tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49129955217915365982024-03-05T16:08:05.406-05:00Our Lives, musings, and other happeningsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-32882358380124096022014-12-02T20:41:00.000-05:002014-12-02T20:41:33.327-05:00Motor Speech Delayed... What?!? He is beautiful.It feels like a decade since I wrote last. My days are very full right now. My day care business has grown wings and has taken flight. I serve up to twelve kids in a month's time. (Never at the same time.) My alarm goes off at 5:25am and I return to my bed around 10pm most days. The business has allowed me to be the stay-at-home mama I've wanted to be for the most part. I get to put my boy on the bus every morning and get him off in the afternoon. I can set my schedule and not miss my favorite boy's growing up.<br />
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My little buddy is still going to the preschool for his motor-speech delays. We recently added occupational and physical therapy to the speech therapy he was already receiving through his school. I started pushing for some one-to-one speech therapy. We found a therapist. They sent me paperwork to fill out before his assessment. It asked about when my boy made his milestones. I had to go to his baby book. With all the knowledge I've gained, I could see his delays as early as 24 weeks old in the words I had written. We recently were approved for insurance-paid private speech class (as we call it.) This has been a huge blessing in every way possible. It's providing me with some up-to-date tools for at home.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I had a giggle moment today with my friend, a former speech therapist. She asked me how my son was doing with all his therapies. I told her, "The wheels on the bus go round and round round and round. ALL. DAY. LONG." She laughed and said to me, "This is what you asked for..." </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">She was so right. I did. I've prayed for these words, this music, and these giggles since we were told about the delays! I am so thankful for the wheels on the bus... </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">It wasn't to long ago I was telling my friend a different story. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> When he was diagnosed with motor-speech delays, I changed how we did everything from how we dressed him in the morning to our daily activities to our bed time routine. I didn't think about it or process this diagnosis. I didn't think about what it would mean for our family. I just put in the time. I knew what had to be done.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">His challenges were once mine. I did what I was taught to do. I did it all on auto-pilot. I knew I didn't want him to have the same experi<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ences throughout his years in school like I did. I spent my entire education playing catch-up and/or having melt downs over doing homework. (I probably drove my semi-patient mother crazy.) I am determined for my son's experience to be less frustrating, if I can.</span></span></div>
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Sometimes this healing progress do is exhausting. It caught up to me recently. I will continue to do it all for me/him because he is worth it. It's been 2.5 years of therapy, meeting strangers in my home, starting/running a daycare for my boy to be around other little kids who talk, run, jump with out a second thought, and putting him in a therapy-rich daycare four mornings a week. None of these things were in the cards I had envisioned for him.</div>
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I saw a kid half my boy's age talking in clear sentences today and I felt jealous over those words. Those very understandable syllables strung together so simply for that boy. My son he is exactly who he needs to be in this moment. These challenges we face right now will not be for nothing!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-22143070546275604002014-02-08T21:20:00.000-05:002014-12-20T19:41:58.716-05:00Insert a clever title here.Wow. I haven't blogged since my son's birthday last May! That is slightly deplorable and yet I feel no guilt over this. Waking up and showing up for the daily stuff has taken priority over this little piece of writing.<br />
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What's more important than writing? Lol I was working for a local grocery store and working with the state to get a home day care license. Well as of July 1, 2013, I became a state licensed day care provider. I have been attempting to get it off the ground. I quit my grocery store job once I got a couple families signed.<br />
