tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3520579393275267802024-03-04T21:08:10.869-08:00The Dove ChroniclesProclaiming God's faithfulness through struggle and praise. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-22625720807994562602016-03-25T14:28:00.001-07:002016-03-25T14:28:35.828-07:00You Are the Good in Good Friday<div class="MsoNormal">
Welcome back to the Dove Chronicles! I've not written in a long time as family, illness, and life have made things very busy. I gave much thought to something I wrote this morning reflecting on my favorite time of year - Holy Week: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (with that odd, waiting-for-hope Saturday in between). I decided to resurrect my old faith blog during Resurrection weekend. Appropriate, yes? </div>
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Before I share that piece of writing, let's revisit the meaning of Good Friday. </div>
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I love Good Friday for so many reasons. </div>
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1. Everyone I know asks, "why is it called <i>Good</i> Friday?" My kids ask this, friends who don't know the Lord ask this, and I love answering it because I gain a bit more insight each year. It is now just over five years of me being a Christian, but I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I will share what I have come to understand. I tell people that this Friday is "good" because God's definition of "good" is so very different than ours. For example, I have been diagnosed with a horrible chronic illness that causes a great amount of suffering - for and my family. However, I do think this is being used for my "good" by the God who can turn ashes into beauty and joy out of suffering. Whether I <i>let</i> Him use it for my good is up to me. I also tell people that it is called "Good" Friday because though it seemed like an awful day for Jesus, to put it mildly, think about it: Jesus knew this was coming. And the Apostle Paul says, we must fix</div>
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<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;"><i><b>our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.</b></i></span></div>
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<i> Hebrews 12:2</i></div>
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<i>With joy</i>, Jesus endured the cross. The joy was not the beating, lashing, or mocking. <b>We were that joy. We are that joy. </b>The shame He despised was not "good." But the result of this sacrifice is certainly "good" for us. Because of Jesus, we can walk in freedom and be connected to God in a way that was impossible before. That certainly is good news! </div>
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So that's the Good about Good Friday. </div>
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While we think hanging on a cross in a violent death is definitely not "good," Jesus decided we were worth it. </div>
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He decided you were worth it. Not because of what you did or didn't do, but because you are His. With all your flaws and warts, with all your rebelliousness and doubt, He decided YOU were worth dying for. </div>
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I'd say that is very good news. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-87725121840735935302015-06-03T22:48:00.000-07:002015-06-03T22:49:00.954-07:00Awaken! And Redirect!Hello, friends!<br />
If you haven't already known, there is a lot going on with me concerning a chronic illness. I started a GoFundMe campaign that exceeded my wildest expectations. May God continue to use it as He sees fit. It will help cover my medical expenses from being treated for chronic lyme disease.<br />
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<a href="http://www.gofundme.com/fightingforlisa">http://www.gofundme.com/fightingforlisa</a><br />
(I keep typing GodFundMe which I think is pretty awesome)<br />
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But the big announcement I wanted to make was for you to head on over to a place where I will be writing updates on my treatments, advocating for more awareness on chronic lyme disease, and sharing my faith perspective in the middle of great suffering.<br />
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My latest post, in fact, is one seeped in the idea of suffering for God's glory (a la Paul in the New Testament) and how faith can be tested but also strengthened during such times.<br />
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I invite you to hop over -<br />
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http://lymeandacoconut.wordpress.com<br />
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It's okay to travel blogging platforms. The beams won't cross (sorry, Ghostbusters reference out of no where).<br />
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Hope to see you there!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-73736832743288867692015-03-20T14:03:00.000-07:002015-03-20T14:03:38.216-07:00Lighting up the RoomImagine a dark and abandoned room. A room that was once so cherished and special that then went dim as the electric bill was left paid and the heating bill unnoticed so the space became still and cold.<br />
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I admit it; I neglected you. But I have reasons, honestly. And I know it's okay that I let this place be still and dark because I had a lot of living to do, a lot of maturing, a lot of understanding. I do not have "it" all together now; no, on the contrary - life is at its messiest. But I feel a calling to return to this place and light a candle or two for those of you still with me and to welcome anyone who might wander in.<br />
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Welcome. I'll light the fire for you so this place warms up. And it will warm up, that I'm sure of. Because this place is all about God. And while we sometimes think God leaves the bills unpaid or lets the food go bad in the fridge; while we may blame Him for our difficult circumstances, when it's all said and done -<br />
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God is good.<br />
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I've been through the diagnosis of several chronic illnesses, several mental health emergencies within my family, marriage strife, children crises, spiritual challenges, you name it, all since I last wrote here. I always wrote about how interested I was in the nature of suffering as a Christian...well, I'm getting to find out firsthand now. Ha - careful what you ponder!<br />
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What do I do with all this pain? Do I let it rule my body, my emotions, and thus let my flesh rule my life?<br />
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Or do I surrender to God on a daily basis, knowing His hands are holding me with love and careful precision, molding me with every experience that comes my way? Do I believe He wants the best for me?<br />
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Well, yes and no. He wants the best for Him. I will go into that in a different blog entry. Good stuff there.<br />
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But suffice it to say, suffering has been the meat and potatoes on my plate for the past year and I live in daily physical pain that sometimes truly makes me question God's goodness.<br />
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But when I quiet the racket going on in my brain (as a baby cries hysterically in the library where I am typing this), I know on a deep, gut level that God has me. He's got this. All of it. And only He can handle it. And aren't I lucky to have Him in my life, to know Him, to serve Him all of my days!<br />
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Yes, I struggle with anger and bitterness, plain old morning grouchiness and irrational yelling at the kids...biting off Husband's poor head at times...hiding in my bed under my pillows and just sobbing sometimes... yes, I still struggle...<br />
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but I keep looking at the Light - God's Light that He provides. In the song, "Wasteland," by NeedtoBreathe, there is this fantastic line:<br />
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"<i>In this wasteland</i><br />
<i>where I'm living</i><br />
<i>there is a crack in the door filled with light</i><br />
<i>and it's all that I need to get by</i>"<br />
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Sometimes all you really need is a crack of light. You're looking and looking for your daily bread and there's the light. And you hold onto it for all it's worth.<br />
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And Jesus is sure worth it all!<br />
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p.s. for those of you who followed me over to my <i>other</i> blog I had mentioned in the last post many moons ago...well that blog, too, had to darken for me to live life for a while and little gremlins took over and I can't even access it any longer so it's up for grabs, sadly, to any spammer who wants it. Very sad about that, but not much I can do. So here I stay! I might create a new blog depending on the direction I'd like to go, but no worries about packing up yet. Peace, be still.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-50719126569211184472013-05-27T09:35:00.000-07:002013-05-27T09:35:25.176-07:00RedirectionsA time of change, a time to rearrange and rethink priorities and purpose.<br />
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That is what this time holds for me.<br />
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I've long wanted to move from my "newbie-Christian" place of writing and transition to a different blog with a different angle.<br />
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My angle will always be one pointed up at God with my head bowed, but as far as my writing goes, I am going to focus on different aspects a bit more.<br />
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I am starting a new blog.<br />
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I admit to not having a lot of details.<br />
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For instance, I haven't decided it will be completely anonymous (which has its perks) or if I will continue to be pretty open (with respect for boundaries, of course).<br />
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I haven't decided all the areas I'd like to focus on. I know I'd like to focus on being a stepparent and the challenges that holds, as well as how being a Christian stepparent has been increasingly challenging.<br />
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I'd like to include more of thoughts on the Bible.<br />
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I'd just like to feel more focused.<br />
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And a fresh start is a good way to do that.<br />
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So dear Dove Chronicles readers, hold on for a bit. I haven't decided when the switch will happen.<br />
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I already have the new blog up and running, but I've not decided if I will advertise that here or not. Those of you who are already "followers" received an email pointing you to the next destination.<br />
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Those who aren't "followers" should keep an eye out for any link I provide here, if I decide to.<br />
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Thank you so very much for two and a half years of writing joy. Thank you for listening and for providing prayers and feedback.<br />
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I know this is a wonderful step forward, an adventure I feel called to take.<br />
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All because of Him...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-22183449703863443482013-05-24T22:01:00.000-07:002013-05-24T22:01:10.861-07:00Dear Weary Mom: The Dichotomy of these Love Letters<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dear Weary Mom,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm weary of not feeling confident as a stepmother.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think I may be far too paranoid and feeling far too childish. Far less equipped and far less ready.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surely God must have meant for some other woman to come into these kids' lives, to fall in love with this man.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because all I can see lately is failure on grand levels.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surely God meant for me to stay in my hermit-like 1-bedroom apartment and live a solitary existence so I would not mess up any children with my insecurities and immaturity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">...Wow. Do you hear how awful that sounds?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">First of all, that isn't a very kind thing to say about myself, is it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Secondly, I am basically telling God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, that He messed up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He got the wrong girl.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As if God could ever get anything wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>When self-esteem is floundering, take the "self" out of it and feel how you soar.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">God esteems me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I am weary and burden-laden, when my identity gets thrown in the laundry with dirty and grimy clothes by the enemy of all of us, God whips me out, shakes the dirt off, claims me clean, and I start fresh. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like mountain-spring-fresh. Grassy-meadow-fresh. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hung-out-on-the-line-to-catch-the-spring-breeze-fresh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And if I just let God be my launderer, maybe I won't get so weary or lost. Maybe I will realize the Truth, as I do on my good days when I know God has called me here to these children, to this husband, for such a time as this.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I love the story of Esther and I especially love the unlikely heroism of it all. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>I love how God chooses who we would consider the least qualified to do extraordinary things.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you feel weary?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">God chose you to do the work you are doing BECAUSE of your weariness. No, not as a cruel joke, but because you show that you need God.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">These Weary Mom letters are a blessing to each of us. They are not complaining sessions between mothers, they are love letters to God shared between women who do the hardest work.