tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15469296950608477582024-03-05T10:08:18.627-05:00becomingAnghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-87636312424059942872012-12-30T17:34:00.000-05:002012-12-30T17:34:08.198-05:00Hope Held<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(If life was a musical, I'm pretty sure <a href="http://youtu.be/Nw5tlrYf43c" target="_blank">this song</a> would accompany this post. You can hear it at the bottom of the blog, too. Just follow the link. You'll be glad you did...)</span></div>
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I’m not sure about you, but my heart held Christmas differently this year. </div>
<br />Like many of you, I cried openly to news programs and interviews of parents and law enforcement still trying to make sense of the heartache unfolding in a small Connecticut town, hoping it wasn’t true. And when the 25th came, I couldn’t help but remember the twenty-seven seats around dinner tables in Newtown that were empty this Christmas. Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals sat under trees, unopened. <br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>And in despair I bowed my head<br /> “There is no peace on earth,” I said,<br /> “For hate is strong and mocks the song<br /> Of peace on earth, good will to men.” </i></blockquote>
<br />I couldn’t wrap my mind around the mom, who just hours earlier had made breakfast for two littles - now desperate to find them in the faces of the scared students filing past her. She embraced her daughter, and then waited again. She searched. She traced the outline of each child, but her son’s gait never trailed the pavement. <br /><br />He survived, miraculously found an alternate route to safety. A trembling mother’s empty arms were filled. <br /><br />Some years back another young mother’s arms cradled a son. There was no school shooting that day, but despair hung thick and heavy in hearts, nonetheless. And just in time, when we thought we’d never see His form, He exploded to our world and caught us up in His embrace…as a baby. His hands were small and His breath, shallow. And the cup of our hearts ran over. <br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:<br /> “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;<br /> The wrong shall fail, the right prevail<br /> With peace on earth, good will to men."</i><br /> <br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW</span></blockquote>
<br />Empty to full. All because of a child. All because of a Son. All because of a little baby in a humble stable, held by an obscure momma. All because God would not stop looking for us. Tracing outlines and searching faces, He wouldn’t rest until we were home. He couldn’t give up. Because we’re <i>His</i>. <br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.</i> </blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">JESUS</span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVixTBaZ8fWyAk2d1mzX0lFLKGDazDbKzhd2X-I924n_fA6EaJoVIjLGGAKgPZzbDM7vdS0S7xqp6yuKX_PeUMa683gWAwg2U9J20_XQNWngt3So_5r7-SrOmMkVmhSsmkVKX56wTJpesC/s1600/photo-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVixTBaZ8fWyAk2d1mzX0lFLKGDazDbKzhd2X-I924n_fA6EaJoVIjLGGAKgPZzbDM7vdS0S7xqp6yuKX_PeUMa683gWAwg2U9J20_XQNWngt3So_5r7-SrOmMkVmhSsmkVKX56wTJpesC/s640/photo-21.JPG" width="640" /></a><br /><br /><div>
Emmanuel. Rescuer. Ally. God with us. Hope…victorious and near. <br /><br />In two days, we will welcome a brand new year. And my heart is holding it differently, too. With more tenderness. More heart. More love. Longing to grab hold of each day and live whole and well. I don’t know what opportunities or heartaches await, but I do know that Hope has come. <br /><br />I hope your Christmas was merry. I hope your hearts and your New Year are full.</div>
Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-58220430238993407542012-12-18T13:10:00.000-05:002012-12-18T13:17:22.388-05:00Sunrise, Sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">May.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been since May.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Holidays.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Vacations.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Birthdays.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Anniversaries.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Sunrise. Sunset. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seasons have
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our home address has,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The music player at the bottom of this blog now has to be opened in another window to play. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The space between Then and Now has been full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel like
we need to reacquaint ourselves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
sit over pots of coffee and catch up while littles interrupt our every three
sentences with a parade of dress up clothes and “Mom-can-you-help-me’s” and breaks
of laughter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We’d join in, you and I, cuz those little people remind us to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And eventually we’d get caught up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cuz we juggle and adjust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Catch and release.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We make room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We welcome-mat each other and the
fragments of life shared, moving ever onward.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_jjjCMn8kqrULizh2xk2HxH9a4OUtTrwpPckZqDJeY7SGIB69EHWmADON1bgz4-PXM4ymCB37XXHa0dCjdCA63Y-E9Yeq1gwnScI4xJoDIGxkwk25nT0sqfdzruSwa-m8WxcNDyC-bU/s1600/IMG_2556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_jjjCMn8kqrULizh2xk2HxH9a4OUtTrwpPckZqDJeY7SGIB69EHWmADON1bgz4-PXM4ymCB37XXHa0dCjdCA63Y-E9Yeq1gwnScI4xJoDIGxkwk25nT0sqfdzruSwa-m8WxcNDyC-bU/s640/IMG_2556.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Tennessee. Our annual May family trip, ten years strong.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsItTIPrqvdUofDc6vhsg3AVtOTPhlGX0t8r0fk0nZzz-U-h_5Zz9WndnCOVh8XlKmYcVu2aQFpbkVdSp3PYZ_p3TGpQDa_DSzgtj-S2CoQV1evlRYAIyGdBy8polahRKWfDDMyLd67U/s1600/IMG_2742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsItTIPrqvdUofDc6vhsg3AVtOTPhlGX0t8r0fk0nZzz-U-h_5Zz9WndnCOVh8XlKmYcVu2aQFpbkVdSp3PYZ_p3TGpQDa_DSzgtj-S2CoQV1evlRYAIyGdBy8polahRKWfDDMyLd67U/s640/IMG_2742.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love my sisters.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylinrxPtJqRMKewwsjdKcnZHsiCO9F6GhJUIvhBKXsUmRGXgcB2TyH4dAf_UMI0tr5J970vLUr1R43vEmcXwsI7NEY_JBO14Pw80bWoPQWNjjBoWTMJJMlR55PMdX_FN_zCa5HI12rIk/s1600/IMG_2649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiylinrxPtJqRMKewwsjdKcnZHsiCO9F6GhJUIvhBKXsUmRGXgcB2TyH4dAf_UMI0tr5J970vLUr1R43vEmcXwsI7NEY_JBO14Pw80bWoPQWNjjBoWTMJJMlR55PMdX_FN_zCa5HI12rIk/s640/IMG_2649.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The woods and trees and hiking that slay my heart every May. I inhale and sigh just looking at this picture.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMv1rq9sW564MMLoPk5hhGs2qL4RE-mpZ8hFv7qC0H3_ZsbfJCqtPac5kOAJvj6bUPvM6UqO6Hd4o285VVrV35T8WY3QiMQejF_JR-sH7C8iDmrh5Q516K6NimhWncWR0S0vlMWxlgW8/s1600/IMG_2957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMv1rq9sW564MMLoPk5hhGs2qL4RE-mpZ8hFv7qC0H3_ZsbfJCqtPac5kOAJvj6bUPvM6UqO6Hd4o285VVrV35T8WY3QiMQejF_JR-sH7C8iDmrh5Q516K6NimhWncWR0S0vlMWxlgW8/s400/IMG_2957.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summertime littles. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSI1egxsc6FEafz5R_IX4Pv6of5r22TtdiGWJ8Mxs7neR8tlBe4s0S_Rd5EqxXWKjfBrjAx4bwy1MjKeuR5es-Pgsh-LH1mRTUJBGigaR2D3oxihdHrz21TotxkJwxSheJxNEYuuupgDc/s1600/IMG_8100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSI1egxsc6FEafz5R_IX4Pv6of5r22TtdiGWJ8Mxs7neR8tlBe4s0S_Rd5EqxXWKjfBrjAx4bwy1MjKeuR5es-Pgsh-LH1mRTUJBGigaR2D3oxihdHrz21TotxkJwxSheJxNEYuuupgDc/s640/IMG_8100.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Our Eden turned FOUR in July. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrMLDZpvJiAWdy2zfsJ0FXAjda48-cXRrklgftLm4z20ahx117r0KgS9QWw5zNe24lOP7H0MB1MwuxTB1EAEdnTHmChL93bb2AHNGYhpd6SmVnSh0g_c6_DPjHWX_qGIBKweCB-cwc04E/s1600/IMG_8544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrMLDZpvJiAWdy2zfsJ0FXAjda48-cXRrklgftLm4z20ahx117r0KgS9QWw5zNe24lOP7H0MB1MwuxTB1EAEdnTHmChL93bb2AHNGYhpd6SmVnSh0g_c6_DPjHWX_qGIBKweCB-cwc04E/s640/IMG_8544.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">And our Maizy turned ONE in October.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx5EuQhJ1B6zqpajFs_xaTlaVPF4tGIiG_2lXyrutjaRzImQllzhBY3g1I5pcUkVJOD_cF_42-LJqMRw4B_th-1GsaiCv3XRP7tS9oQjhKug2gFFF5RjyU3vjuCgVxRI-J45UQRBUP_Q/s1600/IMG_3606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx5EuQhJ1B6zqpajFs_xaTlaVPF4tGIiG_2lXyrutjaRzImQllzhBY3g1I5pcUkVJOD_cF_42-LJqMRw4B_th-1GsaiCv3XRP7tS9oQjhKug2gFFF5RjyU3vjuCgVxRI-J45UQRBUP_Q/s400/IMG_3606.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Jon and I celebrated NINE years in August.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEplXwtXwHLv5FFFptKnqsyVBnxIJpYwRvUjgAhc4RphfwsdHIll24_um6In_b7ke2tizNitMVlz7Kt1Ew030iyb5AUdrgzAaiTga2nH8bhz-T7F9WSa-9rpZGvIzcrCFwnJ8WxTJOJIU/s1600/IMG_5221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEplXwtXwHLv5FFFptKnqsyVBnxIJpYwRvUjgAhc4RphfwsdHIll24_um6In_b7ke2tizNitMVlz7Kt1Ew030iyb5AUdrgzAaiTga2nH8bhz-T7F9WSa-9rpZGvIzcrCFwnJ8WxTJOJIU/s640/IMG_5221.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">And my little brother got married in November.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGm902lcrkeW6v4KVFw-3OUkhMUTQNVAJ6igIbTilm4SOgiF4XfLjD3uVhPdscvtiNkKlHGrXuBUbkd3scckPXg2_0zN1zTaDCD6WPk2TtRHLxW94_0tbs48w9FxMuBbKzK77LJsrntFc/s1600/IMG_5466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGm902lcrkeW6v4KVFw-3OUkhMUTQNVAJ6igIbTilm4SOgiF4XfLjD3uVhPdscvtiNkKlHGrXuBUbkd3scckPXg2_0zN1zTaDCD6WPk2TtRHLxW94_0tbs48w9FxMuBbKzK77LJsrntFc/s640/IMG_5466.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">We welcomed TWIN nephews, born in a country on the other side of the planet, celebrated madly in our hearts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnPXf5U4zoKvTKg1UdzTYz2cXj0mzOdqwV1COQ4K_Mw3iWJzvDQH1Z7pZtHcEYHYL7zB85odVtg2gT6rGMSNTPk8Zkd_ZEqEW-ZaLk9owRGr5m4Ws-vH76hYbd2WExsLBAzRBieuIZaw/s1600/IMG_3831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnPXf5U4zoKvTKg1UdzTYz2cXj0mzOdqwV1COQ4K_Mw3iWJzvDQH1Z7pZtHcEYHYL7zB85odVtg2gT6rGMSNTPk8Zkd_ZEqEW-ZaLk9owRGr5m4Ws-vH76hYbd2WExsLBAzRBieuIZaw/s640/IMG_3831.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunrises in our new town are stunning.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg4ANbfy7MIrH3vUNa5nnCZYhZl73FaG0VO-IS4KEUEioBH_4v4puYtBt6lMeXdNxkctgFId3OTiZrnnJp3IZH4H7geJHsSozQuSulSn6LE99rB9gcHcUJUfv96pNWjGm9FspXlN44b0/s1600/IMG_3875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg4ANbfy7MIrH3vUNa5nnCZYhZl73FaG0VO-IS4KEUEioBH_4v4puYtBt6lMeXdNxkctgFId3OTiZrnnJp3IZH4H7geJHsSozQuSulSn6LE99rB9gcHcUJUfv96pNWjGm9FspXlN44b0/s640/IMG_3875.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the sunsets are not to be outdone.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNy5yOVOB3cca_8MNRUDZYN96Sy9sl63d-MDeOgOxIGpqjB9FI-TkD-ZU0UPS40NmPHS42IPeK0kFDzAS_hxdDbO1W6p6TonDJWHKy_-nCWHuozjjPVDjx20LkN8bEovt5WtWjcnxkoA/s1600/IMG_5171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNy5yOVOB3cca_8MNRUDZYN96Sy9sl63d-MDeOgOxIGpqjB9FI-TkD-ZU0UPS40NmPHS42IPeK0kFDzAS_hxdDbO1W6p6TonDJWHKy_-nCWHuozjjPVDjx20LkN8bEovt5WtWjcnxkoA/s640/IMG_5171.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Trips back "home" to visit family and friend-family are sweet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And creating new memories with friends in this new place has been, too.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialjccIstoOtePRSoieW_ZiOVALw7qZeCsARiRJ6YeL-1AHvdr6jl9TO8Vvm9tbZob9IboTZ7Th9sHIF3jbvYJgvHmu36YF1BN8SkmSU2thkW-LFGnBI52M-OdLJMjb12QQ9k7858R93o/s1600/IMG_5029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialjccIstoOtePRSoieW_ZiOVALw7qZeCsARiRJ6YeL-1AHvdr6jl9TO8Vvm9tbZob9IboTZ7Th9sHIF3jbvYJgvHmu36YF1BN8SkmSU2thkW-LFGnBI52M-OdLJMjb12QQ9k7858R93o/s640/IMG_5029.JPG" width="640" /></a><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">And once we caught up, we’d
celebrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cuz it’s Christmastime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gift of hope-restored has
come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that kind of hope reaches out to grasp hands with the New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All things fresh and possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">This blog space
will be changing, shifting in January. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>White canvases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clean slates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Suns yet to set and rise. </span>And I’m
