughts.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Barely penned.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just heart.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
These weeks, my utterance was my lack-of-brain-power to sit down,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to plan it all out. This pure Christmas I am seeking --</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it is a lot of work and thought to chart a new course and jump from inertia.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Would He just take over, make it clear?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Point the way?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And within a few days, the pointing begins.<br />
My eyes brimming wide with wonder that the God of the Universe,<br />
He hears and He nudges and<br />
the ideas and clarity that have fallen into my tired, overwhelmed lap?<br />
Could not possibly have been my brainchild.<br />
No ~ in my weakness, He always shines bright.<br />
<br />
Yes, the conversations between husband and wife here have been divine.<br />
And I can feel my heart swell with Holy Spirit joy,<br />
As each piece tumbles into place.<br />
While I pray.<br />
And wait.<br />
<br />
We are late ~ it is the second week of December...<br />
The plans barely unfurled.<br />
I fret.<br />
Others are well on their way of celebrating advents,<br />
And still my printer is whirring and my heart filling.<br />
And I see it there ~ this little 3x5 card at my computer,<br />
the Psalm that I am penning permanent to memory.<br />
Within the lines of my weekly piece,<br />
"...do not FRET - it leads only to evil."<br />
{ Psalm 37: 8 }<br />
<br />
And I picture the "perfect birth" that Mary may have visioned,<br />
And how last minute, she is riding a donkey...<br />
Last minute, she is still on her journey.<br />
She doesn't even know where her journey will end.<br />
Just that it will end with God's perfect plan.<br />
She is led to where Holy would unfurl.<br />
There is no such thing as perfect human planning.<br />
Just divine intermingled with our mess,<br />
Leading us, and showing us glory!<br />
<br />
Right there, glory.<br />
Amidst barnyard smells,<br />
and long journeys,<br />
fatigue,<br />
and lack-of-room.<br />
<br />
Glory!<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-51831144255237428572012-11-16T11:42:00.000-06:002012-11-16T11:42:44.375-06:00Look, children, LOOK!<div align="center">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNTyBMpxj9TXRu32xNzDcR3yPagQucXt9TRrNGWHWJCzbaVANN2EyhgTYIPadWK-xKvn143BZhe8ZvlvEAbJYTEzdeNwsw09OIu9vc55gDbsFjuPsHWMNaKzB8G8sHS14PuJ9PO8oTfqo/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNTyBMpxj9TXRu32xNzDcR3yPagQucXt9TRrNGWHWJCzbaVANN2EyhgTYIPadWK-xKvn143BZhe8ZvlvEAbJYTEzdeNwsw09OIu9vc55gDbsFjuPsHWMNaKzB8G8sHS14PuJ9PO8oTfqo/s640/030.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_mX12Fi0da5FDQ-VrLvaoJJlVOIghcMhTBQt8n62_5pKXolW61g3uLfa8o9Cld60Bh5dYX4NavDxOhGLlCtZ2AWoURdoexACKo5qyaT_Spy1Qjah_K3iIjgFBExRZC9KtrVIUYW-_6Hs/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_mX12Fi0da5FDQ-VrLvaoJJlVOIghcMhTBQt8n62_5pKXolW61g3uLfa8o9Cld60Bh5dYX4NavDxOhGLlCtZ2AWoURdoexACKo5qyaT_Spy1Qjah_K3iIjgFBExRZC9KtrVIUYW-_6Hs/s640/025.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWntWp3ehysyvB-h7uas73jJB1nfJGm6JV7E1fkMCHo4LatzRSrHiYXREQ8DqbgMb8f-UvyCqpOL3SQNxvU4l3s5Y8o3Q7YCm2oOKuhZVRbO8lnjJsTjw-kmHcM5iO1-RhN051v2COTxUb/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWntWp3ehysyvB-h7uas73jJB1nfJGm6JV7E1fkMCHo4LatzRSrHiYXREQ8DqbgMb8f-UvyCqpOL3SQNxvU4l3s5Y8o3Q7YCm2oOKuhZVRbO8lnjJsTjw-kmHcM5iO1-RhN051v2COTxUb/s640/028.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ14JojrdiMrnKLBDtCVapvPQqWPFkiSV1gRjDehPT66u4jP4T2BVI-Ns1cKqhvGd-TwtmxhzuyeSOBIIuI7gwTqOzQgdEJCbWMMqjaSNvIm3yvtZbN7_gffu39AznmUu-tUzxtD683bay/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ14JojrdiMrnKLBDtCVapvPQqWPFkiSV1gRjDehPT66u4jP4T2BVI-Ns1cKqhvGd-TwtmxhzuyeSOBIIuI7gwTqOzQgdEJCbWMMqjaSNvIm3yvtZbN7_gffu39AznmUu-tUzxtD683bay/s640/032.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">above: handprint lambs by Gabe and Quinn ("<a href="http://www.mfwbooks.com/products/M50/40/5/0/1" target="_blank">Adventures in My Father's World</a> "curriculum, Week 19)</td></tr>
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</div>
<div align="center">
My imperfect journey toward a <em>pure</em> Christmas?<br />
Each year, maybe a step closer.</div>
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</div>
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When my first baby turned one, there were gifts under the tree labeled:</div>
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"From: Santa!"</div>
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Truly, there are pictures in scrapbooks to document this.</div>
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That was the last year that Santa stepped foot in this home.</div>
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I kicked out Santa Claus.</div>
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</div>
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Extreme?</div>
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Yup.</div>
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Me: quiet, reserved.</div>
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Maybe somewhat shy.</div>
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But a realist,</div>
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with adventure in her heart.</div>
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</div>
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It takes a little courage to kick out Santa Claus.</div>
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He is everywhere, after all.</div>
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</div>
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I guess, I just wanted Christmas for my kids to </div>
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NEVER CHANGE.</div>
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To always be majestic and mysterious and peace-filled,</div>
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focusing on a Super-Hero</div>
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who would never leave them.</div>
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Whom they would never outgrow.</div>
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</div>
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My son once asked me, "Mom, why <em>exactly</em> do we not do the Santa-thing?"</div>
<div align="center">
I simply told him my heart.</div>
<div align="center">
"Son, Santa is a fun tradition for many children.</div>
<div align="center">
But I traded in Santa for truth.</div>
<div align="center">
I purposed in my heart that I would never lie to you.</div>
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Even in good fun.</div>
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So that you really understand that I am telling </div>
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the truth,</div>
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when I teach you about Jesus.</div>
<div align="center">
Some parents walk this line between Jesus and Santa really well,</div>
<div align="center">
as the idea of Santa comes from a historical figure who helped many poor,</div>
<div align="center">
named Saint Nicholas.</div>
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But I knew I couldn't walk that line well.</div>
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So I chose a different path for us."</div>
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</div>
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Fast forward over a year.</div>
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We are pulling into the garage, and my son is asking me a simple question.</div>
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One with an obvious answer, like "Mom--are we home?"</div>
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And I said "No. Not...yet....."</div>
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Being silly, jesting with him.</div>
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He was <em>hurt</em>.</div>
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He told me so.</div>
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"Mom, I am sad."</div>
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I laughed it off thinking he was frustrated with my humor,</div>
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and that child floored me with:</div>
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"You told me that you'd NEVER lie to me. And you just did. You just LIED."</div>
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Like two tons of bricks fell from the sky and landed on my heart.</div>
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He remembered our conversation about Santa,</div>
<div align="center">
and it colored his world view.<br />
Through our road-not-taken, the road of Santa,<br />
he remembered my vow to him.<br />
And this imperfect momma apologized for jesting.</div>
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Apologized for <em>lying</em>.</div>
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And oh-the-line-we-must-walk-as-parents.</div>
<div align="center">
I stumble along it right along with the rest.<br />
Intending one thing ~ changing our entire family tradition,<br />
and still falling short.</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
We kicked out Santa,</div>
<div align="center">
but somehow we still do the overload Christmas gift thing.</div>
<div align="center">
And every year I encourage the children to write "wish lists."</div>
<div align="center">