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We discovered my boy had/had a speech delay that was beginning to effect his motor skills last March. We started him working with a speech teach twice a week until school ended. My son started preschool with other kids with similar challenges in September. He loves it and has grown exponentially. We are so proud of his words. I wish I could strap a camera to him during his awake hours, so I could capture every precious syllable.<br />
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Andy has been working a lot. He has been trying to get his HVAC license and a promotion to system controls with his current employer. I am pretty proud of him.<br />
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We are still attending the Assembly of God church (weather permitting). I don't have much to say about this topic. Lol<br />
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Okay that's blog enough for now. No promises when the next will be.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-49914266968314807672013-05-04T01:50:00.001-04:002013-05-04T01:50:40.745-04:00Party time!<p dir=ltr>Dylan turns three today! Happy BIRTHDAY!</p>
<div class='separator' style='clear: both; text-align: center;'> <a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oOwD-YL5_ZChpjnIHI6gl0MZZIxxX3slE8LX9hsS1R9vmUGvf_uBnNa0mBqFAKQ6lFMUVtewJuLMDr8K-4JMMP359ldiHem9bhvDLtZ7PpfS1C0tXQrMmIUhkpe0ppVaIj6Oe3lSuoP6/s1600/IMG_20130502_185928_409.jpg' imageanchor='1' style='margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;'> <img border='0' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oOwD-YL5_ZChpjnIHI6gl0MZZIxxX3slE8LX9hsS1R9vmUGvf_uBnNa0mBqFAKQ6lFMUVtewJuLMDr8K-4JMMP359ldiHem9bhvDLtZ7PpfS1C0tXQrMmIUhkpe0ppVaIj6Oe3lSuoP6/s640/IMG_20130502_185928_409.jpg' /> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-59361635954432819412013-05-04T01:23:00.001-04:002014-12-02T20:45:36.156-05:00Brave<div dir="ltr">
Here's to my five minute Friday early Saturday morning.</div>
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GO.</div>
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Bravery. Such a odd word. Bravery, the art of being brave, means different things. It means waking every day knowing I will suppress depression. Hope differed makes the heart sick. Bravery is putting my quietly rarely defiant child in time out again for kicking me. Its keeping a straight face while I do it. Bravery is kissing my spouse before, during, and after an argument. It is remembering this moment in which I sit will never return to me. It is the choice I make to brave church without family's support. It is allowing my child to learn to trust God when I don't know if I can...</div>
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Stop.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-51320688353370215512013-05-03T14:31:00.001-04:002013-05-03T14:31:39.172-04:00:D<p dir=ltr><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLxpOnq8SVg&feature=youtube_gdata_player">Watch "Love Life" on YouTube</a><br>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-72142264187605630472013-04-15T22:19:00.001-04:002013-04-15T22:19:02.181-04:00Hmmm....<p dir=ltr><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6vsHF3E9NU&feature=youtube_gdata_player">Watch "P!</a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6vsHF3E9NU&feature=youtube_gdata_player">nk</a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6vsHF3E9NU&feature=youtube_gdata_player"> - True Love (Official Lyric Video)" on YouTube</a></p>
<p dir=ltr>I can relate to this.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-43112941677158328932013-04-01T01:45:00.001-04:002014-01-04T14:23:31.044-05:00It strikes me funny!<div dir="ltr">
Today is Easter at least for a couple more minutes. People go to church on Easter and Christmas. We hear teachings on how God is good and the Bible is prophetic. We hear about how the Scriptures are holy. We hear how every word in the Bible is inspired by God. We hear about the primary characters like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. On Christmas, we hear about the birth of Jesus. During Holy Week, we hear about the path Jesus walked while in Jerusalem's Passover. We listen to songs and see plays about the last supper, the prayers prayed in the garden, his arrest, his walk to be crucified, his death, his burial, and his resurrection. </div>