really excited about what will come. All things new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ll be back
next week with a Christmas-specific post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d love to welcome you back here one last time, and then move on
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Join me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Happy Tuesday to you and yours.</span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-32120542905812988512012-05-11T01:37:00.001-04:002012-05-11T01:37:48.018-04:00Knotted and Tangled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spent this past weekend cheers-ing new beginnings with my sister and moving her things into her new home. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HawdwUzCXuYkrqOYL3lbWxte4vKCsULkTRRBZ0D4kydVPFPTIvwpcV_3Bg8U_wmCcOAzIivgL4DpxrQxjBFO264rBsJ0SacON8YuV84buq7qKcX2tgodTuvTCyJx7XDRuM4wZJA19sg/s1600/IMG_6470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HawdwUzCXuYkrqOYL3lbWxte4vKCsULkTRRBZ0D4kydVPFPTIvwpcV_3Bg8U_wmCcOAzIivgL4DpxrQxjBFO264rBsJ0SacON8YuV84buq7qKcX2tgodTuvTCyJx7XDRuM4wZJA19sg/s640/IMG_6470.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We sorted and arranged, cleaned and unpacked. We spoke of future memories to be made. We painted her walls with the happy colors of laughter.<br />
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After the flurry of a busy Friday and Saturday and time apart from littles, Sunday's wake-up-slow start next to a baby playing with her feet refreshed my momma-heart. I drank in coos and "da-da's." I snuggled her close and breathed her in. <br />
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I sipped coffee plastered next to a little boy in pajamas. We shared ear buds over Mumford & Sons and smiled in that quiet morning way. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi4VdT3TgQCvVt8kWvmcZ6N4TU-Iw47Zsq4AvsFDmBGOf0drtTCD5HE_UVnKsfr3rQJTO4PCxhtnWLLtyXvm359qo6CHEDxcbtdtG1vqhKmc68iJwjfpFkv07qs-6UFiA0CRJJ1R4TWk/s1600/IMG_6145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOi4VdT3TgQCvVt8kWvmcZ6N4TU-Iw47Zsq4AvsFDmBGOf0drtTCD5HE_UVnKsfr3rQJTO4PCxhtnWLLtyXvm359qo6CHEDxcbtdtG1vqhKmc68iJwjfpFkv07qs-6UFiA0CRJJ1R4TWk/s640/IMG_6145.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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I high-fived a not-so-little-girl who stayed in her bed the night before. And relished the happy ways she shadowed me around the house.<br />
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And as we slipped from morning to day, I continued to unwrap it all because presence is a gift. <br />
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There's a story of a young woman in the wake of tragedy, freshly widowed, who packed up boxes and moved to follow her mother-in-law. Friends. Family. Hometown. Familiar. All left in pursuit of hearts together, near, close. And I love her words:<br />
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<i>...Ruth answered, “Don’t force me to leave you. Don’t make me turn back </i><i>from following you. </i></div>
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<i>Wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, </i></div>
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<i>and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and I will be buried there with you. </i></div>
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<i>May the Lord strike me down if anything but death separates you and me!”</i><br />
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<i>When Naomi saw that Ruth was determined to go with her, </i><i>she ended the conversation.</i></div>
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<i>So both of them went on...</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">RUTH 1.16-19</span></div>
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<i>Both</i> of them. <br />
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I'm not sure all Ruth thought about before she left home. I imagine she hugged childhood friends a little closer and kissed family goodbye through tears. Perhaps she walked around the home she shared with her husband and ran fingers down door frames, memories playing out like scenes from a movie in her mind. I imagine it was hard to leave. But the alternative, the thought of being distant, far from Naomi was more than her heart could carry. <br />
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I've heard stories of Siamese twins, born to the world sharing a vital organ. And while some cases are operable, the oneness of the two separable, some are not. It's life shared together or death. I imagine the bond between Ruth and Naomi something like that. One heart, joined, overgrown, inseparable even by the most delicate of surgeries. Together or death.<br />
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And their bond merely echoed one that was planned before either of them were born, one that would find its way to Earth's door frames long after they gave their bodies to the ground. <br />
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God left heaven to be <i>near</i> <i>us</i>. He packed up His power and strength and crammed holiness into the box of humanity. He ached to be close, to be present, to unpack His dreams for our lives and hang love on our walls. Immanuel: God...tangled and entwined and inseparably...with us.<br />
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When I climb for perspective and reassess direction, when I check my heart's compass and make sure it's still pointing heavenward, I think of the story I want to be written and retold of me. I want it to have packing tape and U-Haul's penned in the lines. That I left what I knew. That I chose to stay close, to Siamese-share His heart, to remain knotted with Him forever.<br />
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I imagine that no matter where we walk today, there are hard things to goodbye and leave behind. Maybe habits or substitutes. Self-protection or fear or anger. Things familiar and safe. Immanuel-God, aches to be near. He packs boxes and comes. He walks alongside. Present. With.<br />
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I hope He finds our hearts open before Him. I hope He find us determined to follow. I hope we pack up and say with Ruth, <i>wherever You go, I will go, and wherever You stay, I will stay...</i><br />
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I hope, in every line, our stories read, <i>So both of them went on... </i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br /></span></div>
</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-30085060907957302982012-04-27T06:25:00.001-04:002012-04-27T06:28:22.296-04:00Club Life<div>
Jon and I are a part of an elite club. A three-kids-three-and-under club. And like bikers camaraderie with fists on the open road, we spot and acknowledge those among us across a restaurant or in the diaper aisle at Target. We lock eyes and swap 'sup nods, knowingly. We smile, 'cuz we get it. Life...is a little bit crazy.</div>
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We encourage independence and clean up messes. We read books and listen to stories on repeat. We play-date. We lose track of time. Sleep ebbs more than it flows. Patience stretches thin. We cry. We worry. We regret and "I'm sorry." </div>
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And all the while these little people, these life-lovers, coax and remind us to notice and enjoy the world. To escape the weight and worry. To love today, <i>this</i> day, with wide-open heart. </div>
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To laugh. <br />
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To find fun. </div>
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To explore. And discover. </div>
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To drink deep the beauty of a place.</div>
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To slow down and be close. </div>
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And to awe over the magnificence of it all. </div>
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<i>Live in the sunshine, </i></div>
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<i>swim in the sea, </i></div>
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<i>drink the wild air.</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">RALPH WALDO EMERSON</span></div>
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Join the club. Be little. Look for fun. And laugh. Hold those you love close. Live a bit crazy. And love today, <i>this</i> day. <br />
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Happy Friday, all!</div>
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-45794308778564633302012-03-23T12:07:00.000-04:002012-03-23T12:07:59.585-04:00Welcome MatMid-March rolled in like summer around here, flaunting record high temperatures and trash talking to the other seasons that Spring is where it's at. <br />
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Evenings this week have been warm enough to walk. In boat shoes. <i>Sans</i> jacket. And grabbing leash and Weim, heading out under a canvas of stars, my thoughts have jumped and grasped at God. Clear night skies have a magic about them that clears the mind to enjoy the warm air, the jingling collar of a happy dog, and a neighborhood still, drifted to sleep. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsifdjEWPvfXM9GSn0M6hC07zzjwxgbRqe4MABTHd1VED3ioDCloBbtpfie_Nv7PqCPAa6jGX56POk0BEAaCCJbG_BAp_p4ku4qHSdWM0y2s3ANDWZ5O0TKDQDokPM_ygqYGymN8wiYg/s1600/IMG_4614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsifdjEWPvfXM9GSn0M6hC07zzjwxgbRqe4MABTHd1VED3ioDCloBbtpfie_Nv7PqCPAa6jGX56POk0BEAaCCJbG_BAp_p4ku4qHSdWM0y2s3ANDWZ5O0TKDQDokPM_ygqYGymN8wiYg/s640/IMG_4614.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I love being tucked in under the blanket of night-time sky. Knowing that Creator-God who dreamed up the galaxies blazing above, bends low, listens, even relishes our clumsy attempts to worship Him. His eyes trace over our lives; every freckle, every scar, every laugh line...memorized. <br />
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He turns on the porch light, puts the coffee on the stove. His eyes dance when we open the door at the end of the day. He bubbles over with "Just look at you" and "I love you" and "I've got something to show you." He can't help himself. His heart is full. He:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">...richly enjoys you...your company is His pleasure, your fellowship His joy, your face His delight...He hasn't just made room for us in heaven; He has made room for us in His joyful heart. </span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">SAMMY SMITH, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>OBJECTS OF HIS AFFECTION</i></span></span></div>
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It wasn't always this way. There was a time we wanted nothing to do with Him. <br />
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So the Galaxy-Engineering-God knelt down. Heartbroken and unwilling to let us run off, to be gone forever, He chased down fugitive hearts with His Son. <br />
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He hounded through fear and shame with relentless affection and whispered in the dark and dead places, "Yes, I've seen. I know. And you aren't too big for me. My grace is strong enough. <i>I</i> am strong enough. I can carry you home." <br />
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<i>God calling yet! shall I not hear?</i></div>
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<i>Earth's pleasures shall I still hold dear?</i></div>
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<i>Shall life's swift passing years all fly,</i></div>
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<i>And still my soul in slumber lie?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>God calling yet! shall I not rise?</i></div>
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<i>Can I His loving voice despise,</i></div>
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<i>And basely His kind care repay?</i></div>
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<i>He calls me still: can I delay?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>God calling yet! and shall He knock</i></div>
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<i>And I my heart the closer lock?</i></div>
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<i>He still is waiting to receive,</i></div>
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<i>And shall I dare His Spirit grieve?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>God calling yet! I cannot stay; </i></div>
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<i>My heart I yield without delay;</i></div>
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<i>Vain world, farewell! from thee I part;</i></div>
