tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37491538830121234642024-03-12T18:09:46.529-05:00The Joyeful Journey...making His heart my homeJoyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.comBlogger498125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-67546931953563068312015-01-20T00:22:00.000-06:002015-01-20T10:00:48.176-06:00Ivy Reine, our sixth babe!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span>he's here. Our Ivy Reine. And traces of glory still cling to her, our surprise gift from God. I can almost smell heaven when I hold her close, can almost see it's pure beauty reflected in her eyes. God waited until the last month to whisper her name to us. And when He did, I wasn't at all surprised. The name "Ivy" puts me in mind of green summers, fragrant springs, and decadent autumns; of whimsical woodland walks and lush valleys. God must have made her out of these very things. I was so vibrantly aware of the beauty around me while carrying this womb baby. I craved freshly picked flowers and overripe peaches, I dreamed of moss covered baby beds made out of twigs. Ivy means "faithful" and Reine (pronounced "ren") means "queen". She's full of grace, this wee babe--from the tip of her delicate nose to the bottom of her little toes. And my utmost prayer for her is that she will indeed be faithful to the God of grace, for His faithfulness to her is as sure as the rising of the sun. </div>
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She was born in the blustery cold second week of November. I had prayed and cried the night before she was born, my heart set on a natural birth, but my history of big babies with broken clavicles had everyone worried. But God gave me a verse to hang my heart on, that he had not given me a spirit of fear, but of love, power, and a sound mind. I rested in that and refused to let my heart be troubled again over her birth. It would happen as the Lord willed it to. It turned out to be one of the easiest deliveries I've ever experienced! I went into active labor sometime around 12:30 in the afternoon and Ivy was born at 1:40! I was so surprised and shocked and exhilarated. She had this full head of dark hair and I remember thinking "She's perfect. Just like a little queen." She weighed 8 pounds and 12 ounces (mostly in her cheeks), and was 21 inches long. I had asked for no Vitamin K ointment to be put in her eyes (as I always have requested for all my children) so she could see me clearly and that first glimpse of her world would be of those who would always love her most. She stared into my eyes so calmly, held my gaze so steadily. She nursed for two hours immediately after she was born. And then Daddy swaddled her tight and wouldn't let her out of his sight. I love watching my husband with his newborn babes. His face is always so enchanted, so awe-filled and lost in love. </div>
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A week before Ivy was born, I envisioned her surrounded by ivy vines and I couldn't wait to capture what I had dreamt. There were vines growing on our trees beside the house and they were turning deep colors of russet and gold. I picked a few one day and even took a picture of them in a photo arrangement for Instagram. A couple days later, I awoke to a terrible puffy red rash spreading across my face. I thought I was breaking out in pregnancy hives and slathered coconut oil all over my irritated skin. I mentioned it to my midwife, but she thought it must be hives as well. I was still suffering from the rash when I went into the delivery room, it was spreading to my arms by then. One of the nurses took one look at it and exclaimed "It looks like Poison Ivy! I'm almost sure of it!" And yep, sure enough, I had picked poison ivy! And what are the odds that I would have poison ivy while delivering Ivy. We laughed so hard and I itched even harder. You can imagine the stories she'll hear of her birth.</div>
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We brought her home in the fog and drizzling rain to a warm house full of excited and enamored brothers and sisters. They all clamored to hold her and the look of awe and amazement in their faces was enough to fill my heart forever. I don't think there's anything on this earth as beautiful to a mother as the love of her children for one another. Story is constantly by her side, begging to hold her, kiss her, hug her. A few days after we brought Ivy home, we called for Story and we couldn't find her. We looked everywhere, started to grow frantic. We finally found her in Ivy's cradle, holding her. Needless to say, we can't let her out of our sight. </div>
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She sleeps in a little corner of our bedroom, in a cradle I painted and skirted for her. In the months before her birth, I had such a creative burst of energy and was sewing and painting and starting all sorts of handmade projects in anticipation of her arrival. I made her a little dress and hung it above her bed. I invited friends over for a "Quilting Bee" for Ivy's quilt and several friends lovingly made her quilt blocks. I stayed up late into the night fashioning her headbands out of moss, lace, and twine. I kept my hands busy because I knew that once she was here, my hands would be full of her and all else would become less than important.</div>
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And it's true. She fills my every waking hour. My hands are full and my heart is overflowing. I had worried before she was born, worried about how I would manage a house of six children on very little sleep. But I forgot, as I am sheepishly prone to do, to take God's grace into account. His grace has been on our home, in my bones, carrying me through each day. He smiles in the face of my doubt and says "Trust me. I don't give good gifts without the means to care for them." And she's on loan to us for just this little while, this Ivy Reine, His faithful little queen. And with her here in our home, filling every nook and cranny of our hearts, our family feels that much more complete.</div>
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P.S. A very lovely friend of mine (that I met on Instagram) came and took pictures of our family after Ivy was born. She captured this last picture, a precious moment of Ivy in her brother's arms. I can't wait to share more of her photos! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqaYu1jrT7lmCFYuFZPaimePlufRCK8PqOKUfmasncv545dkJvBEPyORG4fVRgYCNwcEySfUV_Dy97NLyzw3sEKB-XaWVVDqGUoiLYQSq-8W7fWSuJ3rxERWLmaWb9aCfdGVde671Q3qh/s1600/familypics2014_kidsandstory_webblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqaYu1jrT7lmCFYuFZPaimePlufRCK8PqOKUfmasncv545dkJvBEPyORG4fVRgYCNwcEySfUV_Dy97NLyzw3sEKB-XaWVVDqGUoiLYQSq-8W7fWSuJ3rxERWLmaWb9aCfdGVde671Q3qh/s1600/familypics2014_kidsandstory_webblog.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: <a href="http://www.aboveandbeyondphotography.net/blog-2/">Above and Beyond Photography</a></td></tr>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-86361093985687078442014-03-26T13:26:00.004-05:002014-03-27T12:44:32.257-05:00Asian Pho Noodle Soup (our favorite recipe)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love soups. Soups make my world go round. Simmering, savory, sublime....soups. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I would serve soup for every meal.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But my family would not be so thrilled. It's rare that I find a soup everyone loves. So imagine my complete excitement when all seven of us finished off every lost drop and begged for more. I was ecstatic people. And my family is in LOVE with this absolutely delicious, warm, fragrant, pho noodle-y goodness of a dish.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It would be cruel not to share.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cruel.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So here's the recipe...</span></div>
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Asian Pho Noodle Soup</span></i></b></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Time: 35-40 mins</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Broth:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Boil bone-in chicken breast (or leg, whatever's handy) in large pot with about 4 quarts water </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 tsp freshly minced ginger</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3 pods minced garlic</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bring broth to boil and let simmer for about 20 mins.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Remove chicken. (You can save this chicken for another recipe and add sesame chicken with directions below) </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Add to broth:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 Tbs soy sauce</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 Tbs hoisin sauce</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A dash of sesame oil</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 Tbs natural sugar</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let this simmer while you prepare the chicken:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sesame chicken:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Slice one chicken breast into thin strips about 1 1/2 inches long</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Add to skillet with 1 T sesame oil</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cook until chicken is no longer pink and add to the broth, scraping pot into the soup</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(this was my husband's idea and he sauteed it while I worked on the soup--it turned out delicious!)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally add to soup:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 Tbs chopped green onions</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1/8 tsp salt (test soup first to see if this is necessary)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 Tbs fresh lime juice</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 c. thinly sliced strips of Napa Cabbage</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 box flat rice noodles </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let flavors mingle and noodles soften for about 10 mins. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then turn off the heat and let it set and do it's magic for another 5 mins. or so</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Serve with cilantro and wedge of lime. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also served mushrooms in a separate dish for those of mine who like their flavor.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then prepare to fall in love...</span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-71217170743447526222014-03-12T22:53:00.000-05:002014-03-13T13:06:54.857-05:00i give up...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Jesus,<br />
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I G I V E U P . <br />
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<b>I give up...on living safe</b>,<br />
on not taking any risks when Your Word clearly tells me that to play it safe and love my life is to lose it. Nothing hinders my soul as much as being comfortable. I want to love you more than my life.<br />
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<b>I give up...on holding on too tightly to anything other than you, Jesus</b>.<br />
Things...dreams...expectations....opinions....the admiration of others...my own self-image. If it's hard--painful even--for me to let it go, than it just might be what's keeping me from embracing the dreams you dream for me, the places you long to take me, the lives you want to love through me. <br />
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<b>I give up...on excuses</b>.<br />
I've become overly accustomed to their ease of use. When confronted with a flaw in my character, how easy it is to exclaim, "But God..." and to blame it on my personality or "the way I was made". Yet you are the very One who created me and you know me inside-out. <b> And the goal of this life is not to become the "best version of myself" but to be full of you, Jesus-- to allow your life to be exalted in me--to become less as You become more.</b><br />
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<b>I give up...on becoming so absorbed with my own problems, my needs, my wants, my insecurities...<i>my self...</i>that I fail to see what you're doing around me.</b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="versetext" id="ro8-6" style="display: inline; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Your Word says it best, "o<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 20px;">bsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life.</span></span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-7" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> <b>Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God.</b> Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what he is doing. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-8" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> And God isn't pleased at being ignored. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-9" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> But if God himself has taken up residence in your life, you can hardly be thinking more of yourself than of him. Anyone, of course, who has not welcomed this invisible but clearly present God, the Spirit of Christ, won't know what we're talking about. </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-10" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> But for you who welcome him, in whom he dwells - even though you still experience all the limitations of sin - you yourself experience life on God's terms.</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-11" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> It stands to reason, doesn't it, that if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he'll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus, bringing you alive to himself? <b>When God lives and breathes in you (and he does, as surely as he did in Jesus), you are delivered from that dead life. </b>With his Spirit living in you, your body will be as alive as Christ's! </span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-12" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> So don't you see that we don't owe this old do-it-yourself life one red cent.</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-13" style="color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b> There's nothing in it for us, nothing at all. The best thing to do is give it a decent burial and get on with your new life." </b>Romans 8: 6-13</span></span></div>
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<b>I give up...on trying to be good enough (trying to earn grace).</b><br />
