tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23711191826225692192024-03-14T09:12:56.599-07:00My Cup Runs OverAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-49601590609268207982016-08-17T15:44:00.000-07:002016-08-17T15:44:19.960-07:00The Dominican Republic, part 1 <h2>
Hey, girl, hey! </h2>
<h3>
I haven’t blogged in nearly a year, but here
I am! </h3>
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Well, I can’t ever tell for how long I’ll be back because
blogging is hard. Blogging the way I do – where I feel my heart and soul travel
through my fingertips to the screen, is exhausting. And I’ve been in a place
for awhile where that was simply not possible. It wasn’t possible because of
normal busy life stuff, because of the same doubt stuff, and because of some
mental health stuff that had been lying below the surface and decided to pop
through. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A few months ago, I remembered that I always wanted to do
foreign missions, and never have. I did go to Mexico with Grace once, but we
also brought our kids, and it’s really hard to actually be involved in the
missions work stuff and also parent. I had 1 and 3 yr olds with me, and I was
exhausted – come to find out, I was pregnant with #3. Scott was there too, and
we traded off a bit, but #pastorswifeproblems, he was much more essential than
I was. It’s really ok, but I didn’t get the full experience. I wondered if
maybe doing the thing I had felt so called to at 13 would help me find what I’m
missing. Lucky for me, I have a friend who is a Missions Pastor, Benji, and he was able
to fill me in on all their trips while we were all out on a double date. He
recommended the first-timer’s trip – a trip to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hopehouseintl/?fref=ts" target="_blank">Hope House International</a>, run by missionaries Michael and Amanda Braisted, to do a
variety of things: manual labor, VBS, hospital visit, etc – to help figure out
what sort of missions draws you in and suits your skills. It fit perfectly into
my schedule and finances, so I signed up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am so grateful, that through donations and our church, I
didn’t have to pay any of the fees, including my passport. The people of Grace
are generous, and listened to God speaking to them, and I got to go on this
trip with very little financial impact on my family. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wish I would have blogged every day, but I was exhausted, and at the end of those kinds of days, words are hard. Words are less hard, now, though, so it's a little long to do them all at once. I'll break it into two parts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Please know that my general first response, probably from
growing up in the church that I did, is to see myself as the problem, that my natural inclinations and feelings are wrong, sinful, in fact.
I have no doubt that this clouded my experience, and that other people’s
experiences varied greatly. When I felt guilty about something, I do not believe that everyone should have felt guilty, or even that it was wrong. I'm simply sharing my experience.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1dyAo5OMFrzj_J06DiIsW-CyK21OSxS4csmgTIF1OY074n7DVkpPV_dE104gMXT-AbK8kp0hyphenhyphen7SmCA4gJ5xfLUCfGsYgT0GNu1kO1UICUe7jOruKDJFmzKNnwWwYTqHD1_cgUs9_A_Dn/s1600/14017874_10100261457221046_2112429686_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1dyAo5OMFrzj_J06DiIsW-CyK21OSxS4csmgTIF1OY074n7DVkpPV_dE104gMXT-AbK8kp0hyphenhyphen7SmCA4gJ5xfLUCfGsYgT0GNu1kO1UICUe7jOruKDJFmzKNnwWwYTqHD1_cgUs9_A_Dn/s400/14017874_10100261457221046_2112429686_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cutie from the orphanage. More on them later. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Day 1 was all travel</b>, and we arrived at the Braisteds' home
open to 23 people, warm and welcoming. And humid. Very humid. This desert rat didn’t
even realize that 95% humidity was a thing that didn’t involve actual drops
of water in the air. </div>
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In the airport, I was immediately struck by how difficult life must be for
immigrants who do not know the language, or know a few words (like I do of
Spanish), but not nearly enough. I was overwhelmed by the not-knowing. I can’t
imagine if I didn’t have a bunch of people with me, or translators, or if I was
going to be living there. I just kept thinking of how I would feel if I was
already overwhelmed and frustrated and someone said rudely, ‘Why don’t you just
learn Spanish?!” People stared at me (#ginger), but no one acted frustrated or short with me, much less downright attacked me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Day 2 was Sunday, so, duh, we went to church </b>at Iglesia Cristiana Oasis, which is where the Braisteds attend. They have their own Christian school that the church helps to fund, so that children from all socioeconomic groups can attend. We were kissed by
all the women, and so welcomed by everyone. We sang in Spanish, sometimes vaguely
remembering the English words and sometimes not. <b>It’s amazing to me how a mess
of Spanish and English all being sung together will be one of the most
beautiful memories of my life. I was moved, truly moved, in that service. It
was as if the Spirit of God was as heavy as the humidity that surrounded us,
thick in the blessed breeze that blew through the building. Easily one of my top ten
life experiences.</b> We sang the same song a week later, at home, and I wept
for the emotion I had felt the week before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> However, this was probably the only time I "felt God" during the week. Now, I'm realizing that the antidepressants that I had weaned off in the beginning of August (under a doctor's care, because of unwanted side effects) may have been doing more than I thought, and this was probably my least exhausted time (depression and exhaustion definitely amplify my cynicism). </span><br />
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We saw "The Monument," which was originally a home for the vicious dictator Trujillo, but became a monument to the revolutionaries that worked to overthrow him. At roughly the same time America was involved in The Civil Rights Movement, the Dominican Republic was being ruled by a murderous dictator. Think of how far we've come, and more importantly, NOT come, since the Civil Rights Movement. </div>
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We also visited the Hope House Int'l land that day. We saw both the land and the Braisteds' vision for an orphanage system that reminds you of a family system. There will be 4 houses, with "parents" living in each. They have visions to be self-sustaining, through crops like plantains, bananas, and limes. They hope to have a soccer field and a play area, and to keep some of the natural forest for natural exploration. Let me just stop and say these two people are amazing. They've been in the Dominican for 10 years, and saw a need for true orphan care. There are estimated over 200,000 orphans living there, and the process of adopting is incredibly difficult and time-consuming. For Americans, both members of a heterosexual couple would have to live there for 3-6 months! And that's if everything else works out. They've been working tirelessly to create a place where kids could live and grow and thrive. There is extreme poverty on this island, and an extreme need to care for the fatherless. Mike and Amanda are lovely people, pouring their hearts, bodies, souls, and minds into caring for the least of these. Learn more about <a href="http://hopehouseintl.org/" target="_blank">Hope House</a>, and f<a href="https://www.facebook.com/hopehouseintl/?fref=ts" target="_blank">ollow them on Facebook</a>. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope House Land<br />The tilled earth to the right is for crops. The casitas for housing children will be in the back. </td></tr>
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That night, Amanda spoke of how hard it is sometimes to go to church,
that we know we need to look forward to it, but we sometimes get hung up, and
just don’t want to. Then Benji spoke of being burnt out, and I was immediately
moved to tears, like I was punched in the nose, and didn't understand the water leaking from my eyes! I didn’t think that could be me. I’m just the pastor’s wife. The
pastor isn’t even burned out, how could I be? After I thought about it though,
I realized, I’ve been active in ministry since I was 13 years old. I started
teaching preschool in VBS the first year I was allowed to work, and never
looked back. I fully believed (and was reminded often) that service was my duty
and obligation to the church. I’ve not volunteered for very much at church in a
long time. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And while my many doubts certainly
played a part (I just can’t teach kids that Jesus will always protect them), I
think burn out did too. I haven’t had anything that I could pour out into
others in a long time. Occasionally, something will pull at my heart, generally something involving the oppressed in some way, and meeting a physical need rather than a spiritual one, but I have not been routinely involved in serving in 2 years now. Scott immediately asked what my next step was, and I have no clue. If you've got suggestions, I'm open. <o:p></o:p><br />
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The first night (after travel) of a mission trip is arguably the single worst time to realize that you're burnt out on ministry. I mean, nothing but ministry going on for the next 4 days. That's the predicament I was in after the first night. To be continued. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-52837558413520565732015-08-26T21:22:00.002-07:002015-08-26T21:22:43.114-07:00Letter to a Middle School Parent<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mommas and daddies of middle-schoolers, I have to tell you something.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>We pretend like the first day of kindergarten was the hardest first day.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We pretend like those tears we shed were just a one-time thing, and that it’s just because they’re so small and vulnerable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>That’s a lie.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen, we know how hard it is to send your vulnerable not-always-little guys off to a building with 1000 other vulnerable kids just like yours. It may even be harder than that time you discreetly wiped tears as your 5-year-old ran to climb the huge orange slide. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because so many of our 5-year-olds knew what they wanted out of life, at least that day, and that was enough. They were looking for fun, they were looking for knowledge, they were looking for friends. And many of them just <i>knew</i> that those things were waiting for them on that playground. That kindergartener knew that his answers were right, that her parents loved her, and somehow that friends would miraculously appear. Even if he wasn’t sure, you could be sure for him. You knew that, even if not right away, she'd make friends, letter sounds would click, and she'd do great. You may not have thought you knew that, but, you did. Deep down, you knew your kid would eventually learn to read, with very few exceptions to that rule. Sure, we worried, but we really figured it would all work out in kindergarten. But now, your sweet little boy or girl knows that school can be hard, and friends come and go, and that when they're gone, it hurts. She knows about insults and rumors. He is so unsure of everything, and nothing you can say can bring back that 5-year-old confidence you once admired. What's worse, is you no longer have that deep-down assurance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Like your child, your fears have grown.</b> They're bigger and hairier and maybe even an octave lower. It's not a matter of "Will the other kids let him play tag?" anymore. Now it's school shootings, and bullying, and suicide, and sex. And even when it’s not those, it’s the right friends, and for your kid, the right clothes, and suddenly that’s a puzzle you can’t decipher.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look away from that hairy fear. I want you to look over here at me, your kid’s teacher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>What you need to know is that we know. And we care. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know how hard it is. For you and your kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know what it's like to walk down those halls, lockers slamming, basketball players rushing past, girls snickering, and wonder what planet you fell onto, and how to survive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We may not know what it's like to watch your child walk through those big double doors, but we try to imagine (and some of us do know). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know which kids are quieter and have a hard time finding friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know which kids are louder, but are really insecure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know they struggle with concepts that are beyond them for a time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know they’re just trying to figure out who they are and where they stand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know they’re stranded somewhere between kids and teenagers, a place our culture doesn’t acknowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know the <a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/06/23/cool-at-13-adrift-at-23/?_r=0" target="_blank">cool kids in middle school are often the worse off as adults</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We know all these things because we care about them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We care for them because we want so many things for them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We want them to succeed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We want them to be people who have compassion for each other, who not only see, but fight for the underdog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We want to see them figure out that they have a talent for something, and how to make it grow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We want to protect them, and keep them safe from all types of harm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>We will never care or watch as carefully as you do. Maybe that's good.</b> This is an early step of the process to becoming an adult who does all of these things outside the view of his guardians. They have to learn how they will stand when you're not there. But, for now, when you're not there, they're not alone. They have us. Watching them, cheering them on, fighting for them to accomplish the challenges that necessarily are put in their way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You remember how hard it was to walk away from that small human that first day of kindergarten? It might actually be harder to drive away from a middle school, knowing what awaits them inside. But, just like back then, they have a teacher - or 6 or 7 - who is waiting for them with a smile, hoping to calm their fears and create a safe place to become the teenager they will soon be. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One more thing. This letter isn't only for you. It's for me. See, we teachers are sometimes parents too.<b> We see your kid walk in our room, and we see our own.</b> This week, I dropped off a kindergartener and a middle-schooler, (and a 2nd grader for the first time in public school, and a 4th grader who hated public school, and a preschooler for the first time - momma's gonna need a good cry), and I had that same feeling of entrusting my very heart to another person each time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Relax, mommas and daddies, myself included. They're in good hands. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A middle-school teacher</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-10041978574633995732015-04-19T11:54:00.000-07:002015-04-19T11:54:15.421-07:00Searching For Sunday Book ReviewI was lucky enough to receive a preview copy of <i>Searching For Sunday</i> by Rachel Held Evans. Do you ever read something and think, "Oh my gosh. This is ME. This is exactly how I feel." Followed by the possibly-stalkerish thought "We should be besties," but maybe that's just me.<br />
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Rachel's words moved me to tears in so many ways. It brought up past and current hurts. It challenged me to see things in a different way. It pushed me to turn to Jesus when my heart is hurt, especially so when it's because of his followers. If you've ever wondered why so many American Christians spend so much time trying to one-up each other with "holiness." If you've ever thought that maybe we should put more energy into caring for orphans than opposing gay marriage. If you've ever been struck by doubt so heavy, you thought you'd never stand again, reach Rachel's book.<br />
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I've said for a long time now that I don't really care much for the stories of people who've never doubted. Not that those don't have value, they do. It just doesn't do it for me, personally. I want to hear about someone who not just stumbled from the lofty mountaintop of communion with God. I want to hear about someone who fell all the way down the mountain, tumbling, scraping, breaking bones along the way. Maybe they even turned to the sky and gave God the finger after that, wanting nothing to do with this Christian life. And then, somehow, found their way back to Him. Of course, they found His arms open wide. Those are the stories I want to hear. While that's not Rachel's story, nor is it mine (I'm far too afraid of <i>smoting</i>), because this story is so close to my own - the tumbling and scraping down the mountain, at least - that it is one I will return to again and again.<br />
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Rachel's book is centered around seven sacraments of the church. I thought I'd give a few of my favorite quotes, and explain its significance for me (all emphasis mine). Honestly, this is difficult because approximately half of my copy is underlined. But, I figure that wouldn't really serve the purpose of reviewing the book. I've chosen the quotes that impacted me, but I could have done this with quotes I feel are calling for a change in American Christianity. Maybe a blog post for another time.<br />
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<b>Baptism</b><br />
"The people didn't have to go to God anymore; <i>God was coming to the people. And God, in God's relentless love would allow no mountain or hill - no ideology or ritual or requirement or law to obstruct the way. Temples could not contain a God who flattens mountains, ceremonial baths a God who flows through rivers</i>. Repentance, then, meant reorienting one's life around this reality. It meant repenting of the old ways of obstruction and joining in the great paving of the path, in the demolishing of every man-made impediment between God and God's people, and in the <i>celebrating of God's wild uninhibited presence filling every corner of the earth. It meant getting baptized in rivers and getting out of God's way. <b>After all, with enough faith, a person can move a mountain . . . even a mountain of her own making</b>.</i>"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo cred: Michelle Ziegler </td></tr>