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<i>The voice of God hath reached my heart!</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">GERHARD TERSTEEGEN, TRANSLATED BY JANE L. BORTHWICK</span></div>
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God woos even now, heart bubbling over. <i>I'm so glad you're here. I love you. I've got so much to show you.</i><br />
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Take a walk. Climb a mountain. Watch a sunset. All lines of one giant love letter to the hearts of humanity, all pieces of one expansive invitation to explore and discover how big, how vast, how lovely, how tender...this God of the universe is. This God who bends and kneels and makes our hearts His home.<br />
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The welcome mat is out. The porch light's on. The places that were dark and dead have been swept away. <br />
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Spring in all it's newness has come.<br />
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I had no idea then how fully smitten I would be with you, little man. The ways your sweet, tender spirit would interweave around in my world, tangling up my heart. And I have a feeling that in two, ten, fifty more years, I'll say the same thing. Because love grows, it expands the home of the soul to make room for more...and more and more. </div>
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I squeezed in as many kisses and snuggles and "look at this one-year-old belly...ear...nose..." as you would stand yesterday. I couldn't help it. You'll never be one again.</div>
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Si-guy, you know we celebrate life at our house. 'Cuz it's presh, yo. It's a gift. And it's never guaranteed. </div>
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And it blesses me to overflow that you have been rallied around by those who love you in California, in Dayton, and here, at home. </div>
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Today as we marvel at you - this little boy with the big heart, this God-dreamed-up life - I am thankful for the front row seat I've been given to watch you become two. To see your personality and spirit unfold. To observe how you notice and take in your world. To delight in how it moves you to laugh, to dance, to help.</div>
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I love you, buddy. I'm honored to be your mom, a gift I'll never recover from. </div>
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Happy Birthday. </div>
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-91298280621489236182012-03-12T06:17:00.002-04:002012-03-12T06:17:33.028-04:00No Ordinary People<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A sermon, given 70 years ago has lingered in the hallways of my heart like a fragrance. </span>I have sat with it for weeks now, begging its words to move in and stay. I don't care that we just met. It's love, baby. And I want to wear its truth like a band on my heart for always:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It may be possible
for each to think too much of his own
potential glory...it is hardly
possible for him to think too often or too
deeply about that of his neighbour. The
load, or weight, or burden of my
neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on
my back, a load so heavy that only
humility can carry it, and the backs of the
proud will be broken. It is a serious thing
to live in a society of possible gods and
goddesses, to remember that the dullest
and most uninteresting person you talk to
may one day be a creature...you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a
corruption...</span></i> </blockquote>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All day long we are,
in some degree, helping each other to one
or other of these destinations. It is in the
light of these overwhelming possibilities, it
is with the awe and the circumspection
proper to them, that we should conduct all
our dealings with one another, all
friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.
There are no ordinary people...it is immortals whom we joke
with, work with, marry, snub, and
exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting
splendors. </span></i></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">C. S. LEWIS, <i>THE WEIGHT OF GLORY </i></span></blockquote>
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I feel like Joshua, hanging out in the tent where the Lord met with Moses, hanging on in that space and not wanting to leave. And I hesitate to add any words to those above because the weight of them feels so very holy. <br />
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And I wonder about the immortal server, the eternal hotel housekeeper, the forever-soul arranging produce in the vegetable aisle. Do we notice them? Not their work, their performance...but them? Their stories? Their significance?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WrY0NptGuD5rBwltgMv6PuuaQZOZegwwOgKgO8Sb9cQaeRCHoqYunWSXpSIs_y2vuakJmr6PoiVKkSwKIruM3kaCdwFZ1AW1dO2MJL-iXJR0W-sLhkU_SuUPEFYMlGr4FLrR1Xy0NZc/s1600/IMG_8485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WrY0NptGuD5rBwltgMv6PuuaQZOZegwwOgKgO8Sb9cQaeRCHoqYunWSXpSIs_y2vuakJmr6PoiVKkSwKIruM3kaCdwFZ1AW1dO2MJL-iXJR0W-sLhkU_SuUPEFYMlGr4FLrR1Xy0NZc/s640/IMG_8485.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think about the woman who tore her family apart with her own adulterous hands. Or the man who drank, drove, and destroyed life. Do we embrace them? Do we see beyond the labels they wear, moved with compassion, hands ready with grace?<br />
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And I remember the littles living in my home, entrusted to my care, mindful that my words, attitudes, and arms propel them for eternity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLeMpBTPgjqR6dYRvEDBhusaC5ZOvnAI9SCDg1TiQ4OvL_wgW02Kxe5ZYPP5xp3TACMS5l1sejvJ5wpMIhP2L0SptxS26k1fxPJb2ow6mncn4UVFQPsnUppgtPb7GSYsZ3C2SBr-q9S0/s1600/IMG_8897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLeMpBTPgjqR6dYRvEDBhusaC5ZOvnAI9SCDg1TiQ4OvL_wgW02Kxe5ZYPP5xp3TACMS5l1sejvJ5wpMIhP2L0SptxS26k1fxPJb2ow6mncn4UVFQPsnUppgtPb7GSYsZ3C2SBr-q9S0/s640/IMG_8897.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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If we allowed Lewis' words to press true-love's lips upon lifeless hearts, if we let them wake us from the enchantment of soul-slumber, they'd change <i>everything</i>...<br />
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We'd be different parents, different spouses, different friends. We'd be different customers, different employees, different siblings. It would change how we handle conflict, temptation, forgiveness. It would change how we come home to our families from long days at the office. It would change the things we do for entertainment. <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<i>When you do things, do not let selfishness or pride be your guide. Instead, be humble and give more honor to others than to yourselves. Do not be interested only in your own life, but be interested in the lives of others.</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">PHILIPPIANS 2:3-4, NCV</span></div>
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Today is new, fresh, and ripe with choice to clear out closet space and allow the glory of those around us to move in and stay.<br />
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There are no ordinary, unimportant, shrug-off-able people. </div>
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-68576192704757078252012-03-05T17:44:00.000-05:002012-03-05T17:44:31.249-05:00Story<br />
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Friendship, the true kind with those who join and share and weather with you, settling in like a house on its foundation, is a cadence and stride of lifelong conversation. A stroll together, with allowances given for re-visitation, clarification, struggle, change, growth. </div>
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And writing a blog, I'm finding, is more like a conversation between friends than a book, published and bound. I often sit here and struggle with how much more there is to say. And how I'm no expert in the things I share. I am often weighed by the stories gifted to me in a week and how to best represent them in this space, if at all. </div>
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But at the end of the day you and I sit and dialog, sharing dreams and ramblings and ideas of the grand...and the small. And sometimes we are still, quiet, but it all makes for this side-by-side pace of <i>together</i>.</div>
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Thank you. Thank you for reading, sharing, posting, commenting, following. Thank you for listening as I serve up fragments of this simple life-story. </div>
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And thank you most of all for <i>your</i> stories. They make me laugh...and cry. And be ever more thankful for this jointed life, awe-struck by the way vulnerability knocks the wind out of us with ravishing beauty. </div>
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If you had a cape and a crusade, your super power would be story. And the world needs you to show up. Tights, optional. </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<i>Live your life from your heart. Share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal people's souls.</i> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">MELODY BEATTIE</span></div>
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Mmmm. Preach, Beattie! And keep sharing your sacred, healing stories. </div>
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-7366052136016045642012-02-27T05:38:00.000-05:002012-02-27T05:38:14.689-05:00From Cali, With LoveWe've been California-ing with Jon's family this week. And it's been lovely. Sunshine, mountainside, story-tellin' kinda lovely. The kind that takes me back to being little and wishing my whole, big family could live in the same house and stay together always.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy sunrise in the sky, Batman.</td></tr>
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And no joke, the locale-Oscar for serious real goes to the Metz fam. The thank-you list is long and the music is playing, but thanks for being you and for living in such a gorgeous place. We double-love to visit. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maizy meets Great-Grammy P.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting our newest guy, Bennett.</td></tr>
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It's Monday, a brand new start to a brand new week. And as your list of things to do and check off grows, I share some wisdom that has been humbling me in waves:</div>
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<i>It doesn't matter what you get done if you've undone a heart. There are no real accomplishments apart from relationship.</i> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">ANN VOSKAMP</span></div>
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We head home tomorrow, and my list of today's to-do's includes little things like laundry and packing...and soaking up the last bits of California vacationing, drinking in final moments with those we love and see not often enough.</div>
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Whatever today holds for you, I hope you accomplish slowing down and taking time. Notice. See. And check off all those boxes with love.</div>
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Happy, happy Monday, all. </div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-87203914938772034352012-02-14T15:20:00.000-05:002012-02-14T15:20:17.538-05:00Horizons<span style="font-family: inherit;">Take a drive down any country road or highway, white crosses, floral wreaths, R.I.P.s and their weary beacons call through the night, <i>Life was here and is gone</i>. </span>Plates are scraped and excess discarded while babies sleep hungry in other homes. Teenagers enter the tsunami of unkindness and cruelty from their peers, haunted by thoughts of ending it all. Grocery-shop and you'll rub shoulders with P.O.W.s of capsized marriages. Go to work, a park, the library, out to lunch and you'll converse with those dead-eyed, sentenced to the hollow shell of a dreams-snatched-and-stolen existence. No matter who we are or where we walk, we soldier the battle for heart.<br />
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Circumstance wields it's enchanted axe and cuts away pieces of ourselves. Slowly, like L. Frank Baum's <a href="http://www.literature.org/authors/baum-l-frank/the-tin-woodman-of-oz/chapter-02.html">Tin Woodman</a>, we discover our core replaced by shiny, silvery metal...brilliant in the sun but heartless underneath. Cynicism and disbelief play king-of-the-castle where love once skipped and sang.
