tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6954196299686706232024-02-07T22:11:10.054-05:00Dancing in the RainLife isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's learning to dance in the rain!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-85855094146047521062015-01-12T09:09:00.000-05:002015-01-12T09:09:03.419-05:00Change is here... It has been long in coming but due to Google taking over the world and Blogger not playing nice with Apple, I finally broke my 3 year rut and found a website plus a blog over at Weebly!<br />
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If you like what you've been used to here, you'll really like the new site! Please be patient with me as I learn how things work and put together a better site with a variety of posts. I'm excited for this new adventure - me and my post-it notes!<br />
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<a href="http://www.ruthverkaik.weebly.com/">www.ruthverkaik.weebly.com </a><br />
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Come on over and look around - pardon the dust!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-59860832868042582542014-05-11T21:10:00.000-04:002014-05-11T21:10:20.920-04:00Not your typical Mother's Day post<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If you clicked on this link to read a thoroughly sappy post dedicated to moms, you won't find it here - at least not thoroughly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If you wanted to read a diatribe on how Hallmark has capitalized on our guilt and made millions from the need to press into one day what should be readily seen every single day of your life, I'd love to, but sorry. I'm sure there is another link out there for ya. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">If you are thinking "Hmm. Well, that either makes her some neo-feminist or else a hard-hearted crazy woman", while that could be true... its not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm a mom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have been such for the last nine years of my life. I have had the privilege of feeling my body change and expand uncomfortably (and <i>dareisayit</i> beautifully?) over the span of nine months three separate times. I've ridden the hormonal rollercoaster of the after-pregnancy and somehow made it through the fog of nighttime feedings to welcome the new normal of each new little person and how our family has changed as a result. My body bears the marks of this. I've added a few more soft spots they love to snuggle (that I wish I was more disciplined about removing). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm just an average mom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>I know a mom whose dear hubby is military and she runs a daycare. She is far more self-sufficient than I will ever be. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>Another mom is on her own making her two beautiful kids her world while going to school. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>There is another beautiful woman grieving the loss of her man and staying afloat on the grace of God while she parents her 7 amazing kids. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>I know another woman who today had her very first Mother's Day and she hasn't even met her little man yet. She wasn't sure she ever would have the chance and she's over-the-moon excited that she will meet him in a few short months. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>Another mom today thanks God for the 4 women who carried their children to term so she could wrap her arms around them and they could call her mom. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>I know another mom who gave birth to a love for orphans before she ever had one of her own. Now 4 kids later... :)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I can guarantee you each one of these amazing women feel like horrible moms some days and question their sanity on more than one occasion - sometimes daily. Having another day to throw up a "perfect-face" isn't what we moms need. We need the daily "Hey girl. No pretending or pinteresting here, how's it really going? Oh and btw, I've so got yer back! We can make it." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mother's Day shouldn't be a contest and secret jealousy match over whose hubby did the most and greatest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Being a parent sucks sometimes. It's hard. Mom or Dad: it doesn't matter. The weight of this little person/peoples life rests on both your shoulders. You screw up and lose it and feel like someone could just save you the trouble and label you a nice big failure right now because you're darn sure these kids will end up in juvenile detention by the time you're done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Being a parent is the single most life-shaping event that has happened to me. The woman nine years ago was still unpacking the boxes from her classroom teary eyed over the fact that she will likely not be in a classroom as a full-time teacher again. She was wading through the muck of her own emotions and coming to terms with the instant relationship her gorgeous baby girl had with her daddy knowing she couldn't rewrite the history with her own dad. Today, that woman is sitting here remembering that a blink of an eye changes life completely. Life is here and is gone. She didn't finish the dishes while her in-laws were here because relationship is more important than a clean kitchen. (And for the record - all the cooking was done yesterday :) ) She is struggling to learn the nuances of letting each child be their own person while still holding up lines and boundaries. She desperately wants to focus on what's important and most of the time, it means she isn't. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Like I said... Today is Mother's Day. But I hope tomorrow is also your Mother's Day and also the next and the one after that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Because, hey girl, I know being a mom is amazing and heart-breaking all at the same time, so I got yer back. No contest here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The only contest is who can cheer for the other the loudest :)</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-40622939468433065512014-04-28T21:37:00.000-04:002014-04-28T21:37:02.636-04:00A Life Well Lived<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She sits in a rolling recliner with her eyes half closed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Four years ago, she used to sit in a chair outside the children's ministry bathrooms making sure those little boys washed their hands. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I walk up to her and smile. She smiles tentatively, obvious that she doesn't remember me at first sight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I say my name and her eyes widen. She cannot stop exclaiming that I remember her. I tell her that she's pretty impossible to forget. She smiles and chuckles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We talk. I walk down memory lane with her about that feisty 90 year old who sat in a chair so those little boys would have clean hands. She smiles again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remind her how she told me to talk to my dad and work things out with him. She praises God for His faithfulness even though some progress is made and then lost. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We talk about family, church, life... She still can't believe I remember her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She comments that she was so busy. I tell her that she put busy people to shame! She once told me that her one goal in life was to use every breath in living for her Savior. She did and is doing just that. From being to church early just to help me get ready Sunday morning to delivering meals and visiting those who couldn't get up and around... she truly put "busy" people to shame. Such an example of life and words in tandem. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I take out the little gift I hastily wrapped for her. A cheery pack of orange and pink flower post-its and a little journal. I feel awkward now realizing her writing must not be what she would like it to be. But I explain what my children do with the shaped post-its. How they write and draw their "thankful-things" and stick them anywhere and everywhere. I tell her how I would feel if I were in her shoes. Freedom and ability taken away and now under the constant supervision of healthcare people. She looks down. I tell her that I would need to remember all the good things I have. She keeps thanking me for the little gift. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I take out my iPad and scroll through pictures of the kids and Easter and Mike being silly with them. I show her video clips of the Star Wars birthday party and the sugar-crazed boys whacking Mike with the lightsabers he made for them. She chuckles and reminds me to treasure these things. They are what is truly important. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We get talking about sickness and bodies and I say how someday... someday! we will have perfect bodies and her face just glows! We agree that we can't wait. Sin and hurts and terrible things in this world make us long for perfection. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We look at more pictures but I can tell (even though she would have me stay another hour) she is tired. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I ask if I can pray with her before I go. She would love it, she says. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I take both of those beautifully soft wrinkled hands into my own and bow my head. As I begin to lift her up in prayer and thanksgiving for all God has done through her, I cannot stop the break in my voice as I ask God to give me endurance and let me run my race with abandon as she has run hers. With tears, I praise God for placing her in my life and ask Him to encourage her to finish strong. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As I wheel her back out to the open area, I give her another hug and tell her again that I will be back and to stay feisty. She smiles and chuckles and I feel as if somehow I've been given the greatest gift instead doing the reverse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She's almost in the cloud of witnesses but she's still here cheering me on. Keep loving your husband, Ruth. Make time to sew that twirly dress for your little girl. She will grow up far too soon. Get down and play trains and legos with your boys. Never be too busy to be silly. And never, ever pass up a chance to laugh!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Okay, Veryl. You have my promise. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-41193058280560579162014-03-20T14:51:00.000-04:002014-03-20T14:51:16.424-04:00A new way to read posts... <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/11975817/?claim=zsjf2fbn8y4">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a><br />