Only we don't send them to the North Pole.</div>
<div align="center">
I never wanted to rid the world of the jolly-fat-fellow-in-red,</div>
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just wanted to make it a clear path for my kids toward Jesus.</div>
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And yet...somehow....</div>
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I am waking up, looking around, and realizing:</div>
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Santa was only part of my problem.</div>
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</div>
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I haven't quite mastered this Christmas thing yet.</div>
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As the snow gently falls here outside these old windows,</div>
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sky darkening with the sleep of impending winter,</div>
<div align="center">
I am carving new path,</div>
<div align="center">
fighting off new enemies of the soul.</div>
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<br />
*********<br />
</div>
<div align="center">
I know what I want my children to see each Christmas.</div>
<div align="center">
Right here, yes ~ THIS is my heart:</div>
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</div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
A trifle over 2,000 years ago,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
the God who spoke the world into
being, All Powerful,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
poured joy and hope upon the earth.</div>
<div align="center">
The earth, with it's mess and evil ~
evil that we opted to taste.<br />
Evil that still rolls right off this tongue of mine.</div>
<div align="center">
He sent us part of Himself, His
glorious son.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
All along, His divine plan to bring
us back to Himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
Our dirty, ugly, sinful hearts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
<strong>Loved.<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
That Christmas Day ~ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
He sent us our redemption.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
At great cost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
A baby born in a lowly manger,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
Sent to wash us pure white.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
That baby's walk-upon-this-earth,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
And his brutal death at the hands of
us,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
Allows me, sinful me,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
To come right to the very throne of
God,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
bathed pure white,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center">
and be called <em>a child of the Most
High God.</em><br />
<em></em><o:p></o:p> </div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>Look, children, LOOK!</em><o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<div align="center">
<strong>
<em>See the gift He has given!</em></strong><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
**********<br />
<br />
Rocking the baby to sleep,<br />
this song came into my head.<br />
I think, just maybe, I am meant to share it here.<br />
Funny how music can sing the song of souls.<br />
Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-573983931352640632012-11-12T18:00:00.000-06:002012-11-12T18:00:07.700-06:00The Road Not Taken<div align="center">
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<em>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,</em></div>
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<em>and sorry I could not travel both</em></div>
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<em>And be one traveler, long I stood</em></div>
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<em>And looked down one as far as I could</em></div>
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<em>To where it bent in the undergrowth....</em></div>
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<em> (-excerpt by Robert Frost)</em><br />
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*********************</div>
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This is where I am.</div>
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Standing, peering, pondering that forest.</div>
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I have these little, teeny feet following me.<br />
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And, truth be told...<br />
I would probably stand at that diverged road forever.<br />
If it weren't for time speeding forth,<br />
beckoning me make my way, or it be made for me.</div>
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I am thinking...Christmas this year?<br />
Will be the start of a new trail. A little unconventional.<br />
A bare-naked Christmas.<br />
And I'm not talking exposed skin and blushing.<br />
Just a stripping of all the distractions.<br />
Honestly, if I were to bare my heart ~<br />
facing forth a trail less-trodden is a bit SCARY.<br />
And is going to take some real courage from this momma's heart.<br />
<br />
Every year, as Thanksgiving heralds its approach,<br />
I have the children dig deep and offer-up tales of what they are thankful for.<br />
There is pure joy in the act of giving thanks,<br />
breathing life and fanning the sometimes graying ashes of contentment.<br />
Such peace.<br />
Hope.<br />
<br />
Then...BAM. BLACK FRIDAY.<br />
Feel it?<br />
Feel that peace and contentment just vaporize...<br />
As the rush toward -stuff- begins?<br />
We were all just THERE: basking and washing ourselves in joy.<br />
It is the greatest mass-hysteria-soul-amnesia-pandemic.<br />
Within one week, I go from teaching-the-counting-of-blessings,<br />
to teaching-the-counting-of-wanting-more-always-more.<br />
I go from having my little ones write lists of thanks,<br />
to handing them paper and inspiring them to write a list of all their lack.<br />
And the focus shifts.<br />
Innocently enough,<br />
But shift -- it does.<br />
<br />
And like tectonic-shifting changes the very placement-of-continents,<br />
The shift of heart-plates, away from gratitude, forever changes the soul.<br />
<br />
I am finally understanding what the retail world has known all along.<br />
There is no real profit to be made at Thanksgiving.<br />
Because when people are giving thanks,<br />
They are not out looking to buy joy.<br />
They <em>already have it.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
I could probably write a ten page, okay twenty...<br />
journey of my muddled ponderings, staring down this fork in the road.<br />
Hearing those little feet, eyes just watching what way we'll take.<br />
I love that these little ones are safe with me!<br />
And at the same time --whoa, the responsiblity--<br />
Inviting you to watch this journey unfold?<br />
Starting here..<br />
at the decision place. Long.<br />
Where I am still a bit muddled and uncertain and <br />
building, building --always building, courage.<br />
<br />
As this momma is standing there,<br />
Ready to forge ahead into a new path toward<br />
heralding in the birth of sweet Jesus ~<br />
our home is full of the buzz of gratitude.<br />
Joy.<br />
Contentment.<br />
<br />
And it is well within my soul.<br />
<br />
May I be the flawed vessel, infused with glue-of-supernatural strength,<br />
that holds those heart-plates in place?<br />
Holds them in place,<br />
Focused.<br />
On where real joy is found.<br />
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***********************************<br />
<br />
<em>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,</em><br />
<em>And sorry I could not travel both</em><br />
<em>And be one traveler, long I stood</em><br />
<em>And looked down one as far as I could</em><br />
<em>To where it bent in the undergrowth;</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Then took the other, as just as fair,</em><br />
<em>And having perhaps the better claim,</em><br />
<em>Because it was grassy and wanted wear;</em><br />
<em>Though for that, the passing there</em><br />
<em>Had worn them really about the same,</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>And both that morning equally lay</em><br />
<em>In leaves no step had trodden black.</em><br />
<em>Oh, I kept the first for another day!</em><br />
<em>Yet knowing how way leads on to way,</em><br />
<em>I doubted if I should ever come back.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>I shall be telling this with a sigh</em><br />
<em>Somewhere ages and ages hence:</em><br />
<em>Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --</em><br />
<em>I took the one less traveled by,</em><br />
<em>And that has made all the difference.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em><u>The Road Not Taken</u>, by Robert Frost.</em><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-58670069628790231492012-10-31T14:13:00.001-05:002012-10-31T14:13:26.247-05:00"THIS IS IT"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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I told my husband,</div>
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as silly a girl as I am...</div>
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would he please, please be open to taking the long route?</div>
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There was, after all,</div>
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all this history along hwy 8.</div>
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Not a straight shot, abandoning GPS,</div>
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but surely abounding with pieces.</div>