Grace is a gift. And it's something I will never deserve and cannot ever earn. It's not about rules or religion...."don't touch that"..."don't do this". We love to make rules only to feed our pride in keeping them. Jesus, you are never as concerned with our rules and rituals as you are with our relationship with you and with each other. It's not about trying to earn your favor. Your favor, love and forgiveness are freely given to me based on what you, my Lord and Savior, have already done and "all my righteous acts are as filthy rags" compared to the sacrifice you made. It's not about me. It's about what You've done for me. It's about living life according to your Spirit, walking in step with You, and responding to Your leading, Lord. It's about <b><i>obedience</i></b>.<br />
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"Obedience is better than sacrifice." -1 Samuel 15:22<br />
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<b>And so I give up...give everything up to You.</b><br />
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And I give in...to life according to your Spirit.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="versetext" id="ro8-14" style="display: inline; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">"God's Spirit beckons. There are things to do and places to go!</span></b></span></i><span class="versetext" id="ro8-15" style="display: inline; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><b> </b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="versetext" id="ro8-16" style="display: inline; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children.</span><span class="versetext" id="ro8-17" style="display: inline; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"> And we know we are going to get what's coming to us - an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we're certainly going to go through the good times with him!" Romans 8:14-17</span></span></span><br />
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So, what's next, Papa?</div>
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I'm "adventurously expectant"!<br />
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Giving up is only a beginning.<br />
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Love,<br />
Your girl</div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-2917328104961007362014-03-05T00:30:00.001-06:002014-03-05T00:30:59.029-06:00An Art Party...and the twins turn six!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Well, the twins didn't technically have a birthday this year. There was no 29th of February. But my leap day babies turned six anyway even though for once I wished the calendar was right. I love watching these two become such wonderful individuals. They've always been unique. And even from birth we could tell they were polar opposites. From that first night we held twin babies in our arms, amazed at God's grace and the miracle gift they were, we noticed and celebrated their differences. Boston's eyes rarely closed, big and bright and expressive, he studied our faces intently. Astair was content and peaceful, relaxed and trusting in our arms. And now at six, those birth traits have not changed. Boston is all heart and passion and fierce determination. He's an expressive extrovert who has never met a person he didn't love and has a knack for remembering everyone's names. He loves big and deep. Astair is sunny, soulful, and quietly confident. She's independent and creative, strong and kind. She has such a warm and easy manner and quickly befriends people. Every now and then I'll see glimpses of the womb bond they share. Boston will always be Astair's champion. He encourages her, loves to brag on her. And Astair will always be his faithful friend.</div>
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For their birthday this year, we decided to have an Art Party. These two love art (and their mama does too) so it was the perfect idea. I let the kids paint the backdrop for the party on a white sheet I bought from the thrift store. And as a tradition, they each got to choose their cake design and I baked my heart out all day long. They helped me make the rice krispy paint brushes and the marshmallow paintbrushes, too. And their daddy cut and whitewashed boards to use as 'canvases' for each guest to paint. It was the perfect day for painting on the lawn.</div>
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I really love making memories like these for each of my children. And while I'm still a fan of low key, relaxing family b-days, my kids love parties and I really enjoy decorating and baking and all out celebrating these wildly precious kids of mine. I just recently read a quote that "we have only 940 Saturdays with our children before they graduate" and it makes me treasure these fleeting weekends, weekdays, week-moments with them all the more.</div>
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<i>I love you, Boston and Astair! God dreams big for you! Don't ever forget that you're His masterpiece. His work of art, His labor of love.</i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-87577630563934306902014-02-26T00:47:00.001-06:002014-02-26T11:39:47.489-06:00Why Pray? Answers to questions kids ask (and us grownups, too) Pt. 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> "Why do we pray to God to take care of the children?" Bobby asked, "I should think he would <b>want</b> to do it."... -Tell Me About Prayer, pg 47</span></i></div>
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Have you ever tucked your child into bed at night and somewhere in your hushed prayers, God brought another picture to your mind, of a child with no one to tuck them in at night? No one to kiss their cheek and whisper an "I love you"? Did it unsettle you as much as it does me? Or maybe your little one asked to pray for all the kids that are cold and hungry and don't have a home to live in and in their voice you heard a sadness that echoed your own? Were the words to these prayers hard to form past the lump in your throat? And did your prayers seem like they were inconsequential compared to such incomparable darkness? This story from the book<i> Tell Me About Prayer</i> by Mary Alice Jones has such a heartening (and quickening!) answer to those questions that can haunt us the most about the pain and desperate needs of this world. </div>
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<i>"Bobby and Mary and their mother and daddy were coming home from their church. A visitor had been there. He had told the people about some children who were hungry and cold and sick. All the people at church had prayed that God would help the children.</i></div>
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<i> "Why do we pray to God to take care of the children?" Bobby asked, "I should think he would <b>want</b> to do it."</i></div>
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<i> "That isn't really what we prayed for, son," his daddy said. "Do you remember? We prayed that the children would know God was loving them. We prayed that God would help us to want to share with them."</i></div>
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<i> Bobby remembered. "But why do <b>we</b> have to take care of them? Why doesn't God do it?" he wanted to know.</i></div>
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<i> "Would you like to live in a world where people did not love each other and help each other, Bobby? Where there were no kind people to help sick children be well? Would it be a good world if nobody thought of anybody else? But everybody thought only of what he wanted and of how to get his own way?"</i></div>
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<i> Bobby thought about that for a minute. "And nobody took turns or gave presents or shared? No, that would not be a good world," he decided.</i></div>
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<i> "God knew when he planned our world that people would not be happy unless they thought of each other and helped each other. And so he planned it that way."</i></div>
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<i> "Tell me more about it."</i></div>
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<i> "He left some things for people to do for each other. Mothers and fathers and teachers and doctors to help boys and girls to share with one another. And people in all nations to help each other. If people are selfish or mean, others suffer. That is the way the world is made." </i></div>
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<i> Bobby thought some more. "And if we pray, does God make us remember to help other people? Is that the way he takes care of them?"</i></div>
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<i> "That is not the only way God takes care of them, Bobby, but it is one important way. When we pray for other people, God helps us to think of ways we can help them. He helps doctors to think of ways to take care of children. And he helps the people we pray for to be better because they feel that we love them and are praying for them."</i></div>
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<i> "I think God has helped us to know ways we can help take care of the children we heard about at church," Mother said. "I know we could send them some cereal."</i></div>
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<i> "And I could send them one of my sweaters," Bobby said.</i></div>
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<i> "I could send them one of my sweaters, too," Mary said.</i></div>
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<i> "And I could take some money out of the bank and give it to the man to buy some milk for them," Daddy said.</i></div>
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<i> "But the man said there were so many children," Bobby remembered. "I think we should ask God to help lots and lots of people to want to send them something."</i></div>
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<i> "And to help the children to know that he loves them always," Mother added.</i></div>
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<i> "And to help the children to know that we love them, too," Mary said.</i></div>
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<i> So they prayed for the children who were hungry and cold and sick. And they made some prayers for other people who needed help, too." Tell Me About Prayer, pgs 48-49</i></div>
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After my husband read this story to our children, their faces lit up as they offered to give their treasured possessions to someone who might be in need of them. Astair said she would give her piggy bank, Boston wanted to give his baseballs (and teach them how to play), Legend offered to give them his pillow, and Thaddeus wanted to invent something for them that would make their life better. It tears me up to think about it. But I don't want it to be just another tear jerker. Honestly, it has fanned a flame that's been burning in my soul for a long time. The burning of a love that consumes every shadow of darkness, and won't be contained, can't be restrained, and although it sputters, it refuses to go out.</div>
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I remember that year my husband was preparing for a mission trip to Haiti. We found the small half of an island on our globe and talked and prayed with our kids over daddy's upcoming trip. We prayed that daddy would be the hands and feet and hugs of Jesus to little orphans so in need of love. And my oldest, then six years old, had deep questions to ask about orphans and when we explained that orphans had no mommies and daddies, he stated so matter-of-factly, "Well, why don't we pray that daddy can bring them mommies and daddies?" I'll never forget the look my husband and I shared over the top of a spinning globe that was blurring as our eyes spilled over it. That prayer was so right. </div>
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And I remember our conversation afterwards... <b>the one in which we prayed we would always be willing to be the answer to the prayers we pray for someone else. </b></div>
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I remember that prayer and my heart wants to beat down every excuse I've erected since then...every opportunity to be the answer God wanted to use, that I might have missed, or I put off until tomorrow.</div>
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<b>And love isn't something I can put off until tomorrow....when prayer becomes not just words we say, but a way we love.</b></div>
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<i>"My brothers and sisters, if a person claims to have faith but does nothing, that faith is worth nothing. Faith like that cannot save anyone. Suppose a brother or sister in Christ comes to you in need of clothes or something to eat. And you say to them, "God be with you! I hope you stay warm and get plenty to eat," but you don't give them the things they need. If you don't help them, your words are worthless. It is the same with faith. If it is just faith and nothing more--if it doesn't do anything--it is dead." -James 2:14-17</i></blockquote>
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<i>P.S. Thank you to all who entered the giveaway! The winner was Jamie H. and was notified by e-mail :)</i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-58041075904201558302014-02-19T23:25:00.000-06:002014-02-20T18:34:50.056-06:00Why Pray? Answers to questions kids ask (and us grown ups too)... Pt. 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<t></t>>>----> ONE MORE DAY LEFT TO ENTER THE GIVEAWAY!!!</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"I'm not going to pray anymore," Bobby announced. </span> </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">His mother looked at him. "Aren't you, son?"</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Just look at that rain," Bobby went on. "I asked God to send a nice day today for the school trip. I asked him two nights, And he didn't."</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Is that why you pray, Bobby? To tell God what He should do?"</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bobby thought a minute. Then he looked uncomfortable. "That doesn't sound right, does it? That I should tell God what to do?"</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Not if you trust God, son. This is a very great world. There is a great deal about it that we have not learned to understand. We might make some bad mistakes if God let us tell Him what to do....Right this minute I know some people are glad it is raining. I think they are saying, 'Thank God for the rain', because their fields need rain to make the grain grow."....</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"You can always talk with God about whatever you want to talk with him about, Bobby. But I think it is not good to tell God what to do, and be angry when he does not do it. I think it is better to ask God to help us know what he wants us to do with what we have." </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Tell Me About Prayer by Mary Alice Jones</span></i><br />