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Weary. Broken. Hurting. Angry. Alone. Time, oblivious and rude, moves on. The sun rises and sets and rises again. <br />
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<i>...happily ever after fails</i></div>
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<i>...we've been poisoned by these fairy tales.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">DON HENLEY</span> </div>
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And just when things look really bleak. Hope, small and faint appears on the horizon. Dorothy and the Scarecrow find the Tin Man, oil his rusted joints, and invite him to join them towards Oz. And the Tin Woodman can't resist. He wants his heart back.<br />
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<i>So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. </i> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">2 Corinthians 4.16-18, ESV</span> </div>
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Opportunities abound to numb the ache or to lie down and die completely in the battle for heart. I want to carve my initials in this life. I want to say I was here. That I didn't lose heart. That I didn't trade in what matters most - to live a life full of love - with what was shiny and silvery and safe. <br />
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<i>Love is never far from danger. </i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">OVER THE RHINE, "BLUER"</span></div>
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And love can't live and breathe without heart.<br />
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<i>Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life. </i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">PROVERBS 4.23, ESV</span></div>
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Soak up the good, wield the bad, and let it all prepare you, renew you, forge in you the better, the stronger, the more complete. All the while, keeping your eyes fixed on the One who endured, who suffered, who gave it all. A cross, a thorny wreath, a weary tomb.....a conquered grave. <br />
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Pain is real but it isn't final. Hope stands guard, watching through the night. Eternity rises and grows on the horizon. And so we do not loose heart.<br />
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<br /></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-40059237546831979682012-01-25T14:26:00.001-05:002012-01-25T14:26:30.800-05:00Simple and SmallThere is something soul-feeding about noticing and appreciating the small and lovely things about a day. The way curtains whisper and tell secrets in a breeze. The way a song can pulse through your limbs and move your feet.
Light in a baby's eyes. <div>
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Notes from friends tucked away in good books. </div>
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The way an old record wobbles and warbles around a turn table. </div>
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The way textures diverge and contrast. </div>
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Reminders to tilt heads back and give laughter wings.</div>
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And the way words, no matter their age, can still slay your soul.</div>
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It's Wednesday. And you may be smack dab in the middle of a really long week. Life is hard. It just is. We live in a broken place with broken people who break things. And the heaviness of some seasons seem to last forever. But life and hope can be found there, too. Pops of color among the backdrop of grey.</div>
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<i>Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.</i></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
ANNE FRANK</div>
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The quiet, little beauty of this day is calling to you, waiting to perch and sing it's simple song. It is not too late to change the direction your heart is heading. </div>
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Go. Discover. Breathe it in. And enjoy.</div>
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-729645987503477552012-01-11T23:52:00.000-05:002012-01-11T23:52:50.710-05:00Found<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>We and the world, my children, will always be at war. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Retreat is impossible. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Arm yourselves.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">LEIF ENGER</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today (for a few more minutes) is National Human Trafficking Awareness Day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should tell you that I believe people are sacred, personally crafted and dreamed up by the hand of God, Himself. If there was a CSI of hearts, God’s fingerprints would be all over us all, whether we acknowledge Him or not. And try to scrub Him off, though we may, we cannot get rid of His DNA, whether we twist and pervert His dream or not. We have an enemy of our souls, one who hates the One represented in our fabric, whether we believe in him or not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And if you weren’t convinced before that life is sacred and that a force throws all it has at cutting life off at the knees, the 27 million people—men, women, children—bound and silenced by slavery today should scream its truth at you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve mentioned them before, but I love the organization, IJM. The International Justice Mission not only rescues those prey to abusers, but they prosecute offenders and work in countries worldwide, changing laws in order to protect Humanity’s citizens. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US">In India alone more than three million people wake each morning to the bars and chains of sexual slavery. More than one million? Children... Children like Suhana, uniquely made by God’s own hands...dreamed up <i>for </i></span><span lang="en-US" style="font-style: italic; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">life</span><span lang="en-US">. Suhana—trafficked and trapped in a brothel at thirteen. Rescued by IJM workers, healing in an aftercare program...only to be tricked and re-trafficked...dumped off and lost in Mumbai, a city of 18 million people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And IJM found her...again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>My team was unwilling to give up.</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">(IJM Worker) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US">One person? In a city of 18 </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-style: italic; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">million</span><span lang="en-US">? That’s insane. Or maybe just a few people armed with the knowledge of Insane Love, Himself…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">EDMUND BURKE</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US">I believe that people are irreplaceable. Each of us has a role to fill...there’s no one else to hire. It’s your job. It belongs to you. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US">I don’t know if you belong to Jesus or not. But wouldn’t it be incredible to stand together, to refuse to look the other way when we know our fellow image-bearers are being stripped of their God-dreamed-up right to life? It doesn’t have to be to IJM—there are lots of great organizations that battle human trafficking—but would you consider to give something, even something small just to say, on </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-style: italic; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">this </span><span lang="en-US">day, “I refuse to slip silently into the night, pretending I do not see...hear...know…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>In the heat of battle it ceases to be an idea for which we fight. Or a flag. Rather we fight for the man on our left, and we fight for the man on our right. And when armies are scattered and the empires fall away, all that remains is the memory of those precious moments that we spent side by side. </i></span></span></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> <span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">The Four Feathers</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It isn’t about standing against the idea of trafficking, though that’s vital. It’s about standing up for the precious persons affected by it. It’s about speaking for those who have no voice, no one to defend them. Let’s speak with our money and time and prayer together and say, “You matter. You were created for life, full and free. And we see you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">********</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>To learn more about IJM or to give through their organization, click <a href="http://ijm.org/">here</a>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Please do watch more of <a href="http://ijm.org/content/rescue-with-a-determination-that-wont-quit">Suhana’s story</a>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US"><i>And thanks to my sister, Anna, for the new banner. My littles live in her hats. You can check her out on Etsy, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/ClassyColors?ref=ss_profile">here</a>.</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-90129314133377591522012-01-05T03:23:00.001-05:002012-01-05T03:24:13.153-05:00Brand NewNew Year's is fast becoming my favorite holiday. We good-bye a year in a night. We hello brand new in the wee hours of morning. Clean pallets, empty canvases, wide open horizons of possibility. Minds poised, ready to dive in to change. Big or small. Stopping, starting. <br />
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Diet plans and exercise regimes. To pick up a new hobby. Save for that trip. Work hard. Play more. <br />
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Maybe you find cynicism in the resolutions of a new year. It's true - the year ahead doesn't change the year behind us or the obstacles we face. And yet the New Year extends its hand to us just the same...its open hand. A hand free of judgement, void of record. Yup, there is snow on the ground...but it can still be summer in our hearts.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I3AXSJ63tpouYqwfEhgazMeevCGWDixyOu7_nBnEqB7lEqWdocfkxUICd-0niw_RQO229mWASpyNm9rsd4eKvFPJor7KBy7n8NB9MC-4_cr3X-41y72Ie_V5m8Kalj1f-VCU5ojZzuUv/s1600/IMG_4937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_I3AXSJ63tpouYqwfEhgazMeevCGWDixyOu7_nBnEqB7lEqWdocfkxUICd-0niw_RQO229mWASpyNm9rsd4eKvFPJor7KBy7n8NB9MC-4_cr3X-41y72Ie_V5m8Kalj1f-VCU5ojZzuUv/s1600/IMG_4937.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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My sisters and I dove in and started a 365 (+1 - leap year, baby!) project. A picture a day for a year. I want to learn my camera. I want to link arms with my sisters, no matter the miles between our front doors and welcome mats. And while I have no aspirations of becoming a photographer, I do hope to always be a student of life. I hope that when I'm 86, I'm heading off to a pottery class just to get my hands dirty and learn something new. To push myself creatively. To pause for the beauty in each day. Because it's <i>there,</i> ripe and ready to be enjoyed.<br />
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We are all moving toward <i>something</i>. No matter the direction we're heading, we are shifting, changing. So why not dream up the people we want to be, pin it up on the Pinterest boards of our minds and.....<i>become</i>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen to the mustn'ts, child. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen to the don'ts. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Anything can happen, child. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Anything can be. </i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Shel Silverstein</span></div><br />
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My all-things-new-resolutions are simple. Open hands. More love. <br />
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Let's embrace the new. Quiet that noise heart. Point our feet. And become...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Forget about what's happened; </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>don't keep going over old history.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Be alert, be present. I'm about to do something brand-new. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It's bursting out! Don't you see it? </i></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Isaiah 43.19, The Message</span></div><br />