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Of me.</div>
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He smiled.</div>
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He knows.</div>
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The heart of this girl?</div>
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Watered, nourished. Over the years.</div>
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With the trees, with the quiet...</div>
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of the Northwoods.</div>
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I gushed all ten-again,</div>
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how we always knew we were close to the cabin</div>
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when we saw it: the mystical-parting-of-the-trees.</div>
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Like waters bowed up on either side of a secret passage to peace.</div>
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Parted just for us.</div>
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And then--like a storybook come-to-life,</div>
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we saw it.</div>
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Unchanged.</div>
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Open and just as secret and divine as ever I remember it.</div>
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There at the intersection of hwy 8 and H.</div>
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My childhood began unfolding.</div>
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Then there's the bend...</div>
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And then the highway that slips right between two glorious, unadulterated lakes.</div>
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You can see that highway from my childhood pier.</div>
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The one I sat on every. single. summer.</div>
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As we slipped our way right along that highway-between-the-lakes...</div>
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I could not understand,</div>
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I was trembling and crying.</div>
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Trying to look out the window and hide tears from little boys</div>
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who would wonder what-in-the-world-had-gotten-ahold-of-their-momma?</div>
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That place, it is tied to me.</div>
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Like a deep, old friend.</div>
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It is the very clay from which I am made.</div>
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That little cabin with the wooden sign, </div>
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"THIS IS IT"</div>
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right there at the edge of its driveway.</div>
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Or at least that's where it once stood,</div>
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announcing to us that no matter how far we'd come,</div>
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or what the year had brought us,</div>
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THIS--this place,</div>
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It was where all the memories of childhood could be heard,</div>
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Seen. Touched.</div>
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Like an envelope waiting.</div>
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THIS IS IT.</div>
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And it was.</div>
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When that little cabin went up for sale, $5,000 and needing to be moved offsite?</div>
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I was renting an apartment, a brand new wife.</div>
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And I swore that no matter what it took,</div>
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we just had to find out if we could buy those walls.</div>
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The only thing is....</div>
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It's very backwards to buy a cabin before your first house.</div>
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And before we knew it?</div>
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We found out how much we could borrow.</div>
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We learned about mortgages.</div>
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And we bought our first house.</div>
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We bought this house that I am sitting in,</div>
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because of that cabin.</div>
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Of course,</div>
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we had to let the cabin go...</div>
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Because life is the story of sometimes having precious places</div>
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disappear.</div>
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Right off the map.</div>
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I stood at the edge of that purest water.</div>
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I wondered if it remembered me.</div>
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Stood there, unmoving.</div>
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Letting the memories wash right over me.</div>
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That water brought ghosts.</div>
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Time is this current that sweeps and washes and moves and never stops...</div>
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You can look into it and see backwards...</div>
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Faintly hear it swishing forward.</div>
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Even as you are desperately clawing and trying to get it to stop.</div>
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Stop.</div>
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For just a moment.</div>
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Can I go back?</div>
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Remember the water slide...remember my sisters in diapers...</div>
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my dad running into that water fast and splashing and oh-how-we-begged-him-more-more-more.</div>
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The minnows in schools and moving all together and me running away.</div>
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Wondering how, how could that bravest sister of mine, just a few years my younger...</div>
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how could she swim out to that floating dive-deck with all those FISH down there in the deep?</div>
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Mom and her laughter, always smiling,</div>
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Planning adventures.</div>
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What treat would we find today?</div>
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Would we rescue stray dogs with porcupine needles in their chins?</div>
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Maybe play the 101 Dalmations game up in the loft...</div>
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Tucked there on those shelves, where we each claimed a slab as our space?</div>
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Catch a chipmunk with a jump rope and a box?</div>
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Would Muriel be there, and Gordie...</div>
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Would she show us how to sew little bunny crafts?</div>
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Would we make it across the entire lake today in the paddleboat? Just sisters?</div>
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I am young again, little.</div>
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My future yet unwritten.</div>
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This family, this place ~ it is my everything.</div>
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When did I grow up?</div>
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When did that happen?</div>
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</div>
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The air, is frigid.</div>
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Snow threatening.</div>
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The trees, they are changing colors all around and the smell of change ~ fills the air.</div>
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Somewhere between that little girl,</div>
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And this 32 year old standing here...</div>
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Life happened.</div>
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Only I cannot remember exactly how.</div>
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Just that I'm back, </div>
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and somehow I'm still that little girl?</div>
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</div>
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The water remembers, I am sure of it.</div>