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As one raised Southern Baptist, I understand the importance and beautiful symbolism of baptism. To this day, one of my favorite songs is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOjpkqrCEOU" target="_blank">Washed by the Water by Needtobreathe</a> gives me chills and brings me to tears (they must be Baptist too, they have a real focus on baptism and rivers). But, this idea that baptism changed from a ceremonial bathing of feet to a anywhere-declaration of love and commitment moved me. As one who's built up mountains of theology, opinions, mistakes, doubt, and failures, I needed to hear this.<br />
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<b>Confession</b><br />
"We Christians don't get to send our lives through the rinse cycle before showing up to church. We come as we are - no hiding, no acting, no fear. We come with our materialism, our pride, our petty grievances against our neighbors, our hypocritical disdain for those judgmental people in the church next door. ... <b><i>We come in search of sanctuary, a safe place to shed the masks and exhale. We come to air our dirty laundry before God and everybody because when we do it together, we don't have to be afraid.</i></b>"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth Meharg illustrated each of the seven sacraments with birds. They are all gorgeous. Check them out at: <a href="http://society6.com/ruthmeharg">http://society6.com/ruthmeharg</a></td></tr>
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This sacrament is wholly unfamiliar to me, as a sacrament anyways. But the idea that we are here to be real with one another, to help one another, to hold one another up and share our trials, doubts, and difficulties is home to me. It's why I write. Funnily, I feel free to be that broken self everywhere except the church. That's something I'll be working through for awhile to come.<br />
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<b>Communion</b><br />
"But the gospel doesn't need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out. It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down the walls, throwing open the doors, and shouting, 'Welcome! There's bread and wine. Come eat with us and talk!' <i><b>This isn't a kingdom for the worthy; it's a kingdom for the hungry</b></i>."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo cred: Ashley Hamel</td></tr>
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This section meant a lot to me; I already wrote a <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2015/04/take-me-to-church_7.html" target="_blank">blog post</a> about it. Yet, there's still so much more to say. I used to have a lot of food issues. I used to not drink alcohol because I thought it was bad. Over the last few years, I've gradually let go of those things, so the practice of communion really speaks to me - carbs and wine, no guilt! Just kidding. Mostly. More than that, it's the practice of being real. I believed, from as young as I can remember, that church is the place you put on the fake face for all the people watching - side effect of the fishbowl of being a PK. I still get anxious when I invite people to my house, thinking they'll be judging every tiny thing (What is that stain on the wall? Is there no jump house at this birthday party? Wow, those kids are LOUD. Why does this dish smell like socks? etc). The idea of communion being a place to invite people to see the real you (which, for me, sometimes requires a little wine), in your home, and you let them be themselves. That makes my heart lift with hope for the church more than anything else.<br />
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<b>Confirmation</b><br />
"No matter where I went to church, I realized, doubt will follow, nipping at my heels. No matter what hymns I sang, what prayers I prayed, what doctrinal statements I signed, I would always feel like an outsider."<br />
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"<b><i>No step taken in faith is wasted, not by a God who makes all things new</i></b>."<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2f0Hcl3TqkZUwFqzcT3i7N5T63TbNJbVBm-8puwspmk9VXMrPjElOzAjq-uHpUwUGeNFg6sQRdQP6GJe3eapEVeQss2b0PmskpJHTuqYfP6DPH-GNLA-shOxV2DaMhLxtORcUGnbhhnC/s1600/vulnerabilities.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2f0Hcl3TqkZUwFqzcT3i7N5T63TbNJbVBm-8puwspmk9VXMrPjElOzAjq-uHpUwUGeNFg6sQRdQP6GJe3eapEVeQss2b0PmskpJHTuqYfP6DPH-GNLA-shOxV2DaMhLxtORcUGnbhhnC/s1600/vulnerabilities.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo cred: Stephanie Baldwin Tresner</td></tr>
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When I was younger, I was wholeheartedly Southern Baptist. I was Baptist Faith and Message, baptism by immersion, communion once a quarter, Sunday morning/Sunday night/Wednesday night, Republican, anti-feminist, all of it. As I began to question and shed some of these things, I began to wonder where I belong, if anywhere. That first quote hit me hard. I wasn't alone in my feelings, but I still felt - feel - like an outsider. And yet, denomination doesn't matter between me and God. My confirmation rests in the fact that I want to follow Him, wherever that leads, a denomination or not. My beliefs will be based on my communication with God, and no one else's, and God will honor that.<br />
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Overall, this book is about how we need church, and we don't have to find it under a steeple. We can find it in so many places, and that building with the cross high in the sky is just one of many. "Even when I don't believe in church, I believe in resurrection. I believe in the hope of Sunday morning."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q2n9B0b-cAy-hkRMoTJ4S_Pdv-HeMS7AxqDBYwLhkSg9YIRkRKUioSVOr57-B9WJdm6OHaaBEbflCub4jNjAJ-sqJl2BeJ1eEzFYDbh2Ljc936d1kC21yG7SNYQZY0XxrFq9DXlnn_bH/s1600/church+Julie+Provost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q2n9B0b-cAy-hkRMoTJ4S_Pdv-HeMS7AxqDBYwLhkSg9YIRkRKUioSVOr57-B9WJdm6OHaaBEbflCub4jNjAJ-sqJl2BeJ1eEzFYDbh2Ljc936d1kC21yG7SNYQZY0XxrFq9DXlnn_bH/s1600/church+Julie+Provost.jpg" height="320" width="299" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo cred: Julie Provost</td></tr>
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I received a free copy of the book to read and review. All opinions here are completely my own. I received no compensation for this review. You can buy the book at most bookstores or at: <a href="http://rachelheldevans.com/searching-for-sunday">http://rachelheldevans.com/searching-for-sunday</a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-28832182454980079442015-04-07T22:03:00.004-07:002015-04-07T22:07:45.109-07:00Take Me To ChurchIt may or may not surprise you, but this pastor's wife did not worship at church last Sunday morning. I think I literally heard 2 words: "The Cross..." and could not get my voice to sing a single word. My throat was too tight with tears.<br />
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But I did have church.<br />
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At home. In my bathtub. With the blood of Christ, a full worship band (on Pandora), bath salts named "Heaven," and teaching from Rachel Held Evans newest book, <i>Searching For Sunday</i>. <b>And this was exactly what I needed. Today. </b><br />
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Let's back up to what was essentially an abysmal Easter morning. Scott had to leave at 6:30 am because we're <strike>a vagrant church</strike> in the process of changing buildings, and things didn't go as planned, so we ended up with no building to worship in on Easter Sunday, and ended up having our Easter service in a park.<br />
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To quickly sum up, I didn't help my husband on one of his biggest work days of the year, I yelled at my kids, I didn't get to wash -much less curl- my hair, we were late because I shaved my legs, I was given the stinkeye and a reprimand at church when I tried to walk quietly to the back during prayer (which I was actually taught to do - walk while eyes are closed, but is, apparently, <i>a whole thing</i>), was called out for not singing during worship (whispered out? I don't know.), and I forgot extra clothes for my son being baptized. I was a mess before the second song finished. </div>
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I stood separate from the service, thankful that my freckled skin gave me an excuse to move to the shade. I thought about how the church is where I feel most judged. How I put on my fake face at church more than anywhere else. How I'm more honest with 7th graders than I am with the people that I call my "church family." How I grew up living in a fishbowl, and somehow willingly jumped into another one. How church really stresses me out - getting kids ready, looking decent, saying the right things. Keeping the kids from running rampant through the building, answering questions I'd rather not, smiling and nodding. I wonder what people think of me, and if I'm honest, it's because I'm judging too. Wondering why someone lets their kid do something, or why someone thought that outfit was a flattering choice. Most of the rest of the time my motto is "to each her own" and "whatever works for you!"and I try to rein it in, but I feel so open and vulnerable, and (again with the honesty) wounded, by the church in general that I default to that nearly every time. I was convicted that I need to "judge not, lest ye be judged."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKIm54nHIUSBoeyCjdktkltI7Q_NMyWImgOl1fb4oVVHhM4jmTqlYzqa9iG3kiRfXZ2uHvTe9C22zBpiEKMOsdBtkHokgFwkTpHm6AUrAok5E2EdgQMX6aAAnfIN-LpTa2PZDzhNJvc5K/s1600/L+baptism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKIm54nHIUSBoeyCjdktkltI7Q_NMyWImgOl1fb4oVVHhM4jmTqlYzqa9iG3kiRfXZ2uHvTe9C22zBpiEKMOsdBtkHokgFwkTpHm6AUrAok5E2EdgQMX6aAAnfIN-LpTa2PZDzhNJvc5K/s1600/L+baptism.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's my boy, getting baptized in full Easter attire. </td></tr>
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I made it through the service, then did the whole family dinner thing, the egg hunt thing, the clean-up thing, the pack-up the kids thing, the late Easter basket thing (because dad left crazy early), the promising to play with outside toys tomorrow thing, and the bedtime thing. </div>
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Then, I went to church. </div>
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As I read Rachel's section on Communion, I dissolved into tears. She was describing an experience giving communion to each and every person at a youth retreat - nerdy, cool, athletic, needy, white, black, chaperone, student. God welcomes us all to the table. She said, "This is Christ's body, broken for you" to each and every one, over 300 times. We are all welcome at God's table, as we are. No need for new dresses and shiny new shoes. No need for clean hair or shaved legs. No need to fix all your doubts and insecurities first. Just come to the table. <b>"Communion has a way of flattening things out like that, a way of entangling our roots and joining our hands." - Rachel Held Evans</b></div>
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<b>We need the table. We need the church.</b> Rachel quoted Norah Gallagher, "On those days when I have thought of giving up on church entirely, I have tried to figure out what to do about Communion." We need the experience of family around the table. I have always felt that my favorite time with my kids is dinnertime. I've never been able to pin down the reason, but it has something to do with intentionally looking at each other, sharing the same experience, and stopping everything else that swirls around us in our busy days. Rachel (she responded to a comment of mine on Facebook, so I'm taking liberties and saying we're on a first-name basis) discusses how communion doesn't have to be the wafer and grape juice, but can be the casseroles and desserts we bring to families, or the spaghetti dinner that lasts well into the night, discussing God, life, parenting, school, work, and all the myriad other things affecting our lives. </div>
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I discussed with Scott right away about how to bring more Communion into our lives. I feel like I'll be able to open up more in my own home, over pasta, brownies, and a bottle of wine. Perhaps that vulnerability (will people notice the stains on the walls? the broken couch?) will push me to remember the way I really feel - to each their own. That experiment will be underway soon. How do you have Communion? </div>
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Also, a full review of <i>Searching For Sunday</i> will be on the blog next week! Look for it! If you already want it, you can preorder and get free gifts! See <a href="http://www.searchingforsunday.com/">www.SearchingForSunday.com</a> for more details. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-17300452421625790652015-01-29T22:18:00.000-08:002015-01-29T22:21:48.109-08:00I cried at yoga.<b>I cried at yoga tonight. </b><br />
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I held back tears for a good twenty minutes, and then, at the end, she had us do that starfish thingy, and said to lean your head back "to open up your throat chakra," and that was it. Tears streamed down my face into my sweaty hairline. </div>
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<b>I cried because I was too fat. Too fat to make my body do the things that I wanted it to do.</b> </div>
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Now, anytime a woman says she's fat, someone says, "You're not fat!" even if she is. Which is nice. But unnecessary. I mean, I know I have quite a bit of excess weight. I'm overweight. Obese, even. Thing is, I'm really, truly ok with that word. It's something I'm working on, something I want to change, but it's a fact, and it's ok. Further, the same decisions that made me ok with that word, are also part of what brought me to my current weight. I'm ok with that too. </div>
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<b>What was not ok was that I love doing yoga, and all it did tonight was bring me shame. </b>If it wouldn't have been even more embarrassing, I would have packed up my mat, put my shoes on, and walked back out. </div>
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But I wanted to do yoga tonight. I wanted the feeling of working hard and stretching my limits, literally and figuratively. I just couldn't do much. My belly and my legs had too much fat on them to allow for room to bend the way I want them to. </div>
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So I cried. </div>
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Then, I wiped my tears discreetly (geez, who cries at yoga?!), and walked out.</div>
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I texted a friend, who (sweet soul) called immediately, and I couldn't answer because I was in the middle of the gym daycare.</div>
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I went home, got kids into bed, and myself into a bath. </div>
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And then, a funny thing happened. I realized that I didn't go home and eat chocolate, or brownies, or ice cream, or pie - all of which exist in my house right now. I had carefully poured the glass of wine I had planned for, and took it up to my bath. I lit some candles. I chose silence to process my emotions better. <b>I didn't even want to do the thing I've done every other time I've felt bad about my body for the last 15 or more years. </b></div>
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That is BIG. </div>
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Even more, all through the twist-your-arm-around-your-back-and-grab-your-other-hand-under-your-thigh mess, I had been embarrassed for the way my body looked, and embarrassed for the way it did not move, but I did not berate my body. I wanted to, a little bit. I even tried. But my heart wasn't in it. <b>I simply did not want to talk to myself that way. </b></div>
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That is HUGE. </div>
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So, it seems a little anti-climactic that I cried in yoga, then went home and took a bath, and decided three things: </div>
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<li>I'm going to make better choices when I eat, to lose that fat that inhibited me tonight.</li>
<li>I'm going back to that yoga class to keep improving.</li>
<li>I'm going to keep doing the things that make me love my body.</li>
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<b>It might be anti-climactic, but I think it's evidence of a truly healthy mindset that has been missing in my life for a really long time. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-2171029450791282082014-07-19T22:41:00.003-07:002014-07-21T09:47:21.515-07:00Is two kids easier than five kids?My husband took 3 kids with him on a mission trip this week. You math wizards know that means I was left with 2 kids. Two! It takes more letters to spell it than there are children! I have that many hands! Do you know what that meant? I'll tell you what it meant.<br />
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It meant only counting to two at the park.<br />
It meant we fit as the "extra" on a friend's museum membership.<br />
It meant only brushing teeth for 4 minutes.<br />
It meant only buckling 1/2 a carseat all week ("I buckle my top! I do it!")<br />
It meant only finding 4 shoes before leaving.<br />
It meant fewer than half of the fights.<br />
It meant only 2-3 different requests for meals.<br />
It meant bringing one sleeve of graham crackers and 1 container of blueberries as an entire snack.<br />
It meant I could take them for ice cream and not spend over $10 OR lose my mind.<br />
It meant driving my little car and not my minivan-mom-mobile.<br />
It meant I could say, "You'll get the next turn," Every. Single. Time.<br />
It meant that several times this week, they were both occupied and I could actually get things done.<br />
It meant I only had to sweep once.<br />
It meant 2 loads of laundry.<br />
It meant I had the energy to cook and clean.<br />
And, it meant I had less to do in order to cook and clean!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#3 got the special cone because it was $1.50 difference instead of $1.50 x 5! And that face on #5? That pretty much describes how I felt all week. "Look at this! Two kids!" </td></tr>
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I'm not saying it was EASY, but it was definitely loads easiER. (It might not have been if I had been thinking about them growing up with just the two of them. I really love that they have 4 friends for the rest of their lives.) I still was exhausted at bedtime, still said, "Mommy can't take any more questions right now!," and still thought, "SERIOUSLY?!" at least once a day. <b>Parenting is never easy, be it one or fourteen kids. </b><br />