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>They are letters of reminders, proclamations, clarifications.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You think God got the wrong girl?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Think again.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">God intimately knows each person He calls and He calls each of us to something.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And He's just loving these love letters floating all around the internet, around the neighborhoods, over your telephones.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a dichotomy: be weary no more </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">yet also continue to feel weary -</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">because both are a sign that we believe in God bigger than we believe in your own ability to carry it all.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz8Gecbj8CQSBhCy8tsBvhyphenhyphenOz7HFovDVt3zMioV-yuJ9irTOKu57gfEIDvr_FSevuWqHM2co42t5ygMSqui3uM6iK7t4PMilowa-v_CxsMq4sxwJ-hKfeasTAKmwfXcyt769ZuSN5nZc/s1600/dearwearymom_button_white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz8Gecbj8CQSBhCy8tsBvhyphenhyphenOz7HFovDVt3zMioV-yuJ9irTOKu57gfEIDvr_FSevuWqHM2co42t5ygMSqui3uM6iK7t4PMilowa-v_CxsMq4sxwJ-hKfeasTAKmwfXcyt769ZuSN5nZc/s1600/dearwearymom_button_white.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">**linking up today at<a href="http://www.hopeforthewearymom.com/2013/05/23/dear-weary-mom-for-when-you-are-tired-of-it-all-link-up/"> Hope for the Weary Mom</a> blog - I recommend the book of the same name, as well! Let's band together in our weariness and point to the God who gets us through it all!**</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-62272012568901682582013-05-21T20:19:00.000-07:002013-05-21T20:19:37.487-07:00More than Crumbs (another pre-post of my church newsletter essay)<b id="docs-internal-guid-33dab7e9-ca2e-0685-cc26-e1e74adb131d" style="font-weight: normal;"><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/AVvXsEjO6opxKsBraHHwU-s-xqKARjh8qzI29eZFMa1a-keRO7J0R95WN6Z17cjKPOP_hShE43T8Nj6PnX6sXdD3DBYTtITAMnoairoJQPzeLCYHvNiqyD3SzZxpwc9Uo20UBNVQVZbKYGMpMBg/s1600/Lord+Be+Glorified.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6opxKsBraHHwU-s-xqKARjh8qzI29eZFMa1a-keRO7J0R95WN6Z17cjKPOP_hShE43T8Nj6PnX6sXdD3DBYTtITAMnoairoJQPzeLCYHvNiqyD3SzZxpwc9Uo20UBNVQVZbKYGMpMBg/s640/Lord+Be+Glorified.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">image copyright The Dove Chronicles 2013</span></td></tr>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-33dab7e9-ca2e-0685-cc26-e1e74adb131d" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-33dab7e9-ca2e-0685-cc26-e1e74adb131d" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She only asked for a crumb. What she wanted was the restoration of her demon-possessed daughter, but the Canaanite woman in the Gospel of Matthew was so desperate, so needy of Jesus’ mercy, that she ultimately asked for a crumb. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was persistent, tenacious, and stubborn</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: three qualities that some people would think rude. But put it in the context of seeking the Lord and it can become some of the best qualities we can have. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was desperate and needy</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: two more adjectives that aren’t exactly pretty to our ears, but interestingly enough, I think Jesus desires of us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How desperate is a parent to heal their child’s wounds? This daughter was demon-possessed and the mother knew she was lost to her so she asked Jesus for mercy. She believed Him to be who He said he was, something so many others couldn’t - or wouldn’t. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Jesus tested her, she rose to the challenge. She had so much faith that she would take any handout, anything the Master would give she would take. She was desperate, needy, loved her daughter so much and had such faith in Jesus, that she believed a single crumb could help. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you think yourself too small of a person with too big of a prayer? </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">sometimes do. There are so many people in this world with so many prayers. Where do I fit in?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This determined woman knew what she wanted and she knew who could help her. She gave her all to Jesus - her dignity, her pride, her ego. She was begging on her knees. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People see begging as “beneath us,” but how did going to Jesus on our knees become anything less than the preferred position? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because Jesus, indeed, answered her prayer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus rewarded the Canaanite woman’s faith not by a handout or the dropping of a crumbly grace - Jesus completely healed her daughter based solely on this woman’s faith. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This woman who was small and sinful and human. This woman who was on her knees, dirty, sweaty, and tear-stained. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus gave her </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">more</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> than she asked for, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">more </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">than a crumb. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you truly become desperate for Jesus, to the point of recognizing that you, indeed, have nowhere else to turn and you cling to Him as the only one who can help, that is an act of faith. Jesus loves that sort of faith. In fact, He asks it of us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We all can have more than a crumb if we so choose Jesus as our Savior. If we put all our faith in Him, we receive so much more than crumbs - we inherit God’s Kingdom. </span></div>
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</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-33785391460166302712013-05-12T18:03:00.003-07:002013-05-12T18:03:54.698-07:00What the Heart Knows that the Womb Doesn'tThis blog post has been resting in my heart and my mind for a while, ever since Lisa-Jo Baker posted this post the real-life definition of a mother. <br />
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Because I often think about the role I have in my kids' lives, Lisa-Jo's definition really struck home. Not in a bad way, just in a way that made me think. I know Lisa-Jo has had an "other mother" in her life so I do not pretend to think that she is really only talking about biological mothers here. But my mind often hangs on titles, so I wanted to write out my own "definition of a stepmother."<br />
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But I found I couldn't. Because I don't think there is one that can include all stepmothers. So I decided to write a definition of myself as a stepmother, as an other-mother, as whoever I am to these kids at this point in time. Because it's different for each child. To the eldest girl, I am a bother she doesn't want to admit that she loves. To the middle I am the mama she desperately wants to call on but feels scared and confused. And to the youngest, my little man, I am nearly as much of a mother as his own as I've been in all of his known memories.<br />
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So I set out to write a simple definition for myself which quickly became a tome of how my title of "stepmother" - and how these kids and myself - have changed in five years.<br />
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The following is my response to Lisa-Jo's blog entry and I ask for grace as you read. This is the story God currently writes in my life. Not every story is the same. In fact, our stories are not the same at all.<br />
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I thank you for reading and my hope is that the stepmother role and title can one day be taken out of the vaults of badly-depicted Disney movies and snarky women on soap operas.<br />
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My womb was expectantly waiting for children the day I met my love. My womb waited and waited until the truth began to settle like an emptiness unknown to fullness.<br />
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My womb would always be empty and so, I thought, would my heart.<br />
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But I became a stay-at-home-Something soon after meeting him and took the one and a half year old to Storytime, tried to nudge him to join clapping games. I kissed his warm barely-there-blond-hair on nights he slept over and, in the morning, held and rocked him upon waking.<br />
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But my stay-at-home-ness was new and foreign and on some days I didn't like it.<br />
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And I resented.<br />
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But there were days when I played trucks and made PB&Js and secured bandaids. The girls, still young enough to be amazed, repeated their requests for me to sing Ariel’s song from “The Little Mermaid.” Then the next day they'd fight with each other so bad that I wanted to stomp out in my own tantrum and slam my door behind me.<br />
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My identity wavered.<br />
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Now, five-ish years later, my identity is rooted in titles that defy true comprehension. Titles like “stepmother” that get written on emergency contact forms and titles like “Mom” to the in-the-moment-slipped tongue.<br />
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I do not ask for the Mom title. I don’t feel it’s mine to have, though I do the Mom thing.<br />
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I have made plates of waffles that would sink a ship. I have yelled at doors so loud the house shook. I have used the word Stop too many times and not said enough Go’s.<br />
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I have worn my own mother on my sleeve and allowed her anxieties to clutch these kids tight.<br />
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I have walked blocks in this neighborhood crying, wanting an “in” to this family to which I don’t always fit, and also sometimes wanting an “out” to everything I said yes to.<br />
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And then I am reminded.<br />
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The middle girl who twirls my hair as we sit together, who fingers my cross necklace as she buries her head in my neck, who wants me to braid her hair because I finally got this hair-thing right.<br />
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I am reminded.<br />
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The boy who I potty-trained four years ago now won’t let me see his naked bum because I’m a girl and I laugh because I made sure he aimed at the toilet so many years ago. He who asks me to sing my made-up song I sang to him as a baby - that he remembers! Every night, the request to sing, the request to rub his back.<br />
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And I am reminded.<br />
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The oldest, in all her drama and trauma, I am reminded even as she pushes me away and spits on my advances. Even as she is not with us right now and is in serious peril, I am reminded as she talks calmly to me on the phone when everyone else she verbally abuses. When I look around my bedroom at the kids’ drawings and I see hers from four years ago, naming me the “best stepmom in the world” who gave her “hope when [her] family broke up.” I am reminded when I clean out her bedroom and I see the poem I wrote her not torn and tossed in the garbage, but put in her dresser drawer. For safe keeping or just out of the way - no matter. It was not in the trash can in shreds and my heart was not in shards. Even in silence and absence she reminds me.<br />
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I can do this.<br />
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I can relive my childhood as I watch them grow up and I can be okay with it all.<br />
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I can forgive myself for all the wrongs I did as I watch my kids do all the same wrongs and hopefully forgive them, too.<br />
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I can do so much forgiving all before we get into the car to go to school.<br />
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<i>“I have lost it, yelled it, fought it, cried it and apologized it all before 9am.” - Lisa-Jo Baker</i><br />
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Yes, that.<br />
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I have spoken Truth to a little girl’s fears, empowered her with an emotional vocabulary, and watch it all fade away in the span of a day only to have it return in full force the next.<br />
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I have explained too much and also not enough.<br />
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I have nitpicked and critiqued.<br />
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I have not looked, listened, and felt in emotional first aid emergencies. And everyone knows you need to do that.<br />
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<i>“I have been woken up, shaken up, thrown up, loved up, and shut up. I have never quite, completely, ever given up.” - Lisa-Jo Baker</i><br />
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And yes, that.<br />
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I am halfway to insanity on most days but still want to come home to the eyes of these children, the arms of my husband.<br />
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I would have never guessed this life for myself in a million years. My womb wants to fight me on this one. My womb insists it is still empty and on the bad days, it cries out for more.<br />
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I know better because just when I think they hate me they shock me with arms that reach for me.<br />
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I know better because just when I think I have done or said that thing to tip them over the edge, there is a knock on the door asking for one last hug goodnight.<br />
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I know better because God called me here and spoke to me clear and plain that these were the needy children I was to serve, not the ones in Honduras or Uganda.<br />
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And though wet towels left on the floor sends me through the roof, I can barely believe we own this beautiful house and live in this beautiful town and have the good neighbors and church families that we do.<br />