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Happy Blog-reading!!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-18832006697225894532014-03-13T11:13:00.001-04:002014-03-13T11:13:10.625-04:00True Divergence<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">I'm in the middle of reading the Divergent Trilogy. </p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">The first book I couldn't get to the end fast enough. </p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">The middle one? Too much drama, lies, and relationship weirdness. It felt like the story waffled more than necessary.</p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">The last one? I certainly am not dropping all of life just so I can read it - as I did with the first one. It feels like the author is in "wrap up loose ends" mode and "how many plot twists can we possibly toss in here?" I'm getting bored with it. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">Overall, the books feel dark and brooding. Gray, joyless, something bad is coming just around the corner, gotta grab a passionate kiss in the meantime so you don't get too far down - kinda feeling. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">There are interesting points that relate to the current political landscape. There are even references to our government history in the book and opinions from the characters point of view. I find those things funny. When a fictional character can directly make an opinion regarding my country's state of government and be mostly accurate... you can't help but be amused. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">While they are interesting, I don't share the conspiracy theory-type views that seem to be flowing just under the surface. Conspiracy theory and the related fear/suspicion only takes over a person who believes that no one but themselves is in control of their environment. A good God who orchestrates all things - even bad stuff - for His ultimate good plan denies the fear that conspiracy holds over your head. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">Then there are the obvious stereotypes of the Erudite, Dauntless, Amity, Abnegation and Candor. You'll probably need a vocabulary lesson but it's worth the understanding of each one. One of my favorite quotes is about how being Divergent is dangerous because they can't control or predict what you will do or think. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">This book series ultimately comes back to thinking and using your mind and making choices being well informed and wise. Not placing yourself in a certain "box" of beliefs simply because it is the "way" it's always been seen and done, but thinking it over for yourself and coming to a conclusion - being careful to separate "Blender Theology"... pick what you want and put it all together and whammo - your very own special blend of religion.</p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">A Christian should be Divergent in the truest sense. We know Who has made us thirsty for knowledge, courage, peace, selflessness and truth. We of all beliefs can say this is our goal. To use our minds and embrace all of those things. Face our fears knowing the One who controls it all. We are more than just a catechism that defines us. We are more than just a stone tablet with 10 rules we have to follow. We have been given a history of faithful people who have lived in the midst of great difficulty and stood firm. We must do the same. Live and Love and THINK. Think beyond what your pastor has said. Read and wonder and ponder. Use each book as a window to see Truth. Toss out the junk. Ask the Spirit to open your eyes. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">Because Mr. Eckel is right. Everything is theology! Everywhere is Truth. Train your eyes and mind to see it. </p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; font-family: Helvetica;">Even in this book series. I can see it. I will finish this book even though I'm less than impressed with it. I will be looking for every scrap of Truth because the Author of Truth is worth finding!</p><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-23625969924691698742014-02-13T14:00:00.001-05:002014-02-13T14:01:09.739-05:00The Every Day V-Day<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's 4pm and I'm well aware that within 10 minutes the quiet in the house will be replaced with jostling story-telling children leaving wet boots, snowpants and all manner of miscellaneous accoutrements all over the used-to-be-clean mud room floor. They will be competing with each other to tell me the latest and most amazing parts of their day (or tattling on each other) and in doing so, I guarantee that a fist-fight will almost break out in their haste to beat the other to the best parts of their day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I know this will happen. It always does - in a Groundhog Day sort of way. No matter how many times I sit them each down and give them separate time to talk to me, they feel they've got to push their way to the front and be first. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So the best part of my day comes when I see my tall man fill the back entry. The cavalry has arrived! He wraps me in his giant hug and I'm taken back to our 3 months of dating. He gave me a hug every time he came to pick me up to bring me back to Michigan. His soft flannel shirts and his musky deodorant and Dove soap combined to sear my memory with the smell of "home". He is and will always be my home. Even though, I'm physically standing in our house with our three little people clamoring for our attention (at that very second trying to push us apart as we stand together)... I am satisfied knowing my best friend is with me so I am home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With tomorrow being V-day, this love and marriage stuff is on my mind. I've come to the conclusion that Valentine's Day is quite honestly a horrible day. I know, I know, I can almost see your fist full of candy hearts ready to toss at me... but hear me out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It sets up husbands with unrealistic expectations. Then it gives wives a rotten rollercoaster ride. Is he gonna remember what day it is?? Maybe! Maybe he's got a secret getaway planned for us!! Then she tells herself that whatever happens will be fine. But she knows it really won't be. On the flip side for the hubbys, it almost gives them a get-out-of-jail-free card. If they can nail a seriously romantic Valentine's Day, they've got brownie points saved up for a rainy day. Who cares about doing the stuff around the house she needs done every day: help with homework while she gets dinner ready, connect and listen to the kids when a game is on, wrestle with those crazy balls of energy when the Xbox is calling his name... why bother?! "She's good because I took her out and wow'd her."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Every Day Valentine's Day is completely lost with that kind of idea and obligatory compulsion we place on our men. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What is the Every Day V-day, you ask?! Let me tell you! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's the man who puts in a couple loads of laundry just because. He makes sure my van has good safe tires and is properly maintained. He even cleans a toilet or two. He takes care of his mom by starting her car just before she leaves so she can get in a warm vehicle. He bathes the three dirty monsters while I finish cleaning up after dinner. He always finishes whatever project/work stuff he's got going by 9pm so we can sit together and talk. That same man will give a "hog back ride" to all who wish one on their way to bed. (We don't have a piggy in our house; we have a hog. When Jonny was little, he'd stand at the top of the stairs and holler "Hey HOG!" so he could get his ride!) He makes the best coffee every. blessed. morning! He listens to me. Even when I don't make sense. He encourages me to enjoy the moment and laugh in the crazy. He prays with each child every night and tells them a story or sings them a silly song from his imagination. He makes sure my debit card has enough for our needs. He gets excited over my good deals. It is the simple. The daily. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As all marriages can attest, sometimes it doesn't 'feel' romantic and all that jazz. But it's not just candlelight and roses and quiet dinners that rates (or should rate) on the romantic scale but doing life together... diapers, laundry, work, frustrations, kids, family, love, honesty. That's true romance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's hard work to be intentional; not allowing electronics and time to creep up on you but creating that space for talk. Date nights out don't happen every month like I would prefer, but we have time every single night that we sit together and talk. We talk about life outside of kids and we talk about kids: Can you believe the House raised the debt ceiling?! Did I tell you what Jonny said?? (He was frustrated with something and said,"oBAMA!" Then looked up at me and said, "That's a bad word isn't it, Mommy?" He thinks anything you say in frustration is a bad word. By that point, I was laughing so hard!!!!) Crazy what damage a sinkhole can do when it's under the National Corvette Museum! What IS Billy Ray Cyrus thinking bringing back that insane song Miley style?! Yeesh! I tell him about the Common Core curriculum and Matt Walsh's blog... and all the crazy FB thread comments and we land with thankfulness for our wonderful ZPS and West Michigan bubble. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes it is simply laughing; inside jokes and sideways glances and even body noises! He has always said you have to be able to laugh when your spouse lets one rip. :) At dinner, it starts with one of the kids (usually Jonny the Ham) doing/saying something bizarre and then I find myself laughing. They keep laughing so I laugh harder until it's just one big Laugh Fest! Laughter truly keeps balance in the middle of a dinner with particular palates and a frustrated cook. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of my favorite things in the whole world is looking across the table at my best friend and catching his eye knowing we're in this together. Absolutely nothing beats it! No romantic weekend (however nice) beats out the day to day shoulder-to-shoulder blood sweat and tears of life together. We have each other's back and that's a good start to our future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, let's take Valentine's Day off *our* calendar and remember the Every Day V-day. :) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's better for your marriage! </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-21175658715835681982014-02-07T14:58:00.001-05:002014-02-07T15:31:09.360-05:00My Absolute Worst Fear<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have a lot of fears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Someone taking one of my children (kidnapping/sex trafficking)... someone robbing them of their innocence while at a friends house... a fatal car accident while Mike is driving with all the kids and I'm the only one left or worse yet... Mike having an accident that puts me in single parent mode forever (I'd make a HORRID single parent - like I'd screw them up completely.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">See? I told you. And that's only the few related to our little family. Trust me there's more; which begs a few questions: why do your children get on a school bus each morning? Why do they go to a friends house to play? How can you let your husband pull out of the driveway with all of your children in the backseat? What if... what IF you get that phone call from some random police officer telling you that they think they found your husbands car and all the car seats are filled but no one appears to be responding? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxQpPfSLtu_XcdjBaz_QBB2SAMJPUFNG134c9CcZ3-yQ_5Ux2LbNIu_R3Ycq1DWFIAGYPuE3tTXavz9kTvmBFo6pptQaHZFRwn_G7fKxEjmmdXK0T7p9SvH7xo6PnSvPSHqKZhQJRgf2u/s1600/trust.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxQpPfSLtu_XcdjBaz_QBB2SAMJPUFNG134c9CcZ3-yQ_5Ux2LbNIu_R3Ycq1DWFIAGYPuE3tTXavz9kTvmBFo6pptQaHZFRwn_G7fKxEjmmdXK0T7p9SvH7xo6PnSvPSHqKZhQJRgf2u/s1600/trust.jpeg" height="131" title="http%3A%2F%2Fmichaelwg888.wordpress.com%2F&ei=azf1UsGlOLTlygGQpIGgCg&psig=AFQjCNGEdEdCSspkYh-PKIO4ReOMrqJHeg&ust=1391888517779102" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How?! I trust Him... and He is g o o d. It may sound cliche but it's true. I cannot trust in the safety of our vehicles, the moral values of other families, the knowledge and quick-thinking of teachers or bus drivers, or even (as good at it is) the driving skills of my wonderful husband. I must trust my all-knowing, all-powerful God. I fight to keep that in my thoughts as I hear the news and horrors like Sandy Hook and sex-trafficking stats for the Super Bowl. Even as the <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/us/2014/02/04/fbi-sting-rescues-missing-children-from-super-bowl-sex-trade/">FBI made that daring rescue of those 16 children and some 45 women during the Super Bowl</a>, the danger IS real and each one of those scarred women and children has a name... and one could have been my beautiful daughter. It seems logical (at least to me) that since I have no real control over what calamities befall our family, I'm left needing desperately to trust in a good God who works all things for my good - His glory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What about the things I CAN control? Somehow those things don't make my desperation list. Things like: writing, staying fit, time management, not yelling at my children... things I am continually working on. But I've realized lately, I've got this idea that since "I" am somehow working on them, I don't really need to trust Him with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Screwed up, I know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Another thought hit me right about when that one did: what if someone who knows me started reading my little blog? This person could be my neighbor or friend or family member... someone who knows me outside of this online place. Would they have an "ah-ha!" moment seeing the words I'm writing lived out in my life or would they say "Her writing is pretty good if you don't know her." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I love to craft words so that the reader feels the irony or their heart wrenches with emotion or they find themselves bust out laughing at the humor of a situation. But that idea of my writing not matching my life to the point of someone being completely turned off to the Truth I treasure... well, it just freaks me out. I've even let that fear be the reason to quit trying. It's very hard to believe that I have something unique to say about, well, anything. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Trust me, if you take a look at the archives, <a href="http://ruthverkaik.blogspot.com/search/label/current%20events">there are articles about Kony2012 and the 2012 election and many others</a>. I have lots of opinions about everything from the State of the Union debacle, to the current boycott of Girl Scout cookies, to being a mom and making a difference in the world by doing the next load of laundry. But so does e v e r y b o d y else and their grandmother. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is where the trust thing comes in. I must trust Him still. Even in the things it appears I can control - because let's be honest... who can control time management when your preschooler decides to take grapes and bounce them all over the floor while laughing hysterically and when they squish? Well, suffice it to say, he laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. Yeah. My little plan of doing this thing then and getting that done now... not happening. Or staying fit when one of the children's very-deserved consequences inconveniences me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I must trust Him that He has given me this desire to write and ask Him to show me what to say. Using the gifts He has given me IS a way to bring Him glory. But I must keep myself face down in His presence knowing how easy it is to get full of myself and negate the very Truth I treasure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I guess fear isn't such a bad thing if we take the time to dig through the why and come face-to-face with the Who at the end. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">How about you? </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Let's chat!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What fears do you need to dig through to find the why and see the Who? :)</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-74855017852575007792014-01-28T17:01:00.000-05:002014-02-07T15:36:31.931-05:00A New Year, A Whole-Hand Birthday & Drinking Deep<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's been quite a while since I've sat down and began intentionally lining up letters to make words to make sentences and to piece together some of my scattered ragged thoughts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">My writing lately looks like a few sentences here and there copy/pasted into a <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/werdsmith/id489746330?mt=8">handy app called Werdsmith</a>. :) It stores my bits and pieces until I can take one of them and stretch it into a complete thought... and yes, it's an app, which means my husband has completely Mac'd me. He gave me an iPad for Christmas with a keyboard case and I couldn't be more thrilled!! The test came when my Dell laptop came back from being cleaned up and reimaged... and I tried to use it. Before I realized it, I was tapping the screen seriously irritated! I wasn't sure if I would ever get the hang of thinking in Mac-land but lo and behold... wonders never cease! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I guess you might say I get a bit more retrospective when my children's birthdays roll around but <a href="http://ruthverkaik.blogspot.com/2013/01/have-you-considered-all-your-options.html">even more so with Jonny's birthday</a>. January 22nd will be his "whole hand" birthday! (Turning 5 is the current highlight of his life!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of the habits I'm choosing to make this year (I detest resolutions. I don't need to <i>resolve</i> anything! I need a <u>revolution</u>!!!) is one of daily being in that soul-reviving Living Word drinking deep so my thirst is quenched by Him and no other. There is a white board on our back door Family Center with Jesus' response to the woman at the well... (tUrV - the Uninspired ruth Version) You've tried so many other things to satisfy that deep down driving desire... I'm right here! What are you waiting for?! If you come and drink deep of ME, your driving desire will be met. I am the LIVING Word. Everything will change when you saturate yourself in only Me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So I found my dear One Year Bible stuck on a shelf and have been keeping mostly on track and when days pile up, I'm learning to simply read a bit more and go on. :) No guilt. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhQlsdziUqTOpEGqeuI2EpB7uJyP0IVQps7z-QopfkwYdkqwtbmLj7j4HKlebBkbSzTE-8uxZpDL23ReEkk2pIPnmAt2IFzNF9YTA1TAw62ztyxm8E2aUpbytQQvusDWiHlspYhVFjfPz/s1600/IMG_4520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhQlsdziUqTOpEGqeuI2EpB7uJyP0IVQps7z-QopfkwYdkqwtbmLj7j4HKlebBkbSzTE-8uxZpDL23ReEkk2pIPnmAt2IFzNF9YTA1TAw62ztyxm8E2aUpbytQQvusDWiHlspYhVFjfPz/s1600/IMG_4520.JPG" height="145" title="Copyright Dancing in the Rain" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, this day, I sat down with a cup of coffee to read and a little man followed me wanting to sit next to me. As a mom, my emotions were mixed. I wanted to snuggle him and hold him close but I also just. wanted. to. read. without. being. touched. So, I explained to him that Mommy wanted to sit and listen to Jesus talk to her and read His words. If you want to get your VeggieTale Bible, you may quietly sit next to mommy, but there is no talking right now. We are listening to Jesus talk to us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That sounds all great and fine, but when rubber says "hiya" to the road of reality, what really holds?! I was shocked, actually.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He is quietly sitting next to me, Bob and Larry staring at him as he turns the pages silently. I am reading and listening to the Voice of Life... and the next blessed thing I hear is this rather loud stage whisper: "Do not fear, for I am with you!"... "Do not fear, for I am with you!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I didn't know whether I should laugh, cry or hug him while I laughed and cried! He looked up at me and said "I'm saying my verse from school, Mommy. They are Jesus' Words. Right, Mommy?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh sweet little boy, they are Jesus' words! Those are the very words I was praying over and over "a whole hand" of years ago before I'd even met you. Then remembering those words as you were carted away from us for testing... and trying desperately to hear them while walking through the Trial by Potty Training. I can say... it is TRUE! Even in the darkness of the never-ending battle of potty-training, He is with me and I will not fear. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">While I am somewhat known for a deep enjoyment of good sarcasm, there is none in that last paragraph. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Truth-moment? Potty training this boy was a deep dark time for me. I was staring into another year of *just* him and me at home purely because he REFUSED to do what he needed to on that toilet. Lots of dark thoughts flitted through but I knew ( k n e w )deep down that God doesn't ever make mistakes. It wasn't the easy choice or thought to grasp, but Truth rarely is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That moment, that stage-whisper, those precious words said by the little boy who still surprises me... when his big brother was disappointed about not joining the "Glasses Club" of which the rest of the family is a life-long member, he patted his leg and said consolingly, "It's okay, Michael. Jesus conquered the grave. It will be okay!"... </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">these (and <i>many</i> others) are </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">evidences of my Father who will not let me go whatever the darkness or exhilaration because He. Loves. Me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Did you get that? Because it's true of YOU, my friend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He. Loves. You. :) Even in the rain. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Look up and smile because you bring Him joy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Splash in those puddles! </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Laugh hysterically because you have nothing to fear! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He truly has conquered the grave. :)</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-66893164438482702242013-08-11T19:10:00.000-04:002013-08-11T19:11:10.003-04:00Blindfolding My Sons<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]-->Do you ever have those “pull-you-up-short” moments? You’re
just going on your merry way when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">–bam-</i>
your breath is taken away by the sheer fragility and (if we’re honest- utter
fear of screwing it up) of your job as a mother. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For me, it was Friday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were walking through our local mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The one that hasn’t been quite the same
since the megamall was put in 30 minutes away.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You might as well know – I almost never go to the mall. If I
shop other than garage sales, online shopping is my friend. I have a vague idea
of the current trends but I’m okay with just vague. The latest and greatest
things don’t influence me. I prefer middle of the road style, comfortable-cute
over super-cool, really good quality and above all – I LOVE me a good deal! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay. You get the idea.<br />
<br />
So, why were you at the mall, you might ask. I was doing an
exchange at Bath
and Body Works. After I finished – speedily, I might add (one doesn’t browse
long with two boys), we walked down to their special reward: playing at the
indoor play area. I’d forgotten about one particular store but my four year old
quickly called it to my attention. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look Mommy! There’s a naked girl over there!” Yep. He’d
found Victoria’s
Secret. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I acknowledged his observation in the hopes that he would
simply observe and turn and make another observation in the complete opposite
direction. (I should add that I was fighting the urge to pick him up, cover his
eyes and run screaming from the mall never to return.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I looked down and those big brown eyes were captivated, still
taking in that poster of bigger-than-life,
no-real-woman-can-ever-hope-to-compete, airbrushed young girl that some call
porn. I said quietly, “Jonny, sweetheart, there are better things to look at.