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This bugs me a bit. People fail to see the characters behind the stories told in the Bible. Take for example Isaac's mother/Abraham's wife . They don't tell you about the conversation Abraham had with his wife before to trying to sacrifice their son in service of the Lord. Can you imagine that conversation? </div>
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"Oh by the way, Hunny, God told me I had to to sacrifice your son in service of Him. I don't really want to do it, but I think God wants me to do. We leave tomorrow. "</div>
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Well some people say, God shows His grace in the Old Testament and in the New Testament. I'm sure it's there. I find it disturbing the stories don't talk about the unsung heroes. For those individuals supporting the men of God, what was their life like? For people who weren't described in the Bible, their stories are the ones I'm more interested in. </div>
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As a mom, I can't imagine the pain I'd feel seeing my son crucified on the cross. I can't imagine seeing my son bleed and be beaten in the way Jesus was. It seems excruciating cruel to these characters in the Bible to not find their stories it's pages. Their devotion is what I see in the white spaces on the page. </div>
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It's these people I would befriend on Facebook. I want to know what they ate. I want to see their pictures. I want to know if their camel cart broke down. Or if they're having a bad day, I want to know about that. What with their status be at lunch time, dinner time, and before bed? It's the people you don't see, I want to know about. I want to know if their best friend's brother's sister, has cancer or leprosy or cold. I want to know if Tamar got a puppy who keeps peeing on everything and scratching up the furniture. I want to know if I should pray for them. And I wanna see a picture of their latest art project. I want to see pictures of their new dress robe, new sandals, and their 3 month old baby boy.</div>
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I appreciate how God keeps his word. I don't understand why God had to destroy the entire nations for the sake of keeping one man's promise? Its so troubling to me do not hear about or see in the Bible the pain of the people who were destroyed. They had lives. They had family. They had work. They had to eat, sleep, and feed their families. It seems kind of calloused not share their stories is well. I understand the Bible would be so much longer if they actually told stories of every single person from every single angle. Yet it leaves a lot to be desired in my mind for the individuals you don't hear about. Where are they in the story? Where are their stories?</div>
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The Bible inspires me. Its challenges me. It terrifies me. It teaches me to be better. The Bible makes me want to be my best me. While I am glad, God shows his character through the stories told in the Bible. I feel like I'm missing out on the wives, sisters, friends, and family ties in the tales told in the pages of the Bible. I could go back in time and be a fly on the wall, I listen to their conversations. I'd hear the challenges, the pain, the joy, the silly things, and what they're having for dinner. I'd hear about Passover. And hear about that stinking soldier who stepped into poo. Or the shop owner who charged a little bit more than he should have. I love to hear about the humanity of it all. The Bible is held as so serious and sacred to many. I miss the humanity. Show me love, the joy, the pain, and the dash in between the years on a tombstone for the supporters of the men of God and the leading ladies . That's the kind of life I would love to see in the Bible.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-25725399960098172822013-02-27T00:24:00.003-05:002013-02-27T00:24:31.025-05:00Forgive my candid, yet sensitive topic tonight.I've had several people ask me recently about my beliefs on being gay. I usually don't talk about this topic as a rule, but tonight I can't seem to stop thinking about it. I realize this topic is quite sensitive for many people with the semi-current debates over marriage rights and civil liberties.<br />
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Here is how I feel. While I practice traditionalism, I understand how people gravitate to what makes them comfortable. Comfort starts with attraction. Everyone is wired differently. No two humans are created exactly alike. Our fingerprints, our, retinas and DNA are different from every other person. One thing is universal, we all want to be loved in our own way.<br />