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I am amazed that after five years I can say to the kids, “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”<br />
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Stepmothers get such the bad rap and though I’ve been on the spitting end of hateful words and slammed doors and torn up pictures and scratched up gifts, I know that I love them with all the love that a womb can hold.<br />
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<b>They are mine, too. Not born in my womb, but in my heart. And not right from the start, but in time. </b><br />
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Our love for each other is by choice and earned intentionally. It hasn't been there “since their first breath,” but it’s grown over time and past shirt sizes.<br />
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<i>“I am out of my mind and in my calling and desperate for five minutes alone and a lifetime together.” - Lisa-Jo Baker</i><br />
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Oh, and so much of that.<br />
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I want to slow down and listen to the wise words of other mothers around me, words to heed time and squeeze the small moments because memories aren’t as tangible.<br />
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I want a better sense of humor, to not be so weepy, but I want to teach the ability to let out the icky feelings and then be okay.<br />
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<i>“These are the good days, the glory days, the slow-as-molasses days. These are the fast years, the wonder years, the how-do-I-find-words years.” - Lisa Jo Baker</i><br />
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These are days I want to stretch to infinity and stop all at once. These are days of contradictions and confusion, desperation and howling at the moon.<br />
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And I wouldn’t change any of it.<br />
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My womb might not have guessed I’d never bear children. But my heart always knew I would love them.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-27721364632702864952013-05-11T18:48:00.001-07:002013-05-11T18:48:59.318-07:00The Other-Mother Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ8tQBuBDb6anIaihuwgOjfIv9oH-teo9FVQzW8XHj8KjZILgDceFVUXz5RyCXWZbtqM-zvt1wXlLY_6Jctp8wBCr9IGwxHHtQml7ld0ftp8-kuiPaYffv-qh4kblyQFx6EyBWdWqbF4/s1600/girlshug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ8tQBuBDb6anIaihuwgOjfIv9oH-teo9FVQzW8XHj8KjZILgDceFVUXz5RyCXWZbtqM-zvt1wXlLY_6Jctp8wBCr9IGwxHHtQml7ld0ftp8-kuiPaYffv-qh4kblyQFx6EyBWdWqbF4/s640/girlshug.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-33df7fe4-9223-707e-7162-8fe84e968ba9" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s hard to know what to say on Mother’s Day for women who care for and about children but don’t fit the typical title of “Mom.”</span></b></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-33df7fe4-9223-707e-7162-8fe84e968ba9" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-33df7fe4-9223-707e-7162-8fe84e968ba9" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Aunts, grandmothers, sisters - they can be a mother. Neighbors, friends, mothers-of-friends - they, too, can be a mother. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then there is the sort of mother that I am: stepmother. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What an odd word, “stepmother.” I used to think it meant that the 2nd wife, a fill-in mother for the weekend, was a mother who was always a “step” away from the children. Always second place. Always not-as-much. Not-quite-the-mom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had a wonderful stepmother growing up. She modeled independence and self-confidence in ways I still haven't digested. I know I learned a lot from her and what I did learn is still slowly coming out of me in bursts as I “stepmother” my own stepchildren. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was not prepared for full-on-mothering my stepchildren, however. I didn’t know that was in the cards for me. I always heard of stepmothers who were on the peripherary. Side-stepping-stepmothers. Background-stepmothers. Stepmothers who had an invisible mask over their mouth so their ideas and opinions wouldn’t get in the middle of actual parenting. A mask, as though she had some sort of contagious illness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, I’m a stepmother who not only has no mouth-mask, but is encouraged to parent like a biological parent. I’m encouraged to be 50% of this household's parental makeup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I must tell you, with the world’s views of stepmothers, that is not an easy thing to do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve gotten all kinds of messages throughout my four and a half years of being in these children’s lives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been told that I will never love them like a “real mother” does and I’ve been told that I am fully capable of loving them with a biological mother’s heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been told to back off and let my husband do all the parenting and enjoy the fact that I’m not the parent and I’ve been told to be grateful for a husband who respects me and wants me to parent alongside him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been told these aren’t my kids and I’ve been told these are most certainly my kids. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even my stepkids have been on this particular teeter-totter. When I first met them, they defied all the warnings I'd been given and all the horror stories I'd heard. They accepted me, even liked me. A lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But just as marriages have honeymoons, so, too, do kids and the new stepparent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I now know the stories of stepkids hating you because I've lived it. I've known the "you're not my Mom" because I've heard it. Mind you, this has only been from the eldest, but I sense the next one in line will come to that place all too soon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My stomach sinks to think of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But through it all I have developed a wider definition of "mother." If the kids hadn't come to us full-time two years ago</span>, had we stayed every-other-week parents and not become custodial, my love for them would have stayed confined by other people's perceptions of what my heart...and their hearts...could feel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am no side-stepping stepmother. I am not in any background, but rather in the foreground of the best and hardest calling I've ever had. I have no mask on and no illness to spread. My opinions might not always be agreed with, but my husband always listens and considers my ideas equal in importance to his. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am in no peripherary, but, instead, in the thick of the teenage traumas, the torn mother allegiance, the frightening mental health.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the thick of the little girl who vacillates between stuffed penguins and skinny jeans, who yells and screams at me one minute, then wants me to braid her hair and answer "one more question about Jesus, please" the next. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the thick of learning "boy speak" as the toddler I met now says things like, "are you available?" and can't focus to save his life except in the case of Minecraft.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">In the thick of emailing teachers to keep on top of school behaviors, monitoring homework and school concerts and karate class and play dates, worrying if she or she or he is learning the right or wrong lesson, being consumed with curiosity (sometimes trepidation) of who these children will turn into. Wondering if I am doing all I can to teach them good things. Praying for them </span>and praying that I point to God more than i point to them or myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think of my role in their lives so differently now. I think of non-traditional mothers differently now: with more respect and, frankly, awe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are a special breed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mothers, biological, are celebrated this coming Sunday. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't want to forget us other-mothers, the mothers who might not get the Numero Uno title, but who do the work, have the love, who hold the children as though they are their own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I celebrate that other-mother. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because though my kids have a mother, I am confident in the role God has called me to and in the love I feel for them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We aren't in this for glory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes all we get are the guts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm in this for God's glory and trying to juggle all He has entrusted me with.</span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-33df7fe4-9223-707e-7162-8fe84e968ba9"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So thank you Mom - Happy Mothers Day to my beloved mama. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thank you Lyn, my stepmother, Aunt Vivie, Sue Edison-Swift, Mary Fullerton, Nancy Broberg, and so many more women who have other-mothered me in my life. Happy Mother's Day to you all. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>My prayer is that every person who has invested themselves in a child will be honored this Sunday.</i></span></div>
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</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-9151793727506183202013-04-30T19:14:00.001-07:002013-04-30T19:14:40.169-07:00Not So Excited: When I Didn't Walk the Talk<span id="docs-internal-guid-75d880e5-5dd3-a9a8-4600-8387c6ec846a"></span><br />
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Tonight I take my latest essay for my church newsletter and share it with you, my blog readers. If you are one and the same, I apologize for the preview, but I wanted to get this message out. I need to hear it - again - tonight - and perhaps every night for a while as I go through some very dark nights of the soul. </div>
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<b>Not So Excited: When I Didn't Walk the Talk </b>(for my church newsletter, May 2013)</div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was growing desperate for this month’s Visionotes essay topic and when I listened to Pastor's sermon tonight, I knew what to do. I knew when he finished speaking that I wanted to write about the amazing love Jesus had, first, for us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Amazing love…how can it be…that You, my King, should die for me…” (Amazing Love, lyrics by Billy James Foote)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, the moment was palpably exciting. I sat in the sanctuary dreaming of an essay that perfectly painted the marvelous love of Jesus Christ, with words so poetic and touching that the pained and hardened hearts would be set free and realize the Gospel truth of Jesus’ unfathomable love for us. Yes, I got goose-bumps imagining how magnificent this would all be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then I came home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I failed. Epically. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I lost my cool, spoke sharp daggers at loved ones in a moment of mounting stress. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was as if all the truth I had just absorbed at church leaked out of me like a sieve and all that remained was a puddled mess of tears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So did the truth leave me or was God giving me an opportunity to live out this truth? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tonight, beloved family pressed all my buttons, my nerves felt raw and exposed, the moment slammed me to a shattered halt and all I did was epically fail at loving. </span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was so ashamed of my behavior that I hid in my bedroom, not unlike my cat after she pukes on the living room carpet. You just know when </span><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">you've</span><span style="line-height: 1; white-space: pre-wrap;"> done wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But upon reflection (and suitable apologies to loved ones</span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="line-height: 1; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder if – through my failure – the truth of Jesus’ love </span><span style="line-height: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 1; white-space: pre-wrap;"> shine all the more. Because look:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am now writing about a very real instance of a very real failing and a very real God loving me in a way that only God can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” - Romans 8:31</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so we come full circle to me excitedly telling you about Jesus’ marvelous love. Only… I just got off my knees from being in the dirt instead of a place of happily writing at my kitchen table, pen dancing merrily across paper with precise poetry and literary greatness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, I broke. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Brokenness intrigues and baffles me. I long to read and write about it, for us all to take off our well-positioned masks and reveal just how in need of a Savior we really are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Brokenness excites me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But not my brokenness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Know the feeling? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The topic of the world’s broken pieces fascinates me, but put me in my bedroom hiding from my guilt and shame, and I’m not so eager. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But these essays are meant to be a sharing of the footsteps I follow and the prints I leave behind. </span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And if I can’t fall down, believe I am still worthy of this Love, and get back up with repentance and gratitude, how can I tell you to do such a thing?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t tie this essay up in a pretty bow. Speaking as a writer, there will be no “concluding paragraph” because there is nothing “concluding” about my human failure, frailty, and need. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I said I wanted to write an essay that softened the pained and hard-hearted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God has made this piece of paper my mirror. </span><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/AVvXsEgFazk-LAD_DP2ERmMr-uekcsUAYTk953PguNX-iY_90EaDvFEBcsHPJNuOiBvcaRPJndcaYhaf0odpDsEvG5_Pju8r7IzU4YFLAMLreojSvPGwvYKUIWkiNCqslC10Msupg1Yz2a3t0HQ/s1600/women+with+bible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFazk-LAD_DP2ERmMr-uekcsUAYTk953PguNX-iY_90EaDvFEBcsHPJNuOiBvcaRPJndcaYhaf0odpDsEvG5_Pju8r7IzU4YFLAMLreojSvPGwvYKUIWkiNCqslC10Msupg1Yz2a3t0HQ/s400/women+with+bible.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">gettyimages.com</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-39446457171843987742013-04-29T19:24:00.001-07:002013-04-29T19:25:26.716-07:00Wonderful: In Which I Sing My PraiseThis is the video made by my husband of my solo at the Praise Team Concert (see previous blog entry, "I Will Praise You When I Cough).<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vAbIAuM13-0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I sang "Wonderful" by Christy Nockels.<br />