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Viva la Vida! Here's to the adventure of a brand new year. <br />
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</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-8267098692112510012011-12-29T00:47:00.000-05:002011-12-29T00:47:19.209-05:00Lavish Love<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">It’s four days past Christmas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">And maybe you trimmed your home with sentiment and cheer this month…</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWraMe4aVEWKw1HQJRiHGBMs5cfgev0Sg6SEs-FP3x_KYeT1UeVkEX-EZ72MS8Sfuv9Y0RTyOLQKu_Abh-4aoie_MSsIKMfMUGBYav0OhDZ9MlVoCERe0971ZiaTk-2DBQCn1dyiBc2LMA/s1600/IMG_3639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWraMe4aVEWKw1HQJRiHGBMs5cfgev0Sg6SEs-FP3x_KYeT1UeVkEX-EZ72MS8Sfuv9Y0RTyOLQKu_Abh-4aoie_MSsIKMfMUGBYav0OhDZ9MlVoCERe0971ZiaTk-2DBQCn1dyiBc2LMA/s640/IMG_3639.JPG" width="426px" /></a></div><br />
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</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Maybe you traveled or maybe loved ones gathered in your home….</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Maybe you maked-and-baked in preparation for time together...</span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mTOaLq0pMnQq8x8hm-k2sJUBJSuJ1eJwpmtxfQXcOqmwllOs4BN49CSwuH53zuo6vSn_rM2JUvnUT9j1X5358OiIyBTB2r8WEJAbIAKB0USeBWijZhAHmrPApwLasox4yUAOSmDskxA4/s1600/Picture12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="638px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mTOaLq0pMnQq8x8hm-k2sJUBJSuJ1eJwpmtxfQXcOqmwllOs4BN49CSwuH53zuo6vSn_rM2JUvnUT9j1X5358OiIyBTB2r8WEJAbIAKB0USeBWijZhAHmrPApwLasox4yUAOSmDskxA4/s640/Picture12.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Maybe you shopped and placed presents under a tree</span><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">...</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbKcrisCk0gsXXS47XJaqXfX-GdbI2pJVnN2KctGBsdV1rQbgqZVMrrDW-Z3jDTTA8gJacjMln897rJScr46rLHfwcciwe1V3oKCkR8QScmLXpHwD-Ij-zoa1SjxzqNglad6-KcOZolZX/s1600/IMG_4265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbKcrisCk0gsXXS47XJaqXfX-GdbI2pJVnN2KctGBsdV1rQbgqZVMrrDW-Z3jDTTA8gJacjMln897rJScr46rLHfwcciwe1V3oKCkR8QScmLXpHwD-Ij-zoa1SjxzqNglad6-KcOZolZX/s640/IMG_4265.JPG" width="640px" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><br />
<span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Maybe you reminisced about the old days or made new holiday memories…</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef4t0vOfgngoxcFJYGrgz4CFMsdarisSEkmhcl-IygTQZbnIURSAC1sG-3t1ZVdTRs-i49gzRX-rzo64GNmuvNEd7M1c146bv6ReMjvBr4MV7gwY3ofV4TjJZ52RSt5dEdWrzgvAziSuM/s1600/IMG_4317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjef4t0vOfgngoxcFJYGrgz4CFMsdarisSEkmhcl-IygTQZbnIURSAC1sG-3t1ZVdTRs-i49gzRX-rzo64GNmuvNEd7M1c146bv6ReMjvBr4MV7gwY3ofV4TjJZ52RSt5dEdWrzgvAziSuM/s640/IMG_4317.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCfi5TK8kz7c-6jMVHkO-kVTo-u5BkDWnd-jRlJlbJnsQmKqRFZ54JTrHefmsGRtEOA0akSIc_U-kDqDeFT9p29cw0cxc6IyxwrvUdSotO3cf7e2IhWB9-ljwSwOj5TLmu20nAp08QnXQ/s1600/IMG_4278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCfi5TK8kz7c-6jMVHkO-kVTo-u5BkDWnd-jRlJlbJnsQmKqRFZ54JTrHefmsGRtEOA0akSIc_U-kDqDeFT9p29cw0cxc6IyxwrvUdSotO3cf7e2IhWB9-ljwSwOj5TLmu20nAp08QnXQ/s640/IMG_4278.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I heard a story on the news last week about a community of "Secret Santas." Anonymous strangers who pulled out wallets at layaway counters nationwide. Families who walked in to chisel at payments were shoved off their guard with good news: balance paid in full. Wet faces and swollen hearts carried home presents...and <em>hope</em>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As December packs up and 2011 waves goodbye, I'm thankful for a God who showed up, opened wide His heart, and slapped down payment...the gift of Himself. Peace on layaway? Paid in full. Hope on layaway? Paid in full. Forgiveness? Purpose? Bright futures? New tomorrows? Paid in full. Celebrity born to obscurity. Majesty...lullaby-ed in a manger. Creator, Author of Life, bent down low. Vulnerable and weak, an infant - dependent on the tender care of a mother, the protection of a father.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OyWIcZomcYqubbpHbaAw21NLvYuj5u7L-EV-MEsksxIZfiEPsacU039aOt-9rfW1vjRVKmMvw-p_mqWYv9yPGXyhEG2YUmrAz9vk9Hw-OqUepGY-gLX0RbXlGJiyuEbmlafS_0bdprkA/s1600/IMG_3830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OyWIcZomcYqubbpHbaAw21NLvYuj5u7L-EV-MEsksxIZfiEPsacU039aOt-9rfW1vjRVKmMvw-p_mqWYv9yPGXyhEG2YUmrAz9vk9Hw-OqUepGY-gLX0RbXlGJiyuEbmlafS_0bdprkA/s640/IMG_3830.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdngalpjeAiaOIeayKbz61VQc_1OHmOnodcv7sLBDoFGfqeNzsDbdB318isrl1HpB36JBeVAI6bcMDhd-gVhDEXaleufw-45VFZAmKCKnzsIHfSWIAuHHVPsWrD0j40Lc7s_anzE2CFg3/s1600/IMG_3820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdngalpjeAiaOIeayKbz61VQc_1OHmOnodcv7sLBDoFGfqeNzsDbdB318isrl1HpB36JBeVAI6bcMDhd-gVhDEXaleufw-45VFZAmKCKnzsIHfSWIAuHHVPsWrD0j40Lc7s_anzE2CFg3/s640/IMG_3820.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
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<span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe you were able to breathe deep and soak it all in - family, traditions, friends, love, laughter - everything Christmas. Or maybe amidst the busyness of this holiday season your inner Zen stepped out on you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Maybe now that the gifts are unwrapped, the magic is fading like a child grown up.</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUuUzYlrdCW7QZQO9FNkIaNXVEfgPZIpI4ureLXfjYE-1Iy7Cx0PonnHucAnzNIyh0QxFBddHbG170VycJB1ClUw7h5t7E_hAy0lJtMXzn6qxBkRVvWbtVwQVHEzNfkY0RDlVBYmBpbm5u/s1600/IMG_3902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUuUzYlrdCW7QZQO9FNkIaNXVEfgPZIpI4ureLXfjYE-1Iy7Cx0PonnHucAnzNIyh0QxFBddHbG170VycJB1ClUw7h5t7E_hAy0lJtMXzn6qxBkRVvWbtVwQVHEzNfkY0RDlVBYmBpbm5u/s640/IMG_3902.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><br />
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But Christmas isn't over. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Great Gift-Giver keeps giving and giving and giving. He cannot help Himself. He gives because He loves. And He just keeps loving and loving and loving.</span><br />
<br />
Maybe it was your first Christmas without him. Maybe her seat at the dinner table sat empty. He gives Himself. Alpha and Omega, The One Who Never Leaves.<br />
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Or maybe the life you carried inside slipped from your womb to the grave. He gives Himself. His shoulder for your tears, the One Who Sees...Hears...Knows...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><br />
Maybe you found yourself alone again, when you thought for sure that<em> this</em> would be the year. He gives Himself. Protector...Provider...Husband.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;">God, squeezed into man. The answer to all our hearts' questions; the fulfillment of every longing....asleep on the hay. Emmanuel. God near...among...for...with...us.</div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxD_JQ0tR4SuKMpVn-dJ2_HXa4IXfKmwrzHcSDtoSiTi3rnBlJJ3lmC5eCfNJlhftOhxFeaJBfgQ-dwq1yH5O57OSEKrgMFFADf827dn7jt2GRrL3JPvz4jfDlbVVQ_d52lRTpe7WulAl/s1600/IMG_3823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxD_JQ0tR4SuKMpVn-dJ2_HXa4IXfKmwrzHcSDtoSiTi3rnBlJJ3lmC5eCfNJlhftOhxFeaJBfgQ-dwq1yH5O57OSEKrgMFFADf827dn7jt2GRrL3JPvz4jfDlbVVQ_d52lRTpe7WulAl/s640/IMG_3823.JPG" width="426px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><em>The people who walked in darkness </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><em>have seen a great light.<br />
For those who lived in a land of deep shadows—light...<br />
The abuse of oppressors and cruelty of tyrants...<br />
Is gone, done away with...<br />
For a child has been born—for us! </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><em>the gift of a son—for us!<br />
He'll take over </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><em>the running of the world.<br />
His names will be: Amazing Counselor, </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><em>Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness.<br />
...there'll be no limits to the wholeness he brings.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Isaiah 9, The Message</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; mso-pagination: none; text-align: left;">He gives Himself. Happy for-God-so-loved-the-world-Christmas, all. </div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-31297968571182559182011-12-22T02:56:00.000-05:002011-12-22T02:56:20.520-05:00Red RoverIt's been a year...<br />
<br />
I'm not sure where the time goes, but a little over a year ago we moved from our first home, off to adventure life in a new city. Our move sputtered and stalled, four weeks turned into four months and crescendo-ed with a broken ankle - mine. <br />
<br />
I was looking at 30 just weeks prior, determined for newness, a list of resolves folded and tucked away in my heart...<br />
<br />
<ol><li>Listen for God. </li>
<li>Less fear; more love. </li>
<li>Try; it's okay to fail. </li>
<li>Mess is good. </li>
<li>Give grace. </li>
<li>Use my words to empower. </li>
<li>Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion...(Zech. 7.9). </li>
<li>Treat all equally. Be intimidated by and look down on no one. We are all just people, after all.<a href="http://angiemetz.blogspot.com/2010/11/soundtracks.html">*</a> </li>
</ol><br />
I never would have chosen this year of detoured plans and clipped wings. But looking back, it was these very circumstances that watered my little list and made it shoot down roots to my soul.<br />
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If we let them, if we give them space and time, hearts and bones mend. They come back stronger, more resilient, more sure. And it is amazing to me how the good and bad of life can mold and shape...and then release us. And while these seasons leave their mark, they no longer <em>hold</em> us.<br />
<br />
This year, as I turned 31, I wanted guests for dinner. Because when I wasn't sure how to keep up hope and see good, these precious people linked arms and deflected the darkness that tried to red rover my soul. I loved them before, but now they are forever branded on my heart.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-jb3nysfKUCtfU7l_Jp36qvaWXIVTEvpHPrjcaeol9nuCkXtWn6xZ8valx_vR5_rWbvpWC6b5x0fLhbERIfM6sgsg0U4-T-Omo7MvGXhzzl81hgsoom8wWOFyueoxVKJmyP_YnA_Fs4/s1600/bday1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-jb3nysfKUCtfU7l_Jp36qvaWXIVTEvpHPrjcaeol9nuCkXtWn6xZ8valx_vR5_rWbvpWC6b5x0fLhbERIfM6sgsg0U4-T-Omo7MvGXhzzl81hgsoom8wWOFyueoxVKJmyP_YnA_Fs4/s400/bday1.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTbYbTJOc3J-PZvYDiOyd0wGJtA-EIu9l8ffUv3GHzDZKjaQsQLnOU72D5CjZ6vS0avdCRfcVyyYlts6EOTKYuV2fb2BVVm-_f9PuEW_obIVMatY6P4Kc8B3Icu8Rm6duuOfaFKGVwAI/s1600/bday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="209px" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTbYbTJOc3J-PZvYDiOyd0wGJtA-EIu9l8ffUv3GHzDZKjaQsQLnOU72D5CjZ6vS0avdCRfcVyyYlts6EOTKYuV2fb2BVVm-_f9PuEW_obIVMatY6P4Kc8B3Icu8Rm6duuOfaFKGVwAI/s640/bday2.jpg" width="640px" /></span></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a society that screams independence, that promotes and applauds the self-made and DIYers, I am thankful for a circle of friends, a small band of hope-ers who loved, full and fierce, refusing to let gloom break through.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Raise a glass to friendship</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And to knowing you don't have to go alone</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>We'll raise our hearts to share each other's burdens</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>On this road.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Every burden I have carried,</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Every joy - it's understood.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Life with you is half as hard </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And twice as good.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">SARA GROVES</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><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/AVvXsEiq4qIzpB95W8ChJR39pYaRMFLAn1jdbJcPR51qW_vp6495BjzGiZ2bzYTIATA-HTglXarQGJ9n8MyvInpSMhIwRaWx8kBPnJy2AGQhO5K9pFnriLtmLEj-iueOS9pQjIe2ol0K7XhGcOwW/s1600/blog1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4qIzpB95W8ChJR39pYaRMFLAn1jdbJcPR51qW_vp6495BjzGiZ2bzYTIATA-HTglXarQGJ9n8MyvInpSMhIwRaWx8kBPnJy2AGQhO5K9pFnriLtmLEj-iueOS9pQjIe2ol0K7XhGcOwW/s400/blog1.bmp" width="266px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXuAAb0kk7_8O7AwcZRsjsAktK8XMsla45v3TYcP9086DpG9XNqpzuhfi0-jdwRC6MjXBblrv7Co1xE-LZ3oXQ1pwdX7TirDgT5dARLZvg18e1BQgrdBhnz6MTA9AZSGYaOUmP-JODNaO/s1600/blog2.