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So, I came up with this fabulous idea. It's not that two kids is easy. <b>It's that two kids is easier <i>when you're used to five kids</i></b>. So, how do you get that when you've only ever had a few kids? Read on.<br />
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Here's the deal. For a low, low price, (yet to be determined, but probably equal to two weeks of a hotel + meals for the hubs and I), you will spend two weeks at my house, and take care of my 5 kids. It must be two weeks because that is what is required for <strike>a good vacation</strike> you to fully reap the <strike>exhaustion</strike> benefits of having five kids! You will be responsible for (remember to take your usual workload for your number of kids and multiply it accordingly):<br />
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<ul>
<li>feeding them all healthy meals (which includes meal planning and grocery shopping - don't forget the wine!) (P.S. Every single one of them eats like a horse!), </li>
<li>bathing them all daily </li>
<li>making sure they're all buckled up correctly when you </li>
<li>take them on multiple outings each week, </li>
<li>brushing their teeth every night (just checking the oldest two! bonus!) - 2 min each!, </li>
<li>refereeing fights, </li>
<li>keeping a mental count of who's turn it is on video games, </li>
<li>and when they have to stop playing,</li>
<li>letting them snuggle and climb on you, especially when you're trying to do something,</li>
<li>making sure they get enough time outside, despite outside temps in three digits everyday, </li>
<li>reading to them (sometimes different stories for each one), </li>
<li>trying to understand Pokemon and Minecraft, </li>
<li>and carrying on endless conversations about them,</li>
<li>choosing movies that make everyone happy (ha! it's a trick! doesn't exist!)</li>
<li>and doing all their laundry </li>
</ul>
<b>After these two weeks, you will return to your own home, grateful for the lightened burden of however many kids you have! You're welcome! </b><br />
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Who wants to sign up? Did I miss any of the requirements? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-84332062096393150192014-04-12T11:44:00.000-07:002014-04-12T20:16:06.449-07:00I Need to ApologizeThanks to a Facebook comment from a friend, I realized I need to make an apology about my negative attitude towards Christians and The Church, particularly the American groups of those.<br />
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I didn't realize I had been negative, so when she called me on it, I was a little shocked. I knew that I have been disenchanted lately, and upset lately, but I didn't think I had been overly negative. I wondered how much of my negativity has been on Facebook or other public scenarios, and how much of it had been on my couch. Did it even matter? So, I began to think: Is there a deep negativity inside me towards Christians?</div>
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As I introspectively brushed my teeth, I realized, yes. Yes, there is something there. And I realized it was anger. <b>I am angry.</b> I am angry that I was nearly 30 years old before I realized that Jesus wasn't a Republican (that's embarrassing to admit). I didn't think that Jesus was literally a Republican, but I believed if He were alive today, He would agree with the party line (that's not less embarrassing, but maybe more understandable?). I am angry that I spent so many years thinking that the only clear way to heaven was through a Southern Baptist doctrine, and that I thought I was very progressive for thinking that other denominations <i>could</i> go to heaven, but they'd have to not really believe some of their doctrines (that's embarrassing to admit). I'm angry that I spent years believing that bad things happen to people because of something bad that happened, even if I never articulated it into thoughts. I'm angry that I thought myself better, more intelligent, than the Calvinist who told me that aborted babies would fulfill their predestination, but tried to shrug off my conscience when I wondered how God would send entire people groups to hell because they'd never heard of Jesus (again, embarrassing). </div>
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I thought and thought, and <b>while there are a few individuals I'm angry at, the first and foremost is myself</b>. I am the one who cobbled together those beliefs. I am the one responsible for the conclusions I made. </div>
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I thought, "What is my goal when I share things like <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=767494439946629&set=a.188695787826500.54678.188533647842714&type=1&theater" target="_blank">this</a> or say things like <a href="https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=627002234053010&id=193847524035152" target="_blank">that</a>?" I know that my ultimate desire is to remind Christians of our origins of loving God and loving people. I want people to see Jesus the way He represented himself - as a servant, a compassionate man, a lover of all people.When people think of Christians, I want them to think less and less of people like Pat Robertson and Phil Roberts and more and more of people like Jen Hatmaker and Pope Francis. But, do my methods match my goal? </div>
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Very quickly, I realized, no. My methods this week were exactly the method that I find so bothersome: post something on Facebook, and pretend it tells the world something they didn't already know, that they desperately need to know (do I even need to say it? that's embarrassing to admit). Worse yet, read something quickly, think, "Yes! That's what I think, so it's obviously right!" and post it, hoping to enlighten others and bring them to your way of thinking (wow, really embarrassing). I guess old habits die hard. </div>
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So, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry to have acted that way. Furthermore, I'm (obviously) embarrassed that I acted like such a tool. If that post, or any other even remotely negative post of mine offended you, <b>I apologize. That was wrong of me</b>. I'm still going to work to promote love for all people, and a Christianity that focuses on Jesus and his methods and actions. But I will not do so with anger and negativity. </div>
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It's exactly what irks me about many "movements." Some Christians try to reach and convert gay people by telling them that God is sending them to hell. Some Atheists try to convince Christians by humiliating them with language they don't understand. Some anti-vaccine people try to convince the mainstream by calling them "sheeple." Some medical folk try to convince anti-vaccine people by calling them "Dr. Google." Has this method ever worked? <b>Have we completely forgotten the phrase, "You'll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar"? I'm ashamed and very sorry for playing a part in that.</b></div>
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As with any hurt, I can't promise I won't react out of anger or hurt or embarrassment. But I can promise to do better, to try harder. That's all I'd ask of anyone else, and that's all I'll ask of myself. I have always felt like the main reason for writing this blog is to struggle publicly. To say, "You're not alone." I've felt a need for this for mothers, for Christians, for teenagers, specifically, but really for everyone. Part of that has to be admitting my faults and wrongs, and asking for forgiveness. That goes with the territory of making the struggle more public. So, that's why I had to write this. I could have apologized to my one friend alone, but I wondered if she was just the only one to confront me about it, and I wanted to make this part of my struggle available for all to see. </div>
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<b>I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'll do better. </b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-16752160184776311542014-03-25T17:42:00.000-07:002014-03-25T17:42:25.698-07:00Another Conspiracy About Frozen<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Warning: Spoilers! (if you <strike>live under a rock or something</strike>, haven't seen it yet)</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
Most of you have, by now, heard that Frozen is not a beautiful film about real true love, but it is, in fact, <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/frozen-gay-conspiracy-theory-094500946--politics.html">a huge marketing ploy to make our children gay</a>.<br />
<br />
First off, I believe those people are entirely welcome to their opinion. I believe that we all bring our own bias to everything we encounter. We interpret these things through the lens these biases give us. If you're hyper-focused on how homosexual marriage is ruining America, you'll see gay propaganda. If you're struggling in your faith, trying to sort how the religious zealots claim to worship the same God who keeps telling you to love, you'll see a similar struggle.<br />
<br />
<b>So, if we're going to throw around theories that are entirely based on our own biases, I have a new one for <i>Frozen</i>. </b><br />
<br />
<b>Elsa's curse is religion.</b><br />
<br />
It's important to note that I'm saying religion. Not a denomination, not a belief, or faith, even. Religion. To me, religion is the rules, the specific doctrines that separate us into factions, the "shoulds" and "should nots." It's the thing that causes us to think we are the only ones who could possibly be right. In short, I think Religion is of the devil.<br />
<br />
Near the beginning of the movie, Elsa was just trying to help her sister with her powers, and inadvertently hurts her. If we're honest with ourselves, most of us, at one point, have tried to help someone with our knowledge of their sin, or what they need, only to actually hurt them.<br />
<br />
When Anna is taken to the trolls to be healed, Grampa Troll says, "You're lucky it wasn't her heart. The heart is not easily changed, but the head can be persuaded." [this is probably my favorite line in the entire movie]. This is how Religion affects us, when it's deeply entrenched in ourselves, when it's become a part of who we are, it's so hard to remove the negative parts of it. If you take religion, and bury it in your heart (not love, or Christ, but religion), define yourself and your worth by having chosen the right one, it's hard to separate the Lover of the Soul from that Religion. If Religion is just something in your head, it's easier to release, although still difficult. He also tells her that her power has beauty, but that it can hurt as well. I was not shocked by Young Elsa's fearful response. I was shocked by her parents' response though (well, except for the fact that it pushed the plot along). Why did they only see the bad? Why didn't they just teach her to use her powers and control them? Encourage her? Provide safe limits? So many times, Religious parents think that all they have to do is shelter their children, and they'll be safe. Yet, the sheltering itself can hurt, as we see for both Anna and Elsa. Anna leaps into the arms of the first person who accepts her, and Elsa shuns everyone. Our Religion can have different effects on different people. <b>We need to teach and show our children how to work things out about their beliefs. Show them reliable places to look for answers; show them our struggles.</b> We can't rely on others to show us how to define our own beliefs. They don't have our biases. They can't tell us how to think. We've got to figure it out on our own.<br />
<br />
When Elsa realizes she "can't control the storm inside," she runs off to be alone, and revels in the beauty her curse/power can create. While it may be harmful to other people, she benefits from her powers. She abandons her community, before they have the chance to abandon her. She realizes it's a part of who she is, and if she has to be lonely to be true, then so be it. I've felt this. I've thought about how I don't want to hurt people with my faith or my Religion (when I was unable to separate the two), so I'll just keep it to myself. If it doesn't hurt anybody else, and provides me with comfort, and the ability to see beauty in a desolate place, then that's enough for me. Still, I sometimes don't let people in, just because I'm sure they'll shun me because of the faith, or lack of faith, I hold inside. I run to my hiding place and say "the cold never bothered me anyway" - I don't need them.<br />
<br />
Then, when Elsa sees she hasn't escaped the curse of hurting people, she gets angry and sad, loses all control, and hits her sister right in the heart, accidentally. <b>When all we know is religious rhetoric, and we that's all we have to allow us to relate to people, or to help them, we are unable to actually help them. We can only hurt.</b><br />
<br />
Then, there's a search for true love, which is not in all the places Disney previously told us it would be. In fact, it's found when one person offers her life for another's. Hmmmm, where have I heard that theme before?<br />
<br />
Suddenly, Elsa realizes the key to controlling this power is love. She unleashes her love, and uses it to temper her power. When she does this, she is able to use her power to help people, but she's not a slave to the power itself. She can hold hands with her sister again. She's not afraid to touch people for fear of hurting them. She can have relationships. She's no longer lonely. Oh, this! When we let Love temper our Religion, we take it from a big, powerful Proper Noun, and make it into a common noun, religion, available to everyone (can't help it. I'm a linguistics nerd). When we allow Love to flow outward and inward (because Elsa accepts herself in this moment as well), we are not lonely. We don't have to be afraid anymore. (is anybody else singing?) <b>Now, we can actually help people.</b><br />
<br />
And, the bad guys in<i> Frozen</i>?<br />
<br />
<b>The bad guy in the story was not the one who was struggling, but the one who was greedy and deceptive. </b>We see all along that Elsa doesn't want to hurt people. When Hans shows us his true nature, suddenly we see all his actions for what they were. ("I've found my place" ugh! jerk!) If only we had noticed it earlier! <br />
<br />
The minor bad guy was the one looking for sorcery and evil, determined to find it even when it wasn't there. <strike>(side-eye at people who see gay propaganda in children's movies)</strike><br />
<strike><br /></strike>
Oh, oh, oh! Have you heard of the huge hit song "Let It Go"? You know, the one with the line "be the good girl you always have to be"? <b>Yeah, there's no way you can convince me that <i>that</i> isn't about being a good, little Christian girl.</b> (Side note: when she lets go of that, she gets to wear cooler clothes! yes, they happen to be more revealing. big deal if you ask me! just more proof, honestly. "I don't care what they're going to say!")<br />
<br />
Do I think any of this crossed the creators' minds as they brought <i>Frozen</i> to life? Perhaps. If they've had similar experiences to mine. At the same time, a gay person might think of when they decided to come out when they belt out "Let It Go" in the car. Or, someone who was abused could think of when they finally escaped their torture and chose to move forward. A creator may have felt the words of that song rang true for any number of reasons. <i>That's sorta the point of music</i>, and even movies, to an extent.<br />
<br />
<b>Obviously, this isn't going to be a perfect allegory. Mainly because I made it up</b>.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>We will always see what we look for. </i></b><br />
<br />
Do you have any other <strike>crazy</strike> interpretations of <i>Frozen</i>?<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-45227259387107446652013-12-31T12:17:00.000-08:002013-12-31T12:17:01.903-08:002014 - The Year of MOREObviously, I'm not so good at blogging consistently. But, one blog I've always done is the New Years Resolutions one! I'm guessing that's half because it's something I do anyways - reflect and plan for the new year, and half because I'm off of work and taking a breath during that time of year. So, here it is!<br />
<br />
As usual, I looked at <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2013/01/hello-2013.html">last year's resolutions</a> and evaluated if I managed them or not. I updated that post with results, rather than ask you to read them here.<br />
<br />
Moving right along to my 2014 goals.<br />
<br />
This year, my word is MORE. I want to do more. I want to love more, give more, seek more, move my body more, cook at home with the kids more. I want to write more, and always read more. I want to laugh more and play more.<br />
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Along with this comes LESS. I want to own less, complain less, yell less. I'm focusing on the MORE because that's the positive. I want to focus on the positive, and trust that the LESS will just happen right along with it.<br />
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I made myself a little visual, and I thought I'd share with you. I'm going to put this on my mirror, by my desk, by my alarm clock, on the fridge, and in the car. Feel free to use it as you wish. I apologize for the lack of ability here. I'll learn.<br />
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I know, I know, you're supposed to make goals that are measurable, to you know, measure your results. This is what feels right this year. Just focus on doing more of the important things. Besides, how am I going to measure laugh or seek or love?<br />
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What are your resolutions or goals for the New Year? What have I missed that you're doing MORE in 2014?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-60250522389474486582013-09-18T22:59:00.000-07:002013-09-19T06:22:33.406-07:00Birth Story: #5It had been weeks. Weeks of that same annoying, sometimes painful sensation. Weeks of the same hope, rising, despite my resolution to not get excited. Weeks of wondering, waiting. Weeks of exhaustion and painfully swollen feet and ankles.<br />
<br />
It was September, and I was full-term pregnant with my 5th baby in 8 years. I wanted nothing more than to have that precious little baby out of my body. People said things to me like, "Oh, once she's out, you'll wish she was back in." I just stared at them with dead eyes when they said that. This was not my first rodeo. I hate being pregnant. There's about 27 minutes of the entire pregnancy that I enjoy. I actually enjoy labor and birth more. With labor and birth, the end is nigh. The pain is intense, but it will be over soon. And, every single time, I've told myself, "If you just get through this one, you don't ever have to do this again." This time I meant it. Just as much as I did last time, but this time my husband had a better doctor.<br />
<br />
So, on September 18th, when I started feeling that tightening of muscles again, I told myself I wouldn't believe it. I didn't even tell my husband. I told him I was going to bed early because I was tired. He looked at me funny - it wasn't his first rodeo either - and asked if he should start cleaning the house for the midwife.<br />
<br />