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It whispers eternal.</div>
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No wonder Jesus is compared to living WATER.</div>
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The very essence of life.</div>
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Unchanging.</div>
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</div>
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It is mind boggling to remember yourself as a little girl,</div>
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and turn around to watch your OWN babies playing.</div>
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It was my mission, you know.</div>
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To bring them here.</div>
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To seat them down at this grand table, the purest feast...</div>
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And have them eat it up.</div>
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And never be the same.</div>
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And always want to come back.</div>
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And bring their babies.</div>
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Suddenly I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my parents,</div>
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despite the investment of time and finances ~</div>
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they made this place a top priority.</div>
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Every year.</div>
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We only missed one summer.</div>
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But we made up for it the summer that we came for TWO weeks.</div>
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We started coming the year I turned five...</div>
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and our last summer was the year I was 22.</div>
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That adds up to 18 weeks of my life spent on Lake Hilbert,</div>
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give or take.</div>
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What a precious gift.</div>
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More than any other vacation, place, or memory.</div>
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More even that my childhood home on Madison Street.</div>
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This place formed me,</div>
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taught me peace.</div>
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Helped me deeply know the heart of God.</div>
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How to hear Him.</div>
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I still have trouble finding peace in the city.</div>
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Here?</div>
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I just reach out and wrap myself in it.</div>
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"THIS IS IT"</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-72896907261692071932012-10-24T09:03:00.000-05:002012-10-24T09:03:55.523-05:00Halloween's gift of perspective.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Mom?<br />
Why do people put up pictures of skeletons at Halloween?<br />
What is so scary about a skeleton?<br />
We all have them!"<br />
Questions of a seven-year-old,<br />
who has been taking this journey with his mother.<br />
<br />
I smile inside.<br />
He is getting it.<br />
<br />
The Bible is filled with this scripture topic...one cannot escape it,<br />
or help stumbling upon it.<br />
Over and over.<br />
Death.<br />
And fearlessness.<br />
Simultaneous.<br />
<br />
Around October, as the leaves are dying and the grass is browning,<br />
We can all see and smell it: death.<br />
We feel the chill in the air.<br />
And there is a holiday, typed permanent on the calendar,<br />
at the death of October.<br />
The hours of its very last breaths,<br />
dedicated to one thing: fear.<br />
Scary pictures start to adorn every store, the windows of homes...<br />
Haunted this and that,<br />
Everywhere.<br />
Pictures associated with death: spirits, ghosts, skeletons...<br />
<br />
Only in Christ?<br />
None of that scares.<br />
<br />
It sure scares the world.<br />
<br />
Halloween at our house is a time of prayer for the scared.<br />
Because the scared?<br />
God is chasing us with abandon.<br />
<br />
Ever stopped to wonder....<br />
how is it, that if we are truly just winners of the survival-of-the-fittest race...<br />
evolved from big bang soup...<br />
WHY...why in our hearts do we <em>think</em> eternal?<br />
Why is it that we spend most of our lives <em>feeling</em> that we will live forever?<br />
That somehow ourselves, what makes-us-us...<br />
it couldn't possibly just up and vanish.<br />
This feeling doesn't assist our fittest-survival.<br />
Often it causes us to do silly things.<br />
Like teenagers behind the wheel, power at their stern.<br />
Causes us to outright give up our lives.<br />
<br />
We spend our lives wondering, searching for the eternal...<br />
as if it was a compass, put there to point us somewhere.<br />
Are we listening to it?<br />
Or are we muddled with noise.<br />
Avoiding listening to the quiet that unsettles us.<br />
God place eternity in our hearts.<br />
He placed His Image there.<br />
The Eternal.<br />
Hear it?<br />
<br />
I often think about how this survival-of-the-fittest theory <br />
has one big unanswered conundrum:<br />
The fittest?<br />
The top of the chain winners at current?<br />
Humans?<br />
We are ruining our planet...<br />
We are destroying all things good, all the time.<br />
The air. The trees. The water.<br />
We are on a one way mission to destruction, all the time.<br />
And death can be scary to a culture who knows deep-down that it <em>will</em> live forever.<br />
That its choices have eternal value.<br />
Only what forever looks like...is the scary part.<br />
And where the Halloween images come to play.<br />
<br />
Halloween wasn't always this fearless around our house.<br />
<br />
Gabe was five month old.<br />
I simply had-to-have-it.<br />
That little costume.<br />
The peapod one.<br />
So I beelined for the Halloween store.<br />
I darted my eyes among the grotesque and morbid,<br />
eyes glancing FAST and trying to avoid dwelling on an image that would <br />
haunt me.<br />
I have always had a tender spirit.<br />
I see something awful, and it dwells with me.<br />
I wished they would separate that store into sections...<br />
for the easily-scared, like me.<br />
"SCARY SECTION, BEWARE"<br />
in the very back.<br />
And the <br />
"CUTE STUFF COLLECTION"<br />
in the front for those of us timid.<br />
I found that little peapod,<br />
paid way too much.<br />
Got outta there.<br />
Put it on my son on Halloween,<br />
snapped a TON of pictures.<br />
Didn't think twice about it.<br />
It's what people do, on Halloween: the routine.<br />
Even dressed up the dog.<br />
Handed out candy to the cute travelling door-to-door kids.<br />
While holding back the crazy, barking dog....<br />
who wanted to lick those kids...<br />
<br />
That was my first Halloween as a mother.<br />
Going with the flow.<br />
<br />
Then the mind, it got to pondering.<br />
The muddled ponderer.<br />
<br />
I have always battled with a spirit of fear.<br />
When I was a little girl,<br />
our home was targeted on a few occasions<br />
by those wishing evil.<br />
They left blood in the snow, with an upside down cross.<br />
Because my mother had been writing Jesus poetry for the local paper.<br />
They banged on the door hard another time,<br />
when we were home alone with mom.<br />
We thought they were breaking in,<br />
the police were called, and the neighbor came running.<br />
I think I shook for hours straight. Pure fear coursing my veins.<br />
It never left.<br />
<br />
A few years later, a dear friend of mine had rabbits in a hutch outside.<br />
Little sweet ears floppy and soft little snugglers.<br />
Momma and babies all tucked in for the night.<br />
And someone got ahold of them and murdered them.<br />
Laid them out in a circle on the lawn.<br />
Evil?<br />
Exists, everywhere.<br />
We cry about it when we hear it on the news.<br />
When it erupts in our cities.<br />
Yet one day a year the country worships the idea of it.<br />
Evil suddenly becomes funny, trivial.<br />
How to make that leap?<br />
I will never understand.<br />
<br />
I wondered if society realized what they were celebrating?<br />
Or was it more about the dress up and candy...<br />
<br />
And I fought myself hard on this one.<br />
Because I wanted my son to be able to dress up and get loads of candy.<br />
Like I did, when I was a kid.<br />
<br />
But then I realized,<br />
If I send him out there and we step foot...<br />
how to explain that it's okay to dabble in evil, as long as it's done lightly?<br />
In a world where there is no longer a line in the sand between good and evil...<br />
just wavy, just skewed, just choose-for-yourself grayness.<br />
<br />
I chose to stop and make a line in the sand.<br />
To make it easy for them to see it right there,<br />
to avoid any confusion.<br />
When I drew that line, initially, it was in fear.<br />
<br />
Parenting?<br />
It's a journey.<br />
A journey littered with mistakes,<br />
but one that grows me.<br />
More than my kids.<br />
<br />
I know the stories about Halloween,<br />
its roots, its traditions, its evil.<br />
A little googling on the net?<br />
And one can be scared right outta their wits about it.<br />
I know loving, honorable parents who still do the trick-or-treat thing.<br />