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When a children's book can comfort, convict, and inspire and answer those questions the harbored child in your heart asks, and you can't put it down, but re-read every single page...you know it's a good one. There are those books that are written once in a century whose words never grow old, they are timeless tomes of wisdom. They are not written in wordy, flowery, exhaustive sentences, but in simple profound truth that has more power to change lives than one thousand theological expositions. <i>Tell Me About Prayer</i> by Mary Alice Jones is just such a book. <i>(an interesting side note: Mary wrote this book in 1949 and she spent most of her life educating children about God, she also received her Ph.D. from Yale and became the first woman teacher at Yale Divinity School).</i><br />
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It was Sunday night. I heard the steady cadence of my husband's voice reading to the kids upstairs and I wondered at how still they had become. Usually we read and a circus troop of acrobats perform. But this night was different. Afterwards, my husband came downstairs, excited to share with me the treasure he had found nearly forgotten on a bookshelf. And I was all eyes and ears, not remembering the last time he was excited about a <i>book</i>. I'm the one that gets all giddy over written words. I was surprised to find my name written on the first page, in my Grandma Ruby's script. How had I missed this gift?<br />
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We both read the story again, and then a third time, savoring the deep of it, wondering at the wisdom of it, thankful for the way it spelled out the questions every child's heart wonders and then gave a carefully considered and heavily weighted answer. This is gold for every parent, every sunday school teacher, every person whose questions still nag at their heart or who have wondered how to give an answer to those who seek. Because sometimes we honestly don't know. There are things about God that are too deep for our shallow minds. And I love how the author, Mary, reaffirms this. It's not our lack of knowing the answer that makes the question burdensome, but rather our lack of understanding the character of God. <br />
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<b>HE is the answer. He has not hidden WHO HE IS from us. He has displayed his character for us throughout Scripture. There is much about the world and the way God governs it that we may never understand, but God invites us to know HIM intimately. And prayer is one of the ways we do that.</b><br />
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<b><i>"Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." Jeremiah 29:12-14 </i></b><br />
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<b><i>"My heart has heard you say, 'Come and talk with me.' And my heart responds, 'Lord, I am coming.'" Psalm 27:8</i></b><br />
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Something beautiful happens when we pray, when we <i>seek God</i>, when we respond to his eager invitation. It becomes an honest conversation in which God reveals to us not only His own heart, but ours as well.<br />
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<i>"One day Bobby was reading a paper his teacher at church had sent him. He read, "God knows what you have need of before you ask him."</i><br />
<i>"Is that true, Mother?" Bobby wanted to know.</i><br />
<i>"Yes, I think that is true, Bobby."</i><br />
<i>"Then why do we say our prayers? Why should we tell him when he knows already?"</i><br />
<i>"Let me ask you another question, Bobby. Do Mother and Daddy know what food is good for you to eat, and do they plan it for you?"</i><br />
<i>Bobby nodded his head. His mother went on.</i><br />
<i>"But what would happen if you didn't eat the good good?"</i><br />
<i>"I would not grow. I would be hungry."</i><br />
<i>"It is something like that with praying, son. God plans for us to have the things that are best for us and to live the way that is best for us. But if we do not know what he plans for us, we often get into trouble. Or we do not get something good that God would like for us to have. Or we do not do something good that God would like for us to do. So we need to talk things over with God."</i><br />
<i>"Like with you and Daddy?" Bobby asked.</i><br />
<i>"Something like that, Bobby. God is very great. We do not understand all about his plans for us. But if we talk things over with him, he can help us understand."</i><br />
<i>"How does he? How does he help us know?"</i><br />
<i>"Some good ideas which we had never thought of, we will think of. Some good ways of doing things that we had never tried, we will decide to try. Some good plans which we had never made, we will make."</i><br />
<i>"I thought praying was telling God about things," Bobby said. "Is it letting God tell us about things?"</i><br />
<i>"I think God wants us to tell him everything we want to tell him, Bobby. But sometimes we are so busy telling God things that we do not stop to listen. He wants us to listen, too. There is so much we need to know."...</i><br />
<i>And so Bobby and his mother prayed a listening prayer.</i><br />
<i>-Tell Me About Prayer by Mary Alice Jones, pages 53-54</i><br />
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And it really is that simple. Talking to God and listening for what He would tell us as well. Waiting on Him. Just being <i>with</i> Him. And most of all, trusting Him. Trusting that He hears and that He cares. That he has a plan for us to partner with Him.<br />
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And then you can ask your kids (or yourself) these questions and let God be the answer....<br />
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Are you lonely?<br />
Are you doubting?<br />
Are you angry?<br />
Are you scared?<br />
Do you need understanding?<br />
Or maybe just a little light for tomorrow?<br />
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You can pray and "talk things over" with God. <br />
He'll listen. He always does. <br />
And you might be surprised by what He'll show you when you take the time to listen, too...<br />
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-7739688246448590382014-02-14T10:24:00.003-06:002014-02-14T10:24:45.998-06:00Valentine's Day Giveaway!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just as a way to say "thank you" to all my dear friends who have faithfully read my ramblings here and stuck with me through my sporadic blogging adventures! I am so thankful for every single one of you, friends near and far, many that have known me since childhood and others I have never seen but still love and know just as dearly. You have blessed me with your words, with your e-mails, with your friendship, and I pray this day you will know that you are loved.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm excited to introduce three shops to you that are close to my heart. The women behind these shops inspire me daily and I know you will be just as blessed by their creative and genuine hearts as I have been. At the end of this post will be the entry form and you can receive multiple entries for each direction you follow. I'll announce the winner next FRIDAY! xo</span></div>
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My dearest friend, Erin Stargel, is giving away a <b>$125 custom video editing package</b> from her new esty shop <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/LeighStarEditing">Leigh Star Editing</a>! I am so excited about this gift! Just think of all the photos and videos of your little ones that you have laying around and have always wanted to make a video of! Or maybe you're like me and your wedding video was less than stellar (so dark we could hardly make out our faces!) and you would love to re-create a keepsake video for the two of you. Erin has also created meaningful timeline videos for loved ones that have passed away, for graduates, and for birthdays. Erin has been editing videos professionally for Sonburst Communications for many years. She decided to work from home when her sweet daughter Grace Ann was born over a year ago and her newest little baby girl Ella Mae was born in January. Erin is close to my heart. We were roommates in college and while I was always on the phone talking to Joel (now my husband) she was hard at work on her multimedia degree. She's been a source of encouragement and support and just real, genuine friendship to me for so many years.</div>
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You can view her work under the product description in her<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/LeighStarEditing"> etsy store</a> and here is a link to one of her latest videos:<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLjPxayV99Q&feature=youtu.be"> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLjPxayV99Q&feature=youtu.be</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/people/anetastorvik?ref=owner_image_profile_leftnav" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHevnlSMg3mkYu5ji56Rfv5ykaXT-Q17iTNMR1sGTPNE0jp_jw2pyB1oPmN1ortTCEVdIfSVCdirckup6HMbJXActinbMNINt2cIxU691FrcNum_L3W-RJLqZ6gBFWYIQEb5P31H0L6Ry/s1600/givewithjoy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Don't you love when you get cards in the mail? I just received a letter from a friend the other day and I couldn't stop smiling. There's something so personal about snail mail, in reading the scrawling script of a friend you miss and knowing they poured their heart into something you could hold in your hands. This is exactly how I feel about Aneta Nina's sweet little stationery shop <a href="https://www.etsy.com/people/anetastorvik?ref=owner_image_profile_leftnav">Give With Joy</a>. She makes adorable cards that will inspire you to sit down and write a note to that friend w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ho's been on your heart.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her shop in her words:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Guardian-EgypTT-Text, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"><i>"When I was young, I would sprint to the mailbox in hopes that someone sent me a letter or a package. I usually came inside with bills for my mom - she loved getting mail :). Yet, that never hindered me from running back to the mailbox with the same hope each day.</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Guardian-EgypTT-Text, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"><i><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Guardian-EgypTT-Text, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"><i>Fast forward to today, well, you will find me hoarding the mail key from my husband so I can be the first to check the mail. I love receiving and giving gifts in the smallest form. Who doesn't feel loved and overwhelmed with joy when they get a little "hello" card on a Wednesday! </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Guardian-EgypTT-Text, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"><i><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Guardian-EgypTT-Text, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"><i>That's why I started 'give with JOY'. I wanted to bring joy into many homes and inspire you to do the same. Let's give someone a reason to smile when they open their mail. "</i></span></span></blockquote>
Aneta Nina is also offering<b> 15% off everything in her <a href="https://www.etsy.com/people/anetastorvik?ref=owner_image_profile_leftnav">store</a></b> to my readers. Just visit her shop and enter JOYE14 at the checkout!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTN_u_1VoqLAKpPEwgjJq4fOxLzqpeIc1arjSwmdpgYBaTQb8T06f9b5dny3EJNIKElh5ANNU6wClgugsQHchWYhuOlq09XB6WV-MK6eDntaZMJxsFGuCSFlkXq4sNJAcTmJgxn98q9KG/s1600/no.41_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTN_u_1VoqLAKpPEwgjJq4fOxLzqpeIc1arjSwmdpgYBaTQb8T06f9b5dny3EJNIKElh5ANNU6wClgugsQHchWYhuOlq09XB6WV-MK6eDntaZMJxsFGuCSFlkXq4sNJAcTmJgxn98q9KG/s1600/no.41_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Have you heard about<a href="http://www.no41.org/"> No. 41</a>?? This ministry is on my heart daily. I love the hearts of the women behind it. They inspire me to dream big, love bigger, and that with God <i>anything is possible and we can change the world</i>. This is love in action. I really can't describe it any better than what Tara wrote on the No. 41 blog:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"In December 2010, after a two-week mission trip, I followe</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;">d my little broken heart back to Rwanda, begging God to use me in any way He saw fit. I didn’t have a plan, but I trusted that He did.</span><span style="font-family: 'Arsenale White'; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;"><i>In June 2011, I moved into the Noel Orphanage, home to 500+ children ranging in age from a few weeks to their late 20’s. While I got my feet on the ground, I loved on babies, played countless games of soccer, and taught English. By December of that year, I had a list and a plan. So many things I saw going on around me bothered me, but I decided to zero in on two, the oldest girls and the local school lunch program (or lack thereof).<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;"><i>At the time, there were, roughly, 100 young adults over the age of 18 living in the Noel Orphanage. With no family and limited resources, the prospect of university or becoming gainfully employed was low. Along with that, confidence was low, dreams were small, and hope was almost non-existent. <b>It was important, not only to provide a means of sustainable employment doing a culturally relevant trade for these girls, but also to remind them that they were created for a great purpose, by an even greater God. We all have been given gifts and talents and, once realized, we should spend those helping others.</b> That is where the feeding program came in.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;">In our village there are three secondary schools, grades 7-12, and these students go to school all day, most without eating. The schools, generally, offer a 20-minute break for lunch where children who live close enough or have money, may go home to go to the market to eat. Most do not.</span><span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;"><i>No.41 started on a whim and a prayer in March 2012, with 16 girls from Noel. The girls would be earing a fair wage sewing bags and selling them, mostly in the US, with 100% of the profits going to feed students at local schools. <b>The idea was: FOR ONE child. FOR ONE meal. FOR ONE year. For just $75, a young woman earns a sustainable income and a child receives a hot, healthy lunch everyday at school. </b>By the end of April, No.41 employed 32 girls, with a fairly substantial waiting list, and by February 2013, the No.41 girls were feeding 870 students and 36 teachers, from their own community, every day.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Avenir Book'; font-size: 11pt;">All that has transpired at No.41 is beyond my wildest dreams. We have had ten girls move themselves out of the orphanage and we now have 19 enrolled in university. We have career fairs and business trainings, Bible study and English class. I never believed this couldn’t happen, but I never imagined it would happen like this. No.41 is a testament to all that God wants to do in you and through you, if you’ll just say, yes."</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pretty incredible, right. God can do amazing things with a willing heart and eager hands.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The winner gets to choose one item from <a href="http://www.no41.org/">their shop</a>. And I love every single item listed. So go show them some love and support!</span></span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-87655601136878659852014-01-19T00:02:00.000-06:002014-01-20T17:41:23.262-06:00the patient pursuit...the way of His love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i> { a poem }</i></div>