That isn’t a very good store to put pictures like that in their windows. Can
you find any squares on the floor that are different colors?” Instantly, I had
his attention elsewhere. He was hunting and calling out the different colors on
the floor with his brother. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart was pounding. I wanted to cry. My sweet four year
old little boy had just been studying that awful poster. I had quite possibly
screwed up his mind forever. All because of a deal I wanted to exchange at Bath and Body Works. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the mom-feelings began to settle, rationality surfaced. I
have not by any means screwed up his mind. As a mother and with his father,
together we have to show him that sin is stinking everywhere. We have a choice:
Sin or Not Sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
redeemed-bought-by-grace-believer, I don’t have to give in to that sin. We have
to cultivate that mindset of self-control in this horridly me-me-me world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Protection is necessary but sin is everywhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Protection without example or tools to prevent is equal to opening wide the door for sin. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now as well as when the boys get older, both their dad and I will be
talking with them as opportunities arise. Over and over I have heard
parents wishing they had not waited to have "The Talk" until they were
older. Opening an ongoing conversation is far better than one fell swoop
of a talk. I'm speaking from theory at this point with our
children, but I will fill you in as life happens. While we may want to boycott all malls as a good first step, let me assure you: they will at
some point have to go to some store that will have some kind of poster like
that. They must know what to do in the moment. Talking openly about why and
what God says about it and what we think about it and then most importantly - what must we <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">do</b>, is absolutely unequivocally crucial. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am I screwing up my job as a mother? Some days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is God bigger than my junk? Absolutely. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can I protect my children from everything? Nope. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I wish I could? Desperately. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am left falling into the perfect Father’s arms because He
loves them more than I do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that is where I fight to stay. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-24540224409260251422013-07-14T14:43:00.000-04:002013-07-14T14:43:22.109-04:00Liberia: my pre-trip thoughtsHistory is scary. It's a real-life true-story that happened to flesh-and-blood people somewhere in the world and... I am utterly fascinated by it.<br />
<br />
World War II and the stories of Jewish families being helped by various people are by far my favorite part of history. I bite my nails with suspense as the Gestapo are within inches of finding those they sought but miraculously the asthmatic are silenced and those who hid these precious ones are protected. I want to stand up and cheer for the good that triumphed over such grotesque evil. But the hardest part was the reality that this happened. There are death camps to prove it.<br />
<br />
I want to believe that I would do the same. That I would welcome into our home those who were sought by an evil government. That I would give my last breath to do without apology that which protected another's life. I am given an example to follow by amazing people such as Corrie Ten Boom and Dietrich Bonhoeffer who did exactly that. <br />
<br />
I've recently been confronted with another piece of history. This one is far more recent than Hitler.<br />
<br />
1980... while Samuel Doe was carrying out his coup in part to free the country of the corrupt government by the elite aristocracy, I was 3 years old - learning my letters.<br />
<br />
1989 -1996... Liberia falls into her First Civil War - those same years find me completing highschool and beginning college. <br />
<br />
1999-2003... Liberia enters her Second Civil War and I finish college, begin teaching and get married. <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-13732188">(Here is a link to a timeline of Liberia's history - if you are curious.)</a><br />
<br />
Does it shock you? Do the parallel events make your mind spin? It should. That was the hardest part about reading these 2 books. The second is by far the "easiest" read but still a heavy one.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmP8eqZHw4RAz9fz_HKn7YYBHUZBCOBk-hYMIr5X9icZrXeDGJRcAvhl9IhkGCqaWjYGm1SUlNa5dUmhyG5xHSEn6-m5m_QpSwBRCgFFJHS-A_SyqFptK5wNfcxlLqrLE_eoDQs154Nk1/s1600/9781401323578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmP8eqZHw4RAz9fz_HKn7YYBHUZBCOBk-hYMIr5X9icZrXeDGJRcAvhl9IhkGCqaWjYGm1SUlNa5dUmhyG5xHSEn6-m5m_QpSwBRCgFFJHS-A_SyqFptK5wNfcxlLqrLE_eoDQs154Nk1/s200/9781401323578.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoghKqmAWHMghjdZY6ZUhD3B2yXK3guzBvE_XiE5WwreMKonW9-eZfy3vm8WW_bFzNwA_Hx04keRkXyh6Ho-B7Lup28UYPUszvtXvLXhP5hiChempdf4CSHs5StYa7lZKwM_i_p45XkIE/s1600/house-at-sugar-beach_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoghKqmAWHMghjdZY6ZUhD3B2yXK3guzBvE_XiE5WwreMKonW9-eZfy3vm8WW_bFzNwA_Hx04keRkXyh6Ho-B7Lup28UYPUszvtXvLXhP5hiChempdf4CSHs5StYa7lZKwM_i_p45XkIE/s200/house-at-sugar-beach_l.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
Reading the stories of horror stated so simply and plainly... It was mind-blowing that these things happened while I carried on my little life and acted on the opportunities given to me. Namely those of being an American, learning, gaining an education, working in my field, meeting and falling in love with my husband.<br />
<br />
I still find it difficult to truly come to terms with the awful fact that right now as I'm comfortably sitting on a couch in our living room pressing the keys of this laptop, there is a war raging somewhere, bombs exploding, soldiers lurking, fear pounding the heart of a child, parents desperate to protect their family, basic needs far from being met - the greatest of which: knowing that they are loved with an everlasting love.<br />
<br />
Honestly? I really don't know what to do with these facts.<br />
<br />
I'm going to Liberia in an effort to help educate teachers but still I wonder... how much help is one untraveled American woman anyway? I have an education degree, yes. But there is such a huge need in every area of life. <br />
<br />
Even as I reread that last sentence, I remember that every physical need can be met and in meeting those needs a person will still find themselves achingly empty and void. (i.e. most Americans).<br />
<br />
I feel hauntingly inadequate for the job ahead of me. Teaching Lesson Design to 300 teachers?? Yeah. I'm trying not to have my little freak-out meltdown. For the last 8 years, I have been a mother and wife - even a new writer - but not a teacher. Every other teacher on the team is far more qualified than I am. It is very intimidating.<br />
<br />
So I am left where I should be: trusting that God will use me - whatever that means. I am convinced that He wants me on this team, going to this country, at this time in my life. He is faithful to complete what He begins. So I rest in that. <br />
<br />
-- Stay tuned for my "post-trip thoughts"... coming soon! <br />
<br />
<br />
** If I have piqued your curiosity, there is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Historical-Preservation-Society-of-Liberia/156363354386853?ref=ts&fref=ts">a Facebook page that is sharing the few precious photographs</a> remaining since most of them were destroyed to hide tribal affiliations in an effort to save lives. I also challenge you to read the books I mentioned above.<br />
<br />
<b><u>And Still Peace Did Not Come</u></b> by Agnes Fallah Kamara Umunna <br />
<a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/And_Still_Peace_Did_Not_Come.html?id=lKfOCorHYCsC"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://books.google.com/books/about/And_Still_Peace_Did_Not_Come.html?id=lKfOCorHYCsC</span></a><u><b><br /></b></u><br />
<br />
<u><b>The House at Sugar Beach</b></u> by Helene Cooper<br />
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2643182-the-house-at-sugar-beach">http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2643182-the-house-at-sugar-beach</a><br />
<br />
<br />
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</xml><![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-22270948712732110972013-04-05T20:19:00.001-04:002014-02-07T15:01:04.753-05:00Four-Eyed Dog FaceShe was lost in her own world. She could hear the noisy chatter of the other kids in the hallway but only as through water. It didn’t matter to her that Tasia was tossing a lunchbox over her head or that Marcus was whispering behind his hand. She was just about to depart on a fantastic journey into her vivid imagination when her ears picked up that dreaded name that had somehow become synonymous with her own. She hated it. She wanted to disappear and never be seen again. <br />
Why did having glasses and a name you could bark mean that it had to redefine your existence as a 5th grader? “Four-eyed Dog-Face” was certainly not written on her birth certificate. <br />
She figured it was some kind of payback for gym class. <br />
The teacher was preparing them for the annual field day at the local college. As they formed two parallel lines to compete in the 50yd dash, she just hoped she wouldn’t trip and make a fool of herself in front of the entire class. In a flash, she realized not only was she at the front of the line with the teacher about to blow the whistle, but Marcus was her opponent. Marcus, the fastest boy in the class and quite possibly the meanest, would not let her forget it if… well, she’d just rather not think about that right then. <br />
The whistle blew and she was off like a shot. She gathered speed running on the balls of her feet and only slowed after she crossed the finish line. She didn’t even notice she was the first to cross the line until her team was screaming for her. Her elation vanished as she took in the anger and rage on his face as Marcus promised to get even with her. <br />
All the rest of the day and evening, she worried. “What if he grabs some buddies and corners me somewhere and I can’t get any help? What if he follows me home from school and waits until I’m all alone? What if… “ <br />
She worried herself right into staying home from school 3 whole days. Her mother could not figure out what in the world was wrong with her: no fever but a continuous headache. <br />
Finally, she told her mom about the race and the threat. Her mom made a couple phone calls and much to her dismay, she found herself at school the next day. <br />
She walked to her locker, hung up her things to the whispers. She sat down and got her things ready for class to start and was glad that the words quieted as the teacher began. She learned that any amount of time spent in the hallway or playground was an opportunity to hear those words that hurt more than any punches thrown. <br />
She also learned to see others who were picked on and began to help them instead of listen to those lies. <br />
That 5<sup>th</sup> grade girl grew up to one day have a classroom of her own. She couldn’t quite shake the hurt of the names so her heart was continually soft toward any hurts in her classroom or the playground. She built into her classroom the idea of a family. A family protects each other and doesn’t tear each other down. A family forgives even when hurt. A family is kind when others are not. A family is a safe place. <br />
She later married. Recently, she heard her son scream at his sister some name he made up. The instant she heard it, she could almost hear those 5<sup>th</sup> grade names. She looked into their sweet blue eyes and spoke from her scabbed-over hurt that every single person is a special creation God has made. When you call them a name or make-fun of them, you are doing so to their Creator. It is not funny nor is it ever EVER okay to call names. No matter what friend thinks it is funny, do not ever join in making fun of someone else. Stop it, instead. Learn to see someone else’s bad day and encourage them instead of tear them down. <br />