We were planning to induce the next day. I don't really remember my due date - either because she was my 5th baby, or because I know it's just a wild estimate of one day within a month of possible days, I don't know. I think I was pushing 42 weeks though. Maybe 41+3? Either way, I had no qualms about inducing. My sweet midwife had been putting me off for several days. At the time, I believed her stories, but now, I think she was testing me to see if I could try to wait just one more day, just one more day.<br />
<br />
The day before, on September 17th, we were going to induce, and another midwife - who is now a friend - called me and said she hadn't seen Sherry in awhile and wanted to take her out and could I please, please put off trying to induce labor. I said yes, and then hung up and cried and cried.<br />
<br />
I don't know for sure, but I think that Sherry knew that I needed to wait, and she wanted to see how badly I wanted to induce. I'm so glad she did. Whether it was Sherry's brilliance, or just that things working out the way they were intended, I'm so thankful.<br />
<br />
We couldn't induce on the 18th because that was a Sunday, and my husband was a pastor. Not happening. So, it was supposed to be Monday sometime.<br />
<br />
Sunday night, as I had the same contractions, I also had the butterfly feeling that this was really, truly IT. I knew it in my heart, but I refused to believe it. I laid down and tried to sleep.<br />
<br />
Of course, I had to pee. 10 minutes later, I had to pee again. I thought, "That's weird. Even for a hugely pregnant girl!" I began to realize that I was "peeing" a little with each contraction. Could my water have broken?<br />
<br />
That may sound like a weird question for a mama who's already birthed 4 kids - 3 of them naturally, 2 in her own home, where surely she'd be aware of her water breaking... right?<br />
<br />
My water had never broken on its own before. Kids 1, 2, and 4 all had the water broken before going into "real" labor, because I was miserable and wanted to speed things along. Kid 3 had the water broken as he was crowning. He might have been born in the caul (on a full moon! lol), but the midwife asked if she could apply pressure to the bag of waters, in order to make delivering him easier. He still has the world's largest head, and I'm not inclined to believe superstitions, so I'm immensely glad she did that. I had discussed in length with Sherry about how maybe my body just needed my water to be broken. I was ok with that.<br />
<br />
Except, looking back, I realize that this time, my body did it all on its own. I needed no help to bring her here, only hands to help catch her. That is something so empowering, so thrilling, I have no words. This body is not broken. It can do things I didn't even believe it could do. To be clear, I did not think my body was broken, not in the least. But to realize its power, its strength, was beyond what I assigned to it, based on my fears, was one of the best lessons I've been given in this life.<br />
<br />
Back to that night. I told Scott to call the birth tub lady, and maybe the photographer. I already knew the tub could be set-up for a day or two with no issues, so I felt comfortable with that. I was texting my midwife. I still didn't want to believe that it might really be that I was in labor, and just be disappointed again. I didn't want to call all these people in my house to have them look at me, them patient, but me feeling as if I should be progressing. I believe that's why #4 was born so early (37 weeks). Perhaps, if I had waited to call people, it might have been days or weeks before her birthday. I decided that this is what these birth professionals are paid for, they were used to that aspect of their job, and, moreover, they were women that cared about me, and would not be mad even if they drove all the way to my house for a false alarm. I told Scott to go ahead and call the photographer.<br />
<br />
I stood in the shower, still unsure if my water had actually broken, despite gushes of water with each contraction. I couldn't stand anywhere else, even, except in the shower. Thankfully, it was the perfect place. I laid my arms on the bathroom counter, my head on my crossed arms and swayed my hips from side to side to get through the contractions. Scott mostly left me alone, which was what I wanted. I eventually moved to the bedroom floor, on hands and knees, no longer worrying about amniotic fluid on the carpet. At some point, Naomi (the birth tub lady, and also a doula, and midwife-in-training), asked if she could set up the birth kit. She put one of the chux pads (they look exactly like puppy house training pads), under my knees. I continued to sway, and continued to text Sherry. She asked if she needed to come now, I wasn't sure, but I couldn't text her back because a contraction was coming. After that contraction, I figured, if I couldn't text through the contraction, it was probably a safe time for the midwife to come over. It was about 11:30 , I believe, and I had finally accepted that I was in labor.<br />
<br />
Naomi came in my room and said that the tub was set-up, but it didn't have much water in it. I could still get in, because at least it would be warm, and maybe provide some comfort. Scott helped me walk out to the living room where it was set up. As I walked out, I said, "Hi" to the<a href="http://www.e3photographystudio.com/portfolio.html"> photographer</a>, who was mostly a Facebook friend. It was awkward for about 13 seconds, and then it was just fine. I'm so glad she got these pictures for us.<br />
<br />
I took one look at that tub, with its walls as high as my hipbones and told Scott simply, "There's no way." before leaning on something in front of me for another contraction. I knew Scott was starting to get nervous, but Naomi just continued about her business, and cooed things like, "You're doing great, mama." "Gooooood." "Good breaths. Just breathe that baby out." Naomi was not even my doula, but I will forever love her for those words of encouragement. (Ladies, you want a doula. I promise. They will be so much more level-headed than your husband, and often, know exactly what to say, by some gift of womanly intuition.) Scott rubbed my back, and put the icepack on my lower back, where I always feel the brunt of contractions.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have photos somewhere without the watermark. But, I don't know where they are, and I don't mind giving a shout-out to my amazing birth photographer! </td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
After awhile of this, I told Scott, "You're going to have to catch her, because she's coooooooooommmmiiinnng." That last word was caught up in a contraction-starting-to-push-moan. I heard him say, "uhh... uhh..." and I could tell he was frantic, and looking around, for what, I don't know. Maybe Sherry, who lived a good 45 minutes from our house.<br />
<br />
Let me pause again to say, my husband was 100% on board with my homebirths. But, he had told me he had no interest in catching, and no interest in cutting the cord. He was absolutely fine with that. My best friend cut the cord with #4.<br />
<br />
I just said over and over to myself, "Naomi is here. She's a doula. She's experienced. She won't let my baby fall on the floor. <i>She won't let my baby fall on the floor.</i>"<br />
<br />
My body started to push on its own. I moaned through the contractions. Some part of my brain said, "I can't do this." A louder part of my brain responded, <b>"Of course you can."</b> It was at that moment that I fully understood the power of my thoughts for the first time.<br />
<br />
As I was pushing, I was aware of Scott behind me. Next, Tiffanie, the other midwife, arrived, and I began to feel more comfortable starting to push. I was trying to push slowly, because I always tear, after that first episiotomy. Then, I heard my front door opening, and Sherry's voice behind me almost immediately. She arrived just in time to catch the baby. She held her through to me, and said, "Meet your baby." I picked her up, and just like all the others, said, "Hi! Oh! Hi baby! It's so good to see you!" and then to the people around me, "I did it! I did it!" I remember Tiffanie being closest, and her warm smile as she said, "Yes! You did!"<br />
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This time, we had only just barely chosen a name, so I looked at her, and asked her what her name should be. She confirmed that the name we had chosen hours earlier was the perfect one. It was one I had liked since we first started thinking about names.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkS2LxXyx9hPGEEzbhJQBPq0_vepx1Cjw1cqwDKkidJ6NLShXuK7qi0teNhgO_J8PFkepmcEgr9jHrbDU6qSMxOzfMBqAcfEGAdChzmEjyEp1eoPVF50TNImxJVwx36YVpVR7Kittkg7sQ/s1600/293902_10150378223600792_523330402_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkS2LxXyx9hPGEEzbhJQBPq0_vepx1Cjw1cqwDKkidJ6NLShXuK7qi0teNhgO_J8PFkepmcEgr9jHrbDU6qSMxOzfMBqAcfEGAdChzmEjyEp1eoPVF50TNImxJVwx36YVpVR7Kittkg7sQ/s1600/293902_10150378223600792_523330402_n.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#1 had asked us to see #5's birth. She had seen #4 be born. She was upset we didn't wake her until after baby girl was born, but she immediately fell in love. </td></tr>
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As I've mentioned, I feel like all my births have taught me things. This birth taught me to trust my body, and at the same time, that I have control over my thoughts. I can't even imagine my life without those important lessons. Thank you baby girl!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 2nd birthday!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9q6RRk8VUNSnu8J0-FjSzNonZ8AkVkUUEzWnB5i_ztJGDHVgqiqaZ-WIpcJdZp8LTBn1F0EXeJ23zi2FB49tFNF7NPxopRbzGeuCaJr4wzufTsmzgiDmCRC8KVmMozPSLORd1pPb-vk-w/s1600/12978_10152211436628032_350808033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9q6RRk8VUNSnu8J0-FjSzNonZ8AkVkUUEzWnB5i_ztJGDHVgqiqaZ-WIpcJdZp8LTBn1F0EXeJ23zi2FB49tFNF7NPxopRbzGeuCaJr4wzufTsmzgiDmCRC8KVmMozPSLORd1pPb-vk-w/s1600/12978_10152211436628032_350808033_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken the night before her birthday. (Her sister cut her hair a few weeks ago.) </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-42967849545096184502013-09-05T20:25:00.001-07:002013-12-27T10:32:28.835-08:00Birth Story, A Decade LaterI woke up early. I wasn't feeling anything other than jitters. I was supposed to go in for an induction that day! The day before, they told me that because my induction was "elective" and they had a full floor, I would have to wait. I told the nurse, "No. Mine's not elective. My doctor said I had to have an induction as soon as possible." She politely told me that mine was considered elective, and I asked if my insurance would still cover it, knowing that they didn't cover many "elective" procedures. She said they would. I was so confused at my non-elective-elective induction, but I trusted my doctor, and did what she said. I called again, on September 3rd, 3 days before my due date. They weren't sure if they'd have room, they'd call me. I hung up disappointed and upset. How could they just tell me to wait? My doctor said it was urgent to have the baby!<br />
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<i>I know now that I was in no danger. I was dilated to 3cm, and my water was unbroken. She told me I was at risk of an infection. The risk of infection increases with every dilation-check they do, but to limit those was never brought up as an option. I was never told of my Bishop's Score - an indication of how likely it is that an induction will work, based on several different factors - or even that such a thing existed, probably because mine would have been so low to recommend no induction. </i><br />
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I signed in to the hospital, got hooked up to all the machines that go ping! at about 9am, and settled in. My contractions weren't strong. My back hurt a lot, but I thought it was the bed and my huge belly. My family all came to the hospital, someone picked up my mother-in-law from the airport, who happened to be flying in that day. Around 5 o'clock, the doctor said that I was finally at 5cm, far enough along that they could break my water and speed up the process. So we did.<br />
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Immediately, I started to feel those contractions that I hadn't been feeling. I was unprepared for the pain, and although I had planned to go "as long as possible" without pain medications, I asked for the epidural within the hour.<br />
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<i>This is why I highly recommend childbirth classes and a doula to every new mom. You need to be prepared. You need to have an idea of what to expect, and what to do when the pain comes. Even if you plan on asking for the epidural the moment you're in the hospital room, you should have something in your back pocket in case you do get to experience natural labor. Yes, I said "get to" - it is one of the most empowering experiences of my life. </i><br />
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The anesthesiologist joked about how he was about to head out, but his wife would have made him turn around and come back if she knew he'd left me there, asking for him. What's funny is, while I was waiting for him, I did what I did in all my other births - I took it one contraction at a time. I told myself to just deal with that one, and not worry about the next. It never occurred to me that I could do that all the way through labor - until I did it with my second-born.<br />
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The next few hours were somewhat boring. We all hung out in the hospital room. I kept asking my dad to lift my foot up for me and set it right. I could feel enough that it was slightly uncomfortable when my toe pointed forward, but not enough that I could move it. At about 9 or 10 pm, I realized I was snapping at people, and they were all seriously annoying me. My sweet daddy came close, patted my leg, and gently asked if maybe it was time for all these people to get out of my room. A lightbulb formed above my head. OH! Maybe that's why I want all these people to Just. Shut. UP. Maybe that's why I want to hit some of them in the face. Maybe I'm in the middle of birthing a baby, and my body needs to focus! haha! Having been through several more births now, I know that when I get to transition (the part of labor right before pushing, the most intense part), that when I'm in a contraction, I want everyone in the room to Just. Shut. UP.<br />
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Everyone left, except Scott. The nurses came to check me, and said, Yay, you're at 10cm! Time to push! I remember asking what to do, how to push, when to push. The nurse kept saying to do what my body told me to. That would have been fantastic advice. Except, I couldn't hear my body. I felt like I had put a muzzle on it. It couldn't send messages into my brain to tell me when to push or how. I would ask the nurses, one who was holding my leg up towards my chest, "Now?" as they watched the <strike>machine that goes ping!</strike> contraction monitor. I tried to read their faces and guess when the right time was. I tried to find a rhythm that felt like it was what I was supposed to do.<br />
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<i>I feel now, like we've done ourselves a terrible disservice by not watching our mothers, sisters, aunts, friends labor and birth (and breastfeed). We have no idea what it looks like. No idea of the wide variation of normal, and we - at least, I - try to do what we think it should be like, based on a few scripted scenes. </i><br />
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Over and over again, the doc would come in. She would ask how we were doing, tell me "twenty more minutes" until she'd have to do a c-section. After an hour or so, it became "ten more minutes" every time she came in. I still have no idea why I escaped a c-section that day. She is still one of the local docs with one of the highest c-sec rates in town (right at 50%, I believe - if half the women that come into your general obstetrics office are not capable of birthing on their own, there's something wrong). It was late, she'd been on-call, she'd been waiting on me all day. I couldn't even tell you why I didn't want one. I knew the recovery was a bit harder, but it seemed very normal to me.I had friends who told me they preferred it, even. Their opinions made sense to me. But I knew I didn't want one.<br />
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After hours of pushing, the doc came in to deliver the baby. She gave me an episiotomy, which is the exact place I tore with every baby after that, even my gentlest births. She had to use the vacuum to suction the baby's head and pull her out.<br />
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At the moment her head was delivered, Scott said, "WHOA! There's her face!"<br />
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<i>Babies are usually born face-down. This allows them easier passage through the birth canal. A face-up baby usually causes painful back labor, which would explain why I didn't think my contractions were very strong at first, and why, when my water was broken and they intensified on top of the pitocin, when I had no plan to deal with pain, I so quickly wanted an epidural. </i><br />
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They whisked her over to the pediatrician, because she had passed meconium. She didn't cry. I distinctly remember the OB telling me, "That's ok. We don't want her to cry yet." I heard her cry a few moments later. I asked Scott to go check on her while they stitched me up. I had no idea that she had been in danger, and asked Scott if she had red hair. While the doc spent 45 minutes stitching up some wicked tears, I also distinctly remember the OB asking the pediatrician how the baby was. They were married, and the pediatrician was one of my Starbucks regulars. He said, "She's fine. We had to baggy-baggy a little," while making a squeezing motion in front of his face, like the breathing mask, "but she's fine now." They never mentioned to me or my husband that she was in any danger.<br />
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<i>I can't decide if that was harmful or beneficial. It was only a short time, and it might have worried us unnecessarily. Maybe they didn't even have time to say anything, but just reacted quickly, and handled the situation. I still felt somewhat deceived by the whole thing. They never explained her Apgar scores, or that she was not doing well right off the bat. Was that to protect us? Or protect them? </i><br />
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I finally held my baby at least an hour after she was born. I hadn't even laid eyes on her until that point. Thankfully, that was one of many things that I never experienced again. I would have told you then that her birth was fine. I even defended it vehemently once to a doula, and had to go back and apologize. I knew though. I think I knew even then that something was off. I had a blind faith in that doctor. In her goodness, in her knowledge, in her abilities and experience. I will never have that kind of blind faith again. Yes, we turned out fine. But that birth story is filled with anxiety, fear, and frustration. It is so different from my other birth stories. I used to wonder if it affected my relationship with her, and I worked very hard to be sure that I didn't treat her or look at her any differently than the children whose birth stories I love.<br />