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXuAAb0kk7_8O7AwcZRsjsAktK8XMsla45v3TYcP9086DpG9XNqpzuhfi0-jdwRC6MjXBblrv7Co1xE-LZ3oXQ1pwdX7TirDgT5dARLZvg18e1BQgrdBhnz6MTA9AZSGYaOUmP-JODNaO/s400/blog2.bmp" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YumFhks_TLC03tZ0wiXiv7iwRvznz0vlXoFUJwEIEQlHO1qdU1kk_gCn-A6Flj_1ASBKwk0bSdMeBlKpgwaGWJKCKxNuOHclAp1ZVwVkOCPITzgak94xr40cocs-9OuFS3NB0skOr-eH/s1600/blog3.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YumFhks_TLC03tZ0wiXiv7iwRvznz0vlXoFUJwEIEQlHO1qdU1kk_gCn-A6Flj_1ASBKwk0bSdMeBlKpgwaGWJKCKxNuOHclAp1ZVwVkOCPITzgak94xr40cocs-9OuFS3NB0skOr-eH/s400/blog3.bmp" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVFG39uggZYtZLC6Vwnj6r3zq-4QtG-boi2aCWZmNu2aZoUolXt0jNDo8cZFPLpyUzW6HytAFfDt-PQNtlvL-7aCZLPAkpdHRePb408deutilYf0Qzfr1yAjP9onppwatPCCXu2-DOg3X/s1600/blog5.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVFG39uggZYtZLC6Vwnj6r3zq-4QtG-boi2aCWZmNu2aZoUolXt0jNDo8cZFPLpyUzW6HytAFfDt-PQNtlvL-7aCZLPAkpdHRePb408deutilYf0Qzfr1yAjP9onppwatPCCXu2-DOg3X/s400/blog5.bmp" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApKBrwvKh0OE2jRlF1ymfaR9qlWRLMgJfbADMZP58YGkOlNroPqii6rz4sRgtUfWQfa4S-srq37XrQHSRSeNiELejGr2qmzCW_UtCq3RcwCQUWyaL14C7YufJaDp9-5qWnqJ-M0vSB1S1/s1600/blog6.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApKBrwvKh0OE2jRlF1ymfaR9qlWRLMgJfbADMZP58YGkOlNroPqii6rz4sRgtUfWQfa4S-srq37XrQHSRSeNiELejGr2qmzCW_UtCq3RcwCQUWyaL14C7YufJaDp9-5qWnqJ-M0vSB1S1/s400/blog6.bmp" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym0NUhxhEY944Icg9ElTeApQjcrn2hdQzluqvBaKZBmIIhJ2Ry4H761W_MTESjKFHFJyX8R4jxyoh5XPojlez7weS9CgrcWEX67-zLiWAqnklYOE3QME2KxjCDShTp8MBshShmStlO_6b/s1600/blog7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266px" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym0NUhxhEY944Icg9ElTeApQjcrn2hdQzluqvBaKZBmIIhJ2Ry4H761W_MTESjKFHFJyX8R4jxyoh5XPojlez7weS9CgrcWEX67-zLiWAqnklYOE3QME2KxjCDShTp8MBshShmStlO_6b/s400/blog7.bmp" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Don't go alone. Be seen, <a href="http://donmilleris.com/2011/12/21/the-power-of-vulnerability/">known</a>. Raise a glass...here's to going together.</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-85656662088236790012011-11-23T17:22:00.000-05:002011-11-23T17:22:02.295-05:00ThankfulI think she's picked her song.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqBdL8Ub8dujoD9BqWl6QDpJ6dhobz5NQqJ_Hjhx2HIWWu98lw0MqgwCXRjt6AJDT7UUwAZecY4zYS8hXsIAfwlh6_pJLDRcxBpaH_WXfv6ny5uddVznULdVr0qaSaXYUxWxyRH_8fuc/s1600/5ccacd30028c11e1a87612313804ec91_7%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqBdL8Ub8dujoD9BqWl6QDpJ6dhobz5NQqJ_Hjhx2HIWWu98lw0MqgwCXRjt6AJDT7UUwAZecY4zYS8hXsIAfwlh6_pJLDRcxBpaH_WXfv6ny5uddVznULdVr0qaSaXYUxWxyRH_8fuc/s320/5ccacd30028c11e1a87612313804ec91_7%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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Each of our littles have snuggled up with Aunt Kenna early in life, bonding over lyrics and melodies. They smile into each other's hearts, discuss, break, regroup, try others on... And at some point walk away with a lullaby pact. A sort of secret handshake. You sing THAT song, you're in. I'll be happy. Deal? Deal. <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/AVvXsEhJx2Wtp-GrbFl-dfA7xtH4sgmmrbMTwC29mMxxq22sRknQ2-VFAgX8fHaeV-wtCjsFSwBg6rT4ERtydRpYD6x6oF_VXe_SPnZXOQOVXwXq9IdbawmXvVU405tmgSeW5gpDcI5rwXJem6o/s1600/IMG_3473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx2Wtp-GrbFl-dfA7xtH4sgmmrbMTwC29mMxxq22sRknQ2-VFAgX8fHaeV-wtCjsFSwBg6rT4ERtydRpYD6x6oF_VXe_SPnZXOQOVXwXq9IdbawmXvVU405tmgSeW5gpDcI5rwXJem6o/s400/IMG_3473.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eden's - <em>Three Little Birds</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt1QZkTOrS9Ime0noS2qxC1ENgMWh-uubGWdFHEduwvZpUP45RPMuSTEmsroEDUVDsM26PvG8hyphenhyphenPhzUAd9UCKxvH8k1xvXY31NUvt_3bPc3_7dphiEdsrAUc-Jp4eint6TI9ek4NnSm0/s1600/IMG_3478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt1QZkTOrS9Ime0noS2qxC1ENgMWh-uubGWdFHEduwvZpUP45RPMuSTEmsroEDUVDsM26PvG8hyphenhyphenPhzUAd9UCKxvH8k1xvXY31NUvt_3bPc3_7dphiEdsrAUc-Jp4eint6TI9ek4NnSm0/s400/IMG_3478.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silas' - <em>Pack Up Your Troubles</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Maizy's?<br />
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<em>Who's my pretty baby? Who's my pretty little baby? </em><br />
<em>You're my, my pretty little baby. Hey, hey, pretty babe.</em><br />
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And we will keep up our end, let me tell you. We like happy babies. Hey, hey.<br />
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I love this time of year. Dear ones gather, the faucet of togetherness on full blast. Thanksgiving fades to Christmas and graduates to New Year's. Family and friends leave the grit of routine and step under the reuniting waters of love and tradition.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>thankful (adj.)</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>conscious of benefit received; expressive of thanks</em></div><br />
Coming to the end of a year of change and uncertainty I can say with conviction that I am <em>thankful</em> this Thanksgiving. Thankful for the adventure of life, broken ankles and all. Thankful for the ways it changes us. Thankful for new days. I'm thankful for forgiveness. I'm thankful for family that are friends and friends that are family. That hard seasons pass. That good seasons come. That through it all, no matter the season, the Alpha and Omega - the Beginning and End - of our souls <em>stays</em>. And if we made a pact with Him, if He sang a lullaby over us, I think it'd sound something like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZOXSXSYWkk">this</a>.<br />
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I pray you know His arms this holiday. I pray you pause between the stories and pumpkin pie. I pray you hear His melody wash over your soul.<br />
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Happy giving-thanks-Thanksgiving, all.Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-61798595098292082902011-11-16T17:34:00.000-05:002011-11-16T17:34:04.561-05:00Souls Ajar<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>cel·e·brate (v.)</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="DefBody"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">to mark a special occasion or day; <span class="DefBody">to praise something publicly </span></span></em></span></div><br />
<span class="DefBody"><span class="DefBody">I'm a big believer in the awesomeness of life. Fragile but fierce, life deserves our applause. Okay, it deserves more than that - it merits world-wide standing ovations. And so I can't help but reply to Facebook statuses of soldiers returning to their families...safe, sound, <em>home</em>. I can't help but share good news for Kate McRae (latest MRI update <a href="http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/mcraekate">here</a>.) I can't help but weep over a boy in the Amazon named <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/11/when-compassion-becomes-a-gold-rush/">Jonathan</a>, neglected by family and pursued by Compassion. And I can't help but cheer when I read of hundreds of India's daughters <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/world/2011/10/22/hundreds-indian-girls-named-unwanted-choose-new-names/">changing their names</a> from the one of their parents gave them - "Unwanted."</span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Emily Dickinson</span></div><br />
<span class="DefBody"><span class="DefBody">Life is wild and precious...fighting the waves of war and cancer and hunger and cruelty that break hard against its shores. Shouldn't we pause to give life the credit it's due? And then C to the E to the L to the E to the B to the R to the ATE?</span></span><br />
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<span class="DefBody"><span class="DefBody">Each year we circle the miracle of life on our calendars with birthdays. 'Cuz when so many things could have gone horribly wrong in a womb, we were born. </span></span><span class="DefBody"><span class="DefBody">Simple days that mark time...and scream of life. Another year - more scars, more stories, more laugh lines, <em>more</em>...</span></span><br />
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We've celebrated a whole lotta "more" over the last few weeks. Princess and costume parties, a brunch to honor my mom's 6-0. A bonfire with my siblings. Wii tourneys and the baring of hearts with out-of-town friends - blessing the "more" <em>together</em>...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sunday, we celebrated my husband. I'm grateful for Jon, for his life, for what it means to my life. There's a line from the movie <em>Eat, Pray, Love</em> where Felipe says to the main character, "You don't need a man, Liz. You need a champion." Jon is mine. And I'm so thankful for more life with him.<br />
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I suppose it's easier to shut a soul up; to close a soul down. To believe life doesn't begin at conception after all and even if it did, it isn't all that special to be here anyway. Easier to walk away from a friendship or a marriage when hearts are shattered. Easier to check-out of nurturing a child when connection is a struggle. Easier to ignore the poor or the cast-off. Easier to view people as commodity or resource rather than sacred, holy, precious, <em>life</em>...crafted and loved, fashioned by a Creator-God for purpose and delight.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God's handwriting - a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.</em></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">Souls ajar. Fighting. Celebrating. Imagine the life that would rise up from that place...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Birthday Zai, Anya, Jael, Mom, Judah, Jon. And welcome to another beautiful year of more.</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-81060213763514359992011-11-10T01:11:00.001-05:002011-11-10T01:29:16.828-05:00More loveHello November 10.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">October vanished at our house, as I'm sure you can imagine. After two weeks of help from my Momma Metz, my hubs, and my mom, I braved the transition to three on my own. You know you aren't on top of things when you're picking carpet fibers out of your toothbrush and deleting nursing pictures off your phone. Sorry mommas...Mother of the Year Award is all mine. Maybe next year? Mmmk.</span><br />
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Three kids in three years is busy, I won't lie. And the days are full of running. At times I'm tempted with impatience and long for quiet. But in the midst of the crazy, when all three littles need something at the same time and I'm subbing coffee for sleep, a Clif bar for breakfast and carrots/hummus for lunch, I find myself praying for more <em>love</em>.<br />
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Love to hear that my three year old needs to talk and my 20 month old needs to cuddle. Love to stop and play Elefun when our toilets need cleaned and dishes are piled up at the sink. Love to snuggle a newborn when all I want to do is dive into my bed and sleep. Love to enjoy and relish this sweet season where months disappear and littles grow at lightning speed. <br />
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And this God of Angel Armies? This Creator-King? He stoops down to hear the prayers of a tired momma. He gives me clear vision and fills me up. Exhausting as it is, I'm loving the challenge to dig deeper. I'm loving my role as "mom" more than ever.<br />
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We'll hit a new stride and I'll be back to posting more regularly, I swear. But until then, O Lord, let me see well the beauty of now. O Lord, give me more love...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>And above all...put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony...</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Colossians 3.14</span></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-66956303192205322282011-10-24T02:44:00.000-04:002011-10-24T02:44:16.321-04:00OverdueThere's a new girl at our house. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hat courtesy of Anna at <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/ClassyColors?ref=ss_profile">Classy Colors</a>.</td></tr>