But I've always been a black-or-white kinda girl.<br />
Always thinking about the motives just under the surface.<br />
Not wanting to wishy-washy.<br />
Never doing a single thing <em>just-because</em>...<br />
and always knowing that choices have cost.<br />
Both sides. Of every choice.<br />
<br />
Over the years of not-celebrating-Halloween,<br />
avoiding all the yucky of it...<br />
I came to realize that I still feared it:<br />
Evil.<br />
And that as a proclaimed Christ-follower I was missing the entire point:<br />
Of not celebrating Halloween.<br />
This year God is growing me.<br />
<br />
What man intends for evil, God uses for good.<br />
We nailed him to a tree.<br />
Evil.<br />
He turned right around<br />
and CONQUERED DEATH in our name.<br />
He rose again, redeemed us. While we still hated Him and His love.<br />
We screamed we hated Him...and He screams back, "I love you."<br />
It's great to have a holiday to remind every one of us,<br />
that we all share one universal finale: death.<br />
And what we choose to do with that reality<br />
makes all the difference.<br />
In wether a skeleton scares us,<br />
or reminds us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.<br />
By an intentional Creator...<br />
<br />
My family has a line in the sand.<br />
We stand on the side of the line that says, <br />
"Fearless."<br />
And we celebrate death daily...<br />
<br />
"But if Christ is in you,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="22"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-22" id="22" title="ver 9; Ex 29:45; Jn 14:20,23; 2Co 13:5; Gal 2:20; Eph 3:17; Col 1:27; Rev 3:20"></a></sup> your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness. <span class="versetext" id="ro8-11" style="display: inline;">And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="23"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-23" id="23" title="S Ac 2:24"></a></sup> is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="24"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-24" id="24" title="Jn 5:21; S Ro 6:5"></a></sup> through his Spirit, who lives in you. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-12" style="display: inline;">Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation--but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it.</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-13" style="display: inline;"> For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die;<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="26"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-26" id="26" title="S Ro 6:23"></a></sup> but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="27"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-27" id="27" title="S Ro 6:2"></a></sup> you will live,</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-14" style="display: inline;"> because those who are led by the Spirit of God<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="29"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-29" id="29" title="S Gal 5:18"></a></sup> are sons of God. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-15" style="display: inline;">For <em>you did not receive a spirit</em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="31"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-31" id="31" title="S Jn 20:22"></a></sup><em> that makes you a slave again to fear</em>,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="32"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-32" id="32" title="S 2Ti 1:7; Heb 2:15"></a></sup> but you received the Spirit of sonship.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="g"></a><sup class="footnote" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#fn-descriptionAnchor-g" id="g" title="Or "adoption""></a></sup> And by him we cry, ""Abba,"<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="h"></a><sup class="footnote" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#fn-descriptionAnchor-h" id="h" title="Aramaic for "Father""></a></sup> Father."</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-16" style="display: inline;"> The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="34"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-34" id="34" title="2Co 1:22; Eph 1:13"></a></sup> that we are God's children. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-17" style="display: inline;">Now if we are children, then we are heirs<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="36"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-36" id="36" title="S Ac 20:32; Gal 3:29; 4:7; Eph 3:6; Tit 3:7"></a></sup>--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="37"></a><sup class="crossref" style="display: none;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/romans/8.html#cr-descriptionAnchor-37" id="37" title="S 2Co 1:5"></a></sup> in order that we may also share in his glory."</span><br />
<span class="versetext" style="display: inline;">Romans 8:10-17</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Highlight">"Where</span>, O <span class="Highlight">death</span>, <span class="Highlight">is</span> <span class="Highlight">your</span> victory? <span class="Highlight">Where</span>, O <span class="Highlight">death</span>, <span class="Highlight">is</span> <span class="Highlight">your</span> <span class="Highlight">sting</span>?"</span><br />
1 Corinthians 15:55<br />
<br />
<br />
I know there are those that avoid pumpkin carving,<br />
the historical paganism of it.<br />
I get that.<br />
If it blurrs the line for you, makes things grey...<br />
dispense of it.<br />
The line? It's a glorious dance between you and God.<br />
I decided that I'm just not going to let Halloween claim pumpkins.<br />
We gathered this year with family and we picked out perfect<br />
round, little pumpkins.<br />
And all the little ones decided upon how to decorate them ~<br />
with glitter glue, stickers, markers....<br />
<br />
I faced my fears head-on this year,<br />
handing the knife to my seven year old.<br />
Despite eyes wide all around...fearing....<br />
my own heart racing.<br />
But it was time.<br />
Time to hand him something dangerous,<br />
and see what he would do with it.<br />
To let him know, in a little tiny way...<br />
that his mother?<br />
She trusts him.<br />
She is aware that he is growing into a young man.<br />
Only a parent knows when this time arrives.<br />
When the first autumn will be...<br />
when we bravely hand over the carving tools.<br />
Ready for the outcome...<br />
wether it be artful and beautiful,<br />
or a trip to the emergency room.<br />
<br />
And then there's Quinn,<br />
who does all things whole-heart.<br />
Who was the last one decorating his pumpkin at that table.<br />
Covered that thing in pure black permanent marker.<br />
Didn't stop 'til it was covered.<br />
And his hands showed it, covered too.<br />
Little tongue out,<br />
in his 'concentration' mode.<br />
I love the way his tongue does that...<br />
Thank you, God, for carving Quinn the way that you did.<br />
For the tongue-thing.<br />
Icing on the cake.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-18529462463895864572012-10-21T23:14:00.001-05:002012-10-21T23:14:36.708-05:00Family Gathering.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The older we get, the harder it is to get us all in one place.</div>
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I said to my husband once, long ago:</div>
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"There will be a time.</div>
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A time when my sisters will be older,</div>
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And they will have lives that are bigger than now...</div>
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And I won't have as much time with them.</div>
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So right now?</div>
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Right now I am just going to be with them. As much as I can.</div>
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Whenever I can."</div>
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I had them visit me wherever I went,</div>
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college dorms, first apartments, my first "home" as a new wife.</div>
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I often picked them up halfway between my life and theirs.</div>
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One hour, one way, to tuck precious bags in my car and steal them for a weekend.</div>
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Four hours roundtrip driving for a weekend of sisterhood.</div>
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The distance, I swore, would never weaken us.</div>
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My sisters all now have lives bigger.</div>
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Bigger than before.</div>
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We are all out there, playing house <em>realtime</em>.</div>
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And days like today....</div>
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when we all are gathered in one place?</div>
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These are the days when time stops.</div>
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It just stands still, for a bit.</div>
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I watch <em>my</em> oldest baby playing with <em>my</em> <em>sister's</em> oldest baby.</div>
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Running around, tossing leaves. Like we used to.</div>
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I watch my dad ~ the world's best grandfather.</div>