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While I don't love her story, I do love my journey. This experience led me to look for something more. It led me to doulas, and then to midwives, and to homebirth, and waterbirth. It led me to want to share in that experience with other women. It led me to the woman I am today. There is a point in my life, somewhere between the births of my first two children, that I chose to walk an unconventional path. Without any one of my births, I would be different. Even aside from each of my beautiful, lovely children, I cherish their births for what they did in me.<br />
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Happy tenth birthday sweet <strike>baby</strike> girl!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-44251823795722501382013-08-06T14:57:00.000-07:002013-08-06T14:57:17.178-07:00You're Going To Miss ThisI had one of those moments of bliss today. My baby wanted me, and I was able to just sit with her. I was with people who could help with bigger kids, and no afternoon plans. It's been a busy week for us, with many arms holding this little girl. At that moment, all she wanted was me. And the bliss was, at that moment, I wanted the same thing. <br />
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<b>"You're going to miss this." That phrase has been both vilified and held high. It's been a battle cry and a thing to be scorned. </b></div>
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In the trenches filled with dirty diapers and dishes and laundry, I've thought, "I most certainly will NOT miss this." It's hard, so hard, when people tell you that in the hard moments. <b><i>It's like the one time you feel it might actually be justified to punch an old lady right in the throat. </i></b></div>
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Yet, we say it to ourselves to remind us to take joy in these small moments.<b><i> It is a mantra for some, to remind them of the importance of these little years. </i></b></div>
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<b>I've been wondering: which approach is right?</b> The one that says, "No. You don't remember what this is like. You don't remember the days of bickering, and answering questions for literally hours' worth of daylight. Or what it's like to be so exhausted you cry over spilled milk." Or the approach that says, "Suck every bit of joy out of these moments, because once they're gone, they're gone." I've wondered if one is the prompting of God, and the other my selfish heart. In different groups of mom-friends,<b> I've been dealt guilt for either of those sides. I've wondered which of those moms is more true to me? </b></div>
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<b>The answer is simple. They're both right. They're both me. We can believe both of those statements, even at the same time. <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">So often, without meaning to, we make problems where they don't exist. We create unnecessary divisions among moms.</span> You don't have to choose to be just a snarky mom, coming up with examples of things you won't miss. And you don't have to just be a sunny skies, enjoy-every-moment type of mom. You can be both. </b></div>
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<a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/">Beth Woolsey</a> talks often about <a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/2012/05/thoughts-on-venus/">"Both/And."</a> Motherhood is <b>both</b> wonderful <b>and</b> difficult. Vacations with kids are <b>both</b> ridiculously stressful <b>and</b> amazingly fun. (I know I link to her a lot. What can I say? I feel we're kindred spirits, fighting the same fight and laughing at the same ridiculous things. As if to prove it, I wrote that vacation line before her last post. About Vacation. Being exactly what I said there.)</div>
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<b>"You're going to miss this," Is both infuriating and enlightening.</b> It's okay if some days I think, <b>"I will never, never ever, never in my life, miss potty-training." </b>And it's great if I can stop and say, <b>"You're going to miss this someday. Stop and enjoy it now,"</b> when one of my kids just wants some of my full attention. </div>
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Today, I'm letting my almost-2-year old baby nap in my arms. Because it's something we both want. A few nights ago, all I wanted was for her to <i>just freaking go to sleep. </i>Both of those are okay. I won't miss the nights when we're both exhausted and needing different things. I will miss sweet snuggles and light snores on a lazy afternoon. And that's okay. I can be both of those moms.<br />
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<b>More and more, I'm realizing it's all about Balance.</b> It's okay to be both of those moms, but I don't want to be either one ALL the time.<i> For me, one of those moms is bitter, and the other becomes resentful.</i> (I understand that some moms are better focusing on one side over the other, I'm just talking about me here.) When I allow myself the freedom to feel what I feel, and be okay with it, I also give myself the ability to move out of it. If I get caught up in a cycle of guilt and shame over what my feelings truly are, I can't escape. <i>When I've accepted that it's okay to not enjoy every single moment, I have more energy to enjoy the moments I really do want to remember.</i> Sometimes, just being snarky and honest is what <i>helps</i> in the grumpy moments.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">So, for me, the idea of Mommy Wars takes another blow. I'm both those moms. I'm snarky and joyful. Grumpy and reverent. Now that I think of it, I'm more than okay with it. I'm happy to have the experience of both. I'm glad to give myself the freedom to take the knowledge that each view offers. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What about you? How do you balance both views?</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>I'll try to believe you if you say you're one or the other. Really, I will.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-40677659508839223412013-07-01T11:54:00.001-07:002013-07-01T11:54:48.449-07:00I'm Going on a Diet! But It's Not What You Think.Today is July 1st. That means the first half of the year is over. How is everyone doing on their New Year's Resolutions? Most of us have forgotten about them, much less accomplished close to half. I shared <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2013/01/hello-2013.html">my New Year's Resolutions</a> with you guys back in January. I'd say I'm doing ok on them. I'm definitely doing better at enjoying the moment I'm in and focusing on the little things. I've been reading a classic each month, although several times it's taken me into the next month to finish (still working on June's <i>Little Women</i> as we speak). That's fine with me. You guys know I absolutely haven't been writing as much as I wanted, and still want. to do. I'll keep working on it. I'm still fighting a writer's block that I can't seem to put my finger on, as well as battling the clock.<br />
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Now, the typical one - get healthier/lose weight. I haven't lost any weight this year, and it's been driving me crazy. I haven't exercised but once or twice in the last two months. But, I have been paying attention to a lot of fitness and health-related things. So, I've decided to go on a diet. A very strict, no exceptions allowed kind-of diet. If I mess up, I'll lift my chin, square my shoulders and do something to make up for the mistake I made.<b> There will be no cheat days. No vacations.</b> This diet will be in force every minute of every day, so that it will become my "normal." I will not set aside times to indulge. I know I'll slip up, but I'll get right back on track ASAP. If any of you are like me, you're thinking: that's ridiculous. You can't do a diet like that. You'll quit in a week, 2 tops. If I were talking about food, you'd be right (except that I wouldn't make it 2 weeks, ever.)<br />
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I'm going to go on a diet from negativity as it pertains to my body. (Notice I can't give up all negativity. Snark is just too much fun sometimes.) <b>I am going to choose to see the positive. I'm going to love my body. </b>This does mean that I'll make healthy choices, and I'll exercise. But those two things are not my only goal. My goal is to love this body, as is. I do want some physical changes to occur, because I am unhealthy. I believe I will become more physically healthy. More than that, I know that mental changes will occur. Before I spend any more time worrying about my physical health, I'm going to change my mental health. If nothing physical changes, then I'll be better prepared to make physical changes happen.<br />
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<b>I'm going to be making a list of things that I like about my body.</b> From the way it looks to the things it does. This body carried and birthed 5 babies. It can help other women to do the same. It can run. It can carry sleepy toddlers up the stairs and to their beds. It can prepare food for my family. It can swim. It nourished all my babies with breastmilk for varying amounts of time. It can hike up mountains. It can do yoga and dance and all sorts of other movements. It can clean the house. It can walk with the dogs. There are so many things it can do that are so much more important than what size pants it can fit into. [You might notice that list is all about what it can do. There aren't many things I like about the way my body looks. I love my hair, but that sorta seems like cheating when we're talking about loving your body. I'm going to change this. I'm going to discover things that I love about my body.]<br />
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<b>So, for the next 6 months, I'm committing to speaking and thinking no negativity about my body.</b> Going further, I'm committing to speaking and thinking positive things about my body. If I have a negative thought, I'm going to replace it with a positive one. I'm going to ignore shame-based "fitspiration" stuff like <a href="http://motiveweight.blogspot.com/search?q=suck+it+up#.UdGzUvnVDTo">this</a> (there are other, good images on that site, too, like <a href="http://motiveweight.blogspot.com/2013/06/be-active.html#.UdG1ofnVDTo">this</a>) and focus on loving my body as is, for what it can do right now (on my FB page I'll share a few other pages I like to follow). Additionally, I'm going to make sure my kids see that I love my body. One of them asked me recently when he would have to start thinking about losing weight. I can't describe how sad that makes me. He thinks that's just something that adults do. I want to model for them a healthy lifestyle, including loving themselves.<br />
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Part of loving my body, for me, has to be about making healthy choices. I feel better when I exercise and practice clean eating. That is one method for me to love my body. But, I will make no rules or lists or goals as far as what or how much to eat or exercise. I believe that once I have the freedom to make choices just because I want to, not because I should, that I will make the better choices and not be resentful about it. I may decide to track calories and nutrients at some point, because I don't think I get enough calories most days (any Weight Watchers leader will tell you that it's common among overweight people). For now, the only thing I'm restricting or changing is my perspective.<br />
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If you've been with me for awhile, you might have noticed that changing my perspective is sort-of a theme around here. I've been working on changing my perspective for a long time now, <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2011/11/god-spoke-to-me-today.html">from the day I felt God told me "What you dwell on will become your reality,"</a> to <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2012/03/ghm.html">changing the words I use</a> and even <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2011/07/about-me.html">the name of the blog.</a> I've thought about it a lot as it relates to how I see things outside of me. Lately, I've really been convicted about the way I see myself. Now, I'm going to change that too.<b> If someone gave me flowers, I wouldn't dream of saying they were ugly because they had thorns. I wouldn't dream of pointing out the small imperfection on one petal. I would relish their beauty, glossing over the imperfections as part of the beautiful whole. I would celebrate its petals and enjoy the purpose of its thorns. I'm going to give myself the same consideration as the rose. </b><br />
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Anybody with me? Ready to start a diet for the second half of the year?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-86374734406852943062013-04-30T13:31:00.000-07:002013-05-05T14:21:04.097-07:00Less-Than-Crafty: Design Your Own MugOk, so you've probably seen the Pinterest picture of a hand-designed mug, and it says something like, "Just write with a sharpie and bake at 350!" Right? This is my thought process the first time I saw that:<br />
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"OOH! I have tons of quotes I could put on mugs! Birthday presents for everyone! Christmas! With biscotti! YAY!<br />
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But who wants a mug with my chicken scratch on it?<br />
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(sigh of resignation)<br />
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I suppose I could pay $29.95 for someone on Etsy to custom make me one..."<br />
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So, days, weeks, months went by, and one day, it hit me! So, here's my tutorial for the less-than-cutesy among us if you want to design your own mug. Just in time for Teacher Appreciation Week! (I'm going to just apologize up front for the poor quality of the photos. I'll learn how to do better, I really will.)<br />
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Materials needed:<br />
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<li>Oven-safe mug (check thrift or dollar stores)</li>
<li>Sharpie or Sharpie Paint Pen (I used the regular Sharpie, but I think the process is the same, check the paint pen packaging if you're unsure.)</li>
<li>tape</li>
<li>Computer with internet access and word processing software</li>
<li>Printer and paper</li>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1.Obviously, you have to choose your quote first.</span><br />
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If you know the gift-recipient's favorite book or author, you can go to <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/">www.goodreads.com</a> and look for quotes. (Log in. Click the drop-down menu next to "Explore" and choose "Quotes".) For my sister's birthday, I chose the following quote: "Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. - Albus Dumbledore" My sister is a writer, and a huge Harry Potter fan, so I knew this quote was perfect for her. [Technically speaking, the author of the book is who the quote should be attributed to, no matter what character says it. However, I <strike>knew</strike> hoped that my sister would agree that the quote is so much better coming from Dumbledore than J.K. Rowling.] <br />
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Don't forget to consider song lyrics, plays/movies, and poetry!<br />
Some good quotes for teachers are:<br />
A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops. - Henry Adams<br />
The best teachers teach from the heart, not from the book. - Unknown {Can I change "book" to "test"??}<br />
I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well - Alexander the Great<br />
It's easy to make a buck. It's a lot tougher to make a difference. - Tom Brokaw<br />
They will never forget how you made them feel. - Maya Angelou<br />
Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts, since the medium is the human mind and spirit. - John SteinbeckDisclaimer: The only one of these I fact-checked is the Angelou quote. <br />
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Ok, so that should have been the easy part.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Find a font that you like and download it.</span> I usually use <a href="http://www.1001freefonts.com/">http://www.1001freefonts.com/</a> . It's got tons of fonts, and, they're all free (they named it really well, don't you think?). Follow the directions on the site to install it on your computer. <a href="http://www.1001freefonts.com/faq.php" target="_blank">This link</a> has links to directions for different types of computers. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. Once you've chosen and installed, open your word processing software and write the quote in the font. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. Then, play with it a bit.</span> Make important words larger than less-important words. You also have the option to print out the different words separately and arrange them in that "subway" style, or to simply print them in a line. You can even use different fonts together like <a href="http://skreened.com/cutesynoodles/i-solemnly-swear-that-i-am-up-to-no-good/american-apparel-unisex-fitted-tee/gold" target="_blank">this style</a>, or just change the font sizes like <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/98177509/harry-potter-wall-decal-i-solemnly-swear" target="_blank">here</a>. Look around on the internet to see different displays of quotations. BUT, this is important: if a product is for sale, do not simply rip it off. Use it for inspiration, but don't steal someone else's intellectual property. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Print it out, and place it on the cup to make sure your size and placement are good.</span> Use regular, old printer paper, or tracing paper if you have it. Do not use thick paper! If you're like me, you'll have to change things and print again a few times to get it the way you want it</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iQvNXiA_z58hkXySOmgH5AroDsnY2lO0PSTws34wZp_7Akfbm3dHouZf_oB1Uox9ibV3uPv2uBERTk94GbdAxE0crkYyikqJ9M3FC8DjQ9CtpxLqr6NV6ZbqpCc4vdV7eKsIriGv8Bl-/s1600/mug1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iQvNXiA_z58hkXySOmgH5AroDsnY2lO0PSTws34wZp_7Akfbm3dHouZf_oB1Uox9ibV3uPv2uBERTk94GbdAxE0crkYyikqJ9M3FC8DjQ9CtpxLqr6NV6ZbqpCc4vdV7eKsIriGv8Bl-/s1600/mug1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">6. Once you're certain you have the words where you want them, tape them onto the mug.</span> You may choose to cut the paper into small strips and do one part at a time, so that the paper fits onto the curve of the mug. Again, play with it until you have it the way you want it. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">7. Use your sharpie to carefully color over the words.</span> This should allow the sharpie to bleed through, faintly, onto the mug. In the picture above, I have just started to color the words. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. Carefully remove the paper and use the outline to fill in the words.</span> Only peel off one section at a time, or tape a new, clean piece of paper over any words that your hand might touch while tracing. This will keep it from smudging. I left the top paper on while I did the bottom. Then, I retaped the bottom to trace the top. Set the paper you removed in front of you to refer to as you fill in.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0t0cyckvWURnilbNKiIujarGzTeDAmdJG6EOHopnhV0uMtaCeU5wKaLI4vehTQ2iwQHrsY6TKY61VjOwnq0z3E5R7sOXY0BPjDfNTP71tRjwruLVpTm4NLbp-CRj7r23ttO2PxfEU2lq/s1600/mug2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0t0cyckvWURnilbNKiIujarGzTeDAmdJG6EOHopnhV0uMtaCeU5wKaLI4vehTQ2iwQHrsY6TKY61VjOwnq0z3E5R7sOXY0BPjDfNTP71tRjwruLVpTm4NLbp-CRj7r23ttO2PxfEU2lq/s1600/mug2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can see, you only have an outline, but it should be enough to fill in without having to truly freehand the writing. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2T4v4RaJ7L96j45kMMpiDoYwjseqeh42pheNlCuKJwdvYOvN_kuvxVslq7SZ-_nGipYa5hyNCxZUx2ZtVbm44L0VDz1QrSxs0170sgYzXRMq0D7qZqT3LSHyKDHIn4VTD8qaifXDpTWs0/s1600/mug3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2T4v4RaJ7L96j45kMMpiDoYwjseqeh42pheNlCuKJwdvYOvN_kuvxVslq7SZ-_nGipYa5hyNCxZUx2ZtVbm44L0VDz1QrSxs0170sgYzXRMq0D7qZqT3LSHyKDHIn4VTD8qaifXDpTWs0/s1600/mug3.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After tracing</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">9. Once you have all your tracing done, you can erase any mistakes with a cotton swab and rubbing alcohol. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">10. This step is a little different than some of the Pinterest tutorials. </span> Set the mug in the oven BEFORE turning it on, and heat to 350*. When the oven is hot, let it "cook" for 30 minutes, and then turn off the oven, leaving the mug in there. Let it cool down in the oven. Let sit for 24 hours before washing. Gently handwash only. </div>