So that “Four-eyed Dog Face” girl is trying to plant seeds of tenderness in her own children… and maybe even open an eye or two by sharing this story on her blog. <br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-22063537678039201272013-03-26T21:32:00.000-04:002014-02-07T15:02:06.443-05:00What?! You want me to go where??Do you know where Liberia is?<br />
<br />
Could you point to a map and find it on the continent of Africa? (See I gave you a hint!)<br />
<br />
Until a month ago, all I knew about Liberia was that it was a country in Africa somewhere.<br />
<br />
Well, now I know a bunch more. Why the interest, you ask?<br />
<br />
I'm going there. But it's in AFRICA! Yep. I'm aware. I'm still going. When God's after you about something, you don't just tell Him no without consequence. (think Jonah.)<br />
<br />
I was sitting in church during the "most wonderful (er busiest) time of year" when they first mentioned the trip. "Calling all teachers past and present! Our sister church in Monrovia Liberia needs help educating their teachers." That small Voice nudged me. You need to go. You need to as much as they need you. It was so quiet that the busy turkey and gift season soon drowned it out. <br />
<br />
I was sitting in church in the quiet stillness post-holidays when the trip was mentioned again. This time, the Holy Spirit came in the form of my husband's elbow. This man doesn't suggest things that he hasn't thought through. He knows me so well. As I saw the calm of peace in those blue eyes, I knew that whatever fears I piled up in my own mind and heart were nothing God couldn't sort out.<br />
<br />
And sort out, He is. Shots (I had none as a kid and need a BUNCH), the rainy season, clothing, culture, BUGS, SPIDERS, more BUGS... do you get the bug factor?? Yeah. Let's just say that when I went to camp, my dear mother sent me with a super-sized can of Raid and a giant flyswatter. I was the most popular girl in my cabin. <br />
<br />
I even wanted to be a missionary. I went to Moody Bible Institute, made it out <b>without </b>my Mrs degree but instead a BA in Elementary Education. I wanted to throw wide the doors of my heart and go wherever God called - Korea? Germany? China? Spain? Aaand I ended up in Arlington Heights, IL. Not the least bit missionary-like I know. But I did meet the man who gave me my Mrs. degree. :)<br />
<br />
God's got a serious sense of humor. He's taking me (a teacher who hasn't taught in 10 years) to a country that has lots of bugs and other living conditions that freak me out to prove how great He is and how I'm not.<br />
<br />
I'm beginning to understand... that's the point. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-49056679087535297812013-02-21T15:03:00.000-05:002014-02-07T15:35:52.839-05:00Facebook, Bubble Wrap and Some Gut HonestyFacebook. I never dreamed it would become such a crutch in my life.<br />
<br />
It can be so useful and helpful... keeping in touch with dormmates and roommates (not to mention extended family) across the globe. Who is getting married... who is having a baby... who is trudging through a rough time... what God is doing... a funny from a little boy... praying for those weeping over a loss... a little girl and her pretty dress... all of these are amazing effects of an amazing bit of technology.<br />
<br />
But how did it come to replace true friendships. <br />
<br />
I find myself feeling the ache. Missing the camaraderie of a phone call... hearing the person's voice. I now have to settle for seeing words on a screen.<br />
<br />
Gut honesty? I compulsively check who liked my status, feeling better about my day the more people there are. Silly, huh? Yeah and slightly pathetic. <br />
<br />
I don't want to sound needy. No one really wants a friend long term who sucks the life right out of you with complaints and "tears on the shoulder" all the time. A friend listens and asks and doesn't thoughtlessly pour out, but what do you do when you feel like the seams that hold you together just won't take one more day of stuffing it all in. <br />
<br />
I have fought the looping tape in my head that says I'm just not worth friendship and tried to count gifts in the ugly moments. Snowflakes swirling outside when the kids are swirling inside on a snow day. The giggle of a little boy, tickling his tummy, cradling him as his eyes close... even when nothing (absolutely nothing) got checked off on my list. <br />
<br />
I want to believe that I'm okay with who I am and what I do everyday, but that horrid four letter word aims for my heart, FAIL, it labels me. Over and over.<br />
<br />
I fight that too. I used to believe it because it seemed logical, but once I began to recite the Truth over and over - I could see it for what it was: a lie. Failing is something that I <i>do</i>. Sometimes. It is not <i>who</i> I am.<br />
<br />
The Truth? I am loved. I am made new. My ugly old self who loves to control is gone and He has given me grace. I deserved none of it! That's why it's Grace. <br />
<br />
If I could, I would bubble wrap my heart with grace so I would never forget what it feels like and how God sees me. Completely covered in His perfection. <br />
<br />
My crazy children don't allow me to simply be still and reflect often but that's what I must do all the time - somehow.<br />
<br />
I have to see grace covering every little thing... even the ugly. Even Facebook. It is grace to me. But it is not a substitute for "feeling good about myself" in other people's eyes.<br />
<br />
The only Person who I must see myself through is Jesus.<br />
<br />
The culmination of this begs one very important question: Whatcha gon do 'bout it?<br />
<br />
The last few weeks, I've tossed around an idea that will help my heart see and feel the grace that I know is there. It may seem legalistic to some but that's okay. :) I know God is asking this of me.<br />
<br />
I will spend time looking through His eyes first before I spend any time seeing through anyone else's. No Facebook (or Pintrest or anything else) until I sit myself down at His feet and am reminded of who I am: a daughter of the King of Kings covered in His rich robes of grace. <br />
<br />
As I put one foot forward in this dance, thank you for this little space and for honesty. :) Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-34788134375604949632013-02-20T22:47:00.000-05:002013-02-20T22:47:47.190-05:00"Arrrgh matey!"So, I briefly thought about closing this blog... a mild case of frustration and time-pirates with a huge dose of discouragement. But I will leave it open - for now.<br />
<br />
I have zip-o inspiration, and even less time with a 4 year old who was once potty-trained and now... isn't. Ugh. If <i>I'm</i> tired of hearing how dull and "mom-like" my life sounds, I'm sure you are too. :)<br />
<br />
So. Feel free to read past posts... but you'll have to settle for monthly posts <i>if </i>all goes well on this end. <br />
<br />
Happy reading! :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-14935640654003465902013-01-22T21:37:00.001-05:002014-02-07T15:04:51.354-05:00Have you considered all your options?I could feel a coldness that had nothing to do with the thermostat. From the moment we entered the office, it was a stiff and sterile white place. But it was more than just a color vibe. We both felt it. The place you find out the worst news and go have your problem “dealt with”. <br />
We were ushered into the Genetic Counselor’s office where she asked us every possible question – and I mean every. When I thought my pregnant brain could stand no more, she said we were finished and we found ourselves back in the waiting room. A woman in a lab coat appeared and said she was the ultrasound tech and to follow her. <br />
As I was prepped for the ultrasound, I was relieved to at least know this process well and began to relax. <br />
Right up until the tech began making comments. <br />
Things like “Are you sure your dates are right?” and “You really tested negative for gestational diabetes?” I did my best to keep my sarcasm under control, but I wanted to say something to the effect of “Listen sweetheart. I know that I know that I know my dates are right. I know my body. I can give you the date of my exam and the exact date of my missed period. Any questions?! Good.” But I let it come out more of a joke that yes I most assuredly knew my dates and haha wasn’t it funny to find out I’m pregnant right after my yearly exam. <br />
After the tech was finished, we waited for what seemed like an eternity until the doctor came in. She drew in colorful diagrams on a white board how our son has these foreign sounding diagnoses because of his brain and that he might not be able to run or play football and that he would likely have developmental if not mental delays. And have you considered all your ‘options’? <br />
When she asked us that question, the fog of medical terms cleared as I let her know in no uncertain terms that our only ‘option’ was to welcome this baby into our family. My body was shaking with barely controlled rage that someone would dare ask me if I wanted to get rid of our child who may not be perfect and may have special needs. <br />
Today, January 22, 2013, is the 40th anniversary of Roe vs Wade. It is also his fourth birthday. <br />
He is the life of our family. He runs and plays, drives his trucks, plays with Legos, pretends with his two siblings and loves to wrap his little arms around my neck and remind me that he loves me. So much. <br />
God has truly given us a gift as his name says. <br />
Jonathan Michael, I pray that you will always sing “My God is so big, so strong and so mighty! There is nothing my God cannot do!” Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-18584698594753341552012-12-20T21:22:00.001-05:002014-02-07T15:26:49.189-05:00RestingI'm pretty sure I should be doing other things right now... like packing, finish making some presents, and a myriad of other things. Because Saturday morning when we shove off on our expedition southward - snow or no snow, comes whether I'm ready or not. <br />
<br />
But I'm here. Writing. Thinking. The idea of traveling with children that are under the weather is weighty enough for me to realize that sickness is nothing I can plan against. (Trust me!! I would love to place each of my children in an anti-germ bubble before any trip!)<br />
<br />
So, I am acquiescing to the idea that I have tried to keep them healthy to the best of my ability. The rest is up to the One who created their immune systems. <br />
<br />
It's pretty freeing, actually... admitting what was already true to begin with. :)<br />
<br />
So. I'm now going to get back to my packing and other things, resting in my Fathers plan that is better than mine - even if does involve sick kids. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-17012732823449634902012-12-13T21:08:00.001-05:002014-02-07T15:06:37.157-05:00Surprised by Christmas!I’m surprised by Christmas this year. <br />
Not the “Wow! I didn’t realize it’s Christmas already!”, but “Wow. I feel closer to the manger this year.” <br />
If you were to step into our house this year, you would not find a freshly sawn 8 foot Fraser decorated with strands and strands of white lights accented with handmade country ornaments as in previous years. Faux-evergreen garland would normally wind around the banister, adorn the top of our china hutch, and hang over the slider. Every room would have something “Christmas-y” in it. (Of which there is always some decoration who doesn’t get on the flight back up to the attic come January.) <br />
This year… there are three little trees on our coffee table: a red, a green and a pink one. They were carefully decorated by little fingers from ornaments saved for them from previous years. There is one strand of lights (which is half lit) draped over and around the trees. A beautiful poinsettia decorates our dining room table, and the much requested box of Christmas books has been opened and given a prominent place with easy access. <br />
The piece de resistance of this living room is under the three little trees. If you look there, on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, you will find The Christmas Box. Inside are the stuffed figures who tell of the magnificent promise, the humble manger, the rowdy shepherds, the tender couple and the precious Baby. <br />
Make no mistake, there are 3 large tubs filled with decorations still sitting in the attic. The tree is still attached to its trunk somewhere in the woods. There are strands of lights that all work in some store. But last year, all of those things were amazing and beautiful but in the end, brought me no closer to the manger. <br />