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And while I am my worst critic and all I hear are the cracks in my voice and the lack of vibrato, I also see the love and passion that dwells within me for Jesus.<br />
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And that is why I share this with you.<br />
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Ultimately, that is why I share anything with you.<br />
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Thank you for watching and listening.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-59769105460996402862013-04-24T16:54:00.002-07:002013-04-24T16:54:57.878-07:00The Mosquito's Story: a Malaria tale prompted by Compassion Int'l<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You are about to read a story about a mosquito. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Why on earth am I writing about a mosquito? What does a mosquito have to do with God? Oh, plenty, my friend. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></b>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As Compassion writes, </span></span></b></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #18150f; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Malaria kills 655,000 children per year. And April 25 is a day to raise awareness and spur on action for a disease that should not even be killing one child.</span></b></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Compassion International issued a call to bloggers to write about World Malaria Day - which is tomorrow, April 25th - and write on a specific prompt: from the perspective of a malaria-infecting mosquito. I laughed at how silly it felt and how I could not possibly do this. But then my fingers took to typing and what happened next I can only say came from the prompting of the Spirit. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">**********************************************************************************</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So without further ado, here is... The Mosquito's Story:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">**********************************************************************************</span></span><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.15;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>You think I’m just a teeny insect, don’t you. But I’m a huge killer. I kill children - the population that so many of you tear up over and cry over and want to help more than ever. Millions of commercials air every day asking to save the children. </i></span></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i></b>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>But I’m the antithesis to that. </i></span></b></div>
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<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I make sure what you do fails. I make sure your efforts go in vain. And I’m so tiny that some people think I’m harmless. </i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I find that hilarious; how people think that the big killers are big things - like weather disasters gigantic as the earth, itself. And big lurking men who wait to blow up buildings and big cities. </i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>But one of the greatest killers is the tiniest among you. Do I dare tell you that? Do I dare tell you that you can fight me so easily? I will not tell you how. I must not. </i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Because then you will win and the children will live and the tears will stop and families will be saved.</i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>And I just can’t have that. No, I can’t have that at all.</i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I want fevers. I want babies crying from dusk until dawn. I want parents weeping over still bodies. I want people scrambling around for help only to realize they don’t have the right pill or the nets or the doctors available. And people without resources is like a mosquito without a stinger: Useless. </i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>So go ahead and focus on the big guns. Focus on the news stories that air every night on TV educating you on all you must fear in this big, bad world. What you won’t find is a picture of me. I’m not on a wanted poster. The children I kill aren’t on milk cartons because you don’t even know they are lost. I’m done with them so fast that no one even knows about them. </i></span></div>
<i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></i><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Us mosquitoes are mighty so you better be aware. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>But don’t be too aware. We like you ignorant and looking the other way. </i></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0-pKi7uGn5_ijKthbxiegk1mru462GXL9wIknC9vzZUf3C_1zHPJGMnhgW4U1882Dwc6FCxlxY3uz1hHGmipdbOQx7sJURtPUI96-NQdCXKpOGJqAKm4IQu1dI1YUy1ZLMSY7BxchyphenhyphenY/s1600/mosquito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0-pKi7uGn5_ijKthbxiegk1mru462GXL9wIknC9vzZUf3C_1zHPJGMnhgW4U1882Dwc6FCxlxY3uz1hHGmipdbOQx7sJURtPUI96-NQdCXKpOGJqAKm4IQu1dI1YUy1ZLMSY7BxchyphenhyphenY/s320/mosquito.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">picture from <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anopheles_albimanus_mosquito.jpg">http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anopheles_albimanus_mosquito.jpg</a> public domain</span></td></tr>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-6f85ec16-3e39-4e97-459f-72d0717577c2" style="font-weight: normal;">*********************************************************</b></div>
</i><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t look the other way. Don’t be ignorant and think the “other person” will help these children who die every day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My 9 year old stepdaughter has a passion for those stricken with malaria -- all because of one church service where a chime rang every minute to symbolize how often a child dies of malaria. She is saving her money, nickel by quarter, to raise money in order to donate to malaria campaigns around the world. She has chosen to open her eyes even though it’s hard and painful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Open your eyes? Click<a href="http://www.nothingbutnets.net/" target="_blank"> here</a> to find out how you can help. Click <a href="http://www.mychildfund.org/site/apps/nlnet/content2.aspx?c=dnJJKRNjFiG&b=5587119&ct=12333661&notoc=1" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://fh.org/work/causes/health" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Compassion International has a special Malaria Intervention Initiative. An engaging video accompanies it and you can see what, specifically, Compassion does with your donations. See it all <a href="http://www.compassion.com/malaria-intervention.htm">here.</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We don’t have to bow to such a thing as malaria. Malaria is not our master - God is. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We can fight it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The mosquito does not have to win. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please<a href="http://www.compassion.com/malaria-intervention.htm"> take action</a> now. </span></span></div>
</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-83500386417166623282013-04-24T11:41:00.000-07:002013-04-24T11:41:01.260-07:00That Sweet Spot Destination (and a little bit of Goldilocks & the 3 Bears)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4nT1VYt-wLKa42mM_2pjHPAHD3-QY5UhKWTgE2MD1aIf2KOyIfkWCB1Zl6gssdKZnNW0OlysiXpK7yXoX6wBsWhQCk9mtEV56-LjyGcTdhyphenhyphen-vW74dvsQIDiYxzcZziTgw0BGmX-8L20/s1600/look+for+hope+behind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4nT1VYt-wLKa42mM_2pjHPAHD3-QY5UhKWTgE2MD1aIf2KOyIfkWCB1Zl6gssdKZnNW0OlysiXpK7yXoX6wBsWhQCk9mtEV56-LjyGcTdhyphenhyphen-vW74dvsQIDiYxzcZziTgw0BGmX-8L20/s640/look+for+hope+behind.jpg" width="484" /></a></div>
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Many things cause disorientation. Standing up too fast, spinning happy in a circle, vertigo from sickness. Once blindfolded and spun around for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, one stumbles, disorientated, toward the stuffed pinata and hopes to strike the sweet spot.<br />
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As Christians, what is our sweet spot? What is our direction, the spot we must aim for?<br />
<br />
Having spent a lifetime with different therapists, I get stuck on concepts like self-esteem, self-confidence, independence - all excellent ways of reaching one's naval-gazing quota. I do not knock therapy; it does many people a ton of good. In my life, however, I think I had an overdose.<br />
<br />
While reading all those self-help and life coaching books for years, searching for that meaning of life that seemed more and more elusive, I came to a great amount of peace when I chose God as my North Star, that fixed point in my life.<br />
<br />
I've been aimed toward Him for a little over two years now and, while I can't say it's always been easy, I can say it is a lot more comforting and assuring. I don't feel so dizzy and when I do find myself flailing in life, I re-orientate myself to God, the destination of my heart.<br />
<br />
But I do stumble, as all of us do. I sometimes fall back into the blindfold of believing I'm in control of this messy life and that I can fix it. I look in back of me, behind at my past failings, traumas, dramas, losses, and I mourn all that has happened. I sit in the muck and sink. I fall back to naval-gazing, that default of so many years.<br />
<br />
After a while I do shake my head - hard - and see that arm reaching down to me, offering to help me up if I would just choose the Helper. And so I let God raise me to new life day in and day out and redirect me. A difficult lesson each time. I chuckle as I realize it must not be all that fun for the Teacher, either. <br />
<br />
But there is a certain amount of danger in always looking backward.<br />
<br />
First of all, we miss what is coming ahead of us. What would happen if we kept our eyes on God when things became difficult instead of resorting to old coping mechanisms? What would happen if we put all our dependence and need on Him instead of worrying obsessively about our provisions not being met? What kind of life would that be? It feels unfathomable to imagine, but I know God wants that for us.<br />
<br />
Secondly, by focusing on our past we remain fixated on what has already happened instead of what can or will happen. We remain closed to possibility and change.<br />
<br />
Worst of all, at least to me, we miss what God has in store for us and how God can redeem that which we hoard and hide.<br />
<br />
Perhaps we ought to do a bit more head-shaking? Wake-up out of the fog? Re-orientating ourselves toward God, in front of us, always ready to lead us if we should choose to follow. And God does ask us to follow.<br />
<br />
<b>My sweet spot is Jesus.</b><br />
<br />
I run to Him when I get lost, when I need help, when I want joy and comfort.<br />
<br />
And I try not to look back too often, just enough to remember where I came from. <b>Because just as our destination is important...our origin is important as well. </b><br />
<br />
How could we appreciate a delicious chocolate cake without realizing it was first a bunch of separate ingredients that had to be crafted together to make the mouth-watering result? So with our very lives, how can we appreciate what God has done, currently, if we do not remember from whence we came?<br />
<br />
So there must be a sort of balance, a bit of Goldilocks-and-the-Three-Bears going on. A bit of this and a bit of that. <b>Not too much one way, just enough for good perspective and the Hope we all crave.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Redemption asks us to remember, but remember with eyes on Jesus.</b><br />
<br />
Because <i>we </i>didn't rise out of the muck and the mire,<br />
<br />
God pulled us out and formed our lives to glorify Him.<br />
<br />
And that is mighty, mighty sweet.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-1141580529087429182013-04-21T10:30:00.000-07:002013-04-21T10:30:14.733-07:00I Will Praise You When I CoughDespite the giggling when I came up with this blog entry title, due to the magnificent song, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ype1xE0wzsg" target="_blank">"Praise You in the Storm,"</a> it has a real, honest-to-goodness message. And it's quite serious and sobering.<br />
<br />
It's still a story about praising God despite the storms raging in our lives. It's still about praising God when things feel out of control and you look around frantically at something to hold onto only to realize there is only one Someone you can hold onto.<br />
<br />
I've used this song as a lifesong for a long time. It's been an anchor for me to return to the Lord and my dependence on Him.<br />
<br />
And while the title of this blog entry makes me giggle at times, and might make you too, it is as real as any storm.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
For months I've been practicing with my church's Praise Team for our first big concert. We struggled along the way, had a lot of fun, and as the week drew near, something awful happened:<br />
<br />
I lost my voice.<br />
<br />
It was partly due to another storm, one much worse, going on in my family's life, that I'm not quite comfortable sharing here yet...but I had been talking to important people on the phone for 3 weeks or so non-stop, trying to get the help we needed; I had cried and become hoarse, and I then developed the flu.<br />
<br />
Dress rehearsal came and I had to sing ever-so-softly because I wasn't sure if I would shatter my voice.<br />
<br />
I admit I was a bit irate at God.<br />
<br />
<i>This is the one thing that has brought me joy throughout this other storm. Why would you take my voice away?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Though people told me that if I had the flu and had no voice, it was obvious I could not perform, I still felt determined to get through it. I practiced, albeit lightly, and my band-mates told me I sounded fine, but my own<a href="http://dovechronicles.blogspot.com/2012/03/audience-of-one-part-two.html" target="_blank"> performance-based-self </a> was stubborn and demanded better quality.<br />