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Running and chasing and making fun.</div>
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I cherish how my sisters have chosen the most wonderful men to add to this family.</div>
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The loves, it just multiplies here.</div>
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Family just gets richer with time.</div>
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My babiest sister ~ is expecting her first baby.</div>
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When she told me,</div>
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I screamed right into the phone.</div>
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I am sorry, niece or nephew, for the fact that your momma will be deaf on one side.</div>
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But I couldn't help myself.</div>
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The hardest part of loving all these,</div>
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is saying goodbye,</div>
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until we meet again.</div>
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It's funny how souls who lived within the same walls for years,</div>
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suddenly find themselves saying,<br />"See you in four or five weeks!"</div>
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And it becomes normal.</div>
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Yes, the drive away from the day, from the leaf tossing and the giggles</div>
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and the delight....</div>
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that is always hardest.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-62255825176742367362012-10-17T15:48:00.005-05:002012-10-17T15:48:48.164-05:00Away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I cannot describe the way the soul needs rest.</div>
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To remove from all the normal.</div>
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The regular.</div>
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And just...empty, and refill.</div>
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Last week we spent time at our emptying place.</div>
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We took all of our stress, our burdens...our schedules...</div>
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We took them and sank them deep into the lake.</div>
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We cast our lines...</div>
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We cast our cares upon the Lord with abandon.</div>
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My biggest excitement was to be able to sit: on a pier.</div>
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Like I did when I was a little girl.</div>
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Feet dangling down skimming the water, listening to it ripple and wave,</div>
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reflecting on life.</div>
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To worship there.</div>
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That was really it, my one main destination: the pier.</div>
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When we arrived Up North,</div>
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just past the middle-of-nowhere...</div>
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snowflakes were swirling in the air.</div>
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The trees were GLORY.</div>
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Splendor, afire.</div>
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I was overwhelmed with grattitude, Lord.</div>
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I was overwhelmed that this penniless-me,</div>
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pouring her soul and her precious time and energy into raising babies...</div>
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teaching babies...being a goodwife...</div>
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This penniless soul, LAVISHED with gifts.</div>
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Like a cherished daughter.</div>
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Lavished, unashamedly with unspeakable beauty at every turn.</div>
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Who am I, to deserve to even behold?</div>
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The thing with God?</div>
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He doesn't ever give us what we deserve.</div>
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He gives us ~ unmeasured more.</div>
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Just pours it out.</div>
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I have been searching.</div>
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Searching for exactly: what am I to you, Lord?</div>
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Because this world says that if you're not a specific size,</div>
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or have beautiful curves and flawless skin...</div>
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you lack.</div>
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You lack beautiful.</div>
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You are less.</div>
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And a soul can get pretty worn down hearing that, seeing that.</div>
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So I ask, and wonder...about biblical beauty.</div>
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How a meek and quiet spirit is of great beauty to the Lord.</div>
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But doesn't get you very far here in this place.</div>
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And I wrestle with God about His love, and how sometimes it feels far.</div>
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And I wonder my worth.</div>
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And then,</div>
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He just pours.</div>
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"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart."</div>
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Psalm 37:4</div>
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<span class="versetext" id="ps46-5" style="display: inline;"><em>The true desires of the heart...are rarely things.</em></span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-71723637918670017572012-10-04T15:26:00.000-05:002012-10-04T15:26:01.625-05:00Beautiful mess.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84aNhDu34hZTPFZlyuisRQv5d9TmuNJOVJLlQkoUOgB9voB1C1PdaaHFRbk2tXoq3hFkZ998IQXm-RY2ZdBkY3XdUYv27_KwbCeVZYBzUWpNPRayee9lieqk_b26VOk1UbIZajc1Tb8L7/s1600/fall+adventure+2012+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84aNhDu34hZTPFZlyuisRQv5d9TmuNJOVJLlQkoUOgB9voB1C1PdaaHFRbk2tXoq3hFkZ998IQXm-RY2ZdBkY3XdUYv27_KwbCeVZYBzUWpNPRayee9lieqk_b26VOk1UbIZajc1Tb8L7/s400/fall+adventure+2012+001.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunshine across warm floors....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">There is something about sunshine falling across wooden floorboards that transforms me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Lifts me right up out of the tyranny of self-inflicted schedules.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Into the beauty of living.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">There's a portion of a verse that keeps speaking to my soul today:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><a href="http://www.biblestudytools.com/nas/luke/2.html" target="_blank">"Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart."</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I get that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The pondering of the heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Maybe that is the lifeblood that motherhood is made of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I love that scripture included this verse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">In the tale of the Saviour's first days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Our society today is all about fast. All about keep-up with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I guess I never have been one to fit in?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am often all-in-my-head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Often slower than the rest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I get muddled easily, so I like to keep myself in the simple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am always always pondering in my heart...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The muddled ponderer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Autumn is amazing to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The world is just set ablaze in glory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I started the day full of self-defeat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Exhausted from children waking in the deep of the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The time and space where our bodies recharge</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">becomes unpromised in motherhood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hitting the pillow never knowing if the rest will be available.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">If tonight it is for the taking?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Or maybe next week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">When will I grasp that rest? Wrestle it to the ground?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">If a mother's heart never pondered and treasured,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">a lonely, exhausting life it would be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Standing at the kitchen window...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">knowing that just a room away I have the most glorious schedule.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">in pure <a href="http://www.titus2.com/managers-of-their-homes.html" target="_blank">Managers of Their Homes</a> style.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Oh, it makes me smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">That grid, lined up there...little rectangles and structured colors...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">naming the stuff of our lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The fun and the not-so-fun-necessary stuff,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">so that nothing gets missed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So that in theory, somehow I keep this home all together. Running.</span></div>