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She came as babies do. The kids and I were headed out to the store. Jon's mom was in an airport on her way to our house. I had just scooped Si up from a spill on the stairs, and my water broke. Six-and-a-half hours later, we were holding our sweet Maizy Tam. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Maizy </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(English)</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pearl</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">A nickname for Margaret or Marjorie...</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Tam </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Hebrew)</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pure, innocent, honest</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">My grandma Marge's middle name...</span></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Tuesday, October 4, 11.42p</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>7 lbs. 12 oz., 20 1.2 inches</em></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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The last few weeks have been full. Friends and family have traveled and called and sent gifts and face-timed and loved on our girl. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/Maizy%20Tam/fall2011andthearrivalofmaizytam144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640px" rda="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/Maizy%20Tam/fall2011andthearrivalofmaizytam144.jpg" width="426px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>"With my good news you're dancing on the tables..."</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sara Groves, Twice as Good</span></em></div><br />
And it blesses me like I can't even say to know that Maizy has been so sweetly celebrated. That her new life is precious to those dear to us. I look at her now, asleep beside me. Breathing in and out and smelling like only newborns can. I wish I could say that every soul born to the world was met with such unguarded love. So, thank you. Thank you for the gifts of your words and time. We are sincerely humbled by so much kindness.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">ONE YEAR LATER...</span><br />
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Even more "thank you's" are in order. October 13 marked the one year anniversary of this little blog. A shy dream to use my words slipped into a white dress, married the encouragement of some dear friends and <em>Becoming</em> was born. You've come along, celebrating with me and unveiling your own hearts along the way. I am <em>honored</em>. Thank you for being here. Let's continue to grow and stretch and become...more lovely all the while.<br />
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Here's to so much more life ahead. <em>Live</em> it. And celebrate it in the presence of the One who celebrates loudest.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><em> The Lord your God is living among you...He will delight in you with gladness...</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>He will rejoice over you with joyful songs...(Zephaniah 3.17)</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Monday, all. </div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-8534922109637283382011-10-04T01:39:00.000-04:002011-10-04T01:39:56.511-04:00Hanging InIf you return a Redbox movie past time, you pay a fee. If a library book is overdue, you are fined. (Don't ask how my procrastination shines in these moments...or the last time I went to a library...) Babies, however, don't work like this. And if there were roses inside my womb, well chica done stopped a lllonnng time to smell 'em. Hypothetically speaking, of course.<br />
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My due date came and went Sunday. Pretty sure I handled it as I suspect a lot of women do. Restless and grouchy, I baked, I rearranged a few drawers, I napped, I did laundry. Idle hands being the devil's play-things, you know. But still, no baby.<br />
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If you don't laugh you cry about these things. And once again, the newness of <em>today</em> comes riding in on the scene like a knight on a white horse. So today we chose laughter.<br />
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</div>Tonight we took the kids to Chuck-E-Cheese. Don't ask me why I've drug my feet about this introduction. Maybe it was the idea of crappy-cardboard-pizza, assaulted senses, chaos and untold germs...I dunno. But they loved it - yelling and pointing from Si and shy-smiling-plus-jumping from Edie. We'll most def be back. (Side note: I'm doing my best to control it, but I'm feeling very <a href="http://videos.nymag.com/video/Parks-and-Recreation-Toms-Slang">Tom Haverford</a> tonight. Clarification - most def: most definitely...as opposed to <a href="http://fingersbecomethumbs.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/mos-def.jpg">Mos Def</a>: rapper.)<br />
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There is seizing the day. Grabbing it by the horns and making the most of what comes. But then there's <em>creating</em> the day. Shaping it, molding it, stepping away to eye and tweak it. Bottom line? We are as happy as we want to be. And while we cannot control when babies make their grand appearances, we can choose our attitudes as we wait. Oh, yeah, guess this applies to more than babies.<br />
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We looked over the day we made. It was good.<br />
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And we look forward to tomorrow, too. My Momma Metz flies in from Cali and we get her for a whole week. See? Good and more good. Apps and zerts. Perspective, baby. Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-79161902474825215852011-09-26T01:16:00.001-04:002011-09-26T07:45:02.885-04:00Hunt and GatherWe play the waiting game these days. Achy and anxious, with several false alarms this week, I'm doing a grown up version of the sit-and-reach, stretching as far as I can to shake the impatience that pants to gnaw away at the peace in my heart.<br />
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I know when she's ready, she'll be here. And it will be the day ordained for her since the beginning.<br />
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Looking back on this season I know we'll be thankful for the intensity. We've lived each day <em>fully</em>, stopping dinner prep to read <em>I Love You Stinky Face</em> and <em>Fancy Nancy</em> for the 14th time each that day, abandoning laundry pre-treating for a quick game of soccer with a beach ball, walking along the sandy shores of Now hunting and gathering memories we'll store forever.<br />
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Gems of seashells can be found, bits of pink-and-cream combos poking out of gritty shorelines begging only to be noticed. Like...<br />
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...family walks in the perfection of a fall evening.<br />
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...and snatching up snuggles.<br />
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<br />
...extra time to tackle non-essential projects at a very no-stress-pace (thanks Jason & Erin for your time this week!)<br />
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<br />
...Jon and Eden making pancakes together Saturday morning.<br />
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...the soundtrack of college football and littles' laughter this weekend.<br />
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...blanket-stitching letters to shirts for the kids to meet their sister in.<br />
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...serious bouts of silly bed jumping.<br />
<br />
...feasting on Play Doh snakes-turned-pancakes. Can I get a "yum"?<br />
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<br />
...Edie and Si pressing lips to my baby-belly before going to bed...and Baby Girl pressing back.<br />
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...Jon putting kids to bed the other night, whistling "America the Beautiful" as a lullaby. Makes.me.laugh.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>...and my Rock Star hubs in general, making a handful of just-in-case-store runs, cleaning the kitchen, bringing home the new <em>Jane Eyre</em> to watch together, taking the kids so I could have an hour and half all to myself. Think I'll keep that man...I do...<br />
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...and laughing at the funny things little people do.<br />
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We notice and pause, hunt and gather the beauty of these days, knowing they are fragile and few. Hope you can do the same today. Happy Monday, all.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfd4GY7lnEeSggHsdegnk-h1Lc66a-qCAbnTT7E_abece11Mg0fjzY_3VzdKLLfJaxf6Mr369on46sUgXH0AcYfR7v5nGdz19xhePPMvYkzPW-ddDfSvUVVDXWhKVpPuweOjTGSkLMPc/s1600/IMG_3126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="480px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfd4GY7lnEeSggHsdegnk-h1Lc66a-qCAbnTT7E_abece11Mg0fjzY_3VzdKLLfJaxf6Mr369on46sUgXH0AcYfR7v5nGdz19xhePPMvYkzPW-ddDfSvUVVDXWhKVpPuweOjTGSkLMPc/s640/IMG_3126.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-28751508506304152532011-09-20T02:32:00.000-04:002011-09-20T02:32:27.006-04:00Missing HerI've been sipping morning coffee in one of her mugs all week, wanting nothing more than to find myself transported across time and space to the haven of her kitchen table. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Few friendships have been so easy. Few places have felt so safe.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zh0DObm9ku2PfGZ5fcvCLCjjGVqXKAmkAVtwLPIx9-YgWkej4cj68WLM8rFPsvfJmZpzjL2FKatYvhRfiOmQcp8_fd6cvuCLN1CRFgDaZNlDEKRS2Kvxf2JTQuUJ31rIV9TfNclKxzc/s1600/Picture+171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zh0DObm9ku2PfGZ5fcvCLCjjGVqXKAmkAVtwLPIx9-YgWkej4cj68WLM8rFPsvfJmZpzjL2FKatYvhRfiOmQcp8_fd6cvuCLN1CRFgDaZNlDEKRS2Kvxf2JTQuUJ31rIV9TfNclKxzc/s640/Picture+171.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
I always miss my grandma but my heart aches in deeper ways when I await another little one soon born to my arms, knowing her charm and grace, her strength and laughter only from photos and stories shared. This little girl we wait for will bear her name. And that blesses and shatters my soul all at once.<br />
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A lot of times, I share with you the things I love. Dance parties in our kitchen. Simple days in coffee houses or at the park. Celebrating life of those we hold most dear. But I hate that a flower, a life fragrant and lovely, can spring up only to be blown away as if it had never been rooted there. I hate the thought that its place could be forgotten. And I refuse to let it be so for my Grandma Marge. <br />
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And so, we remember.<br />
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Last year we started a family tradition of celebrating her birthday, September 19. We broke out her dishes and bowls, mugs and glassware. I made her vegetable soup, complete with the pasta alphabets she always threw in to keep it fun. No matter what time of day or night we finally landed at her house growing up, her soup waited for us on the stove. We finished last year's meal off with typical-Grandma-Foote sides: Mike-Sells potato chips, sloppy joes, dill pickle spears, a can of fruit cocktail with sliced bananas that no one ever ate, and texas sheetcake.<br />
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I wasn't up for all that this year, so we opted for a simpler-but-still-very-her meal: grilled cheese with tomato and onion, tomato soup made her way (equal parts Contadina tomato sauce and milk, butter and pepper), popcorn, that can of fruit cocktail plus banana, and Little Debbie Swiss Rolls which she would have on hand to offer someone who stopped by unannounced. Pandora supplied the hymnal backdrop. And I ate the fruit this year. It's still gross. Sorry, Grandma.<br />
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I'm thankful. Thankful for her life, for the richness of her days. I'm thankful for the years I spent close to her, college days filled with philosophy over laundry and decaf hazelnut coffee, nights over Rummikub and laughing till our sides hurt, Christmas tree trimming, praying around her table... I'm thankful for the months I spent living with her, breathing her in...watching her put in curlers and apply lipstick with grace. Adoring her as she sat reading mail to a blind neighbor or conducting imaginary orchestras in the kitchen. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And I'm thankful for the rallying of those who knew her, loved her, refuse to forget her. I'm thankful for the sharing of stories, for the new good times, for the way I see so much of her in my aunts.<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="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/end_of_summer_2011_432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426px" rba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/end_of_summer_2011_432.jpg" width="640px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