<br />
I sucked on cough drops and chugged tea with honey.<br />
<br />
And then I had a realization.<br />
<br />
Thank God for kicking me in the pants on occasion to get me to realize the Really Big Stuff.<br />
<br />
<i>I am not in control</i>, I realized. My voice is croaky and unstable and I have done all I can to mend it, but I am not the one who can ultimately pull this off.<br />
<br />
And to whom am I singing my solo, "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aaQVEm9l2c" target="_blank">Wonderful?"</a> Sure, to the generous audience listening, but I wanted to pour out my love of Jesus with that song. Does Jesus care how I sound?<br />
<br />
Jesus ate with sinners and dined with betrayers. He saw in them beauty and love and worth.<br />
<br />
Surely He could forgive my croaky voice and hear my voice praising Him as beautiful.<br />
<br />
<b>Surely, He'd find it wonderful?</b><br />
<br />
So the day of the concert, after drinking warm honey-lemon water all day, I went to the final rehearsal feeling good. I had a strange peace about me. I knew whatever voice God wanted me to have would come out that night.<br />
<br />
And, friend, it could have been the constant honey-lemon water warming my throat or my lack of talking, but I truly think God smiled once I handed the reigns over to Him.<br />
<br />
God loves how I love to praise Him with song.<br />
<br />
But God does not love when I get bent out of shape on wanting to sound perfect or as good as so-and-so. He wants my true voice, croaks and all.<br />
<br />
So I accepted that. I said: bring on the croak. Bring on the cough; I will still praise the Lord.<br />
<br />
So as the storms raged in my life amidst the chaos in my family, as Husband and I were granted a slight reprieve this weekend and he joined the concert as the professional videographer, as I arrived in my Spring Easter dress and heels that were way too uncomfortable,<b> I was comfortable and confident with whatever was going to come out of my mouth: croak or cough or beauty. </b><br />
<br />
I kept remembering how Jesus sees the beauty in the ugly.<br />
<br />
<b>And sometimes, what we think as ugly is beautiful to Jesus. </b><br />
<br />
So how did the concert go, you ask?<br />
<br />
Amazing.<br />
<br />
Anointed.<br />
<br />
God's Spirit filled the sanctuary - for both musicians and audience.<br />
<br />
And my solo came and went and though I did crack a bit toward the end, I just threw up my hands in praise and truly lived the lyrics I sang:<br />
<br />
<i>And my life will burn for you</i><br />
<i>'Cause your light shined in the darkness</i><br />
<i>I was hopeless</i><br />
<i>And you lifted up my head</i><br />
<i>To bring me joy</i><br />
<i>With a song that breaks</i><br />
<i>the silence</i><br />
<i>of my worship</i><br />
<i>now I'm singing all the day</i><br />
<i>and forevermore</i><br />
<i>You will be adored</i><br />
<i>For you are wonderful...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I believe I almost cried because I live those lyrics. I believe I almost cried because I desperately wanted to send those lyrics straight into the hearts of the listeners. God <i>is</i> wonderful. He is so much more that wonderful; I can't ever put it into mere words.<br />
<br />
But I can sing it.<br />
<br />
And I did.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
After the concert, a husband of a band-mate approached me and thanked me.<br />
<br />
I feel so uncomfortable with compliments the past few years. But what he said was exactly what I long to hear. This compliment was not about me, but about my love for Jesus.<br />
<br />
"<i>I could tell you loved that song. And I could tell you love Jesus."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It took my breath away.<br />
<br />
I didn't want my voice to be the one to shine that night; I really didn't. After all the ego-pushing-aside, I wanted Jesus to be the one to shine through the songs we sang.<br />
<br />
And praise God, we did!<br />
<br />
So it is clear:<br />
<br />
Jesus, I will praise you in this storm. I will praise you in the flu. I will praise you when I cough and freak about not being able to perform. And I will praise you when I give up my control and let You carry me through it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdhgkxXqNtdsrVmQX7G0UdJx57oz1XaAyMfBsyIbNT-0n7RsA3L4jvwLqpx2M3g1b_DFgx35Wvinm9nWZUTnRJrzYDisTgthQqs-m5xkqXz9LWHThAbOuHJCm6jcWJ7mR9VuzPGIeSn4/s1600/praise+picture+with+hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdhgkxXqNtdsrVmQX7G0UdJx57oz1XaAyMfBsyIbNT-0n7RsA3L4jvwLqpx2M3g1b_DFgx35Wvinm9nWZUTnRJrzYDisTgthQqs-m5xkqXz9LWHThAbOuHJCm6jcWJ7mR9VuzPGIeSn4/s640/praise+picture+with+hand.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jesus, You are wonderful!</i> -- photo by Talented Husband</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-52553007545303509742013-04-13T15:24:00.000-07:002013-04-13T15:24:18.234-07:00Another Vlog: HereAnother day to upload another video blog from the night before Easter.<br />
<br />Twas the night before Easter<br />
and all through the home<br />
Not a creature was stirring<br />
except my computer's drone.<br />
And I sang into the mic<br />
hoping I'd make sense<br />
and you've blessed me now<br />
with your beautiful presence.<br />
So do get comfortable<br />
I hope you will stay<br />
for God is quite real<br />
and for you this I pray.<br />
<br />
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May your Saturday bless you with joy and time to look around and know that God is here.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-1654593524303499862013-04-07T23:03:00.001-07:002013-04-07T23:03:46.498-07:00What the Rain Really Brings<span id="internal-source-marker_0.8532238255720586"></span><br />
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<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/e8HgAVenbUU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Bring the Rain" by Mercyme</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can count a million times</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People asking me how I</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can praise You with all that I've gone through</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The question just amazes me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can circumstances possibly</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Change who I forever am in You</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe since my life was changed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long before these rainy days</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's never really ever crossed my mind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To turn my back on you, oh Lord</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My only shelter from the storm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But instead I draw closer through these times</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I pray</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bring me joy, bring me peace</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bring the chance to be free</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bring me anything that brings You glory</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I know there'll be days</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When this life brings me pain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But if that's what it takes to praise You</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jesus, bring the rain</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am Yours regardless of</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The dark clouds that may loom above</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because You are much greater than my pain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You who made a way for me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By suffering Your destiny</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So tell me what's a little rain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I pray</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holy, holy, holy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Is the Lord God Almighty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">*********************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's rainy season right now. Actually, there's a torrential downpour going on and I want to shake my first and gnash my teeth and ask, "why?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But when I truly quiet myself, soothe the frightened and upset child within, when I listen for my Father's voice</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hear this:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i> ~ Romans 8:18</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And when I want to yell at God and ask Him why my present is so painful and full of strife after such a painful childhood and 20-something-years, when I want to demand that God answer me why now after such a trial before...I hear this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him." </i></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>~ James 1:12</i></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And while I know God doesn't necessarily <i>cause</i> the rain and and the tornado and the lifestorms</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">God certainly knows when it is in our best interest to experience such rain because it will grow us into better creations.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>It's hard to ask God to bring the rain. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who wants such trials?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">But struggle forces us to strain under the pressure of the fact that <i>we don't control all of this</i> and struggle gives us eyesight to see Who does. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>A lack of ground gives us the very ground we most need to stand on. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so that is what I am holding onto this night when I ought to be in bed but I'm plagued by anxieties and thoughts of what-do-we-do-now's. When I worry about my family and our future. When I worry about everything. When I feel the downpour, rain hitting my face like pellets. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know I am growing. I know my family grows under the weight of this rain because I know that God has us all in His hand. </span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>And so Lord, I pray to you and I praise you.<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGPS8sa-bRQ" target="_blank"> I praise you in this storm</a></i></b> <b><i>and while I do not understand your why's, I understand that your Son died for me and that ugly storm redeems all of my own storms. I praise you for the goodness and blessings you provide for us daily. I praise you for the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubyVHdvVMnc" target="_blank">graces that rain down upon us as well </a></i></b></span></span><b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>and I thank you for these opportunities - every storm which turns, one day, into the redemption stories we tell - I thank you for these opportunities to proclaim your faithfulness. </i></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></b></div>
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And I know there'll be days </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
where this life brings me pain</div>
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but if that's what it takes to praise you</div>
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then, Jesus, bring the rain...</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-14281931264585576432013-04-06T14:31:00.000-07:002013-04-06T14:31:47.598-07:00Alas, alas...and my 2nd vlogMy Wonderful Husband worked so hard on the handful of vlogs I recorded last Saturday night and below I am posting the second one in the batch.<br />
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I sing "Alas, and Did My Savior Bleed," quite appropriate as I thought about the crucifiction all that night.<br />
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I hope you enjoy these videos - whether they be my recorded thoughts or my recorded songs or both. Admittedly, it is scary to come out from behind the computer screen and talk to you, my dear friend. For I do not think of you just as a reader, as someone who drifts on by and takes a gander at these ponderings. I truly think of you as an appointed friend. God leads us all sorts of places. Quite possibly, God led you here and we have no idea why or for how long.<br />
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But I welcome you with love and gratitude.<br />
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Even though Easter is over, I firmly believe that pondering the suffering Christ endured on our behalf as well as the joy which came with the resurrection is something we can and should do every day. So while these vlogs were all recorded that one night, I do not mind that they are being posted long after the fact.<br />
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Each day is a new day to love and serve the Lord.<br />
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May this weekend bring you many blessings and unexpected joys.<br />
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In future blog entries, I will be considering the meaning and message of The Dove Chronicles and asking God to guide me on thinking about my purpose in writing here. What do I want to say? Who do I want to be? How can I best glorify Him? That might involve changing my layout or creating a mission statement of sorts, or it may be recreating the whole blog...or perhaps I change nothing. We shall see. The Spirit shall lead...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-49225968800109429462013-04-04T10:15:00.000-07:002013-04-04T10:15:30.130-07:00And the day came... my first video log...I never thought I'd be interested in recording myself and my thoughts, much less my singing...<br />
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But on Holy Saturday, the day before Easter, I found myself prompted by the Spirit to record, first, the song He put in my heart.<br />
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And what followed were a few more videos of both song and reflection.<br />
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So with nervous fingers, I upload this video log, oddly called a vlog (and you thought the term "blog" was odd?) for your enjoyment.<br />
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I pray that you receive its genuineness.<br />
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*********<br />