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I really don't know how to explain it... </div>
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<br /></div>
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the way God woos me.</div>
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Me, unremarkable me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The one whose house is a mess<br />
<br />
and whose erupted emotions have triggered seismographs.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The mom who needs more patience,<br />
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or maybe needs more sternness,<br />
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or needs them both.</div>
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Who most assuredly needs more self control.</div>
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And could desperately use some wisdom...</div>
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on everything from child rearing to chicken dinners.</div>
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The woman who used to keep a running count of her failures,</div>
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but the list grew too long to keep up with.</div>
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The wife who hates disagreements but even yet,<br />
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she argues and won't let a matter drop for anything,</div>
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<br />
convinced she's right and goes about it all wrong.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And still God pursues me.</div>
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Still God looks at me with those eyes so full of love,</div>
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I'm tempted to remind him of my failures.</div>
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Doesn't He know who I really am?</div>
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I've let Him down so many times.</div>
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I've set Him aside as I chased after lesser loves.</div>
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My heart has doubted and demanded and denied.</div>
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And still God wants me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Still He pursues my heart as if it were a prize.<br />
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<i>Who am I, Lord?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>That you love me that completely.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>That steadfastly.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>That you can rule the world and still want my affections.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>You invite me into your heart.</i><br />
<i><br />
And ever so patiently pursue mine.</i><br />
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<i> { a letter }</i><br />
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<i>My Jesus,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All day I felt Your presence with me. I chose for worship to fill this house. Why don't I choose this more often? I chose to set my mind on You even as children were sick and needed me more than ever, as I settled arguments and corrected attitudes, as I wiped hot heads and wrapped arms around their tired backs. Songs of worship played quietly in my heart and in my home. An undercurrent of Your peace was here. And I realized how desperately I've needed this--Your peace that defies all chaos and convention. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The kids were tucked in bed and I washed the dishes and swept the floors, picked up toys and cleared the table, scrubbed sticky fingerprints off of sideboards and refrigerator doors. It was late, and I finally let myself rest. Tired, but needing a few moments to fill up these empty reservoirs. And suddenly, You were there. As if You'd anxiously been waiting for that very moment when there's nothing left to distract me. And the way You love this heart coaxes tears from tired eyes, fills up all the empty places in me until I think I just might be consumed by it. Let it burn away the dross in me: the sin and doubt that gnaws holes in my heart, the weariness of life and the drudgery of it all.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My weakness becomes your strength. My insufficiency finds you sufficient. And when I would dwell on my shortcomings--all those things that want to hide from the light of your love-- you whisper I'm your redeemed.</i><br />
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<i>How do I go so long without letting You love me like this? When do rituals replace relationship? And my temporary wants subtlely compete with my longing for You?</i><br />
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<i>Your love is constant. Always chasing me and one step ahead of me at the same time. </i><i>Just waiting for me to stop long enough to receive it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To choose it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To want it. More than anything else.</i><br />
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<i>And I do, Lord. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Come and love me like only you can. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And let me crawl up in your heart and love you right back with all that I am.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>-Your Beloved</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<br />
<br />
<i>{ an invitation }</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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Maybe it's been too long since you've let Him love you. Maybe your heart is tired and you can't remember what it feels like to be pursued. To be wanted.<br />
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To be loved for who you are when you're at your worst.<br />
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Or maybe, just maybe, you've felt forgotten. Unseen. Unheard. And you've found yourself doubting God's heart towards you.<br />
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Would you let God sing a song to you?<br />
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Would you lay your heart at His feet and let Him remind you-- you are His?<br />
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Would you take the time to let Him love you?<br />
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He promises to be found by you. <br />
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<i>"And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart." Jeremiah 29:13</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Chasing His heart with all of yours, you'll find He's the One who's been <i>pursuing you</i> all along.</b><br />
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<i>Here's a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHt7wdPGOTc">song</a> for you, dear one.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Hear the truth of His heart towards you in the lyrics below. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Or listen to the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5blkZ4LRiU0">whole session here</a> to be blessed beyond measure by the fullness of Christ's love for you.</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<u>More Than Ashes</u></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>by Tim Reimherr</i></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="color: #333333; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m more than what these ashes say</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They will fade away when He comes for me</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">By grace, through faith in Christ I’m saved</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am not the same when He looks at me</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am the rose, the joy for which you died</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And this I know, I move You with delight</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And when my heart condemns on every side</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I take refuge in the truth: I am the rose to You</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m hidden now in Christ and I’m one with Him</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My love is real before His eyes</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He’s ravished by the sight of one glance from me</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am the rose, I am the lily</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am Yours, I’m Your beauty</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's going to be a wedding</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's the reason that I'm living, to marry the Lamb</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm more than what these ashes say</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Cause they will fade away when He comes for me</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My love is real before His eyes</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He’s ravished by the sight of one glance from me</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
</div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-59286578075550951592014-01-09T09:42:00.003-06:002014-01-09T09:42:40.274-06:00us<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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t h i n g s i d o n ' t w a n t t o f o r g e t</div>
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that last Sunday before Christmas</div>
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when the sky was washed from a winter rain</div>
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and the air was sharp and clean</div>
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we picked our way around the puddles</div>
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till we stood under that old oak tree</div>
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the one that's shaded all my babies</div>
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and filtered sunlight across a thousand frames</div>
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the camera is set to timer and I adjust her legs</div>
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my practice shot reveals bare toes in december,</div>
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mittens, and biker gloves</div>
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it's not perfect</div>
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and i'm always a little surprised to find</div>
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i like it that way</div>
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i don't want to forget</div>
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the way it feels to have you home on a weekend</div>
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after so many alone</div>
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the gratefulness for who we are </div>
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when we're together</div>
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these moments with the ones we get to love</div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-24993691461497167302014-01-02T14:40:00.002-06:002014-01-02T14:40:54.548-06:00All was not calm...but all was bright<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It may be the New Year, but I tell you, I can't move on until I post about our Christmas. I just can't. I'm stuck in last year until I hit publish on this post. It just doesn't seem right to rush through my favorite season and close the lid on it and walk away with it tidily tucked away somewhere where I can't see it. Why does it feel so taboo to post anything remotely Christmasy after New Year's anyway? Why not celebrate it all year long? The message is the same, whether it's December or July, Jesus came into our deepest darkness to shine the light of redemption on all our heartaches and failures and He became our flame of hope. And that's something I need to hear every day of the year.</div>
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"<i>All was not calm, but all was bright</i>" has been the overwhelming theme of Christmas this year. If there's anything these last two years have taught me, it's been that expectations kill joy. It's not going to be exactly as I imagine in my mushy day-dreamy heart. And that's not a bad thing. It's an ok thing. Daddy had to work long hours and weekends the months leading up to the season of the holy days. And I said many prayers for single moms out there. We got into a minor car accident after a trip to see Christmas in the Oaks, and no one was hurt but our van was beyond repair. So the race to find a replacement vehicle began and the stress of it was enough to make me want to run for the hills and only drive a horse and buggy. <i>All was not calm, but all was bright....</i></div>