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Enter religion. Religion states homosexuality is sinful at the same time declaring comfort, love, and attraction are from God. Belief seems to make sane people stupid when homosexuality is added to the picture. They seem to forget the human behind the lifestyle. Many "Christians" seem to forget that the Almighty Himself is love's essence. They forget about the grace they have been given. <u>It's forgotten Heaven is equal opportunity</u>. The bible urges for "whosoever will to come." People we are NOT the maker of heaven and earth here. We don't have the final say over who gets to party beyond the pearly gates. My life and yours are on display. We all answer to how we live our lives. Are we kind to one another? Do we love as we have been loved by the Alpha and Omega? Do we honor our father(s) and mother(s)? Do we care for the orphans and widows? Are we are best self in times when it was the hardest to do so? Do we respect our elders? Do we get road rage with a "<i>Jesus loves me"</i> or your favorite Christian music station sticker on our back window? Do you follow the laws of the land when nobody is watching?<br />
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When you are hurting and vulnerable, you don't really care whose hand helps you up. Some of the times in my life when I need love the most, the hands that were being Jesus-with-skin-on belonged to homosexuals or wiccans or agnostics or atheists. They scooped me up and spoke life in my dark places. God can use the most unlikely individuals and/or situations to be your salt and light. What's my point? I don't care if you are homosexual, transgender or a traditionalist. I am not your judge. I don't care what you do behind closed doors, as long as you are hurting someone else (that would include yourself).I care how you treat those around you. I have just as much of an opportunity to walk on streets of gold as the human on the other side of the room. It doesn't matter what my comfort level is with how you live your life. If you respect me, I'll respect you. Period. End of story. See you in Heaven (if you so choose).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-36683222177110603092013-02-24T23:27:00.001-05:002014-01-04T14:14:22.787-05:00This is funny!Smiles are jewelry! Here are a few things that make me chuckle. Props to whomever was clever...<br />
Something that makes me smile without fail. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpFYfPRilB4&feature=youtube_gdata_player">Watch "</a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpFYfPRilB4&feature=youtube_gdata_player">Pixar</a><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpFYfPRilB4&feature=youtube_gdata_player"> Mouse-- I Believe In Miracles" on YouTube</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw35HPWTf5JQA2SBNl83ZVcutg6XznJMUp7y3-CBqN0eMJ3sJKa8rwnylZK72pbBtv6159n_BPWbVsH_PQNwUmKpqIfxFPGaQkos9NjjU-vd90uAkJcp4M4kHmDTUDC4UVf0bEY2nno4nB/s1600/_facebook_-380147418_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw35HPWTf5JQA2SBNl83ZVcutg6XznJMUp7y3-CBqN0eMJ3sJKa8rwnylZK72pbBtv6159n_BPWbVsH_PQNwUmKpqIfxFPGaQkos9NjjU-vd90uAkJcp4M4kHmDTUDC4UVf0bEY2nno4nB/s640/_facebook_-380147418_.jpg" /> </a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-60569981080552511922013-02-21T16:08:00.001-05:002013-02-21T16:08:24.106-05:00Don't feel clever right now.<p>I haven't written in some time. Don't shoot me. We finally moved into our new house a week before Christmas. The place is nice. We are settled and attempting to agree on decor. My spouse enjoys neutrals- browns, tans, grays, and whites. I enjoy bold and classy colors- yellows, teals, greens, blues. He wants things to match. I like accent walls. He likes leather and/or fluffy. I like clean lines, modern, in like microfiber. He doesn't care about woods matching. I like darker stains in wood. The one thing we agree on is no loose pillows to lean against on our furniture. Right now the walls are white. We shall see how long I last staring at them...</p>
<p>I am in the process of becoming a licensed daycare provider from this home of ours. The process is super intense. There are doctors, radon specialists, CPR/first aid/bloodbourne pathogen classes, safety inspectors and fees for this/that. I have to come up with emergency escape plans, meal plans, and activity plans. I need proper nap spaces. Those are just a few of the steps. Once I am approved, I'll need to find kids...</p>