This year, I am filled with an awe that no decoration can take credit for. Before you jump to the conclusion that Christmas decor is an anchor weighing down your very soul, I do not believe that those things (in and of themselves) are bad – at all! They are beautiful expressions of celebration. The catch is to remember what and Who you are celebrating. <br />
The thrill of my evening came as I’m dishing out Blueberry Buckle and watching the kids open the Christmas Box. They were giddy!! Jonny took each of them out and organized them by size (like any good engineer would). Chloe looked over them to make sure they were all there and that Michael hadn’t tossed one of them behind a couch yet. But as they handled them, their eyes got that “far-off” expression as they remembered the Story. <br />
Isn’t that it? Story. The Ultimate STORY! <br />
I don’t know about you, but I love it when someone tells me a story. But the BEST part comes when at the end the storyteller punches it with “this really happened!” I sit there in amazement replaying the story in my head, reeling with “This wasn’t just a story – it really happened!” Somehow it makes the story even more special! The characters and setting, plot and device, villain and hero were real people. <br />
There are many “stories” that float around this time of year. Great stories, funny stories, but mostly they are fiction – maybe even inspired by fact – but at the end of the day – fiction. <br />
I am fixated with the Story. <br />
The perfect (not one sin – ever!) Baby in the filthy dirty animal feed trough, the new mom who had to figure out the mothering thing as she went along, the young husband who took a huge leap to marry his pregnant fiancée and couldn’t even touch her for 33 days after she gave birth so he could fulfill the Law, the hotel manager who was so busy with the mundane of his little life that he missed out on the supernatural, the unforgiving law that forced a pregnant woman on a difficult journey, the rough and tough fight-off-lions-and-bears-with-just-a-stick yet no one wanted to associate with them shepherds, the king who saw himself above the law, the wise and discerning star-gazers who were sensitive to God’s direction, the elderly man who spent every day of his life waiting expectantly to see The Promise before his very eyes… the most amazing story, is it not?! <br />
But wait… the BEST part? It’s ALL TRUE - each and every bit actually happened in a little place called Israel!! This is not just a nice religious legend so that old ladies can feel comforted. That perfect Baby really came - fully God and fully man. He came for one purpose and one purpose only – to be my Savior. Before the beginning of time, His Father knew we’d screw up His perfect world with this nasty junk called sin. He knew we were hopelessly lost in mire of our own making and worse? separated forever from Him. <br />
But God. <br />
He planned that His perfect Son would be the only payment we’d need for our awful sin. Even when we hated Him and we’d eventually curse Him and kill Him on a cross, He loved us and died for us. <br />
It’s MY Story! The payment that guarantees me eternal life through nothing I could ever do came at an awful cost. The Father gave up His beloved Son for me. <br />
The very least I can do is push the mundane junk of my day aside, huddle close to the manger, worship Him, and long for the day when I can see His face. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-13973249369916766372012-11-21T09:32:00.000-05:002012-11-21T09:32:45.831-05:00Kids, Cracked Pots, and Grace!3 kids. A completely messy house. Thanksgiving break. AND family coming for the holiday usually equals one horrible day with a mommy losing her cool and only half of the job done.<br />
<br />
That was supposed to be Monday.<br />
<br />
But Monday was THE best day I've had with my kids in a long long time!<br />
<br />
Now, I'm no parenting genius, but I know what works for me.<br />
I dislike cleaning.<br />
A lot.<br />
I only do it because I love what it looks like afterwards!<br />
<br />
So... I stacked the deck for myself. :) <br />
<br />
-I prepped their minds for the task as they went to bed the night before.<br />
(Mainly, that PBS wouldn't be on until the job was done.)<br />
-I decided that this could really be fun!<br />
(I didn't dread it with an attitude.)<br />
-I let them stay in jammies.<br />
(who cares what they wear if they're working!)<br />
-I put on upbeat music for dancing purposes!<br />
(They could only dance if they were putting things away :)<br />
<br />
It worked!<br />
<br />
I should've taken before/after shots of the living room. The dining room table was covered in random bits and pieces from the weekend. Sunday school papers, toys, books, homework folders, backpacks, wii remotes... you get the idea. The living room had landmines of Legos strategically placed for the unassuming foot to find. The kitchen looked like I hadn't had the thought of cleaning it for quite some time. Food/crumbs all over the floor, each counter holding a piece of some meal that was partially cleaned up not to mention piles of dirty dishes - we have 3 sizeable counters... so you do the math. Oh. And the dishwasher was chock-full of clean dishes. <br />
<br />
So, with Mandisa, Jamie Grace, and Go Fish pumping through the speakers, we danced and twirled our way to a clean house! Complete with Chloe and Michael asking to vacuum the couches (almost fighting over who gets to do what!). At one point, I almost fainted from the shock of watching Chloe ask Michael if he could get some large thing that couldn't be vacuumed and he obliged without issue! <br />
<br />
It was the greatest day... EVER! So much so, that I almost forgot about parent/teacher conferences!<br />
<br />
Even then, the conferences made for an even better day - more reflective.<br />
<br />
Chloe loves to write stories, her vocabulary is enhanced by her love of chapter books, she's using paragraphs when they haven't covered them in class, she's great at math, and has a bestie that her teacher knows better than to seat together. :) I sat there listening, thinking how this little girl is so much like me. And for the first time - I was not beating myself up for my issues but so very proud of her strengths. She's growing and learning! My heart simply overflowed.<br />
<br />
Michael's teacher commented how much fun he is to have in class. His huge smile and "willingness to contribute in class" which is to say he loves to talk! He has come so far in the first 3 months of school - reading and learning so much! His teacher said that when he asks a question he can always count on Michael to have the right answer!! We just chuckled. :) This kid knows so much and loves to share! My heart kept on flowing over...<br />
<br />
In case you're thinking this post is a brag on my kids or my parenting, it's not. At all.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBS_XbHpBHPi7BGHhLKgulF38djiB8wdEnnLlaTw8qWbHuwoczmHHpQ-GueW_i-Ifllg5JPPtC4v_4dFCUNHcq0fEPIpaWs2Lcf4NwS8KwirkhgSy6LeTw6m-HgjT829jA0HGQOnyEF_l9/s1600/DSC03933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBS_XbHpBHPi7BGHhLKgulF38djiB8wdEnnLlaTw8qWbHuwoczmHHpQ-GueW_i-Ifllg5JPPtC4v_4dFCUNHcq0fEPIpaWs2Lcf4NwS8KwirkhgSy6LeTw6m-HgjT829jA0HGQOnyEF_l9/s200/DSC03933.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of calm-energy.blogspot.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This cracked pot has enough cracks that it's obvious it has nothing of its own. It's only (and I mean ONLY) what's God's doing in it. I'm thankful beyond words for the days I described above where things all fall into place, but they can only be appreciated if there are the other "not-so-good" days. You know, the ones when you feel like the worst mother alive... when it's work to believe that there is grace out there for even me.<br />
<br />
That's why I can write this.<br />
I'm not boasting. I'm living proof of God's goodness! His grace is big enough for even me! <br />
<br />
Your day may not go so well today, but God's grace is enough for you too. :) Drink deep!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-9694789599375348822012-10-15T17:30:00.000-04:002012-10-15T17:30:30.116-04:00I'm sorry, Hannah!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had a “Whoa, I had no idea THAT’S in there!!” moment in
church a couple weeks ago. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We love our church!! <a href="http://www.harvestwestolive.org/">Harvest Bible Chapel – West Olive</a>. It
has been an amazing place of growth and unity for us. Ken Gentzler proclaims
God’s Word with a precision balance of grace and truth, his latest series being
Vertical Church. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I mentioned, two weeks ago Ken was talking about “<a href="http://www.sermonaudio.com/source_detail.asp?sourceid=harvestwestolive">An EpicFailure – 1 Samuel 2:12 – 4:22”. Digging into the question of What causesthe glory of God to depart?</a> which when it happens, leaves a horizontal
church void of vertical-ness. Showcasing the life of High Priest Eli and his
sons Hophni and Phinehas, Ken showed how there was unscrupulous leadership,
unbridled defiance, unacceptable priorities, unspoken Truth, unrestrained sin,
and unreal commitment culminating with the birth of Ichabod which means “the
glory is gone”. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the middle of the description, list really, of Eli’s
sons’ grotesque sins against God and the people of Israel are four verses which seem
to interrupt the narrative. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Samuel was
ministering before the LORD, a boy clothed with a linen ephod. And his mother
used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year when she went
up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. Then Eli would bless Elkanah
and his wife and say, “May the LORD give you children by this woman for the
petition she asked of the LORD.” So then they would return to their home.
Indeed the LORD visited Hannah and she conceived and bore three sons and two
daughters. And the boy Samuel grew in the presence of the LORD.” </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt like a load of bricks slammed into my chest when I
realized the reality of this verse for a mother. Hannah literally cried and
prayed for this little boy, Samuel. She begged God to give her a son and
promised to give him back to serve Him. When he was weaned, she brought little
Samuel to Shiloh. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And.
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Left. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Him. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With a High Priest who couldn’t even control his own two
sons… with two worthless men who were horrible examples to have a little boy
follow and emulate… Hannah trusted God. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She believed that God would protect her
precious prayed-for son even as she fulfilled her heart-wrenching vow. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I used to think that she was just desperate. (Forgive my
ignorance!) I’ve never felt the desperation that comes with not being able to
have children. I have felt desperation about other things, just not in this
way. I do know that desperate women will promise desperate things. So I
figured, she gave whatever she had to so she could have a baby boy. When it
came time and he was weaned, I imagine her shoulders heaved and tears flowed
freely as she turned and walked away leaving her one and only son for the first
time knowing she would not see him for an entire year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s the part I can’t imagine. Leaving my sweet little
boy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But she didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
leave him. She left her Samuel safe in God’s care – in the middle of wolves decked
out in sheep’s clothing. She trusted Him with her most treasured blessing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first implication that SHOUTS to me is the decision
parents make regarding their child’s education. No matter the decision, a
parent must still leave their child in God’s care. They are still walking in
the middle of wolves. Whether it’s the halls of a school or the sidewalk of
their neighborhood, they desperately need God to protect their minds as they
process the world around them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second implication cries out pleading: TRUST Him and PRAY
for your children wherever they are educated. When you have moments with them, look
for teachable moments… just live and point them to Jesus even in your failures.