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And there, in between the rush, the worry, the messiness of life, there was that warmth that the Spirit brings, the comfort only the Comforter knows how to give, and I love that my Savior isn't fazed by all my frenzy. He is Peace. And He invites me into His rest. He fills my heart with good things. He surrounds me with His love. I see Him in the faces of my children and the man who loves me most. I hear him in the voice of my mother on the other end of the phone, my heart catches when I wish my dad and brother a merry Christmas a thousand miles away. I feel him in Mimi and Papa D's full house, in the goodness of family, and I know that...</div>
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<i>all is not calm but all is bright.</i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-59224254289429615652013-12-28T01:22:00.002-06:002013-12-28T01:22:23.586-06:00What gingerbread, neighborhood kids, and a messy house taught me this Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>I answered the door with my hands still dripping soap suds from sink water.</b> Who would be out on a day like this? It was damp and gray and only ten days till Christmas. I had been elbow deep in my things to do list, all while trying to keep my five kids plus a visiting neighbor's son out of trouble on yet another weekend daddy was working. Two more kids on my doorstep. Asking if they could play? I hesitated just the slightest bit. Wiped my hands on the back of my shirt. Kids ran through the back door, tears in their eyes, the puppy was nipping them again and more training, more consistency, more time is needed of me from puppies and kids. It's not that I'm not accustomed to a full and crazy house. We have neighborhood kids here most days of the week. But this was only a week and a half till Christmas. And my house was a wreck, and our clothes needed folding, and my list was probably a mile long. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I glanced back at the girls. I hadn't seen them in a couple months. They live a few blocks or so away, in a part of my neighborhood where drug deals go down, gunshots go off, and there are regular police chases. I can't tell them I'm too busy, that I have things to do, a house to clean and I finally got my baby down for a nap so I have to work fast. Instead, I tell them they are welcome to play in the backyard. And I figure if I can get all my kids outside in the yard, then maybe I can get something done. Our yard is small and I can supervise from our kitchen windows.</span></div>
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I plunge my hands back into soapy water, and I feel that stirring in my heart that I've come to recognize. That still small voice,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> "Show them My Love. You never know when you will get another chance to."</i> I give a resigned sigh and I give up. I give up on my expectations. On trying to have everything just so. And I feel the value of these souls in my home. I step out on the back porch and I know exactly what we'll do. "Would you all like to make gingerbread cookies with us? I was just going to make some gingerbread dough." There's a chorus of yeses and their eyes are all aglow. And it feels so very <i>right </i>to be sharing this, today, with all of them.</div>
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I prayed for God to use me and my family to bless someone else this Christmas. And He brought such an opportunity right to my doorstep. And I almost missed it. I almost chose the good over the better, the necessary over the real needs. My ideas of giving can often become too ritual, too neat and tidy and they don't interrupt my heart and can't possibly leave a mess. </div>
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I stumbled upon a wonderful message once that I will likely never forget. It was given about a half century ago by a little old British woman and missionary named Gladys Aylward. (You can listen to it <a href="http://followthelamb.net/0/SID0951.mp3"> here</a>. The first ten minutes are life changing.) Gladys left the comforts of her home and moved to China to be a missionary when she was a young woman and young women weren't allowed to do anything alone in those days. But she did. She paid her own way to China and lived there among the people, facing loneliness and rejection, but eventually earning their respect and taking many into her home. In her message, she shares a verse from her Chinese Bible, using the Chinese dialect and meaning to breathe new life into a verse we have all heard many times. "If you will bring into my storehouse the completed tithe..." So the tenth verse in the third chapter of Malachi begins. And Gladys challenges us right down through the decades that <b>we are the completed tithe</b>.<br />
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Me. You. Holding nothing back. Giving ourselves completely to God.<br />
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In that cackney accent of hers, still strong and soul stirring, she says these words, <i>"Your completed tithe and mine is THIS. THIS is Gladys Aylward, the completed tithe, Master. All I posses, all I have, my head, my heart, my feet, my hands. All that is me. My complete tithe. And when God asks us to do something, he doesn't ask for one hand, or one foot, or even one day. He asks for the complete...You."</i><br />
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That kind of giving takes all we have. We feel it. It's getting our hands dirty and our hearts involved. Every day. Every minute. <br />
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His to live through, love through, break through.<br />
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<i>Oh Lord, I'm so far from this kind of living. But here I am, Lord. Use me as you will.</i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-80907430528245582222013-12-12T23:15:00.001-06:002013-12-13T14:26:19.000-06:00the advent adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Life truly is an adventure.</div>
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And it's found in the season of advent. The beginning of the greatest<i> advent</i>ure our world would ever embark on.</div>
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<b>You can't have an adventure without an element of risk</b>. The very definition of the word is <i>"an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks."</i> The stakes are high. We hold our breath. We dare to hope. And we wait. We wait for that part of the word that assures our safe passage through one adventure to the next. The <i>advent</i>. The coming into being. The glorious part of anything worth risking anything for.</div>
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Everyday leading up to <i>that morning</i> we remember Who came for the first time and Who is still coming again. We remember the One Who Risks His All For Us. The One who counted the high cost and said we were worth it. We eagerly unwrap an unknown package..<i>.the gift of today</i>...and we count down the days remaining until that miraculous first arrival of the One Who Saves Us. </div>
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<b><i>Counting the gifts. Anticipating the coming.</i></b></div>
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<b>This is Advent.</b></div>
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We never stop the counting. Never stop the hoping. Never stop the waiting.</div>
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Because Christmas is only the first Advent.</div>
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<b><i>The second is coming...</i></b></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-78816991735810624802013-12-11T01:56:00.002-06:002013-12-11T08:38:22.911-06:00merry and bright and blogging<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><b>It's that time of year again when anything's possible...</b></i></div>
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So naturally I decided to break my six month blogging fast. Six months!! My fingers are itching to click and clatter out all my cobwebs. It's been too long, friends. Life got heavy and a bit too cumbersome...have you all had seasons like that? I had prayers pressing hard on me and more than anything else and most importantly <i>instead of anything else</i>--I needed to seek God. I wish I could say that's how I spent<i> all </i>the time I could have been blogging...<i>but</i>...there's always instagram :) There will always be distractions. Always something to steal the best and replace it with the mediocre. Always a temporal joy to curb my appetite for the eternal. But God is not so easily distracted (thankfully!) and He's been focusing those immensely loving and intensely merciful eyes of His on the attitudes of my heart. </div>
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He's stirring things up inside me. Placing his fingers on what's got to go, and breathing new life into old dreams.</div>
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I've struggled with joy. <b> And I've found it's all wrapped up in hope.</b> </div>
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When I can't see past the mountains I'm facing, when I feel like I'm stuck on a dead end road and the realist in me keeps telling the dreamer to take a back seat--joy pretty much flies out the window.</div>
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But hope is a thing that has to be resurrected. And I have a Savior who knows a thing or two about that. </div>
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He's doing more than I could ever ask or imagine...</div>
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He's giving me hope. <b> He's given me himself.</b></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">>>---> I'm loving my new blog design by the beautiful and talented <a href="http://www.danielleburkleo.com/">Danielle Burkleo</a>!! It's just the sort of inspiration I needed to jump right back into blogging. Love that girl!</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">>>---> I can't wait to share our advent calendar and our favorite Christmas traditions this week and the next!</span></i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-61893334231517315842013-05-15T08:56:00.003-05:002013-11-26T22:25:34.059-06:00revel in this<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mother's Day, 2013.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thankfulness seeps into my soul, like the slow drip of a hidden spring.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's thirst that led me to it's Source. Isn't it always? I've found a river beneath all the weight of life's topsoil--clean, clear, life-giving water that's fed by tears and purified a thousand times over. Gratefulness bubbles up from the hard ground, and proves that it's stronger.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Always stronger.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My husband told me a story about the sea, how he walked along the beach in Haiti. Picking his way through trash and debris on the shores that should be beautiful. And that's when he saw them. Thousands of green and blue and aquamarine pieces of glass, smoothed into stones by a pounding surf. Sea glass. He brought bags of them home and we couldn't tell they were once cast away bottles, smoothing our hands over their surface, enamored by their muted colors of jade and sky and sea.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Gratefulness.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like rushing water, it smooths sharp corners and rough patches, wearing a path through walls of stubborn rock. It's gratefulness that polishes the dullness right out of life. Because there's the ordinary day in and day out that a dreamer like me never really learned how to navigate. The everyday ebb and flow of an ancient tide. But there's treasure, always treasure to be unearthed by another wave. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, I lay back on another mother's quilt made decades ago, head in the clouds, hands in the sand, my baby flinging her arms at the sky beside me. I hear the voices of my children and their daddy catching crabs amid the sound of a gently lapping surf. And I want to bottle this immense gratefulness and bring it home to the ordinary. To spill it out on all those days I need it most. Making shiny and new all these treasures I hold.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">P.S. Thank you, Joel, and Thaddeus, Boston, Astair, Legend, and Story. Thank you for filling my days with adventure and my heart with overwhelming gratitude. Thank you for making me a mother, and thank you, Lord, for teaching me everyday how to be one.</span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-9567644898368878992013-04-29T11:10:00.001-05:002013-04-29T11:11:54.584-05:00an honest letter to the mom who is weary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear you, you Wonderful Mom, you,</div>
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Just in case you ever read this blog and thought it looked like I had it all together (which if you know me in real life you certainly don't have any such illusions!) I want to be real with you. I have wanted to change the name of this blog <i>so many times</i>. I mean "The Joyeful Journey" is a worthy ambition, it's true, but MOST days I am struggling to find the joy in a house full of messy and loud and demanding and downright draining to-dos. And while I'm airing out all my closets for you here, you might as well know that I'm often overwhelmed, and sometimes downright depressed.<br />
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I have in my mind all these perfect ideals and lofty ambitions for motherhood: Of dancing through the kitchen with my five children, baby on hip, spatula in hand, whipping up amazing, healthy, to die for meals, all while singing songs of Alleluia and twirling in a blue gingham dress, hair curled fetchingly with ruby lipstick on, children busy doing chores and humming hymns, then feasting with daddy on a lace covered tablecloth and afterward all piling up together in one big snug hug while reading family devotions. </div>
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But it was just last week I served macaroni and cheese four times, ate hot dogs, stayed in clothes wet with baby spit up, barely combed my hair, did devotions with my kids only twice, cried over spilled milk, and contemplated checking into a looney bin for a mini vacation. It was just this weekend I found out my husband's crazy work hours just got crazier and now he'll be working seven long days a week until God opens another desperately prayed for door. I feared and fretted and worried myself sick. I let despair eat away at me. </div>