Many thanks to my husband who, by his own accord, edited my badly-lit videos and tinkered with it in his cool professional videography software. Not all my videos will be this sharp, but I am so thankful to him for his kindness and love and support of my creative pursuits. xoxoxoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-81014826468263508262013-03-31T16:46:00.001-07:002013-03-31T16:46:15.810-07:00Light in the Midst, Out Of, Despite, and Because of Dark: my Easter DayI ask you for grace as Husband plays around with the videos I made last night. They all came out upside-down.<br />
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In the meantime, it is upside-down here in terms of weather, too. Which makes perfect sense on this Easter day.<br />
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Two thousand years ago, some thought Jesus couldn't be the true Messiah because he had just died on the cross. So, walking sadly away from Calvary, they thought the criminal whose death made the earth shake was just another dead criminal.<br />
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Still, some held out hope for their Teacher and Friend. Despite hopelessness and fear, upon hearing the news, Peter, John, and Mary ran to the stone-opened grave. The men entered to find the lone grave clothes. They were shocked, "saw and believed," yet did not understand that Jesus had truly risen (John 20:8-9).<br />
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And Mary, sweet Mary who thought the gardener had taken her Teacher someplace...Mary's eyes were opened upon Jesus' very poignant call of her name.<br />
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It amazes me that all Jesus had to do was call her by name and she could see who He truly was. It reminds me of the scales that fell off Saul's eyes. Both could see with holy vision afterward, though their "scales" were different.<br />
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I think our sky had scales today.<br />
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It was to be a cloudy day. The weather forecast said that Good Friday would be sunny and warm(er) and today, Easter, would be cloudy. I felt disappointed. Couldn't it be the other way around? Good Friday I'd be mourning. I wouldn't mind clouds. But Easter...oh, blessed Easter...as we released our balloons in church and as children ran back and forth in new, fancy dresses, as the sanctuary lit up with fragrant lilies and Allelujah's, wouldn't it be appropriate for the forecast to deem that day full of sun and light?<br />
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A pause in the weather forecast for a moment.<br />
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**************<br />
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Last night from 11:00pm-12:00am I went to the prayer vigil at my church.<br />
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Each person could sign up for a time slot and, as I explained earlier, it would be like sitting vigil beside a dying friend. Last year's prayer vigil was highly emotional for me and I awaited this with a pounding and full heart.<br />
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My hour was once again beautiful and God showed up, despite how I kept telling Him <i>I</i> was showing up for <i>Him.</i><br />
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After an hour of writing, whispering, crying from the heart, singing, lighting candles, talking, finally it was time to rejoice.<br />
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This is my secret:<br />
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I saw Easter early.<br />
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I saw Easter last year, too. Sneaky, I know. But I was so curious as to what our sanctuary looked like.<br />
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Of course, I thought, <i>is this okay? Can't I just take a peek?</i><br />
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I saw the dark narthex and, through the windows, dark seemed to sing.<br />
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<b>Dark sang because I knew Life was there. I wanted to hear its song. </b><br />
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I opened the doors. The scent of lilies filled my nose before I caught sight of the flower settings up front. I fumbled for lights and the only ones I could find were the ones up by the cross. The picture below is what I saw - unedited by any picture software ..this is the amazing light that filled the room.<br />
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Life pulsed through me. I could smell, feel, taste Life all around. Tears filled me to the brim - but not mournful tears as I'd been used to. I wanted to celebrate.<br />
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Last year, when I walked into the newly-Easter sanctuary, and I knew I was alone in the church so I sang Natalie Grant's song, "Alive" (see video later) with great passion. Last night, however, there were people in the prayer vigil room while I took my early glance at Easter so I walked around in awestruck silence.<br />
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Had I thought it would be any difference? Doesn't Easter happen every year?<br />
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Yet still, here I was, an innocent child dancing happy because Jesus Christ filled the room anew - all things new - Yes, we celebrate His resurrection and life every year, but shouldn't this be celebrated anew each year?<br />
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I was giddy. Light permeated <i>me</i>.<br />
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Life in the midst of darkness. Light out of darkness. Light despite darkness.<br />
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Light because of darkness.<br />
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That is Easter.<br />
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Let's return to the weather forecast.<br />
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I arrived at church early for the 9am service to practice with the Praise Team. While we rehearsed the songs for the morning, I noticed my face warm and lit, all lit up like how the prayer vigil candles lit up the night before.<br />
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It was the sun. Sun poured in the sanctuary windows.<br />
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And we sang and we proclaimed Jesus' resurrection and we prayed and we thanked God.<br />
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I thanked God all day for His upside-down Kingdom.<br />
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How the very least of us are loved, how the lowliest become kings and the most sacrificial become rich.<br />
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How the weatherman can call for clouds, but Jesus has other plans.<br />
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It's been an interesting day. I've found beautiful new music, such as this Jonathan and Emily Martin. On the web site, NoiseTrade, you can <a href="http://noisetrade.com/jonathanandemilymartin/o-great-vine" target="_blank">download their album for free</a> (and tip them as you see fit, which I recommend). My favorite songs and the ones that have been on loud and repeat today are "Greatest Treasure" and "O Great Vine."<br />
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Here is Jonathan Martin giving you a preview and a bit of backstory about "Greatest Treasure."<br />
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I've worked on this blog entry all day, with my candle lit beside me and the sky holding onto that sun.<br />
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Easter day is drawing to an end and tomorrow is Monday.<br />
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No doubt we will face dark in days to come. That is guaranteed.<br />
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But what is beautiful about Jesus is that we are new in Him and He gives new mercies every morning (2 Corinthians 5:17 and Lamentations 3:22-23) and, when we love, believe, and follow the Christ...<br />
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the Monday after Easter isn't just another day.<br />
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Do listen to "Alive" by Natalie Grant. Watch the accompanying video, too. It is from the<a href="http://www.olivebranchcreative.com/" target="_blank"> docudrama about Jesus by Olive Branch Media. </a> I am fascinated by the depiction of Jesus. No doubt the actor chosen will surprise you - for he does not look like the "normal" Jesus usually depicted. I love how they reenact this very much. I pray the music and video, both, minister to you, give you hope and a cause to celebrate and declare, "He is alive!"<br />
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<i>Happy Easter, friends. I have truly enjoyed getting a chance to write on my blog with more frequency this week. I'm grateful to God for providing me with such time and opportunity. I do not know what the future holds in terms of time. I might not be able to continue writing here with great frequency. As seen, my blog ebbs and flows a bit. Though I would like more consistency, God calls me to focus on my husband and children more than my blogging pursuits. I know, however, that God will use my writing to glorify Him in whatever way He sees fit. In the meantime, I thank you, dear friend, for stopping by for a bit and taking in my words, thoughts, and heart. </i><br />
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Have a blessed Easter and every day that follows.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-73571328391627735492013-03-31T05:54:00.001-07:002013-03-31T05:54:11.492-07:00He is Risen, Indeed! The First of Many Words to You TodayVideo blogs...<br />
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that was what I was up to last night as I waited to go to my hour-long prayer vigil at church, to sit by Jesus as one might sit by a dying friend. The prayer vigil is a Saturday-before-Easter tradition that I've done for two years now. Last night was one of my most holy experiences...and I had a very different yet equally holy time last night as I sat, prayed, talked, wrote, from 11:00pm to 12:00am this morning - intentionally choosing that cross-over time to the first morning hours of Easter morning.<br />
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Before that, though, I recorded some video blogs I hope to share later today and in days to come.<br />
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They came out... get this.... accidentally upside-down.<br />
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Husband said he might be able to run it through his software and fix them.<br />
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How fitting, once I get over the upsetness of possibility having the videos ruined.<br />
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This Kingdom of God is upside-down, isn't it.<br />
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Jesus has risen, my friends.<br />
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Jesus is risen, He is risen, indeed.<br />
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Happy Easter!!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-48901146258155266882013-03-30T16:55:00.001-07:002013-03-30T16:55:30.384-07:00The Waiting Game<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCRSgHu6b_QTuDLySHW19Azyu_YRCdBWXidD0PmE1QJqWPkc6l0Q2WfqT-CjRoR3EqKBeqdLqOuhMiFnYl-5noyIB2ZagtZpahJbwO692D1W7R5S12YVa7ux7Ywr5onwvMDOHhC7VhcQ/s1600/cross+draped+with+cloth.jpg" style="background-color: #404040; color: #e99200; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598888828045779682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCRSgHu6b_QTuDLySHW19Azyu_YRCdBWXidD0PmE1QJqWPkc6l0Q2WfqT-CjRoR3EqKBeqdLqOuhMiFnYl-5noyIB2ZagtZpahJbwO692D1W7R5S12YVa7ux7Ywr5onwvMDOHhC7VhcQ/s320/cross+draped+with+cloth.jpg" style="border: none; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; position: relative; width: 213px;" /></a><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">It's Saturday, the day of waiting. Are you observing it?</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I went to my church for my prayer vigil that I signed up for and I entered expecting to find the sanctuary how we had left it Friday night: black cloth draped over the cross where a crown of thorns laid around the vertical plank of wood. Black cloth draped over the altar and podium, all reminders to us of Jesus' earthly death. I expected to sit in the front pew and look upon this blackness and meditate on what it all meant - for me, for the world.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">To my surprise, however, I entered the sanctuary and color exploded into my vision. There were lilies and all sorts of flowers all over the place! There were new cloths laid out: white, brightly and maternally-hand-stitched cloths.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Part of me felt disappointed that my first view of this celebration wasn't on the actual Easter morning, but how wonderful to walk into that quiet sanctuary, to be solitary and prayerful, and be greeted by such beauty. I knelt down at the front and gazed at the flowers. I looked at the candles and realized they weren't lit. That means something, I noted to myself. Perhaps the Light of Christ will be lit, to me, only on Easter morning. Right now, the flowers were displayed, but the candles were not lit.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Still the time of waiting.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">And now, a word about our Good Friday service. It was so remarkable and full of awe and mystery.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">The altar was stripped, Pastor and his wife dressed in black. We first sang, "Ah, Holy Jesus," which was a familiar hymn to me which I sang with much passion.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/s4MKOP-vhQ0" style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">In that hymn, the line, "I crucified thee," hit me hard in the chest.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">After the Old Testament reading, we sang "Beneath the Cross of Jesus:"</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0G3-KsR9AAI" style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Then came the Nails of Passion. This was a new part of the Good Friday service to me. By the way, this service was a Good Friday Tenebrae (Darkness) Service. </span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">First - Nail of Betrayal. Verses from the Book of Matthew were read telling of Judas' betrayal and then a prayer said. Then two candles were extinguished and a nail driven into a piece of wood. The sound of the hammer against the nail was a harsh reminder of the truth and reality of two thousand years ago.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Second - The Nail of Denial. Again, Matthew verses were read, telling of Peter's denial. Again, two candles snuffed out and three hits the nail.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">7 year old huddled close, knowing what was to happen (we had talked to the 12 and 7 year old earlier - the 4 year old was being babysat). I held her close as the nails drove into my mind.