Pray over them. Pray for them. Pray for the adults who have influence in their
lives. Pray that God will give them what they need in the moment. Pray. Pray.
Pray. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you were to see my sermon notes, they are copious until
verse 25. After that, I got lost in Hannah’s mind and heart. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Doesn’t this world seem so impenetrably dark? Worthless men
and unscrupulous leadership lurk everywhere?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unbridled defiance oozes from young people. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, there’s hope peeking out from this passage. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sandwiched between “17 Thus the sin of the young men was
very great in the sight of the LORD, for the men treated the offering of the
LORD with contempt” and “22 Now Eli was very old, and he kept hearing all that
his sons were doing to all Israel, and how they lay with the women who were
serving at the entrance to the tent of meeting” is the reminder that God is at
work. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“21 …And the boy
Samuel grew in the presence of the LORD” </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">God is at work! Darkness is as light to Him. Even with
worthless men and defiant young people, He is still placing fathers and mothers,
sons and daughters for such a time as this. He is at work in our schools, our
neighborhoods, our state, and – even – especially – our government. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We must teach our children with our lives. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Trust Him. Period. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pray! Pray! Pray! </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, my dear Hannah, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for seeing you as a desperate woman
who would do whatever necessary to fulfill her desire. You were desperate for
God to intervene and to see Him act on your behalf. You had to have seen the
worthless behavior of the priests who were supposed to be leading you. How
amazing that it would be your son to eventually take their place as leader of the
people. Thank you for your example: trusting God with your precious little boy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A strong woman knows she must be desperate for God to be her
strength. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Are you desperate for God to be your strength? Do you think “I
know who my kids are playing with so I’m good”? Do you try to control who
teaches your child in hopes of protecting your child from bad influences? Do
you pray for your child – every single day? Do they know that you trust Him and
your strength is found only in Him? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;">I’m following Hannah’s lead. </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-34543854144518428432012-09-24T21:27:00.000-04:002012-09-24T21:28:29.841-04:00ParadiseI can't believe it's only Monday. It should be at least Wednesday with all that's happened today.<br />
<br />
A first-ever mammogram was had. <br />
Dr appt for a little boy with an ear infection and cold virus.<br />
Antibiotics begun and naps taken.<br />
Emotional rollercoasters ridden.<br />
That little boy continuously coughs and coughs.<br />
It ultimately ends with me cleaning his dinner off the couch cushions.<br />
In the middle of all of that, a toilet seal is acquired and fixed by my handyman.<br />
Baths late.<br />
Bedtimes late.<br />
No clothes prepped in our usual routine.<br />
No lunches made.<br />
Kitchen counters still scattered with remains of dinner.<br />
<br />
The irony here is that just before I found myself cleaning couch cushions - I was thinking how <a href="http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/vassar-phil/just-another-day-in-paradise-9493.html">Just Another Day in Paradise by Phil Vassar</a> was a fitting song for this moment. Ha.<br />
<br />
Yep. Just another day in paradise cleaning up random messes. :) But that's the whole point of the song. It <i>is </i>paradise. Kids screamin', phone ringin', mess cleanin'... paradise. And I pray that I have just another day in paradise.<br />
<br />
How's your dance in paradise today? :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-27119118348114354422012-09-23T19:45:00.001-04:002012-09-23T20:05:13.708-04:00And the answer is...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Drumroll please......</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've had a few guesses as to the
false statement in the previous post. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">David T. suggested that they were
all true. :)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ruth V. said - "I almost
moved to an island in Alaska."
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kristin V. submitted - "I
didn't get my license until I was 18."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kathryn J. kept her submission
secret but said she's sure of the answer. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm sure you're all on pins and
needles waiting for the answer. So without further ado... </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The one false statement is
"I was homeschooled all my life." </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">So that makes all the other ones <i>true</i>!
(Y<a href="http://ruthverkaik.blogspot.com/2012/09/2-truths-and-lie-my-version.html">ou might want to read through that list again..</a>.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I doubt some of you will be
shocked, but I was considered a serious dork back in the day. I was and still
am a book-nerd. Words and the use or disuse of them is very important to me. I
have a continuous grammar-check and spell-check going in my brain. Since having
kids, it has calmed some, but every now and then my nerd-self has a flare-up.
:) Writing and striving for the perfect blend of words to illustrate an idea in
bold color make for more flare-ups. I think it's just who I am. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It took long enough, but I'm
finally okay with my nerdiness! I'm not cool - I'm just me. :) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The exercise of writing this list
came from my recent journey of coming to terms with my life experiences. I'm
sure there are, at the very least, several posts in there somewhere! Some are
difficult, some are sweet, some heart-wrenching, some have long-term
side-effects, some are the best things ever, some (like my hair in school pics)
I'd rather never think about again... but sifting through each one has been
good - <b>hard </b>- but in the end good. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">In fact, I'd highly recommend
it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Make a list of facts about your
life. Facts that some people may know or not know. Stuff maybe you've never
said before. Compile it. Look at it. Read it. Those things make up who you are
today. For better or worse. Look at it and see beyond those things the God of
the universe who loves you. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">God is not limited by your
experiences. If He was, well let's just say He wouldn't be God. But since He is
the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords - He's <b>BIG </b>enough to even
orchestrate the events in your life to create the person you are now. Taking
the pieces of yourself you don't like out of His tapestry would leave ugly gaps
and spaces. He has designed you and even used your worst moments to show His
power. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let God be God. We're not. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">He has the ultimate right over
your life - and He's better at it. :) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So as you're "Carpe Diem-ing" and dancing in the rain... remember
He's still working because He loves to take messed up people and show His
glory!</span> </span></span><br />
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<![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-81986977349337848912012-09-20T13:32:00.002-04:002012-09-20T13:32:48.368-04:002 Truths and a Lie (My Version!)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember all those silly emails we used to get about listing your favorite soup and whatever else whoever came up with those could stuff in there?! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I got a new one for ya! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's a twist on 2 Truths and a Lie. Think of it as the Grand Master Champion of that game! Only one statement below is false. Can you find it?! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
IF you can... copy and paste and post it in a comment. :) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aaand... GO! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to be a teacher from the example of my public
school teacher.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father has 2 BA degrees, 1 MA and 1 MDIV. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gave marriage counsel to a single man as a 4<sup>th</sup>
grader. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a Bible and pictures of missionaries in my 5<sup>th</sup>
grade locker. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gave art lessons.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father was a pastor for 7 years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I almost moved to an island in Alaska.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hated any and all church leadership for several years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have 3 siblings - 1 sister and 2 brothers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to Moody Bible Institute hoping to not marry a
pastor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won almost every trophy Awana made. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother ran a daycare, was a pastor’s wife, and a
homeschool teacher.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God arrested my heart one night in Awana and never let go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I beat the school bully in the 50yd dash. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from other families.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could see a panoramic view of the Rockies
at the corner of our street.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If something was popular with my youth group, that was good
enough reason not to do it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was fluent in sign language. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I earned enough points from verses and scholarships to
attend Camp Awana for 3 years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was given a monthly clothing allowance and was expected to
purchase my clothes for the year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never took any math higher than Alegebra 1. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kneaded a weeks worth of bread by hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad and I had the same college theology professor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A boy in school gave me a ring and my dad told me to give it
back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents believed that it would make their girls vain to tell
them they’re beautiful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was homeschooled all my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw my grandparents once a year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was stopped by Chicago’s
finest in Cabrini Green on suspicion of drugs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lived in a travel trailer for 9 months. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A man was stabbed in the apartment next to mine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t have my license until I was 18. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don't forget... copy and paste your answer in the comment section!<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enjoy the dance! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(I'll post the answer soon!) </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-21973792657551156062012-09-11T09:40:00.000-04:002014-02-07T11:22:27.424-05:00Where were you?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I was at Christian