<p>I am looking forward to getting away for a long weekend in Vegas at the beginning of March. My mental health could use it. Turning over a new leaf has been catching up with me. I am attempting to trust in places I doubt. I find the Scriptures disturbing with all the talk about murder, homicides and favoring of some people, or groups of people, over others. I am angry because I don't want to believe in the creator anymore, but I find comfort in some of the promises. The people who tell me to just pray about it and let God lead me are so seemingly sure about walking in/with faith. I am just trying to find what my new me looks like, while I am walking backwards upside down on shifting sand. I am attempting to be level headed and faithful for my son that is watching me. Ugh. So. Exhausting.</p>
<p>Had Dylan checked the other day for speech delays. We had suspected a slight delay because we can't understand him when he strings words together. They confirmed our suspicions. I was disappointed. I love the kid with my all. He'll be 3 in May. I grew up going to school in all the classes with ADHD kids, so I could receive extra tutoring for my own learning challenges. I had hoped Dylan wouldn't have to face that. My son has tons of untapped potential still but is flawed. I don't love him any less for it. They are going to start working with him now to get him ready for school. I am seriously hoping this will be enough, so when school arrives he doesn't have to be put in similar classes like mine.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-31864000551984693272013-01-10T00:50:00.001-05:002013-01-10T00:50:18.997-05:00Bless You Lord<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YbvJ8AKuhmA" width="459"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-65922848320978785782012-11-29T00:34:00.000-05:002012-11-29T00:34:15.064-05:00Are you dancing with joy?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LEW6e9hqiQFGf_zHjgilwnIAeCpYWJfpYf7_7JnZh5yYaLLg3FAa9j8wmi6thyhL8be7o7me1wJzz-1_JurnEiFw95GSG2D9TuC3WMMMcMMX_DKvyBfmF6qUQg9jova__K-Q8eFoFtNH/s1600/523501_421291591259449_1162004687_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LEW6e9hqiQFGf_zHjgilwnIAeCpYWJfpYf7_7JnZh5yYaLLg3FAa9j8wmi6thyhL8be7o7me1wJzz-1_JurnEiFw95GSG2D9TuC3WMMMcMMX_DKvyBfmF6qUQg9jova__K-Q8eFoFtNH/s400/523501_421291591259449_1162004687_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
At <a href="http://kfirst.org/" target="_blank">church</a> right now, we are being challenged to deal with some hard issues. The pastor started teaching a series on "vampires: loving the people who suck the life out of you". The premise has been about God's desire for us to have an abundant life because that is why he came. The series so far has dealt with forgiving those who have "sucked the life out of you" through not being as loving as we feel they should be or uncontrolled anger. It has dealt with taking the habanero out of my honey. (The words I thought were sweet but burned the hearer.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-42507047404987866582012-11-29T00:33:00.000-05:002012-11-29T00:33:55.384-05:00What to do?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; text-align: left;">"Perhaps the hardest part of being released from prison is knowing what to do with your freedom." </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://rachelheldevans.com/" target="_blank">-Rachel Held Evans</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I totally agree with this statement. I spent the last 29 years of my life being told how to view the world, the people in it, and what I couldn't do to show those around me Christ. I'm having to re-learn how to relate to those I encounter- my husband, my son, my fundamentalist family, my co-workers, and my fellow church attenders. People don't think like I was was raised to think. It feels like everything that wasn't permissible before is permissible now. How do you take freedom with moderation? I feel as if I take anything from my pre-grace life, I'll be wearing a neon-lettered sign stating where I've been.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Helvetica Neue, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I am finding fear and grace don't mix well. I've been afraid for so long. It has become a habit for me. How to I learn to trust, instead of being afraid of being hurt again? How do I relate to this awesomely terrifying God who wants the best for me but would condemn me for unrepentant sin? </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-61398741087215042122012-10-19T15:22:00.002-04:002012-10-19T15:22:29.891-04:00Bryce Wilkins<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznzDHM4ifPRgJC_rrsl4-PaFfSCHIukPYkae50KTIUsZ82dfYZIZiZQXfafNXEnVcz7b2c7wkkFXM2BaAd7BaNVAwtizYSckDlkC0SBV43HGsIDd5XWNEeeF2vmWYMG7kT4K4XHyZs1f5/s1600/150519_272945256141558_2058584890_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznzDHM4ifPRgJC_rrsl4-PaFfSCHIukPYkae50KTIUsZ82dfYZIZiZQXfafNXEnVcz7b2c7wkkFXM2BaAd7BaNVAwtizYSckDlkC0SBV43HGsIDd5XWNEeeF2vmWYMG7kT4K4XHyZs1f5/s320/150519_272945256141558_2058584890_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's looking at you kid...