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And this is what I named The Joyeful Journey? It is. And I'll keep it this way for now. Because it's <u>what I need to be reminded of the most</u>. <i><b>There is joy in this.</b></i> In their eyes when you whisper secrets in their ears. In big hugs and the sweetest "I love you"s. In growing and loving and laughing together. In feeling God's grace when it covers our weakness. In giving thanks through the tears, and leaning in close to Jesus when the ground is giving way beneath you. <i>There is joy.</i> And it doesn't look like a forced "happy". It looks more like peace. I just have to choose it. Everyday, grab hold of it. I miss it sometimes. I fall short of singing. I fall short of seeing the gifts and thanking the Giver in the midst of the struggle. But this is a journey, after all. And it's one I'm learning is full of grace and the goodness of my God.<br />
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If you are reading this and you've ever felt like you don't measure up, if you've ever felt like you're drowning in mommy guilt, like you're missing something or should be doing more of something, or wish there was <i>something</i> more, please know you're not alone. It plagues me, too. But God is bigger than our feelings and <b><i><u>it's the truth that sets us free</u></i></b>. The truth that Jesus is enough. He covers us. Pick us up when we've been looking down for too long. <b> He infuses what we do as wives and moms with kingdom importance, with eternal worth.</b> </div>
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He values your heart, dear mom. And He is gentle with you, never berating you or demanding more than you can give.</div>
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<b><i>"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; <u>he gently leads those that have young</u>." (Isaiah 40:11)</i></b></div>
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That verse has been like balm to my soul for so many years. The gentleness of my God rescuing and redeeming all my failures.</div>
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So, hang in there, sweet mama. God is right here with us.</div>
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<i>p.s. If you've ever left a comment on this blog, I appreciate them so much and I like to reply when I can through e-mail. If you have a blogger account, you can enable it to receive replies to your comments, otherwise it doesn't allow return correspondence. (LoveWins, this post is for you, dear!)</i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-6149714123878606702013-04-19T23:57:00.001-05:002013-04-20T00:33:00.122-05:00Comparison and other C words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She looked smart in her green tweed skirt suit and her five inch high black velvet heels. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She looked better than smart, she looked fabulous. My feet were aching just watching her in the checkout line across from mine. I shifted comfortably in my slip on shoes and my sweatpants, ran a self conscious hand through my half-brushed, no-time-for-fixing-this-mom's-hair, and couldn't help comparing...and feeling fabulously <i>frumpy</i>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It happened again at home. A visit to a new blog and she looks perfect, has perfect kids, writes beautifully, tells funny jokes, and God must really love her because everyone else obviously does...<i>and I compare</i>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I drop something off at a friend's and her house is immaculate, her kids are never dirty, her hair is never out of place..<i>.and I compare</i>.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I glance through instagram</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, and, well, you know where this is going...<i>I compare</i>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I read about my favorite missionaries and I hear about those that have never heard and I wonder when God will let me go to them, why they are there and I am here...<i>and I compare</i>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She always has a full calendar: a new speaking engagement, her son's award's ceremonies, meeting with the who's whos and what's whats, a book on the best-seller list...<i>and I compare.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And comparison hurts. </span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It hurts our souls and it cripples our love.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Because <u>we were never meant to be compared to each other</u>. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>We were meant to <i><u>compliment</u></i> each other. </b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like ice cream and apple pie, peanut butter and jelly, coffee and donuts <i>(but let's move on from the food analogies...)</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like a garden in spring, each flower lending it's own delicate design, it's own hue, it's own subtle fragrance to draw the weary in to rest, to find delight, to recognize The Creator's handiwork.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like the body of Christ, moving with grace and form and pulsating with a spirit of life and love-- each member of the body no more important than the least important of all.</span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-12-12-1Cor-12-13" id="en-MSG-12228">"You can easily enough see how this kind of thing works by looking no further than your own body. Your body has many parts—limbs, organs, cells—but no matter how many parts you can name, you’re still one body. It’s exactly the same with Christ. By means of his one Spirit, we all said good-bye to our partial and piecemeal lives. We each used to independently call our own shots, but then we entered into a large and integrated life in which he has the final say in everything. (This is what we proclaimed in word and action when we were baptized.) Each of us is now a part of his resurrection body, refreshed and sustained at one fountain—his Spirit—where we all come to drink. The old labels we once used to identify ourselves—labels like Jew or Greek, slave or free—are no longer useful. We need something larger, more comprehensive.</span></span></i></blockquote>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-12-14-1Cor-12-18"><u>I want you to think about how all this makes you more significant, not less.</u> A body isn’t just a single part blown up into something huge. It’s all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. If Foot said, “I’m not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings; I guess I don’t belong to this body,” would that make it so? If Ear said, “I’m not beautiful like Eye, limpid and expressive; I don’t deserve a place on the head,” would you want to remove it from the body? If the body was all eye, how could it hear? If all ear, how could it smell? As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it.</span></span></i></blockquote>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-12-19-1Cor-12-24" id="en-MSG-12230"><sup class="versenum" style="font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;"> </sup>But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. <u>For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of.</u> An enormous eye or a gigantic hand wouldn’t be a body, but a monster. What we have is one body with many parts, each its proper size and in its proper place. No part is important on its own. Can you imagine Eye telling Hand, “Get lost; I don’t need you”? Or, Head telling Foot, “You’re fired; your job has been phased out”? As a matter of fact, in practice it works the other way—the “lower” the part, the more basic, and therefore necessary. You can live without an eye, for instance, but not without a stomach. When it’s a part of your own body you are concerned with, it makes no difference whether the part is visible or clothed, higher or lower. You give it dignity and honor just as it is, without comparisons. If anything, you have more concern for the lower parts than the higher. If you had to choose, wouldn’t you prefer good digestion to full-bodied hair?</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don’t, the parts we see and the parts we don’t. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance.</span></span></i></span></i></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>You are Christ’s body—that’s who you are! You must never forget this. Only as you accept your part of that body does your “part” mean anything."</i></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i> 1 Corinthians 12:12-24 The Message</i></span></span></i></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, what part are you? The good digestion or the full bodied hair?! Gotta love The Message version of these verses! Older versions are great for studying and memorizing, but The Message is like a fresh devotional read of the Word for me. This just hit home. I can stop typing now and call it good.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The fact is, <u>I need you</u>. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>I need you as part of this body of Jesus we all accepted as our own</b>.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> And I need you to be successful at what you do. I need you healthy and whole and bright and beautiful and able to carry weighted hearts and sing songs of healing, and reach out with eager hands to help those that are helpless. I need you to see in the dark and to run rescue operations, to hear from God and then speak His Words fearlessly. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And as humbling as it is, I'm needed, too. Because this mission is bigger than all of us. Because the world is hurting and hungry and confused and needs the body of Jesus to be more like Jesus and less like "Christians". Because a body doesn't work if it's members are divided. It doesn't work if it's parts are in contempt of each other, or jealous, or proud, or judgmental, or trying to be important on their own, or wondering if they have any importance at all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, I'm committed to caring for you. Just as my own body. I can't compare what we do, or even "who" we are, because we are one body in Christ, with many parts. But I can and I will compliment what you do. I'll help you take that tough first step, and I'll cheer you on when you find your voice, and I'll do my part and run in step with you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that's what the Church is really all about.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's not a building, or a program, or even just one person, but it's the flesh and blood body of believers in Christ Jesus working with one common goal.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is it any surprise then that the very next chapter in Corinthians is the<i> Love Chapter</i>?</span><br />
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<i>*I have edited and revised this post from it's original publication on Beautifully Rooted.</i><br />
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-68859804420710285512013-04-07T23:25:00.000-05:002013-04-08T12:40:32.901-05:00Birthday crowns, a pretty pink bow, superhero, and a batman cake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Note: I had to edit this post because Blogger was being mean to me last night and didn't save my finished letter to Boston or my letter to Legend :( It's updated now. </i></div>
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Good heavens, it's been too long since I've blogged. But life with five kids takes some adjusting, and I've been more than a little overwhelmed lately by the busyness of it all. I'm not the most organized person, but now that I have five children, I'm realizing this needs to change. I have to adapt to this new season. It's bend or break. (And I've had more than a few "breaking" moments). I've bought just about every book out there on managing large families...now I just need to find the time to read them! Birthdays kind of snuck up on me this year. Thankfully, gold paint, cardboard, cakes, and homemade party hats make for a good old fashioned celebration.</div>
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The twins were born on Leap Day, so we "unofficially" celebrate their birthdays on March 1st. Then Legend's birthday is right around the corner on March 15th. It's a party month up in here, ya'all. And probably the greatest present this year was their Grandma's 10 day visit. It was so wonderful to have her here with us. She met Story for the first time and they hit it off. We cried when she left (I'm still crying). Thanks for everything, Grandma Chick, we love you. </div>
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I want to remember these moments. To look back on these faces I hold most dear on the pages of this blog, my personal love letter to my God and my family. And I want my kids to read my words and view my photos and feel the love God and I have for them deep down in their bones. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>My Dearest and Fairest Astair,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Oh Sweetheart, you are truly a joy to me. You're like the warm and gentle first rays of sunshine in the morning. You shine all the time, no matter who's looking or who's not. I love that about you. You have this inner strength and confidence, a happy and content spirit. You are so brave and capable. You tackle life head on. You were dressing yourself when you could barely walk and when you decided to learn how to tie your shoes, you practiced and practiced until you got it right. You taught yourself how to write your letters and spell your name. You taught yourself how to rollerblade, how to sew, and how to make bows for your hair. If I try to help you with anything, you throw up your little hands, exasperated, and tell me you can do it all by yourself. And you can. And you do. One day, Thaddeus asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, and your answer was "a mom". It melted my heart. You love helping take care of your baby sister and your little brother. You have such a nurturing spirit. I love watching you entertain Story and hold her in your arms. You are a precious big sister! You love to care for others and give people gifts. I love how incredibly artistic and creative you are! The things you've created have truly amazed me! God dreams such beautiful dreams for your life. I am so blessed to know you, and love you, and to call you my daughter.