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Then we sang "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded:"</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/L2qt2d-k2_o" style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Third - The Nail of Jealousy</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Matthew read, candles extinguished, nail driven.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Fourth - The Nail of Indifference</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Told of Pontius Pilate's indifference toward Jesus. Candles out, nail driven.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Five - The Nail of Mockery</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">The crowds yelled and shouted, mocking Jesus. Candles out, nail driven. Lights are going out now, the room gets darker.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Six - The Nail of Ridicule</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Scornful words said. Darkness. Final nail driven.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">We sang the beautiful song, "Were You There," which has become a definite favorite of mine.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MPmGcridHQ8" style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">And 7 year old started recognizing the song a little and sang the part, "tremble....tremble...tremble"and hearing her little voice sing just broke my heart and lifted it right up into the heavens. Oh, my girl. My God-loving, God-asking, God-praying girl.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Then Pastor Matt and his wife each took turns reading Jesus' last words.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Pastor read, in a heart-wrenching voice, </span><i style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani? (Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?)</i><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Tears fell. Heart opened. Wounds opened. I saw my wounds on his body.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Bells tolled.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">The Christ candle was removed.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">And we said the Lord's Prayer in darkness as rain poured heavy on the roof and left in silence.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Why is Good Friday called "Good?" We all asked this in the car on the way home.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><i style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"></i><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">On this Saturday, I wish you a Happy Holy Saturday, day of waiting, day of wondering and hoping.</span><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #404040; color: #cdcdcd; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">We know now that Jesus rose again. Keep that hope strong throughout your life. He would want you to.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cdcdcd;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">A repost from the archives. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-73628825212970464532013-03-29T15:59:00.002-07:002013-03-29T15:59:35.892-07:00Good Friday in SongI have an ache in my heart as it nears Good Friday service. I long to talk to you. I long to talk to you about Jesus and the horrible beautiful cross that he died in order to save us.<br />
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I am singing songs today - haunting songs that ring in my heart around the Lenten season. I want to share two with you.<br />
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<b>"Lead Me to the Cross"</b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Savior I come</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Quiet my soul remember</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Redemptions hill</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where Your blood was spilled</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For my ransom</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything I once held dear</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.19162242114543915" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I count it all as lost</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lead me to the cross</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where Your love poured out</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bring me to my knees</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lord I lay me down</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rid me of myself</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I belong to You</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lead me, lead me to the cross</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You were as I</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tempted and trialed</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You are</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Te word became flesh</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bore my sin and death</span></span></div>
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<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now you're risen</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To your heart</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To your heart</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lead me to your heart</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lead me to your heart</span></span></div>
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Rid me of myself, Lord. I so truly belong to you.<br />
<br />
And because I also love the old, traditional hymns, this is one that breaks me every time.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>"Were You There"</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Were you there when they crucified my Lord?<br />Were you there when they crucified my Lord?<br />Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.<br />Were you there when they crucified my Lord?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?<br />Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?<br />Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.<br />Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?<br />Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?<br />Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.<br />Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?<br />Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?<br />Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.<br />Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?</span><br />
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Lord, I'm trembling tonight.<br />
Let me bear witness to You.<br />
Let us all bear witness to this day's events.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-72831815325956049512013-03-29T14:17:00.002-07:002013-03-29T14:17:37.082-07:00Superglued and Broken: 5 Minute FridayAnd on a rare day where I get to publish more than one blog entry in one 24 hour period, here is my Five Minute Friday as I write, unedited, for five minutes, about a topic given by Lisa Jo Baker,<a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/03/five-minute-friday-broken/" target="_blank"> the Gypsy Mama. </a><br />
<br />
The topic is:<br />
BROKEN<br />
<br />
Go.<br />
************************************************<br />
Broken are our lives when someone we love dies and broken are our lives when we come away from one family and cleave to our husband and his family. That was my case. In the Bible it says to say goodbye to the family you grew up in and cleave to your husband and to procreate. Broken was my heart, sometimes is my heart, that we cannot procreate, cannot birth a whole new being combined of his and my heart, DNA, love. So much of me broken. Or so I think.<br />
<br />
Those 2 and a half years ago when I came to Jesus and gave my life to him, I felt so much of my broken rise above me and rest in his hands, pieced together by the only one who can do such a thing. So often had I looked to men, to food, to tarot readings, to astrology, to knives, scissors, soap operas, pills, to piece me back together again. Finally, here, I had found the One True Thing. The Ultimate Superglue.<br />
<br />
I remember Miss G and I talking about the verse that says "Lord, you have given me my portion and my cup. My lot is secure" and we discussed what "secure" meant and after telling her my definition, she said "oh, it means superglued. I'm superglued to Jesus!"<br />
<br />
So while it is tempting to get caught up on being broken, easy to see our lives as fragmented by busy schedules and needy children and drama on all fronts, I really think it all comes down to being superglued to Jesus. Just like my 8 year old-at-the-time said.<br />
<br />
Jesus loves the little children.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring has broken through the snow</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-48241981157466704742013-03-29T13:45:00.000-07:002013-03-29T13:45:28.189-07:00The Paradox of the SeasonHusband's birthday is today - on Good Friday.<br />
<br />
It's been interesting, this paradox. Celebrating the man I love's birthday on the day I remember Christ dying.<br />
<br />
Last night, at the end of the Maundy Thursday service, they ceremoniously stripped the altar as Pastor sang, in the same haunting melody as Ash Wednesday's Psalm 51, Psalm 22. And the ladies in prim and beautiful dresses, white gloves on their hands especially for this, took the candles, the cup and plate we had just used for the Lord's Supper, the altar cloths - they took everything off as the sanctuary lights turned off. A firm lump rose in my throat and tears rolled down.<br />
<br />
<i>It has now begun</i>, I felt deep in my bones. We enter the space of suffering and sadness and the why's and how-did-this-happen's. We hear Jesus' words, "Remember me" and as Good Friday fades to evening we think about him beseeching his Father, "My God, why have You forsaken me?"<br />
<br />
Yesterday as I stood around the enormous cross which stands on a neighbor's land here in town, hand-in-hand with other believers wanting to usher God into the moment, wanting to thank God for the gift of His Son, wanting to pray for the church and everyone on this earth, I looked up as the sun shone on the stained wood, the two nails holding the pieces together - large nails - and I realized I had never been this close to such a cross. I could feel its pulse. I could feel its story of the Cross long ago.<br />
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The Pastor who led the prayer mentioned something that threw me for a headspin. He said that no one has ever or will ever suffer as much as Jesus did on that cross. Things certainly fell into perspective.<br />
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I love Good Friday because it gives me time to truly reflect on all Christ has done for me.<br />
<br />
If I had it my way I'd have the entire day to just sit in the sun and read God's Word and journal and sing.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, God had different plans for me this Good Friday.<br />
<br />
I tried to make Husband's Good Friday Birthday an enjoyable one. I managed to handle the squabbles between 9 yr old Miss G and 6 yr old Mr. A. - they are getting at each other's throats more and more. I did not yell at all; I chose grace over anger.<br />
<br />
Husband came home to presents and streamers. We had a good time.<br />
<br />
Then the kids went off in different directions and I sat down to blog.<br />
<br />
And in that time, while Husband takes a much-deserved nap, Miss G and Mr. A have come in three times declaring war and tattling on each other.<br />
<br />
I have handled it all, so far, without yelling.<br />
<br />
Then Miss G, who is ripening in opinions and attitude, announces that she can't help but hit her brother; she just gets so mad that she can't control it.<br />
<br />
Oh, we've been through this before, child. I've been teaching you an emotional vocabulary since I met you at age four and a half. I gave you that Dora squeezie ball back then to hold when anger filled you to the brim and then we transitioned to a feelings poster and now, here we are in present day, with me asking you about your day and you releasing emotion after emotion.<br />
<br />
So how did we get to today - how, apparently, it is okay for you to wallop your brother because you can't control it and oh, I just don't understand it and you just can't explain it, and you spin around in a huff and scream at me.<br />
<br />
My heart pierces and I feel a sharp ache. I'm losing my little girl.<br />
<br />
I calmly tell her that she has every ability to control her anger. She knows this. But she will not believe it. She sees her sister making excuses and falling into the victim time and time again and I worry for all of them, all of these kids who have seen such trauma and such suffering and I wonder if I can ever lead them to Jesus which makes me think<br />
<br />
<b>maybe Jesus needs to lead them to Jesus. </b><br />
<br />
I tell Miss G that I love her and I know she knows, though it's hard, she can choose not to hit or fight.<br />
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And I leave her room because I can see it is getting to be information-overload and I close the door behind her, feeling her seething anger, hearing the bursts of tears beginning.<br />
<br />
And I can't do much but pray.<br />
<br />
I want this Good Friday to be good.<br />
<br />
I want our family to love each other and for us to get along.<br />
<br />
Can't they see that?<br />
<br />
Don't they know what this day means? What Christ did for them?<br />
<br />
<i>There is grace for them, </i>I hear in my head. <i>And I call you to show them such grace</i>.<br />
<br />
Oh God, it is so hard. I want to yell instead of love. I want to cry instead of pray.<br />
<br />
But it is in my control, isn't it. Praying instead of crying. Loving instead of yelling. Just like she can choose not to hit I can choose not to sink into despair.<br />
<br />
Hold me up, Lord. I've been pondering how we can hold <i>you</i> up on the cross; I think, secretly, I've been wondering if there could have been anything we could have done to save you from such suffering.<br />
<br />
But I remember you are God-Man and you chose this, you knew this would happen. <i>It is written...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
You have not asked me to save <i>you</i>, Lord. Do I really think that? Is that why Good Friday pierces me so much this year? How mistaken I am.<br />
<br />
You have called me to serve others. You've called me to serve these children. And I try, Lord, I try.<br />
<br />
So what if it is about the paradox? A birthday on Christ's death day. Teaching her not to yell when I want to scream in despair. Running to you and proclaiming my need of you the day when you were nailed to the worst death imaginable.<br />
<br />
This season is all paradox, upside-down. Then again, so is the Kingdom of God.<br />
<br />
We are called to love the least of us; taught that you loved us when we were yet sinners; picked up time and time again if we just call out to you.<br />