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I gave my sister her present in December, and she says it still looks great! If you have any other helpful hints for this project, leave it in the comments! </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-50480866970701730192013-04-11T09:44:00.001-07:002013-05-06T16:17:54.269-07:00Going SoloI'm planning a solo trip to Zion this weekend, to do some hiking, writing, and reading (and, let's face it, uninterrupted sleeping). <br />
<br />
Two days of making decisions for only me, not sharing my food, listening to whatever music I want, and not handling other people's bodily fluids. <br />
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Two days of communion with my Maker, pouring out my soul on paper, thinking until my brain hurts, reading until my eyes ache, breathing fresh air, enjoying simple natural beauty, believing that my legs will get me just a little farther, to be rewarded with the views. <br />
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What are you doing for yourself this weekend? <br />
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P.S. My husband is encouraging me to do this, volunteering to keep all the kids by himself for over 48 hours. Isn't he amazing? Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-32060837874857135212013-03-26T09:57:00.000-07:002013-05-06T16:18:37.641-07:00Coming Out... I saw these two images this morning:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJWj0F94fVYEM-VZzr_J9yjFti_fE_WcjQ-E5zIrF3cPC4hAtGbicABfiZlBskyBK512YpO6l3yP2_n_3uUabGOVrRVmw8OCnPcPkuM477JnEgTtIVqeVhrvjS9ck70ivmvnFjS8ruS8c/s1600/MLK+Silence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJWj0F94fVYEM-VZzr_J9yjFti_fE_WcjQ-E5zIrF3cPC4hAtGbicABfiZlBskyBK512YpO6l3yP2_n_3uUabGOVrRVmw8OCnPcPkuM477JnEgTtIVqeVhrvjS9ck70ivmvnFjS8ruS8c/s320/MLK+Silence.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheFederalistPapers?group_id=0" target="_blank">The Federalist Papers</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI0kYDa_9cXyy8lStHcrcprYt-7B3edydfkrvmJpFFMnSba_JYkztjiQXwwzmZgjBmJNKiXK3cxuNrZ3Z9IaDrfolYYlBOGnqxA9F5fHIGzAsEpiUYrWNuooaCoLCQCbOycPpjIFgmZml/s1600/HRC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfI0kYDa_9cXyy8lStHcrcprYt-7B3edydfkrvmJpFFMnSba_JYkztjiQXwwzmZgjBmJNKiXK3cxuNrZ3Z9IaDrfolYYlBOGnqxA9F5fHIGzAsEpiUYrWNuooaCoLCQCbOycPpjIFgmZml/s320/HRC.jpg" height="273" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From<a href="https://www.facebook.com/humanrightscampaign?ref=stream" target="_blank"> Human Rights Campaign</a></td></tr>
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<br />
So, I decided it's time for me to "come out," so to speak. As a Christian In Support of Gay Marriage. First, my reasons:<br />
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<ol>
<li>Our country, and our government, is founded on freedom. It is NOT founded on any one religion, despite what many Christians seem to believe. Our Constitution guarantees that all people have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. What's unwritten is that these guarantees are true regardless of the individual's beliefs, race, or sexual orientation. As a whole, we believe this phrase applies to all races now, although 150 years ago, you would hear much of the same argument we're hearing today. Simply, I believe in our Constitution, and I believe our Constitution would allow these rights to all individuals (with the obvious exception of protecting children, which, if you're interested in, I'll give you some resources for in a minute).</li>
<li>Aside from marriage falling under "the pursuit of happiness," do you realize that there are countless other issues that these couples must face?</li>
</ol>
<ul><ul>
<li>Homosexual couples are often denied the right to visit each other in the hospital, even with domestic partnership laws. <a href="http://www.reviewjournal.com/life/family/same-sex-couple-henderson-upset-hospitals-treatment?numComments=17" target="_blank">A woman here locally</a> was not allowed to have her partner with her while she was experiencing a miscarriage, and we have domestic partnership laws protecting that. Regardless of your dogma, a person should be able to have the person who loves and supports them the most in their time of need. </li>
<li>Employers are required to allow sick leave to take care of a spouse or family member. Individuals could lose their jobs by choosing to stay home for their partner. </li>
<li>They would lose out on any financial benefits they would normally receive if their partner dies. For married couples, even without a will, the spouse gets many benefits automatically. </li>
<li>Taxes become incredibly complicated and expensive.</li>
<li>Lots of things are more expensive: from legally changing your names to renting a car.</li>
<li>For more, <a href="http://www.marriageequality.org/get-the-facts" target="_blank">go here</a>.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
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It's inhumane to deny consenting adults these things, regardless of your religious views. Martin Luther King, Jr, who is, I believe, one of the best preachers of our time, also said,<b><span style="font-size: large;"> "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." </span></b></div>
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Even if you disagree with my politics, here's one thing you can get behind: There are people, children, dying of disease, starving, and/or forced into slavery, including sexual slavery. Why are we wasting our time sticking our noses in other adults' personal lives, and not batting an eye at all the injustice in the world? </div>
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I love these lyrics from Tenth Avenue North's song, "Losing": </div>
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<b>Why do we think that hate's gonna change their heart?</b></div>
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<b>We're up in arms over wars that don't need to be fought</b></div>
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But pride won't let us lay our weapons on the ground</div>
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We build our bridges up but just to burn them down </div>
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We think pain is owed apologies and then it'll stop</div>
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But truth be told it doesn't matter if they're sorry or not</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/hHcVTbyJqis?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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The line that says "We build bridges up, but just to tear them down" - I thought it said, "We build bridges up, but You're tearing them down." I like that better. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Christian</b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>s, if you hear nothing else I say today, hear this: Hate will not change anything for the better. Love will.</b></span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<b>It doesn't matter if you believe homosexuality is wrong. What I'm saying is that<i> it's worth it to protect all people's freedoms</i>. Also, there are so many other things you can be spending your time and energy on that truly help people that need you. </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>If you're interested in taking a stand against evil today, or any day, consider loving "the least of these."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Excellent organizations: </span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.compassion.com/" target="_blank">Compassion International</a> - "You can release a child from poverty in Jesus' name." There are many other child sponsorship groups; choose the one you're most comfortable with. I chose Compassion so that we could write to, and receive letters from, our sponsored child.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.thea21campaign.org/" target="_blank">A21</a> - "</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;">We exist to abolish injustice in the 21st century." (focuses on human trafficking)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.younglife.org/YoungLives/" target="_blank">YoungLive<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">s</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - "<span style="background-color: white;">In Young Life, we have the privilege of extending Jesus </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Christ’s love to kids as they are, where they are. For high school and middle school girls who are expecting or are raising a child on their own, that love takes the form of a program called Young</span><em style="background-color: white;">Lives</em><span style="background-color: white;">."</span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.threesquare.org/" target="_blank">Three Square</a> - "55% of children in [Clark County School District] are enrolled in free and reduced-price lunch programs based on their income." Or, your local shelter. (Our church partners with Three Square and a local middle school to provide food to families in need. It's really amazing to see.)</span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.thecupcakegirls.org/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">The Cupcake Girls</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> - In Nevada and Portland, Oregon, they provide "non-</span>judgmental<span style="font-family: inherit;"> support, consistent caring, and messages of faith, hope and love" to women working in brothels or the adult-entertainment industry. </span></span></li>
</ul>
<div>
Some simple things you can do:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">When you buy </span><a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2012/10/the-inconvenient-truth-about-your.html" target="_blank">chocolate</a><span style="background-color: white;"> or coffee, choose Fair Trade Certified. (</span><a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2011/09/here-let-me-ruin-halloween-for-you.html" target="_blank">More info</a><span style="background-color: white;">, with videos for you auditory learners!) It's great to buy Fair Trade whenever possible, but these are two of the worst industries when it comes to enslaving children. </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Love and support the people around you: the mom that's having a hard time, the newly widowed, the child who needs a little more attention (yours or not), the person struggling with their faith.</span></li>
<li>If you can't make a donation of time or money, just "like" these groups on Facebook. Share their images and statuses, and make people aware that these things are happening. </li>
<li>Consider how you think and talk about people who are not like you. Is it loving? See <a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2012/03/describing-vs-ascribing-digging-deeper.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/2013/03/spread-the-word-to-end-the-word/" target="_blank">here</a>. </li>
<li>Stop. Being. Judgmental. (particularly about things that don't matter much) There are very few people in your life that you to whom you have the right to be judgmental. Pretty much just close family and close friends. These people may benefit from you pointing out something they might need to work on. Basically, if you wouldn't feel comfortable telling them they need to exercise more, you shouldn't feel comfortable telling them to change or believe something else. </li>
<li><a href="http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/03/05/more-grace-on-not-being-mean-hateful-and-horrible" target="_blank">Extend grace</a> to all people - starting with you - your kids, your spouse, your friends, random Facebook people, that blogger, even that crazy politician from "the other side."</li>
</ul>
<div>
These are just a few options. What charities do you support? What do you do to make the world a more loving place? </div>
</div>
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P.S. You're welcome to disagree with me respectfully. All comments must be approved before they are published. Hateful language will not be published. Respectful disagreements will be. Imagine you're at my house, talking with me, our friends, and my LGBT friends before you write. Because, basically, you are. :)<br />
<br />
<i>(Edited to add: I do think, however, that churches and clergy that do not believe gay marriage is right in God's eyes should not be forced to perform these marriages. I believe that should fall under freedom of religion.)</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-30771914486342302252013-03-06T13:39:00.004-08:002013-05-06T16:19:20.707-07:00All The Things! Christian-styleIn church <strike>Sunday</strike>, a few Sundays ago, the pastor said that he sat down once and listed 130-something <i>things</i> that he felt were pressing on his time. He was teaching about abiding in Christ, and learning to<b> focus on being with God more than doing for God. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I decided to make my own list, of all the things I've felt that I should <b>DO</b> as a good little Christian girl. Some of these things I've long since gotten over, and some still hit me hard. Some I still believe are worthwhile. All of these things I truly believed were God's truth at one point or another in my life. I heard them from various people, and I am not in any way saying this list reflects anyone's thinking but my own. They were all received from different places, and mixed together in my head. Amplify some of these by 75% because I felt like pastors' wives needed to do these things<strike> really really well</strike> perfectly<i>. </i>I'd challenge you to do the same, and evaluate what God really is asking of you.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Listen to Christian music ONLY. (While I would never have said these words, I always felt guilty changing the station to a secular one.)</li>
<li> Read my bible every <strike>day</strike> morning. If it's not in the morning, it's just not good enough.</li>
<li>Give to the needy, but only through the church.</li>
<li>Pray over my children and my husband.</li>
<li>Memorize scripture.</li>
<li>Never swear. Not even when you stub your toe so hard that you break it. </li>
<li>Don't drink alcohol. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLvPKJT-Nos" target="_blank">That stuff that Jesus served at a wedding was really just juice</a>. </li>
<li>While I was never told not to dance, the church I had my wedding reception at didn't allow dancing (see above video, start at 1:25 for both). I'm still pissed about that. I didn't get to dance with my husband or my daddy. At the time, I accepted it (grudgingly). </li>
<li>While we're on the Duggars: Don't use hormonal birth control. (I know, I know, 5 kids, hahaha, joke's on me.)</li>
<li>Get married in a church, even if you would love to be married outdoors, where you feel like God's physical presence is just beyond your reach and every thing you can see cries out for a Creator. That's not good enough.</li>
<li>Don't wear a two-piece bathing suit.</li>
<li>Don't wear short shorts</li>
<li>Don't wear tight clothes.</li>
<li>Don't show cleavage. </li>
<li>Basically, take the responsibility for the possible sins of any male in your vicinity. </li>
<li>At the same time, be sexually available to your husband whenever he wants, or at least very often. Also, this should be an instantaneous transition on your wedding night. </li>
<li>Be a stay-at-home mom. (I'm a SAHM now because I want to be, not because I have to be, which is why I enjoy it.)</li>
<li>Wear dresses to church on Sunday.</li>
<li>Go to church at least 3x/week. </li>
<li>Don't consider staying home from church just because you don't want to go.</li>
<li>Do daily bible readings with your children.</li>
<li>Do everything the Proverbs 31 woman does. And do it well.</li>
<li>Volunteer in the nursery/VBS/children's church/youth group. </li>
<li><a href="http://narrowpathstohigherplaces.com/why-im-not-on-the-casserole-list/" target="_blank">Make a casserole every few weeks for another family. </a></li>
<li>Use my talents for God (singing, writing, kid-slinging, pie-making, whatever). </li>
<li>Don't make out with boys.</li>
<li>Don't even think about making out with girls, for that matter. </li>
<li>Invite every person at church to your birthday party. That's what Jesus would do.</li>
<li>Don't do anything that might cause someone else to stumble. ANYTHING. (see 10-15)</li>
<li>Wear Christian t-shirts to school. (What, are you ashamed of Jesus? No, that shirt is just ugly.)</li>
<li>Tell everyone - EVERYONE - about Jesus, whether they want to hear it or not. </li>
<li>Go on mission trips. </li>
<li>Go door-to-door evangelizing.</li>
<li>Don't complain. </li>
<li>Don't worry. </li>
<li>Don't be scared. </li>
<li>Fast occasionally, without letting it be known. (Unfortunately for me, I am like a freaking psycho if I don't eat. Seriously.) </li>
<li>Don't ever refer to God as anything other than male.</li>
</ol>
<div>
I could probably go on for days. I made a serious effort to not put down things that other people tried to convince me to believe, but I never did (like no birth control at all, believe it or not!). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm realizing that this is my problem. <b>My problem is religion.</b> My problem is the rules and regulations without the love and relationship.<br />