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And mornings like this, </div>
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the rectangles run together and blurr and skip over each other.</div>
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Behind.</div>
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Behind.</div>
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Behind.</div>
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It whispers to me...why can't you ever stay ahead?</div>
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Why is it that you can MAKE a schedule so pretty,</div>
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and <em>abandon</em> it daily?</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Self-defeat is sometimes my middle name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I looked out the kitchen window as I poured sour milk from a sippy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Thinking how I wished for clean.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">For order.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">For rest that comes in a package and doesn't eat up my rectangles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Right there, outside my window-of-work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">beautiful, brilliant leaves falling like confetti.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Unlimited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Beauty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Just there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">How beautiful life is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">How beautiful this messy, unplannable, chaotic life of mine is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The only tyrrant here?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Is me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">It sometimes takes a great deal of pondering to clear the self-defeat fog from my eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">God makes beautiful of messes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The leaves we try to rake up in neat piles and send away on city trucks?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I love those messes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am sad when we rake up the mess of leaves God showered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I love the way they announce movement on the sidewalks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The way they sound as the wind whispers throught them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">A symphony for the soul.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">What would life be like, all tidied up and perfect?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We left the mess today, the tyranny of the undone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">And we went right out there to the thick of beauty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">On a whim, when really we had other things beckoning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I don't want my children to remember their youth with rectangles always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">But with chasing beauty,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and embracing messes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">And giving the mind space to ponder in the quiet,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">away from the noise of self-defeat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The noise of perfection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunq-25V1mns5e6iXnBo-_NL2SyQZ9wnvzGcG-wIE95rBAW-p9tj0LpJpHaCpXe3KlePd2o_F9Xn_OU4oavFCHOJAEYKT9iRI_TAlpDYjETbMBtHZI039ecxX-uH7tUIQN6IAB2OXLAxPF/s1600/fall+adventure+2012+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunq-25V1mns5e6iXnBo-_NL2SyQZ9wnvzGcG-wIE95rBAW-p9tj0LpJpHaCpXe3KlePd2o_F9Xn_OU4oavFCHOJAEYKT9iRI_TAlpDYjETbMBtHZI039ecxX-uH7tUIQN6IAB2OXLAxPF/s640/fall+adventure+2012+006.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-45327267062511244962012-07-08T22:37:00.001-05:002012-07-08T22:37:13.774-05:00Fireflies.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been thinking a lot lately, about how God blesses us.<br />
Last night, I saw fireflies flitting about in the backyard, and I just had to be out there flitting too. I grabbed the sweet littleness of my 11 month old son, on the eve of his first birthday, and together we watched the ethereal delight of those amazing little insects that play and frolic during my favorite time of day: dusk. <br />
Dusk is like a blurred painting, dimmed lights, colors foggy and surreal. A dreamland. The sky washed in pinks and blues, hues unmatched by any painter's pallette.<br />
Sometimes we fight Him on it: blessings. We shake our heads and flat out refuse. As if we really had a choice? And maybe sometimes we DO. We do have a choice. Sometimes we miss out on those precious blessings because we thought that our way was better, we used our "free will" button and we missed out BIG.<br />
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My mind frolicking with the fireflies, husband runs outside and says, "Did you HEAR THAT?" I watch him beeline for the a/c unit below our LR window. I heard nothing strange, wonder what is the fretting...and then he announces, "Yup. It's dead."<br />
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My mind is in a great place. Hard for a heart to sieze up with worry when watching a firefly show. Isn't that how it always is? With our minds focused on beauty and Someone Bigger, it is much harder to get lost in worry.<br />
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I am learning this. In every situation, I am learning to smile big and say, "I can't WAIT to see what you do with this one Lord!" I fail consistantly. My heart is naturally bent on anxiety. On worry. As a mother, it's what I do. I worry. As a stay-at-home-mother, I worry even more. Worry about what tragic event will conspire to drown our finances and send me back into the workforce too soon. Worry when things break, that our savings will dwindle. That a medical bill will cause our demise or force us to forget an annual vacation. My mind...it goes there in an instant...if my eyes are not set High Up.<br />
How would the story of those complaining Israelites been different, had they invited God's blessing? Had they rejoiced at their freedom, and been in watchful awe as Pharoah's army approached to slay them, walled up against the sea--just waiting for the FIREWORKS, the majesty, the rescue, the impending blessings. It's easy for us to see it now--thousands of years removed, judging those Israelites as a bumble-headed brood of rotten attitudes. But in the moment, those men and women HAD NO IDEA. They saw impossible, they complained, they would RATHER HAVE THE MEDIOCRITY.<br />
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I want to see fireworks. To see God so big, coming through...when all else fails and clearly He is all that is left. Looking back, those are the moments in my life that are my FAVORITES. Often, those are the moments that are also wrapped in incredible pain. To be open to the richest blessings is often synonymous with trusting God through deep trials.<br />
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It was indeed, broken. That ol' a/c unit, in all it's faded glory. Heat wave pending, temperatures estimated to be triple digits, and it just quit. At the exact same time as my feet were trampling grass, teaching my son to see miracles in bugs that self-light their little dancing bodies. The night before the double birthday. I tempered my fear. It would creep in...oh no...what if...and I forcefully chose joy. I almost have to stick myself face first into joy sometimes, smash my head right in there. My fear showed to my sweet husband, who spent his evening calling HVAC contractors...and my mind kept sliding toward worry...how much would it cost....what would we give up....mind-please-stop. change gears. thank-you-Father-for-the-years-of-cold-air-on-stifling-hot-days, I will trust You still. We can live without a/c....yes, we can totally live without a/c. We have a glorious basement that needs cleaning, and it is always cool. Maybe a birthday spent in the basement playing Wii is fabulous, indeed. <br />