<br />
The paradox of this season is not lost on me.<br />
<br />
The hard which can hurt can be the biggest blessing.<br />
<br />
But the blessing might not come right away.<br />
<br />
Miss G won't walk out of her room and tell me, "I get it now. Thank you so much for explaining it. I understand and I love you so much for leading me to the Lord."<br />
<br />
Mr. A won't open his door with a big smile and say, "whining and tattling is so beyond me."<br />
<br />
Miss A, the eldest, won't walk upstairs and hug me with tears, thanking me for loving her despite her hating me.<br />
<br />
The hard which can hurt and then turn blessing-like might come years later - or even wait until eternity in Heaven.<br />
<br />
What I know, Lord, is that you watch us all. You promise each of us eternal life in return for giving our life to you. And for all that you've done - in life and in death - how you conquered death - how you gave us hope in the darkest hours - after all that you've done, I'm going to take your paradox and hold it in my hand, drink from it like a pool of living water, and keep on moving through this life.<br />
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Once again, I seem to be living this stuff out so much more than in years past. It gets harder, but I know, because of you, Lord, I grow stronger.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-57083611458704030532013-03-27T20:03:00.000-07:002013-03-27T20:17:24.935-07:00When You Need it To Be Well<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>It is Well With My Soul</b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>written by Horatio G. Spafford, 1873</i></div>
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<i>music by Phillip P. Bliss, 1876</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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When peace like a river attendeth my way</div>
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When sorrows like sea billows roll;</div>
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Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,</div>
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It is well, it is well, with my soul.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
It is well, with my soul,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
It is well, it is well, with my soul.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,</div>
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Let this blest assurance control,</div>
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That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,</div>
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And hath shed His own blood for my soul.</div>
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My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!</div>
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My sin, not in part but the whole,</div>
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Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,</div>
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Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!</div>
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For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:</div>
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If Jordan above me shall roll,</div>
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No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life</div>
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Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.</div>
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But, Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,</div>
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The sky, not the grave, is our goal;</div>
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Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!</div>
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Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!</div>
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And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,</div>
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The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;</div>
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The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,</div>
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Even so, it is well with my soul. </div>
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<br /></div>
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* * * * *</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Lord has spoken to me through a new song. For the longest time, the verse and various versions in song of "Be Still and Know I Am God" followed me around like a parent's gentle, yet insistent, nudge. I pondered the verse, sang the songs, even wrote my own song to the verse...it consumed me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now God has put the hymn, "It Is Well with My Soul," on my heart and I am turning my attention to it and what God wants it to mean to me - and possibly to you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The story behind the song is miraculous in itself. The maker of this video on youtube does a beautiful job of explaining it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I read the story in my comforting, soft-leather-bound book, "Then Sings My Soul" by Robert J. Morgan, this evening, my eyes filled with tears. What tragedy befell that man and look what he wrote. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Saved alone," his wife cabled to him after his four daughters had perished in a shipwreck. "What shall I do?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are so many things Horatio Spafford could have done. Can you imagine? He could have torn his hair out and grieved so deeply that he gave up on life completely. He had lost his only son at the age of 4 and now, years later, he had lost his 4 daughters. All of his children, gone. His wife, a rare survivor of the shipwreck, on the other side of the Atlantic asking him, "what shall I do?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Horatio Spafford immediately booked passage to join his wife. En route, on a cold December night, the captain called him aside and said, 'I believe we are now passing over the place where the <i>Ville da Havre</i> went down.' Spafford went to his cabin but found it hard to sleep. He said to himself, 'It is well; the will of God be done.' He later wrote his famous hymn based on those words."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> ~ from "Then Sings My Soul" by Robert J. Morgan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then, as the video on youtube tells us, Haratio Spafford and his wife went on to spread the Gospel in Jerusalem to Jews and Muslims. This was in the late 1800s. Amazing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The way I feel tonight - it is so <i>not </i> well in my soul. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought about what that phrase means and I narrowed it down to this: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is well with my soul = <i>I am content trusting God completely with my past, present, and future. </i></span></div>
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It is well with my soul means that I cannot try to control my circumstances or people in my life. </div>
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It is well with my soul means that I cannot impose my own will on other people. </div>
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It is well with my soul means ...</div>
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that I must be still and know He is God. </div>
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Oh, God, how circular this all is! It's like a dance of verses and song and whispers from You during these dark, sad nights...</div>
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It is so often <i>not well</i> with my soul, but then again...I'm one of the people who needs to sing those words the most - and believe them. </div>
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My soul can only become well through trusting by faith. </div>
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So although what I see is pain right now</div>
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<b><i>"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,"</i></b></div>
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I must believe that God is working behind the scenes on what is unseen</div>
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<b><i>"but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary and what is unseen is eternal."</i></b></div>
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<b><i>~ 2 Corinthians 4:18</i></b></div>
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because God promises me an eternal future and I know, I know deep deep down...</div>
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when I fix my eyes on Him</div>
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all is well. </div>
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And sometimes that is all you need. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352057939327526780.post-37524101518867967072013-03-27T11:56:00.000-07:002013-03-27T11:56:02.543-07:00What Lent Taught Me Over Easter Vacation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I openly blubber around Lent. I don't just blubber about anything, I get highly emotional when it comes to the suffering Jesus endured and <i>chose</i> to endure in order to save us all.<br />
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I think Lent is one of the few, if not the only, time where it is "acceptable" for me to feel like I can blubber at church. It seems appropriate at funerals, but I've found that when I get choked up at Lent mid-week services, <i>especially</i> Good Friday's service, I don't find myself trying to swallow the tears. I let them fall. I don't seem to be...ashamed.<br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7449380881153047"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God." </i></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7449380881153047"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>~ 2 Timothy 1:8</i></span></b></div>
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In fact, as Holy Week begins, I find myself reflecting more and more on the sacrifice Jesus made to save us sinners. Today, two days before Maundy Thursday, the evening Jesus and disciples shared the Last Supper, I feel my grief increasing and my heartache swelling. And before our family goes to the Good Friday service, I'm going to tell our children that I will be openly crying and to not be afraid or worry about me. They know me as highly emotional anyway, but I am going to say that I am not ashamed of the passion and sadness I feel over what Christ has done for us.<br />
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Your stepmama is gonna sob, kids. That's just the truth.<br />
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And yet..things happen in life, tragedies strike, and I scurry to a private room to shed tears. Someone hurts my heart and I swallow the pain until I can release it in the car on the way to work. Always private, always alone. Why the shame?<br />
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It is unfathomable to imagine what agony Christ suffered for us all - we who are foolish, prideful, selfish, and ungrateful. For me, Lent is a time to reflect on Christ's journey to the cross and to witness His hunched-over, burdened walk to Calvary.<br />
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But it's easy to get caught up in the horror of what happened. I find myself wanting to fall to my knees in agony and just stay there, devastated, begging His forgiveness. But Lent is about more than falling down and remaining prostrate out of guilt. It has to be.<br />
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So perhaps Lent can teach us about Life.<br />
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Perhaps Lent allows us to boldly grieve and then experience the Truth that followed the Tragedy<br />
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which is the Resurrection.<br />
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Following the horrible, beautiful Good Friday (and then the waiting-in-the-middle-Saturday) came Easter Sunday, the day of resurrection, new life, our salvation, His grace. And in Life, perhaps we are to boldly claim our emotions...<br />
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<i>yet</i> know that there, too, can be a resurrection.<br />
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Amdist the sadness of Lent there is Easter, so in Life and Life's own pain, there, too, is, redemption, resurrection, new life, salvation, and grace. So what if Lent, besides asking us to remember Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, is a call to be brave about our human feelings?<br />
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It takes courage to feel the hard stuff. I teach my kids that all the time. I'm working on that, in particular, with my middle stepchild now. Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's bad or that you ought to give up. It will grow and mold you into someone better.<br />
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Lent teaches me to boldly feel my pain, not be ashamed, and to carry that out in my daily life. To not hide behind a mask of Okayness and Holding It Together for the sake of looks. There is a time and a place for everything, When I think how Lent teaches us to hope in the face of death, I think God teaches us to hope amidst the pain of Life - and that hope is in Jesus.<br />
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So whether you are a blubberer like me or whether you prefer to observe and reflect in a more subtle way (either is fine), there is grace and healing for you.<br />
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All the joy and happiness found in Jesus' resurrection can be found by those who believe Jesus can resurrect them as well.<br />
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Resurrection requires a death. In our case, it is a death to the self and a surrendering to God.<br />
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We can have Easter every day.<br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7449380881153047"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>"But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us. Out of sheer generosity he put us in right standing with himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where he always wanted us to be. And he did it by means of Jesus Christ."</i></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7449380881153047"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>~ Romans 3:21-24 (The Message)</i></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7449380881153047"><br /></b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0