<br />
The pastor said that, as Christians, we talk about these "seasons of life" that we just have to "push through." That's exactly what I've been trying to do, for <strike>months</strike> <strike>years</strike> way too long. Just push through. Just check off the things on the list, and someday, somehow I'll find my way back. Instead, he said, we need to approach God and His Word with the goal of just abiding in Him. To just BE with God. To set aside the academic and your hang-ups, and to just sit with God and enjoy His presence.<br />
<br />
That has got to be my ticket back. I can't fight my way back. I can't push through my doubts. I can't check the things off my list and hope for the best. But, I can rest in His presence.<b> I can <i>BE who I am - doubts, failures, insecurities - and just BE with Him</i>.</b> This is how to get my head and my heart engaged. <b>Sitting in God's presence will lead me to some of my answers, but more importantly, it will restore my heart.</b> My heart feels dry and parched. It feels like someone who's been carrying a large burden through the desert. That burden is these rules, this religion. How did I miss that the first step to rehydrating is drinking from the Living Well? When Jesus first spoke of Living Water, He was talking to a woman who had been hurt by religion and only expected the worst from Him - a religious man, and He blew her expectations out of the water. <br />
<br />
That Sunday, I felt like I'd been that dusty wanderer, wandering through the desert, a huge pack on my back, covered in sweat, and staring out at all these different possibilities, different paths to take. Not knowing where I was really headed or how to get there. This pastor said, "Here, look. There are tons of paths around here. All you have to do is follow this guy. Don't worry if you don't know the way yet. That's ok. Just take your time, and hang out with him, he knows this place like the back of his hand. And, hey, while you're going, <b>enjoy the journey, have fun with your guide, he's pretty cool.</b>"<br />
<br />
I turn to my guide, and he holds out his hand, and says, "Here. I'll take your pack. You just carry this water bottle. Have some."<br />
<br />
<b>Jesus said his yoke was light, while ours is heavy. I have to believe he was talking about religion - The Law.</b> "Give me all your rules and checklists. That's all too much. Here, take mine, all you have to do is BE near me. I'll tell you when I want you to do this or that, but don't worry, you'll know." How have I been missing this all along? I've been in churches all my life that claimed to be "New Testament Churches," but I still felt bogged down and judged for my behavior and my choices, even small, simple things that are likely no one else's business. (Side note: Your pastor's kids are just that. Kids. And Not Yours. Please, stop them from running into traffic, or hitting your kid with their shoe, but don't tell them what to wear or how to think or what music they should like.)<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm off to find joy in the journey, by just hanging with my Guide.</span></b><br />
<br />
Also, you can go <a href="http://worthyoftheprize.blogspot.com/2012/01/my-2012-word.html" target="_blank">here</a> to download the image below, which has been hanging next to my computer for months. Go figure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaYLyP5KGYLVBzKPH3UtqxEw6qEmarhzNpZbltyOEsMPtue9Y2R6Ot3_XdOwzKBq8dXIJ0vyUiay8bWSCSPUgtnuKJQOkZb4TxXAANNLqvWnEKRHXPfpA3Vpz6rwm4r8sVUDvYmja28NZ/s1600/joy_in_the_journey__2_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaYLyP5KGYLVBzKPH3UtqxEw6qEmarhzNpZbltyOEsMPtue9Y2R6Ot3_XdOwzKBq8dXIJ0vyUiay8bWSCSPUgtnuKJQOkZb4TxXAANNLqvWnEKRHXPfpA3Vpz6rwm4r8sVUDvYmja28NZ/s320/joy_in_the_journey__2_.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-37989874865980097982013-02-26T12:48:00.001-08:002013-05-06T16:19:42.806-07:00Super Easy Chicken CasseroleThis is the meal that I make pretty much every time I jump on the casserole-making-wagon for a new mom, or someone fresh from the hospital. It's easy-peasy, I've never heard a complaint, there's little chance of allergic reaction, and NotPasta. It's super easy to throw together, and I almost always have the stuff on hand for it, mostly because you can substitute just about every part of it (you'll see).<br />
<br />
I was planning on posting this later this week, but my buddy Beth asked for our favorite go-to meals in her <a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/2013/02/5-quick-questions-vol-2/" target="_blank">5 Questions post</a>, and she also says that writing is like life, and rarely goes according to plan. So, here's my chicken casserole, today instead of later.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Take whatever size pan works for your family. I use a 9x9 for 2-5 people, a 9x13 for my family. </li>
<li>Put chicken breasts in the bottom. These can be frozen, trimmed, whatever you've got available.</li>
<li>In another bowl, mix together one can of cream of something (chicken, celery, and mushroom all work) with a can of milk (refill the can with milk). If using a 9x13, you might want to use 2 cans. </li>
<li>If you want, throw in a frozen veggie. We've used peas (the fave around here), broccoli, green beans, asparagus, and corn. </li>
<li>Pour cream mixture over the chicken, making sure the chicken is covered. </li>
<li>Top this with cheese. Monterey Jack is our fave, but we've also used Colby Jack and Mozzarella with good results.</li>
<li>Top the cheese with bread crumbs. Just enough to cover it. Unless you are my husband, who made this recipe recently. This is our conversation when I got home from work: Me: Wow, that's a lot of bread crumbs on top. Him: Yeah, but you normally use about half of a can, right? Me: Well, yes, but that's when we don't buy the can from Costco. (It still tasted good, so don't worry about the amount!) </li>
<li>Cook @ 350 about 1 hour, longer if the chicken was frozen.</li>
</ol>
<div>
Seriously, my kids all love it. It's reasonably nutritious (more so if you're not using pre-made cream of chicken and bread crumbs, but do what works for you). It also works to freeze or refrigerate and cook later. What more can you ask for from a casserole?</div>
<br />
Update 4/2/13: I cooked this tonight, and decided to take a picture for this post. I went to get my camera, and came back to this! <br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-91873333507963875572013-02-21T13:24:00.000-08:002013-02-21T13:24:28.330-08:00SAHM ChecklistI've been trying to get organized lately. Which, for me, means lots of checklists. They help me. I feel a great sense of accomplishment when I can check something off of a list.<br />
<br />
I'm also a brand-new SAHM (that's Stay-At-Home-Mom, if you're unaware). Ok, well, I had several practice runs, aka summers, because I was a teacher. But, I always viewed that as a vacation, a time to breathe slowly for as long as possible, because once the schoolyear starts it's a marathon to the end of the year. So it was a bit different.<br />
<br />
I've been <a href="http://pinterest.com/kd518/" target="_blank">pinning</a> lots of cute organizational thingys and even printing and using a few. Then, I decided I needed my own checklist. (Now I just need someone with skills to make it all cutesy for me. Anyone?)<br />
<br />
Here goes:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Get out of bed, even though all you really want to do is snuggle with kids and watch cartoons all day.</li>
<li>Get big kids to school.</li>
<li>Get big kids to school on time! (that seriously deserves its own checkmark, amirite?)</li>
<li>Feed kids breakfast.</li>
<li>Feed kids lunch (school lunch counts).</li>
<li>Feed kids dinner.</li>
<li>Feed kids a snack.</li>
<li>Feed anyone that is not your child, including yourself.</li>
<li>Extra checkmark if one of those fits into your definition of truly healthy.</li>
<li>Extra checkmark if you actually made a school kid's lunch and put it in a lunchbox. And by "you," I mean anybody in your house that's not a Lunchable. (you still get a checkmark, just not an extra one, k?) And by "lunchbox" I mean anything the kid can use to get the lunch to school - shopping bag, paper bag, actual lunchbox, styrofoam doggie bag/box, whatever. </li>
<li>Extra checkmark if anyone sat at the table with anyone else.</li>
<li>Extra Extra checkmark if the whole family sits at the table and eats together. </li>
<li>Stop and listen to at least one child while they're telling you something incredibly<strike> long and boring</strike> interesting to them.</li>
<li>Get the kids to play out of doors for at least 20 minutes.</li>
<li>You get out of doors for at least 10 minutes. </li>
<li>Accomplish any one thing on a typical "cleaning list."</li>
<li>Take all the kids anywhere.</li>
<li>Shower.</li>
<li>Wear real clothes (you define.)</li>
<li>Wear make-up (or "do" your hair, whatever you want that feels like a little extra).</li>
<li>Fit in some form of exercise.</li>
<li>Take a deep breath for yourself.</li>
<li>Keep kids alive. </li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
There. A checklist that is actually do-able. What would you add?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-26489740801233121242013-02-17T12:11:00.000-08:002013-02-17T12:11:02.618-08:00Lost at SeaI've got 7 drafts unpublished, and 2 tabs open with my blog on them. All unfinished.<br />
<br />
A friend suggested a method for getting through writer's block. It was a good idea. But I knew it was not what I needed.<br />
<br />
What I need are answers. And I don't have any. Writing is my therapy. My soul pours through my fingers to the virtual page. Writing is where I figure out what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling.<br />
<br />
But, I can't figure that out right now.<br />
<br />
Deep within, I feel like my writing is my gift. Whether I do it for me or for you or for God, I feel like it's a gift given to me by Him.<br />
<br />
I haven't been able to write because I haven't felt Him. I feel like I've been having a one-sided conversation for months, maybe even years now. From <a href="http://kristinewman.blogspot.com/2011/07/two-lines.html" target="_blank">the first time</a> since I was a teen when I allowed myself to doubt, I've been on shaky ground. At times, it's been more solid than others. Those are usually the times that I write. - the times that I'm confident enough to put my emotions and thoughts out there. Because, once I'm certain of them, I don't have to worry so much about how they will affect others.<br />
<br />
I don't remember what that solid ground feels like right now. I feel like I'm on a boat, drifting this way and that, to the right and to the left. Alone and lost.<br />
<br />
Thing is, I've had this compass right next to me the whole time. I glance towards it from time to time, and then I consult others and see what they think this compass says. I'm afraid to look for myself. The times that I have looked at it, I've not looked long. I've not looked with my heart and my emotions in the game. It was purely intellectual, only academic.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid I'll read it wrong and go the wrong way, that I'll misunderstand and go in the wrong direction and run over people in the process. That I'll head in what I think is the right direction only to find myself headed straight for rocks again. And I'm even more afraid I'll read it right and still not know which way to go. I'm afraid that I'll look at that compass and see that it's broken, false, untrue. If that happens, it seems my entire boat will crumble before my eyes. I'll drown, taking others with me. My husband, my children, my family. They may come out alive, but not without scars.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid that I'll open up my Bible and not be able to reconcile The Old with The New. The Judge with The Lover. The Lawmaker with The Radical. I'm afraid I'll open that Bible with fresh eyes and those eyes won't like what they see. What then?<br />
<br />
What now? There's no living this way, floating endlessly. Sure there are blue skies and beautiful water at times, but there's got to be more to life than floating through it. I need Truth to guide me.<br />
<br />
What I took for granted is that I don't have to have my entire course planned out. I'm a thinker, a lister, a planner. It seems ridiculous to take a trip and not know where you're going! (Seriously, this Mama to 5 freaks out at the thought: What clothes would we bring? What extras? How many outfits? We better not need passports! What about medicine? Food? What will be available where we're going? ... You don't ever want to be around when I'm packing for a family vacation.) I already told you I recently read <a href="http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/scandal-evangelical-heart" target="_blank">this post: "The Scandal of the Evangelical Heart"</a> by <a href="http://www.rachelheldevans.com/" target="_blank">Rachel Held Evans</a>, one of my new favorite feminist Christian authors.<br />
<br />
Wait, what? She's been asking these kinds of questions for 10 years? She's been in this sea for 10 years and not found land. But she's ok with it. Because she's being true to her heart and her head, which I didn't realize was my battle until the moment I read that. My heart so desperately searches for God, but my head understands so little of Him.<br />
<br />
So I turn to the compass. What have I got to lose?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-39743149651610066292013-02-12T10:06:00.000-08:002013-02-14T14:19:31.631-08:00My Tiny Little Faith and I The familiar words wrapped around me like my favorite childhood blanket. I stood in church, singing the words, enjoying the melody, but tormented on the inside. Something inside of me burst out, "Oh, how I wish I could believe like I used to again." I prayed that same prayer I've been praying for so long I can't even remember: "Please. Just show me.<b> Show me that You care about all of this. Show me how the God of the Old and The New are the same. Because, honestly, I'm just not seeing it right now, God." </b><br />
<br />
What's funny is this prayer is so much closer to the intended meaning of the word "prayer" than nearly any other prayer I've routinely said as an adult. There's earnestness. A deep desire for truth. A heart searching for a response. Pleading for some small answer.<br />
<br />
My prayers of the past were much more like rubbing a lamp for the magic genie. "Lord, please help me with this." "Lord, please heal that person." I'm ashamed to admit I even prayed to find the right size of the right color at department stores, or for the kids to just find their stinking shoes! And truly believed it was God when it happened. What a silly little faith that was. How useless to anyone. Do I even want to worship a God who cares about if I get the shirt I want? I don't know. Especially while I know there are so many more things that need a big God to fix them.<br />
<br />
There was a part of me that thought that I don't even need the truth anymore, just a conviction, and I could move forward. But I know that's not true. I've tried that. I've told myself that this is what I've chosen and there's no changing that now. What would it do to my family, my life, my kids if I suddenly decided I didn't want to be a part of this Christian life anymore? I don't see how me "being true to myself" would do anything good for my kids. So I shoved the thoughts, doubts, and fears down. Told myself to just believe.<br />
<br />
I tried it again a few Sundays ago. <b>My little conscience on my right shoulder whispering, "Just believe. That's what faith is."</b><br />
<br />
Suddenly, as if I had just woken up,<b> I told that conscience NO. No. I can't "just believe" in a God I don't know. </b>I can't have faith in a God I don't understand. I don't have to understand everything. We're not talking about knowing my entire future. We're talking about understanding something fundamental. Is the God I worship one of anger and revenge? Or love and peace? Or, somehow, both? If it's the latter, I need to see how. I need to understand how this puzzle fits together. Or I can't do it. I can't simply force myself to have faith when my doubts are so huge. I don't care if I understand the Trinity or the Virgin Birth. But I have to - need to - understand the person of God. I need to know if he cares about me and my daily life. I need to know if he punishes Pharoah when He was the One who "hardened his heart."<br />
<br />
It's as if I've had this Tiny Little Faith that I thought I just needed to boss around. Then, that day, my Tiny Little Faith gave me the finger and threatened to leave if I didn't start listening to her. So, I'm listening.<br />
<br />
As Rachel Held Evans wrote in <a href="http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/scandal-evangelical-heart" target="_blank">this blogpost: "The Scandal of the Evangelical Heart"</a>: "The bravest decision I’ll ever make is the decision to follow Jesus with both my head and heart engaged—no checking out, no pretending."<br />
<br />
That hit me like a ton of bricks. If I don't have both my head and my heart fully engaged in following God,<b> if I just try to bully around my Tiny Little Faith without trusting the legitimate questions I had in my heart - then I was just pretending.</b> That's not authentic faith. It's playing at being a Christian.<br />
<br />
I'm also going to follow some of my other favorite bloggers (Beth Woolsey, writing Five Kids is A Lot of Kids at <a href="http://www.putdowntheurinalcake.com/">www.putdowntheurinalcake.com</a> and Fiona Merrick, writing Tea With A Friend at <a href="http://www.teawithafriend.co.uk/">www.teawithafriend.co.uk</a>) and just throw my insecurities, my doubts, and my fears out there. I'm not even sure why, other than, reading these other women's doubts made me feel like mine were just a little less scandalous. Maybe because life - even the confusing, doubtful parts - is so much better when done together.<br />
<br />
Let's walk this path together, friends.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-89163399925009703882013-01-17T16:52:00.001-08:002013-01-17T16:52:41.346-08:00A Woman DividedWell, at least my last week at work won't leave me with feelings of regret.<br />
<br />
I've got sick kids.<br />
<br />
And a sick husband.<br />
<br />
I'm dropping balls at home.<br />
<br />
And at work.<br />
<br />
I've got teacher drama.<br />
<br />
And more teacher drama. (The second of which, admittedly, I got myself into. Sometimes I just can't leave "well enough" alone.)<br />
<br />
I've got a huge stack of essays.<br />
<br />
With more on the way.<br />
<br />
And, despite hubby completely catching up two days ago, a decent-sized pile of laundry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>My attention is constantly divided.</i></b> Wondering how the kids are while I'm at work. Grading essays while I'm at home.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That, right there, is the big problem. At least if I'm only doing one, I won't feel so divided. Tonight, I came home from work, unloading the bags of gingerale and bananas, and fought back tears of exhaustion as I thought, "Ok. I'm home. Now for diaper duty, making dinner, baths, and grading essays." So, instead it will be, "OMG. I feel like I have done nothing today but change diapers!" I get that. Believe me, I do. (I have summers off, remember.) But, oh, to not feel like I'm being torn in two all the time. </div>