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>All my Love,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Mommy</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>My Boston Boy,</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I think you are one awesome kid. You've got a heart as big as a gold mine and a personality to match. I love your funny jokes and the way you smile real big when you're excited about finding lizards or doing tricks on your bike. Your eyes light up like the sky in July and your enthusiasm for life is infectious. I've seen glimpses of your compassionate soul that have humbled me. And oh, kiddo, how you love people! You've never met a stranger. There was a time when you wanted to save all your money to "give to the poor". And whenever you see someone sad or hurt, you mourn with them and desire to help them. You're a tried and true superhero through and through. It's no wonder you love dressing as one and have so many superhero costumes I can't keep up with them. I love hearing you sing (and you're always singing), the songs you write are amazing!!! The words come from a soul wise beyond your years. Your songs are almost always about wanting to be like Jesus and listening to His voice, about letting him chase away sadness. They are truly beautiful and inspiring and you sing them with such feeling. You are my little evangelist--telling everyone about Jesus and talking about him constantly. "Mom, did you know Jesus is stronger than Superman?" You are determined, strong-willed, and passionate. God has such unimaginably big plans for your life! I am so blessed to know you, and love you, and to call you my son.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">All my Love,</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Mommy</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Legend my Love,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Goodness, but you are one loving boy!! Your hugs and kisses are the highlight of my days. And the way you say "Mommy, I love you", with your heart in your big brown eyes, the second before you know you're going to get in trouble. Every since Story came home, you've showered her with such love and affection, kissing her all day and holding her close. You coo over her, "It's okay, Story. It's okay. I love you." You are fiercely protective of her. I love your tender soul! We all adore you, you're so easy to love. You have an easy going, entertaining spirit, and you love to make us laugh almost as much as we love to make you laugh. Your giggles are pure joy to our ears! One day when you were barely two you prayed over supper, "Jesus, dank you for mommy and daddy, and dis day, and for food, and help me be good, and no more monkeys jumping on da bed". You were so earnest,and we laughed so hard, which only made you pray harder and say it over and over again. You love to share, and hug, and hug some more. One day you found me crying and you wiped my cheeks with your little hands and kissed me and told me "Is okay, Mommy." And then you'll say something so unbelievably clever and I'll forget for a moment that you're only barely three and then I'll forget what I was so upset about altogether. You have a gift, my love. God has such great big plans for your life! I am so blessed to know you, and love you, and to call you my son!</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>All my Love,</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Mommy</i></span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-70706115136040054012013-02-18T14:44:00.000-06:002013-02-18T22:36:56.616-06:00the wood between the worlds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Let's go for a walk in the woods", his eyes lit up as he said it and there was a resounding chorus of hurray's, an undercurrent of adventure. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He looked at me, half expecting a decline. Although it's rare I turn down a good romp through the woods, these days I feel like I'm always behind and need to catch up. I almost sent them all ahead without me. I had a baby to nurse, clothes to fold, dishes to wash, and a house to clean. I went anyway. The house can wait--these days of babies growing too fast will not. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things had been weighing heavy on my mind of late. Parenting issues. Bills to pay. Dreams that keep coming knocking, that are afraid of dying. Struggles of hope and faith and not having enough of either, but desperately wanting more. The moment we climbed that first slope off the worn out road and into the woods, it all seemed lighter. Forgotten for the moment. Feet rush ahead of mine, kicking up leaves and skipping over logs. It seems another life, where time stands still and we always walk into the sun, in all it's lazy golden glory.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's not all silence, but it's still. They squeal and laugh and beckon for each other, the sound of it softened by the trees, floating on the stirring of a breeze. And I can hear so much clearer here.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Life is simple when you're in the woods. One beautiful adventure. Shared with the ones you get to love. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I kind of wish we could live there--in a house deep in the woods. But then I remember there will always be discontentment, even surrounded by the beauty of the earth. Because we were made for another world. This one is not meant to satisfy us, only whet our appetite for more. We were made with a God-shaped hole. People, things, nature, money, renown...none of them can satisfy our longing for more.</span></div>
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<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither." -C.S. Lewis</span></b></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's often I feel that tug, a pulling between worlds. One is a permanent residence. The other only temporary. One holds my citizenship, the other my cohabitation. </span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But they both demand my allegiance.</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Am I really longing and living for heaven as though I'm only passing through? I have to wonder, and the sad answer is: so often, I'm not. I get caught up in the things of this world. The needs, the cares, the wants (too many), frustrations, and fears. I let them rob my attention, and steal my peace.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But here in the woods, it almost feels like an in-between sort of place. Walking in step behind my small tribe, my baby nestled tight against my chest, I revel in the love of a God who creates with such care for His children, who designed families as an extension of Himself, who inspires praise from the mouth of the birds.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And the quiet cathedral of the woods becomes an echo of heaven.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The embrace of my children in shafts of sunlight, a heavenly gift.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The stirring inside to love well and love big my God and His children, a heavenly ambition.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And there's an undercurrent of peace, an unfurling of joy no matter what earthly things may come, I'm choosing to let my God fill me up and give me the desire of heaven.</span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-87410057225866724342013-02-13T23:57:00.001-06:002013-02-13T23:57:53.895-06:00Happy Love Day!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy_XFgg-f45wKX3ThUUPNJbvK0VF5DQHZvbG657sXyMyFPXavVl57A_5CutZ6WD2K7CCTinFTixACUTIMufziztlyHz_7d2bKleGCLRQRxRPgfVJx2PhSdRz8EEUaKkVzjmny9xLKK8ql/s1600/thadsvalentines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy_XFgg-f45wKX3ThUUPNJbvK0VF5DQHZvbG657sXyMyFPXavVl57A_5CutZ6WD2K7CCTinFTixACUTIMufziztlyHz_7d2bKleGCLRQRxRPgfVJx2PhSdRz8EEUaKkVzjmny9xLKK8ql/s640/thadsvalentines.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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{inspired by pinterest idea: source unknown}</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EbL2OO9PwtKyHXNvZzx4FLSbv5jA8Kvgg9dZvh3zwzkA3UAC8TfcH_7MyZ_wMLVhcIiY6LUGdCM2V8SNhZ6T1g3bcS1YEFmoRKHsZts_1N1F9RV1_-26RRlWmnkyx6_ior844Q0bPUDg/s1600/valentinesdaydecor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EbL2OO9PwtKyHXNvZzx4FLSbv5jA8Kvgg9dZvh3zwzkA3UAC8TfcH_7MyZ_wMLVhcIiY6LUGdCM2V8SNhZ6T1g3bcS1YEFmoRKHsZts_1N1F9RV1_-26RRlWmnkyx6_ior844Q0bPUDg/s640/valentinesdaydecor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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{decorating for our little party}</div>
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{love notes to my man and each one of my kids}</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Happy Valentine's Day, friends!!! </b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Let love be as real as it gets today and everyday!</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></i></span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-1" id="en-MSG-12233">The Way of Love: 1 Corinthians 13 (MSG)</span></span></i></h3>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-1"><span class="chapternum" style="bottom: -0.1em; font-size: 1.25em; font-weight: bold; left: 0px; line-height: 0.8em; position: relative; text-indent: 0px;"> </span>If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.</span></span></i></div>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-2" id="en-MSG-12234">If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" id="en-MSG-12235">If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Love never gives up.</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Love cares more for others than for self.</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Love doesn’t strut,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Doesn’t have a swelled head,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Doesn’t force itself on others,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Isn’t always “me first,”</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Doesn’t fly off the handle,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Doesn’t revel when others grovel,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Puts up with anything,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Trusts God always,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Always looks for the best,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">Never looks back,</span><br /><span class="text 1Cor-13-3-1Cor-13-7" style="position: relative;">But keeps going to the end.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-8-1Cor-13-10" id="en-MSG-12236"><sup class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;"> </sup>Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled.</span></span></i></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-1313008062927285312013-02-05T01:08:00.002-06:002013-02-05T01:19:05.685-06:00If you love it then you better put a bow on it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XW5Tt-rz4UY5LE0zCXgIs6xyFQPhtGov4U8SWVRq8cJ2DWA1lPwLDtNy8xN7ExZVAtB-iuofcM_IZrcirDUHYqFtopnGNeyu5EbEeAqv00GVJdoBoJskGu9ig8o251RVZZrQENFjcbRl/s1600/bowpocket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XW5Tt-rz4UY5LE0zCXgIs6xyFQPhtGov4U8SWVRq8cJ2DWA1lPwLDtNy8xN7ExZVAtB-iuofcM_IZrcirDUHYqFtopnGNeyu5EbEeAqv00GVJdoBoJskGu9ig8o251RVZZrQENFjcbRl/s640/bowpocket.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Usually whenever I start posting back to back crafty projects on my blog it can only mean one thing: my house is a disaster and I'm avoiding the laundry. </div>
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Wait, I guess that's two things, isn't it? Well, they're all true. Thank God for babies. It's easy to forget how much constant attention they need and how much little attention the rest of your life gets during this baby phase. I guess they make us focus on what's eternally important, after all. Pretty sure heaven's not gonna have any dirty laundry. And I do love this newborn, all wrapped up in mommy's arms phase, but it's just hard to let some things go. Like long luxurious showers and afternoon naps and clothes all folded in neat little squares (has it really been almost an entire decade since I've experienced those??) But back to the crafting goodness...</div>
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Astair and I decided that "if you love it then you better put a bow on it". We threw a bow party. She made bows for her hair and I made bows for my thrifted blazer pockets. We even made Story her own little bow onesie (I'll be posting that soon, too). She's wearing it in a couple of these pictures. It's bow-licious.</div>
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And I'm going to quit typing and let the pictures talk because it's reeeally late and I'm pretty sure I need to go fold some clothes. And put bows on them.</div>
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<a href="http://i689.photobucket.com/albums/vv253/joyesome/b8983b14-0be1-499f-8dd0-c73e597a454e_zps328401e0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i689.photobucket.com/albums/vv253/joyesome/b8983b14-0be1-499f-8dd0-c73e597a454e_zps328401e0.jpg" /></a></div>