Liberty Academy, getting ready for the day. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For once, I was in my classroom early and never heard the
news reports until my students came in and told me that some planes had
crashed. Since planes sometimes crash, I reassured them we would pray for those
people during our prayer time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were well into our morning when a fellow teacher came up
the back stairs crying uncontrollably. I rushed into the hall as she sobbed how
the Pentagon was just hit. That’s when I knew something was really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> wrong. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After crowding around a TV set with my fellow teachers (and later, listening to the fighter jets
scrambling overhead), we got the full situation and sat spellbound, in
disbelief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It just didn’t seem real. It felt like Hollywood took over our TV screens. It had to
be Hollywood,
right? We hear about countries at war and bombings a regular occurrence there, but
here in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave?! No way. Or wait… maybe…
wow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we continued our day, I briefly explained what happened
to my class. A hand shot up. A little second grade boy asked if we could pray
for Mr. bin Laden that he would know how much Jesus loves him. My eyes filled
and for a second, I couldn’t speak. When I finally could, I said, “Yes, Bryan. We can. Jesus died
for Mr. bin Laden too. Didn’t He?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That one question changed my class forever. Every single day
that year, 21 second graders prayed for Mr. Osama bin Laden that he would know
how much Jesus loves him and give his life to Him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eleven years later, so much has changed. The TSA has become
almost dictator-like with what we can and cannot take on flights. As citizens, we
undergo humiliating searches so we can board a domestic flight. The fear of “What
if” rules every aspect of our life. We have military presence and are engaged
on several fronts. Many soldiers have given the ultimate sacrifice for this
country. Many young men and women watched the footage in Highschool and decided
to join the Armed Forces to make sure this never happens again. I hope and pray it never does. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before school this morning, as they dressed in Army camo and
red, white and blue, I told my children what happened eleven years ago… Flight 93, the
firefighters, the terrorists, the Twin
Towers, the Pentagon…
they sat motionless with their mouths open, disbelieving. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I said, “Never forget, Chloe and Michael. We have real
heroes who dashed in to save people not caring what happened to their own
lives. Honor our Patriots. Never forget!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3YfrNhc4dtCYb_GBT1TimCBax4_gXIHacSl2MGmW1R5mW2xWh9XX7k_iiQ2Fdh7tMG6_EqnfwkaFDGz57LT7lL6zfTeQ_Tipkp6HJDlDeZ72EKqpzispbDac_q0tfVbktEIABlrcZfkU/s1600/stained+glass+twin+towers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3YfrNhc4dtCYb_GBT1TimCBax4_gXIHacSl2MGmW1R5mW2xWh9XX7k_iiQ2Fdh7tMG6_EqnfwkaFDGz57LT7lL6zfTeQ_Tipkp6HJDlDeZ72EKqpzispbDac_q0tfVbktEIABlrcZfkU/s320/stained+glass+twin+towers.jpg" height="320" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stushietoon.blogspot.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God didn’t forget about America on that day. He took a
horrific tragedy and used it to turn many hearts back to Him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never Forget!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-10398824416861726132012-08-31T21:13:00.000-04:002014-02-07T11:28:24.661-05:00Warning: My Thoughts on Politics and this ElectionI've been thinking and I need to write about it. <br />
<br />
So, hang on tight, read until the end, and hear my heart. :)<br />
<br />
If you were to join my in-laws, Mike and me for dinner, as we often do, you'd hear the discussion run the gamut of topics - from remodeling jobs to laugh-your-socks-off stories to politics and the election. <br />
<br />
Just so you can have an accurate perspective, when I first began dating Mike, one of the first questions his grandparents asked me was if I voted and was I a Republican. I was very taken aback. I had no idea what to do with that because growing up in Chicago, politics and religion were two topics you don't touch with strangers not to mention anyone else. It's kind of like asking a lady how old she is and what she weighs.<br />
<br />
Here in West Michigan, one of the first questions you ask someone recently moved, aside from "How are you?" and "What do you do", is "What church you go to?" THAT took a lot of getting used to. Also, West-siders mostly assume that republicans inhabit this half of the Mitten so there's more freedom felt to ask questions once a person knows you. <br />
<br />
Okay... so you get the scenario. We discuss politics a lot. We don't always agree on everything, but it's very much an open point of discussion.<br />
<br />
So... as you can imagine... dinner is very animated. :)<br />
<br />
Back when Santorum and Romney were fighting it out for the ticket, we talked extensively over the presidential merits of one versus the other. Sorta like McCain versus Obama in the debates. (Unfortunately, Obama presented very well and looked very presidential.) I did vote for McCain, but only because he was the better of the two evils. The consensus we came to was that Santorum had no chance of winning over Obama should he get nominated.<br />
<br />
That bothers me.<br />
<br />
Why do I have to settle for voting that way?! Am I not American? Do I not have freedoms? Freedoms my brother and other soldiers are fighting for?<br />
<br />
Why have we accepted that only Democrats and Republicans have a chance at getting a candidate to the forefront? Why must I settle? There ARE other options. Ron Paul, for example. Many other people would race forward if there were people who would stand in the face of this voting policy and refuse to vote either Democrat or Republican - allowing for a president who is there to truly do something not just make promises and sling mud. <br />
<br />
I do not agree with Romney wholeheartedly. Massachusetts is one of the worst taxed/legislated states in the country. He gives wiggle room on the abortion/prolife issue and hangs his hat on the notion that it's not for him to decide that - but the courts. Life is life. When is it our right to say it's worthy of death when it hasn't taken a breath yet. A baby is a person. A heartbeat is still a heartbeat. <br />
<br />
I do not fault him for having wealth. This IS America. This is the country that a poor immigrant can come, find a job, work hard, save his money, and build a legacy for his family. Have we really forgotten that?! If we allow our current President to strip us of our entrepreneurial mindset with his "You didn't build it" then, what can we offer that poor immigrant getting off that boat today? All we've got is, "Sorry, buddy. You'll have to go sign up at the Food Stamps office until you land a union job." Really?! Pretty miserable outlook if you ask me. Who wants to come here then... unless you're a terrorist ready to take out some landmark.<br />
<br />
If you toss all my ramblings as that of a crazed lunatic... take these last points into consideration. <br />
1. If you are 18, you have the right to vote. Are you a registered voter?<br />
2. Do you know where your local voting place is? Have you ever voted there?<br />
3. Think carefully before you just use the "Better of the two evils" rationale.<br />
4. If you are a believer, you have been given a redeemed mind and conscience by God. Vote BOTH.<br />
<br />
I'm still figuring out this political dance... but you better <i>believe </i>I will exercise my hard-won privilege to vote.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhReOKezNznK0XrlnYnOJ1UJ5aWyZCWC1saA2g9gEGMqu1mFktZX27UYIzAs4PLQ7O7Z_UcoYkyJyArt4mbCFxs81kZZnNFtl3PAUROUYd-5cyJ1GPtwORcwpHM2Z28sTw4hk0kRPQMfB/s1600/Staff+SGT+Steven+Thomas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhReOKezNznK0XrlnYnOJ1UJ5aWyZCWC1saA2g9gEGMqu1mFktZX27UYIzAs4PLQ7O7Z_UcoYkyJyArt4mbCFxs81kZZnNFtl3PAUROUYd-5cyJ1GPtwORcwpHM2Z28sTw4hk0kRPQMfB/s320/Staff+SGT+Steven+Thomas.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thank you Staff SGT Steven Thomas for your service. I love you. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-695419629968670623.post-5789521782147731692012-08-29T19:08:00.000-04:002012-08-29T19:14:03.630-04:00Holes, The Body, and GraceHave you ever broken, sprained or otherwise incapacitated a part of yourself?<br />
<br />
I am currently in round 2 of "Sprain of the LCL", and I have to tell you that the timing couldn't be worse. School is less than a week away. School Open Houses/Meet the Teacher are going on now. Tomatoes need to made into either salsa or sauce. Then there's the normal run-of-the-mill day-to-day stuff like: laundry, tidying, meals, toys, etc...<br />
<br />
My superman husband deserves the "Husband of the Year" award!! He has been doing laundry, helping the kids, making meals, AND all the little errands too. :) Even when he had to go on a work trip, he found a place for the kids and got them ready. :) (Grandparents are amazing!)<br />
<br />
So, here I sit... on my keister. There's only so much you can do. I've read an entire book, updated this blog, filed papers, dealt with insurance EOBs, looked up great sites for writers, dug around on Pintrest, changed a few diapers, played Super Mario Bros (at the request of my children), watched a movie or two... :) but I'm really MISSING the simple act of walking unassisted. Unlike last Friday, I now can hobble around the house using one crutch. It's getting better slowly but surely... but it's so easy to overdo it. <br />
<br />
Missing the function of a part of the body... hmmm. I felt that in ministry.<br />
<br />
Holes. When people don't use their gifts and function in their God-given role, a hole is created and felt by the rest of the Body. Overcompensation occurs when others try to make up for the lack but end up overdoing it and burning out.<br />
<br />
It's a hard place to be as a fellow Body part, but even more so as a functional leader. The one thing I learned in my short foray into this thing called ministry is that even though it's not pretty, holes must be felt or no one sees the needs. If I simply cover and compensate for the missing gift, I end up expanding my role without meaning to and the rest of the Body believes everything is well in hand. Not to mention that I deprive someone else of the joy of serving. Bad plan. Trust me.<br />
<br />
Perfection is not ministry. Ministry is people and people are not perfect. We must strive for excellence but that is not our idol - our "gotta look like or else" goal. We are first and foremost the Body of Christ. We must function as such. Grace and Truth work together and find balance. When in doubt, err on grace - you'll be glad you did. And - while you work within the Body, you'll need a lot of it! <br />
<br />
As for my body? It's healing slowly and returning to it's previous strength, but what about The Body?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_KiUDe8rS-NTuXTarb04rYpCMGnAiOxkzD1w64_vi_Nin8xBsF8c0S6As13zVyjbgbp0lrfvadFNCCnZfHDf_mf9l1ru343wNaFKT51_jbrnhpZrDKScaBN9Vjf-U0fohf8Ar3uk1Q4N/s1600/missing+pieces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_KiUDe8rS-NTuXTarb04rYpCMGnAiOxkzD1w64_vi_Nin8xBsF8c0S6As13zVyjbgbp0lrfvadFNCCnZfHDf_mf9l1ru343wNaFKT51_jbrnhpZrDKScaBN9Vjf-U0fohf8Ar3uk1Q4N/s200/missing+pieces.jpg" width="200" /></a>Are there holes in your local Body?<br />
Are you a part of your local Body?<br />
Do you think that everything runs so smoothly they don't need you?<br />
<br />
Betcha if you ask - they'll tell you <i>all </i>the holes that you could possibly fill. :)<br />
<br />
I dare ya! Go fill a hole! You'll be glad you did. :) <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16304015200318032468noreply@blogger.com0