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</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/end_of_summer_2011_430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426px" rba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/end_of_summer_2011_430.jpg" width="640px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kenna.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And I'm thankful for a little-girl-namesake, who decided not to be born on my Grandma's day, but pick her own speical day, instead.<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/AVvXsEj5fxS7YQCO1lp-c1d4d1EHiFcM4gN0pWXJulBvezi5ta0ZS-5HD0_mdrVZRVIWPdP9qk9dEis1H6iAeH0KIaGvsghLlplofJ7csYn919eut7Z1_xvLqpC8Fy_6viOFm4mr4pPWQbiScIA/s1600/insta37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fxS7YQCO1lp-c1d4d1EHiFcM4gN0pWXJulBvezi5ta0ZS-5HD0_mdrVZRVIWPdP9qk9dEis1H6iAeH0KIaGvsghLlplofJ7csYn919eut7Z1_xvLqpC8Fy_6viOFm4mr4pPWQbiScIA/s640/insta37.jpg" width="640px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sweet little girls' family picnic celebrating Baby Love last Saturday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<blockquote><div align="center"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:<br />
If Jordan above me shall roll,<br />
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life<br />
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.</span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Horatio G. Spafford,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>It Is Well With My Soul</em>, 1873</span></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-35205494548927595122011-09-14T01:44:00.000-04:002011-09-14T01:44:57.849-04:00Squeezing the DayThe hospital bag is packed, gifts from Baby Love to Edie and Si tucked inside. Three car seats have taken up residence in our Freestyle. A Pack-N-Play avec bassinet is set up in the corner of our room. And inside a freshly organized closet, little pink blankets are washed and ready to wrap around a new little person. A Craigslisted dresser resides in the guest room/nursery, holding tiny little diapers and powder-fresh sleepers. The mobile that will eventually hang above Baby Girl's crib has been made, paper origami cranes strung to entertain little eyes learning to focus. <br />
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And we are letting go of the List. <br />
<br />
There are a lot of unchecked boxes...and I may attempt to tackle a few more items. But in reality, the curtains don't need to be hung in every room before Baby's arrival. The closet under the stairs isn't required by law to be efficiently organized. The trim around the fireplace doesn't have to painted. And our family will survive, even if I don't get that strawberry bread made for the freezer.<br />
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There is a greater list that now governs us, and it has only one box to check; only one priority...squeezing the day. <br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" nba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3032.jpg" width="480px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" nba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3035.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To slow down and notice the littles in our home that are growing so fast. It wasn't too long ago we were preparing our home for their arrival...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" nba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3050.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> And to let the things I might have missed otherwise continue to amuse and surprise.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" nba="true" src="http://i1188.photobucket.com/albums/z409/Ang8903/September%202011/IMG_3059.jpg" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>To juice <em>this </em>time, these fleeting days, for every last drop of our now.<br />
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<blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><em>How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.</em></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ANNIE DILLARD</span></div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-35990796953262211582011-09-01T01:20:00.000-04:002011-09-01T01:20:42.968-04:00Feathered and PerchedI cannot believe the time that has passed between this post and the last. It feels like a week max, but there it is, date stamped obviously at the top. And three weeks later...<br />
<br />
Our anniversary was lovely. Thank you for your emails, your facebook comments, your texts. I have been moved by your own stories, rallies, and heartache. We hold to the hope of newness in each day and the ability to be who we want to be. <br />
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<em><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all</em></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Emily Dickinson</span></em></div></em><br />
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The simple took us by the hand August 9 and spun us around on the dance floor a few times: a picnic breakfast quilt-side at a park, littles chasing ducks and childhood, a three hour family nap in the afternoon, a walk together in the evening. Jon and I celebrated with a sushi-date-night-in (thanks for the idea, Sara!) after kiddos were tucked under blankets to dream. And true to this season of life, our date night was interrupted by a little boy cutting molars, but we didn't mind. We are more than us now. And we celebrate that, too.<br />
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The last three weeks have been full. Jon spent ten days surrounded by tennis and one of his truest friends. I fiercely value this annual week+ away for him - we realized early on in our marriage that we could not be all things to each other. We need get-aways with friends - they make us better people, a better husband/father, a better wife/mother. I'll never be one of the guys and goodness knows Jon'll never be my girlfriend. <br />
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I filled our days back at home with walks and projects and family. And it was good. But after ten days of sleeping on his side of the bed wearing his stranded t-shirts, it was so good to have Jon home. And we celebrated in the way we've done best this year: unexpectedly. Eden fell off a chair after dinner and broke her clavicle. Sha-blam. Welcome home, honey.<br />
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</div>It's <em>September</em>. I'm 35 1/2 weeks pregnant tonight. And I'm feeling the coexistence coming to an end. Baby girl has far less room to move and stretch and I grow more uncomfortable, making multiple trips to the bathroom throughout the day and night. I want to live in the yoga pants I've had since pregnant with Eden, worn with each of my littles, broken in now and perfectly comfy. Listing and nesting has kicked into high gear...energy levels, however, have ebbed. But this last weekend we escaped as a family of four-almost-five to celebrate what we've been and what we will become. <br />
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I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious. There's still little blankets and onesies and socks to wash, beds to sort and put together, car seats to clean and rearrange in our car. I worry about laboring early with too many items unchecked on my to-do lists. And I worry that I won't have what it takes once Baby Love gets here to be the mom I want to be for my kids. That I will be efficient but cold, hard-working but undelighted. I worry about becoming lost in the demands of motherhood. <br />
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But hope is the thing with feathers. And it perches in the soul.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>We are merely moving shadows,<br />
and all our busy rushing ends in nothing...</em></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?<br />
My only hope is in you.</em></span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Psalm 39.6,7</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hope in a God who is strong and able. Hope in the parenting He provides...and in the healing He gives when we fail. Hope in the power of choice and new tomorrows. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I pray hope floods your soul today, humming the tune without the words and never stops at all. </span></em></span>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1546929695060847758.post-72432905819610049702011-08-09T13:56:00.001-04:002011-08-09T14:03:40.323-04:00Eight<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eight years ago today, a blond girl and blue-eyed boy stood holding hands in a little church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was dripping with white, he with black...ivy cascading from chandeliers above them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In front of family and friends, they with nervous, shy smiles committed to the adventure of forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said “I do” to the unknowns ahead—the bumps in the road and the catapulted victories of all that the knotted-two-now-one-union brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And what a ride it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three homes in two states.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uprooting and nesting again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two littles with one on the way decorated their home, wherever it was, with great joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A job lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Promotions earned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A broken ankle; broken dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boy and the girl laughed so hard at times they could not breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In moments, they were so angry with each other they could not speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harsh words and unkind shoulders so devastated the other...standing, staring across the room, they wondered if repair was possible, if they could muster the courage to mend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">Many of those who stood alongside them through the years, drifted away, drifted apart, shaking off marriage vows as they went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the boy and the girl decided to square shoulders and dig heals in a bit more, tethered and tangled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They cried out to the Healer and Love-Giver.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">And they were so glad they did.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: inherit; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;">They had aged, the girl and the boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could trace the lines in each other’s faces and hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they chose to choose one another fresh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They chose not to become hardened by the life they had not signed up for, but to let the disappointments, pain, isolation, and joy make them resolute, determined, strong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They discovered that death brought life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That comfort was found when forgiveness was offered to the offender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that the shelter of being completely known far outweighed the greener grasses that seduced and whispered their names.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eight years later, Jon, I still do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still do take you as my husband to have and to hold today and all the days to come, whatever those days may hold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6aHJft5450QR0USGurbN16AiGzcUvzCbQiWza0wduDgGLDf9WfVtCQKLQKwLkANJ_zcUpRKe6zbKKMk0zNptUfg9bVCzPmsIELNsggmtDxE_DIOzZzq4rreb-5aJw2gH2FRPluS4H70/s1600/i.60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6aHJft5450QR0USGurbN16AiGzcUvzCbQiWza0wduDgGLDf9WfVtCQKLQKwLkANJ_zcUpRKe6zbKKMk0zNptUfg9bVCzPmsIELNsggmtDxE_DIOzZzq4rreb-5aJw2gH2FRPluS4H70/s1600/i.60.jpg" /></span></a></div><br />
<span lang="en-US" style="language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy Anni, Babe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love you so.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none;"><br />
</div>Anghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13907764982392120041noreply@blogger.com5