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p.s. we took these pictures at the old church right across the street from our house. we take A LOT of pictures in front of that place. It's pretty special. It's been our family's backdrop for a few years now (you may recognize it in many of our photos). I kind of love it (but that doesn't mean I'll be putting any bows on it...)</div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-62261405382202425212013-02-04T10:27:00.003-06:002013-02-04T10:28:29.899-06:00diy heart toed oxfords<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDMC-iADWsn-QLazvOwujQSLcRL4uzBzZxFxDZAXGoiT00aBOaZO5LqqvUjdlcOlmQKltkiI6DhllRkRRpz5YqCpTi0sBrFKijVRgKVRo0eb5MYu0Z5_9v2riHnODvKv95T-eHfd0RVok/s1600/diyoxfords_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDMC-iADWsn-QLazvOwujQSLcRL4uzBzZxFxDZAXGoiT00aBOaZO5LqqvUjdlcOlmQKltkiI6DhllRkRRpz5YqCpTi0sBrFKijVRgKVRo0eb5MYu0Z5_9v2riHnODvKv95T-eHfd0RVok/s640/diyoxfords_06.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">While most people are happily cutting out cute paper hearts and stringing them across their happy little mantels, I am mantel-less and feeling kind of left out. I'm sure I will still find time to make happy paper hearts with my gang, as well as find somewhere to hang them (ceiling fans?) but in the mean time I wanted to share the only valentine's decorations I've been inspired to make so far.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My oxfords were begging for a new look. They were just too white and boring. Here's the treatment they got:</span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">Step {1}</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Draw (or trace) a heart on the toes with colored chalk (can be wiped off afterwards). This is just to serve as a guideline for painting. Slightly narrow pointed toe oxfords work best for this heart shape.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBLrVwdR8_kptm50Uu1HaAt9Fbuklfld1uw9ydVOxfK3UymaK7eFBbKUB1UIhBIOTowgizJxOqLUq97skn3OrQ-hZAe9zOgjYAGdBs_9rirDsGG8amc1azVJQ1Xsfj_ntzin7nNunCkl-/s1600/diyoxfords_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBLrVwdR8_kptm50Uu1HaAt9Fbuklfld1uw9ydVOxfK3UymaK7eFBbKUB1UIhBIOTowgizJxOqLUq97skn3OrQ-hZAe9zOgjYAGdBs_9rirDsGG8amc1azVJQ1Xsfj_ntzin7nNunCkl-/s640/diyoxfords_02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Step {2}</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Choose your paint color. I used craft acrylics from Hobby Lobby in Christmas Red and Bright Yellow and mixed them to get this peachy color. I applied two light coats of paint. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjxQSv6qiPHfdliRJX6IeMwnFbDkL7JKxBSju93HiDQc1WPJgXIZ5yvwET430bODTwjjvZ2LoIVscjO4SbAcAZtKzw4XLsmnaeL3gcKe79ic8nZrCxQbKiHpPfV_j4EDNXfNhkG_wrdkk/s1600/diyoxfords_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjxQSv6qiPHfdliRJX6IeMwnFbDkL7JKxBSju93HiDQc1WPJgXIZ5yvwET430bODTwjjvZ2LoIVscjO4SbAcAZtKzw4XLsmnaeL3gcKe79ic8nZrCxQbKiHpPfV_j4EDNXfNhkG_wrdkk/s640/diyoxfords_03.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Step {3}</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let dry thoroughly before coats and before wearing. You may want to apply an acrylic sealer (found in the paint section of Hobby Lobby) to give it a more glossy layer of extra protection. I forego this step for now. I wore them the other day and the paint didn't scratch (even with little kids stepping on my toes).</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Step {4}</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Step it on out.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(and then take pictures of your feet for valentines cards...or maybe not?)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUmtBKawaIUjn6xlDt-xR7_LGay7J7XrwMZ3DGEJ1JZqhIu3cBJBtd-F8YGhdnvWrEPAU3lvyljGVPvhQkdrbCF5m9VfvWoFmK1Reglas30RCkgNl-jjg0uwatq3O-ieOpTpGcW1OblkZ/s1600/valentinesoxfords.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUmtBKawaIUjn6xlDt-xR7_LGay7J7XrwMZ3DGEJ1JZqhIu3cBJBtd-F8YGhdnvWrEPAU3lvyljGVPvhQkdrbCF5m9VfvWoFmK1Reglas30RCkgNl-jjg0uwatq3O-ieOpTpGcW1OblkZ/s640/valentinesoxfords.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fa cheesy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm really loving these, though. They feel fun and inspire me to wear something other than my mommy slippers. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>p.s. I'll be posting another diy for you and baby and the outfit I wore with these shoes (just for fun) tomorrow. Gasp. I know. Two posts in a row. It's a miracle. </i></span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-11482990078833816262013-01-28T00:44:00.001-06:002013-01-28T00:51:07.487-06:00note to self: it's okay to not be perfect<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I visit a place called Mommy Guilt wayyy too often. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And "perfectionism" is the vehicle that takes me there. She drives fast with a mean engine, perfectionism does--and her favorite destinations are Shame, Guilt, and Depression. I don't think it's any small coincidence--this metaphor of perfectionism having four wheels-- I've been driving since I was in kindergarten. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On an old dirt road, on my father's knee, I first grasped the wheel of a chevy pickup. "Keep her in the tracks", was my only instruction, and I did just that. And I would do it perfectly. I was the overachiever, the brown noser, the goody two shoes. If I could just be good enough, then people would like me and maybe that would make up for all the things I didn't like about me and even about my family. Don't get me wrong here, I see now how blessed I am with the family I came from, but don't we all go through a "whose-family-is-this-and-was-I-really-adopted" phase?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><t></t></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Perfectionism became a way of redeeming myself. </i> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And therein lies the problem. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I can't redeem myself</i>. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will never have the ability to redeem myself. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All my righteous acts are as filthy rags. (Isaiah 64:6)</span></div>
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perfectionism is rejecting Christ's redemption and attempting my own. </span></i></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is eye-opening for me. It's almost as if I'm telling God, "No, what you did for me just wasn't enough. I still have to work to deserve it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>>>I don't have to be perfect for God to love me. For people to love me, maybe. But not for God. Not for Him, the one who knows I am but dust, and made me from mud so I would soften at His touch. He chose messy. Because messy can be molded into glory.<<</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've sat as my own judge and jury for too long. And I've allowed myself to worry over judgements I've perceived others have made against me as well. The truth of it is that I'm God's servant and He alone will judge me. So who am I to condemn myself? There's NO CONDEMNATION for us who are in Christ Jesus. None. Mercy triumphs over judgement! It's not about being good enough anymore. It's about humbly accepting the word of God planted in us that SAVES us, rescues us, does for us what we can never do for ourselves.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I used to consider my inner drive to be perfect as a good trait, one that would push me to become what God wanted me to be. I was confusing the work of the Spirit with the work of the flesh. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When the Spirit changes us, places his finger on our muddy clay hearts, molding us into the image of Christ, and we submit to that work, bending at His touch-- it's nothing of ourselves, it's all Jesus. And that's the kind of change that <i><b>lasts</b></i>. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nothing I try in my own power, for my own selfish motivations, will stand the test of eternity. It's been eye-opening for me, all that God's been revealing to me about how negative and hard I've been on myself. I foolishly thought my struggle with inward perfection wouldn't affect those around me. But I sat in the backseat of a van with my seven year old son on a long and stressful trip and heard him say these words to me, "you want me to be perfect and I just CAN'T be perfect!". Hot tears were rolling off his cheeks, scorching my heart. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It took me by surprise. I never knew that I was projecting that onto my children. His behavior had disappointed me on this trip, and I had allowed other people's judgements to fester like an open wound. The truth is, his actions had made ME look like less than stellar of a mom. It was pride and perfectionism that were guiding me, not the heart of the Father. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><i>For perfectionism is just another form of pride</i>. </b> And pride will always keep us from receiving the love and freedom of Christ. It makes us miserable and judgmental.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My dad said it perfectly, "think of it this way, your kids are keeping you humble".</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I sighed when he told me that. It's not as if humility is a coveted parenting trait. But if that's what God wants to accomplish within me, I'll submit to it. This ministry of motherhood is just one more way God is refining me. These wonderful children he's blessed me with are his instruments. And my home is God's classroom. If I am to boast about anything, it is to be the very weaknesses that propelled me straight into the saving gospel of Jesus. My imperfections are what teach me the most about <i>His</i> perfect nature. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And so I want to live in grace. I want to give it extravagantly, just as I receive it. I want to parent my children as God parents me--with truth and love, forgiveness and mercy. I want my motives in discipline not to be clouded by perfectionism, but to be brimming with humility and purity of heart. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> I have to give my kids room to fail, and then lead them straight into the redemptive love of Jesus. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have to give <i>myself </i>room to fail and then press ever harder into the only grace that saves me. Sloppy clay that I am in the hands of the Master Potter. He's making something beautiful, because it's what He does best, after all.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that's the Gospel truth.</span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-58041530426387495922013-01-24T00:25:00.001-06:002013-01-24T00:25:53.043-06:00dear baby girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Dear Story,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Thank you, my sweet girl, for smiling and cooing and being so downright lovable when mommy is totally pooped and ready to throw in the towel (or wipe). By now, you know you were born into a zoo. But this zoo utterly adores you. It may be loud, but it's always entertaining. You'll never be bored. That's a promise. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You're the happiest in the morning (and generally every time you wake up from a nice long nap). You grace us all with the biggest of smiles and we can't help but grin besottedly back (this night owl who is certainly <b>not</b> bright and chipper at ungodly hours of the morning included). I love, love, <i>love </i>holding you close, rocking and nursing you as often as I can. It's peaceful holding you. Don't tell anyone else, but sometimes I stay in your room, rocking you extra long, just to soak in some much needed rest. You don't seem to mind. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Your daddy hogs you when he gets home from work, though. He doesn't put you down. You fall asleep every night on his chest. Your brothers and sister are nuts about you, too. Legend gives you a thousand kisses a day and whenever you cry he whispers, "oooooh, Story, iss okay, iss okay". Astair loves to dress, and hold, and bathe you. She's the best big sister in the whole wide world. Thad and Boston are such proud big brothers and they are always looking out for you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sometimes there's six people in your face at once, all vying to get one of your coveted smiles.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You've brought such sweet joy to us all.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We love you to distraction,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Your Very Own Zoo</span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-56740256639647729652013-01-13T23:25:00.000-06:002013-01-13T23:25:12.037-06:00a homespun nursery for Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My Storybook room, I like to call it. There's a lot of love I've added to this small space. A lot of love and so many babies. Some things stayed the same this time. My heart couldn't part with the tree I painted for Legend or the <a href="http://thejoyefuljourney.blogspot.com/2011/11/diy-paper-lantern-hot-air-balloons.html">hot air balloons</a>. So they stayed and offered their cheer for one more of my babes. </div>
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I had to add those touches to the room that would just be hers. Like the "book" mobile made from vintage hymnal readings, the baby quilt I labored over in that last trimester, floating cloud pillows, and a polka dot jumper in my favorite rescued frame. All hers. All part of her story, and this mama's love.</div>
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It's our little hide away now, where we rock and I dream with God for her. And I hold her extra long well after she's finished nursing, because I remember small babies before her now so big in my arms and I'm not rushing.</div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3749153883012123464.post-40716202290904377012013-01-02T23:50:00.000-06:002013-01-02T23:51:19.855-06:00new<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Dear Jesus,<t></t></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I love January. Really, I do. But New Year's Resolutions? We-ell....you know how those always turn out. Disappointing. And I don't think I can load anymore guilt on these mommy shoulders, you know? Yes, you do know. And that's just one of the things I love about you. You don't place anything too heavy or burdensome on me, that's just not your way. Your way is full of grace and <u>I WANT THAT</u> this year. I want your grace to mark my life. I want it to fill me, to <b>MOTIVATE</b> me, to strengthen me and make me into your vessel, a dwelling place for your Holy Spirit. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sometimes the cares of this life overwhelm me and I feel <i>so much</i> guilt for neglecting my relationship with you. Sometimes it's not just the cares, it's how I cope with them, where I run to for my nourishment-- media, books, <i>things</i>... And I let them steal those moments when I could have sat with you and been <b>filled</b> by you. I really want that to change this year, Jesus. But I know me and you do too, and I'll need your <b>GRACE</b> to choose YOU. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This year, this month, this day, help me <u>CHOOSE YOU</u>. First. Before I reach for that old numbing comfort, which isn't really bad in itself, just time-stealing and so often leaves me empty when I could have been nourished by your words, your truth, your <i><b>very self</b></i>. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So, maybe I'll write resolutions, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll accomplish a few, maybe not. But one thing I will do. <b><i> I will love you more than I ever have before.</i></b> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Because I'll choose to.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Love,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Your girl</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #5c1101;">"</span>God’s readiness to give and forgive is now public. Salvation’s available for everyone! We’re being shown how to turn our backs on a godless, indulgent life, and how to take on a God-filled, God-honoring life. This new life is starting right now, and is whetting our appetites for the glorious day when our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, appears. He offered himself as a sacrifice to free us from a dark, rebellious life into this good, pure life, making us a people he can be proud of, energetic in goodness." Titus 2: 11-14</i></span></div>
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Joyefulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16443282683969037813noreply@blogger.com19