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Would you believe an HVAC contractor offered to show up the next morning at 7am? During one of his busiest weeks? He showed up ON TIME, muttered to me something like.."wow, this is an OOOOlllld unit!" <fear, panic...=""> and then found the problem...a $40 part....fixed it fast...and the whole event was $110. Over and done. </fear,><br />
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What do we add to our lives when we worry? We cannot see the future. We cannot change it with worry. Yet we try....<br />
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My little neighbor girl taught me how to catch fireflies. It is amazingly <em>easy</em>. You just reach out, and <em>CATCH THEM!</em> Golden hope, right there for the grasping... but you cannot catch them if you are not focused. If you see their light and then lose track. It is an art of joyful, willful concentration. Eyes fixed, anticipation building.<br />
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<strong><em>"and who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?" -</em></strong>words of Jesus (Matthew 6:27)<br />
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A link for you, to one of my favorite Bible study tools on the web:<br />
<a href="http://biblestudytools.com/">http://biblestudytools.com/</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-18036963476920274232012-04-06T23:06:00.001-05:002012-04-06T23:06:40.347-05:00Battle Gear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The book that launched the journey.</td></tr>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><u>All in a day's work.</u></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Homeschooling is completely a labor of love. And every now and then it becomes very clear to me why God has called me to this path. This winding, exhausting, exhilerating path.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The pages are turned, mother and son looking together through the pages of history. We are studying the Vikings, explorers of old. I am learning almost as much as my son. And remembering. Churning over the earth of my aged mind to uncover nuggets that were buried there. I read aloud, share the text of the pages. And it happens: we bridge the gap. The gap of the age old fight of whose God reigns.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Age six, and I am already handing him his battle gear.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I read on, realizing the words spilling out from my lips, they keep tumbling one over the other, awkwardly unstoppable now. Knowing that it was going to occur at some point--some future sacred time and space. But today? There it is, messy history, words floating, ready-or-not, the account of how the Vikings believed in magic spells for healing. How they buried their possesions with them --and even their slaves-- thinking that those items would follow them in to the afterlife. I read on and on. Unable to see my son's eyes, I focus on the page and just continue to read..waiting for the questions...hoping please for the questions....</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then they come.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Why did they think that, mom?" </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">These are the times that I must be grounded in my own faith, and stand on it firmly. </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">But as much as I desire, I cannot pull my son onto my rock. He must climb there for himself.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I explain the search for God throughout history. That one thing rings true: people through history have a God-sized space in their hearts and have searched. How fear drove cultures to invent gods to answer questions and explain nature. And I use what little words I have...oh where is my head today...to explain the difference between our real God and the make-believe gods. And son replies,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Well. We think our God is real. But the Vikings thought their gods were real. So who's right?"</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I look him in the eye, and know that all my head-knowledge of eye-witness gospel accounts, archaeological evidence, the way that our God outperformed the old testament pagan gods--I know that such apologetics comes with time and that, at age 6, the answer must be simple. And that my concise answer does not suffice the mountain my son has ahead of him to climb.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The mountain of truth. And I want to say,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Welcome, son. Your journey is just beginning!"</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I never want him to follow Christ simply because his mother did.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I want him to follow because he knows TRUTH.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">But in order to do so, I must let him wander out from the safety of my skirt.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And it hurts.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I imagine my son in a classroom surrounded by other students, uncovering this simple Viking book and hearing words of ancient beliefs spoken from a teacher who may or may not portray Jesus as truth, and the questions swirling around in his mind. The questions that he may never have remembered to ask his mother after stepping foot off the school bus at the end of the weary day. The book being returned to its home on the shelf, and the questions disappearing. The questions that swirl up the dust of doubt and settle again and come back to haunt when they are unanswered. And I am grateful. Grateful that the introduction of the gap between our God and all the others was mine to introduce. Grateful that I saw his reaction firsthand and know what to teach in the future. Grateful that the mouth that taught him his first bible verse is the same mouth that honestly taught him that the world has many, many gods. And that it's okay to ask questions.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And I will always answer.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And God is big enough for our doubts.</span></em></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3207759608555711836.post-35942636715172050372012-02-05T17:11:00.001-06:002012-02-05T17:11:24.198-06:00Deep Conversations.<div style="text-align: center;">
My trio.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u><em>Conversations between brothers. Deep into the night.</em></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I hear the unmistakable stomp of little three-year-old-feet. Accompanied by the tell-tale whine from the lungs they carry. I am tucked in my room, working on lofty ideas, as I perk ears and listen to the story unfold. Quinn's tiny three year old voice sobbing to his daddy, "I don't WANT to go to heaven! [sob] It's FAR! I don't want to go all by myself! [sob] Gabe said I have to believe in Jesus to go to heaven, and I DON'T! Because I don't WANT to GO!" Scared, crying. I hear deep man chords, response jumpled together and words unintelligible. And then the sounds of clomping feet back to bed. Soothed. Followed by methodical man steps that stop at my door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Leaning in the doorway, my husband questions if I've been listening to the discussions taking place in the room next door. I hadn't been. He alerts me that there are discussions happening in the boys' room. Deep. Profound. I set aside my planner to eavesdrop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gabe: "So, Quinn, in 97 years, remember that, and you'll go to heaven. And for me, 94 years. For Tennyson, 100 years. Just believe in Jesus, and you'll go to heaven with me, and mom and dad, and Tennyson, and James and Marcea, and Pastor Dave..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Quinn: "I'm going to look around da room and see if dare's a clock. And if dare's not a clock, I'll ask Jesus to bring us a clock. [quiet contemplation]... Is dare a stove in heaven? Oderwise we have to ask Jesus for one. Or, ....we can't have pizza. Can you make pizza wit-out a stobe?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gabe thinks over the pizza question: "I don't think so..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Quinn: "I think dere's not a stobe, because you have to bring your stuffed animals."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gabe explains: "You can't bring those. God's probably <em>making</em> them for us right now..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">[they discuss items that God is making for their special home in heaven. I am smiling and scribbling all of this down on a piece of looseleaf paper which I silently snatched from my binder, not wanting to forget any of this...scribbling and smiling and careening my ear...]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Quinn: "I think I'll fall."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Gabe: "God will help us. You won't fall."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Quinn "Is there going to be a bridge??" [still wrapping his little mind around the concept of being in the sky, and logistically how this will work for him]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Gabe gets back to the point: "So, do you believe in God and Jesus?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Quinn, now irritated: "Ya. I TOLD you dat THREE times. You can't ASK me dat!! Da limit's two!!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">and then sweetly... "Gabe, if we don't go in the morning, we're not going to go."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Gabe, "Well, your going in 97 years...." </span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1