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<div>
This week is kind-of reminding me of all the reasons I'm leaving. To hold my babies when they're sick. To sit on the floor and read a book to them when they ask. To not have to grade stacks of half-decent essays, wondering where I went wrong and how I can possibly manage to do more. To not have to deal with grown adults acting like the age they teach. (Oh, you mean I can't get away from adult drama? Darn. Couldn't let a girl have a little bubble for even a minute!) To combine those two loves, and instill in my children a love for learning. <b><i><span style="font-size: large;">To at least feel like one part of my life is getting all of me, instead of spreading halves way too thin.</span></i></b></div>
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And I know I chose the right half (for us). My family will benefit so much more from having all of me than the school district would from keeping the half. There, I'm just another cog in the wheel. <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>Here, I'm irreplaceable.</i></b> </span></div>
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P.S. This is the right choice for us. I wouldn't dream of saying I know what's right for anyone else. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-38985911419348677262013-01-01T10:41:00.000-08:002013-12-31T11:13:01.243-08:00Hello, 2013! <span style="font-size: large;">New Year's Resolutions are kind-of a dirty word to some people. I actually really like the idea of them, though. I think it's helpful to make some goals for the next year. Some of my resolutions are more important than others, and I give myself the freedom to abandon them if I truly feel it's best that I do. With that said, here are my </span><span style="font-size: large;">2012 Resolutions:</span><br />
<ol style="background-color: white; color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; line-height: 28px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kiss all my family members good morning and good night each day (or as many of us who are sleeping in the same house). </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Run in a <a href="http://thecolorrun.com/lasvegas/" style="color: #7d181e; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">5k</a>, then decide if I want to run in a half-marathon. </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Become healthier. The goal is to lose 75 lbs, but that may not be completed this year, as I'm breastfeeding, and want to make real change in my life. So, any weight loss will count, as will being able to run farther, play longer, eat more vegetables, eat less sugar, etc. </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Count one thousand gifts that God has given me. Like I said, I started this in March, while reading the book, but this year, there's a whole community of people doing it with me. Read <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/01/the-1-habit-your-new-year-cant-do-without-giveaway/" style="color: #7d181e; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">this post</a> for more details. Will you join us? </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Be realistic. </span></li>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Results:</span></span></div>
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<li><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Meh. I probably did this about 75% of the time. I actually completely forgot that it was a resolution until about two days ago. I'm confident that every person in my family knows I love them, though, so I'm not too worried about it. </span></li>
<li><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Great! I ran in a 5k at the end of January! I rand that distance many more times over the course of the year. I worked towards running a half, but ended up quitting ultimately after a car accident in August. For a long time, I couldn't run more than 3 miles without being in extreme pain. I got mad and gave up. After that, though, I decided I like running 2-3 miles. I have 5 kids. I don't want to take hours each day to go running. The best part is: I'm absolutely ok with that. </span></li>
<li><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Good. I am healthier, though nowhere near my goal of 75 lbs. I lost about 20 lbs by August. I gained about 10 back in September, and have been struggling ever since. That's also the time frame that I quit running, moved, and went back to work unexpectedly. So, I'm calling progress good enough. (see #5)</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Awful. Not even close. I'm not so good at sticking with things like this. I might try again this year.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Good. This, like the health one, is a work in progress. I'm better at it now than I used to be, and I'll take that. </span></li>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">2013 Resolutions (<b>updated with results, 12/31/2013)</b>:</span></span></div>
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<i style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: large; line-height: 28px;">Enjoy the journey. I want to stop and smell the roses. Enjoy playtime with the kids. I don't want to miss all the little things that make life amazing. (With this, I may choose to write moments down and continue counting 1000 gifts.)</i></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I did really well on this one for the first part of the year, when I was staying home with my kids. Then, life happened, and I had to go back to work. That obviously made it harder, but it is definitely something that is constantly on my mind to do more of. I call that progress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;">Read one piece of classic literature each month. Also, if I find that I hate a classic (I'm looking at you, </span><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;">Anna Karenina</span><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;">), give myself permission to drop it and find another one. I'd also love to start or join a book club to do this with other bibliophiles. </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Again, I did this for the first half of the year, until I went back to work. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I have usually read YA literature during the school year (it's light, and it gives me recommendations for my students), and the heavier stuff on breaks. I'll stick with that this year. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;"><i>Be healthier. This year, the goal is about 60 lbs, and a much more active lifestyle. I'll be happy with 30 lbs, and/or lasting changes. I've decided that I don't care how long it takes, I just want to be healthier each year. But, I also want to give myself a measurable outcome, hence the weight loss. I want to exercise more, eat more real food and less processed junk. Most importantly, I want to respect my body for what it is and what it can do right now.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">I have made definite progress here, though not in the area of weight. Sometime this year, I discovered some encouraging bloggers like <a href="http://gokaleo.com/">Go Kaleo</a>, who taught me all about being strong and not falling prey to fad diets. I've embraced some important mantras like "Take up Space," "Do The Work" and "Eat The Food." I feel like I've truly learned moderation. Get this: I've had 2 of my favorite chocolate bars in my desk at work <b>for weeks</b> (before break - break doesn't count, obviously). I'm much better at not eating my emotions, and I don't hate my body as much as I used to. It's a process. </span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 24px;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Write more. I want to write a book this year. I also want to blog 2-3 times a week. This year, I want to call myself a writer and not feel like a fraud.</span></span><span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;"> </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Yeah. Big fat fail here. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;"><i>Know God more. Lately, I've felt like I don't know the true God at all. It seems like the God I worshiped in childhood is not a God I want to worship. I'm not saying I'm changing my religion, but rather that I'm learning new things about who God is. I'm abandoning religion in favor of seeking the Truth. I'm still talking about the "Christian" God here, I'm just saying I may have been looking at God all wrong. There'll be more blog posts about that later.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: 'GFS Neohellenic'; font-size: medium; line-height: 28px;">When I first went to look at these, I thought I'd be disappointed about whatever spiritual thing I put down. But I'm not. It's been a struggle, this relationship with God, this year. But, I feel like I'm moving forward, however slowly. Again, it's a process. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">So, basically, my resolutions are about enjoying life more. Doing things that I love, and that make me feel good. It's also going to be about deciding who I am and being ok with that. 2012 showed me that I'm not a marathon runner. I'm ok with that. I may not like a whole bunch of classics. I'm ok with that. I may completely change my relationship with God. I want that. This one's not working well for me, to be quite honest. I want to decide who I am as a writer, experiment and define my style. I turn 30 this year, I guess it's time I figure out who I am. ha! </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c1603; font-family: GFS Neohellenic; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 28px;">Do you make New Year's Resolutions? If so, share them! </span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-61900257069106659292012-10-21T15:20:00.001-07:002012-10-21T15:20:30.136-07:00I don't know.This started out as a FaceBook post. It started simple.<br />
<br />
<b><i>My dad has cancer.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
How simple and complex that one statement is! I knew I couldn't put just that, although<b> that's the only thing that's been running through my mind</b>. I know people will ask questions: What kind? What's the treatment? How are you doing? How are your parents doing? Can we do anything to help?<br />
<br />
The first two answers are easy. It is thyroid cancer, and since he already had his thyroid removed, the next step is to do radioiodine treatment. Except for the skin cancer that I had a few years ago, it is the most treatable cancer, with the highest survival rate. He sees his doctor on Monday. We'll know more specifics about the treatment then.<br />
<br />
The next question is the most difficult, because I really don't know how I'm doing. I've been processing for days. It's not real to me. <b>Something as abstract as<i> cancer</i> can't possible hurt <i>my daddy</i>. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
My daddy, whom I still call when my husband is out of town and I hear a noise outside. My daddy, whom my sister called from California when she couldn't find her car. I'm sure she knew he couldn't help her in any other way than calm her down and talk her through it. It's just that... he fixes things. That's what daddies do, right? <b>How can there be something he can't fix?</b><br />
<br />
I've never seen him fight anyone, or even play a contact sport. Still, he's not somebody you want to mess with. I remember how he could look at us from across the room - or **shudder** straight down from the pulpit - without saying a word, and we knew we had better change our behavior <i>immediately</i>. Not because he was going to hurt us (he's a pastor, most of the time we would have rather he spanked us than give us a lecture, trust me!), but because we knew that it was not acceptable. I've had grown men tell me that they had a crush on me in high school, but would never date me because they were terrified of him. This wasn't some punk kid, either. It was a good guy, one, who, at times, reminded me of my dad. My dad stands up when he feels something is wrong, and I don't know that I've ever seen him lose that fight.<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><i>How can something I can't even see or feel or touch possibly hurt him? </i></b><br />
<br />
He and my husband are the 2 most godly men I know. I always seek both of their advice on anything serious. He's my favorite preacher. In a recent situation in our church, I thought he was making the worst mistake. He told us to wait, and let it work itself out. It did. With as minimal impact on our church body as one could expect. He's made mistakes. I know he's not perfect. But one of my favorite things about him is that when he knows he's made a mistake, he comes to you and apologizes. I don't agree with him on everything. But he let's me think what I think with only a small amount of teasing. (If you know my dad, you're smiling at that, because you know he just can't help himself.) <b>How can something that God could control possibly hurt my dad? </b><br />
<br />
It could, theoretically, hurt him. ("It won't. It can't," my heart says, "Something like this can't hurt him.") I can't think about that. As far as God goes, I know he's not upset with God about it. As cliche as it sounds (and I hate cliches so it pains me to write this), maybe this is God slowing him down. My dad does not know how to slow down on his own. Maybe that's not it at all. Maybe God just allowed this to happen.<b> </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>For right now, the answer is as simple and complex as my original Facebook status: I don't know.</b> I don't know how I'm doing. I don't know what will happen. I don't know how I'll deal.<br />
<br />
I also don't truly know how my parents are doing, though they say they're doing ok with it all. In the end, they're still the parents, and I doubt they would let us know if they were truly worried. I understand that, even if I would like to know how they're really doing.<br />
<br />
I also don't know what to tell you to do to help us. Pray for us. Love us. Hug us if we need it. That's about it. I'm sure there will be more things to do when my dad gets his treatment, so, if you're inclined, ask again, and we'll be more specific.<br />
<br />
A few things I do know: I know that there is a loving church family here to support us, and family far away to support as well. I know that my heart is overjoyed and filled with gratitude for that. <b>I do know God doesn't promise us that our lives will be full of rainbows and unicorns as Christians.</b> So, we'll take this in stride, see where it takes us. We'll see how this changes our faith, how it affects our lives. I know that I'll learn something through this, as will the rest of my family. I know that nothing reaches us that doesn't go through God's hands. So, whether it's His idea or not, we'll take it and go forward. I know that I will look for the blessings in the journey we're taking. I'll seek out the joy in something that is difficult. By God's grace, I'll find that joy, show it to my children, and become better for it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371119182622569219.post-72379418272754852002012-10-07T20:02:00.001-07:002012-10-07T21:46:23.494-07:00Hooked on a Feeling<br />
I sat down in the tub the other day after a long day. A long day in which I argued with my chiropractor (one of the smartest ladies I know) about losing weight. She, and her assistant (who's also really smart) were saying things like, "Don't worry about the scale." "It will happen." "You're doing the things you need to be doing, just keep it up."<br />
<br />
I impatiently replied,<b> "I just want to see the numbers go down!"</b><br />
<br />
Me and numbers. We have a terrible relationship. It's not even love-hate. It's just hate. I hate numbers. I hate math. I teach English. (I never tell my students I hate math, though, so don't worry, math colleagues.) Honestly, if someone is talking and I hear too many numbers, my mind immediately stops comprehending.<i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Numbers when it comes to my weight and size are even worse. They've made me cry. They've frustrated me to no end. They've gone up and down with pregnancy, nursing, and weight loss.<b> These numbers have defined my worth for me at times.</b> I would look down at those numbers just above my toes and think about how I've failed, how I'm fat, a terrible person.<br />
<br />
In the tub, I sat down, and had this odd sensation. A simple sentence popped into my head, a sentence I've probably never thought and almost certainly never spoken before: <b>"I'm beautiful."</b> I can't explain it. My hair was in the same sloppy ponytail that it usually is at the end of the day. What was left of that day's makeup was likely incredibly smudged from the face-smashing at the chiropractor. The water was hot, so I was sweating. I have five kids, so there are always bags under my eyes. And yet, there was this moment where I felt not cute or pretty, but truly beautiful. There was no one around me, no sweet child calling me a princess or my husband saying something nice. It just came over me. It made me wonder.<br />
<br />
What if I stopped focusing on numbers and started focusing on feelings? <b>What if I searched for <i>this</i> <i>feeling</i> rather than a number on a scale?</b> For nearly a year, I've weighed myself almost daily. What if, instead of looking to the scale to see "how I did," I looked to how I feel?<br />
<br />
I reflected on the way I feel when I run. The way I feel when I do yoga, or swim. The way I feel when I do one of those things better than the last time I did them. I feel strong, worthy, in control of myself. Or, the way I feel when I eat pizza: that feeling of a solid lump in my belly, making me tired and leaving me slumped on the couch. As opposed to the feeling when I eat something healthful: I feel light and energetic and happy. I thought of the way I feel when I take time for myself. I feel at peace and at ease. I feel rested and prepared.<br />
<br />
What if a simple shift in my focus - from external to internal - changes my life? I might lower my weight and sizes and even BMI in doing this. I'll likely gain better health and more energy. But, I think I'll gain so much more than that. Comfort in my own skin, confidence, intuition, the ability to control what I eat and how I feel. I think this could allow me<i> </i><b>enjoy the journey</b>, instead of focusing on my destination.<br />
<br />
I'm putting my scale in the garage tomorrow. I won't look at it for two months. I'm going to focus on my internal scale and let that be my guide. <b>I'm going to focus on doing the things that make me <i>feel</i> healthy, beautiful, light, at peace.</b> This won't be me eating whatever I feel like eating, but me choosing my actions based on how they will make me feel, physically and mentally, after I'm done.<br />
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Anybody willing to take this journey with me? Because, you know, a journey is so much better when travelling with friends. <3<br />
<br />
I've used my limited computer skills to make a little reminder for myself. Feel free to use as well.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04472944662449731800noreply@blogger.com1