</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHdVHWL09wvbzOcW2_m2LcF5ByN7q0xQ7NnEwcvQhxULGRwcvgIr0WEXKTyHQFgJy9oC0o96-HI01jUUQB6dp2RsbPK2UuH5a0lgB7hKmd0JzMhFi03UFmayWrD2Y3xaQODWFtG9tq_rP/s1600/IMG957055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHdVHWL09wvbzOcW2_m2LcF5ByN7q0xQ7NnEwcvQhxULGRwcvgIr0WEXKTyHQFgJy9oC0o96-HI01jUUQB6dp2RsbPK2UuH5a0lgB7hKmd0JzMhFi03UFmayWrD2Y3xaQODWFtG9tq_rP/s320/IMG957055.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half the congregation at his funeral...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I sit here in front of my computer, some 1,100 miles away a funeral is happening. I don't understand why this had to happen. It seems so senseless. I've got questions and very few answers. You see early last Saturday morning my cousin couldn't take the pressures of this life anymore. He decided it was time to breathe his last breath. I'm angry at myself for not knowing him better and for not reaching out to him. I'm angry at him for not calling (to my knowledge) anyone in the family. I may not have been as much apart of his life as I should have, but if had just called I would've opened my home to him no questions asked. That what family does. They help out when someone is in need.<br />
<br />
Now I'm supposed to go put a date in our family ancestry records. I don't want to. <a href="http://www.romerofuneralhome.com/obits/obituary.php?id=213066" target="_blank">Here is what I have to post in ancestry.com</a>.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-8473816196661015352012-10-12T23:55:00.003-04:002012-10-12T23:55:40.137-04:00I never understoodI've heard the phrase, works based faith, for years. I have no idea what that phrase means. People claim you can't be saved by your works. I think that is hooey. The bible has countless examples of act done by individuals who went above and beyond, which made them whole. Ninety percent of the major or minor characters, I can think of who's story is told in the Good Book, did something to save someone or save themselves through faith.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Moses plead with God for his chosen people. It changed God's mind and SAVED the children of Israel from destruction.</li>
<li>Noah built an ark.</li>
<li>Easter left her family to go be pampered and save her people.</li>
<li>David killed Goliath, married the king's daughter, became bros with the Prince, ran for his life, worshipped a lot, etc.</li>
<li>Abraham got down and dirty with his his good ol' girl.</li>
<li>Samuel answered the call of God.</li>
<li>Hannah dedicated her son to the Lord and gave him back for service to him.</li>
<li>Prophets prophesied.</li>
<li>Mary and Joseph obeyed.</li>
<li>John ate bugs and honey. He preached.</li>
<li>The fisherman left their nets.</li>
<li>Good ol' Zach, the wee lil' man, climbed a tree, ate with a rabbi, and paid people back.</li>
<li>That woman touched Jesus' hemmed robe.</li>
<li>The sad daddy found Jesus for his daughter.</li>
<li>The nice guy on the other side of Jesus being crucified opened his mouth.</li>
<li>Jesus' friends wrote some words down, so we could know their friend.</li>
</ul>
These were all acts based on faith. Faith that salvation would come to those who believed it could happen for themselves and others. We are save through faith AND works. One without the other is like the ocean without salt. If you find it, you aren't at the ocean. Do work.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-13992190500482717792012-10-11T23:23:00.001-04:002012-10-11T23:24:03.977-04:00New EmploymentI got a new job! I thrilled about it. I'll be working weekend evenings for a grocery store photo/media department. I've handed in my two weeks notice for my former job. I will be done there on the 21 of October! Can we say WOOT WOOT!?!?<br />
<br />
Today I got a sitter for my son and my friend's son to go fill out new hire paperwork and hear about store policies, etc. There comes a time in the new hire paperwork I dread. Every. Single. Time. It's the part where they ask you three different ways what your racial background is. It really isn't any of their business as long as I come to work on time, do my best work, and leave customers as satisfied as possible. It bothers me to think there is someone somewhere could be tallying how many women/men are employed for their company and of what racial origin they descend from. I imagine someone sitting behind a desk in some cubicle saying we have x-number of Hispanic women and y-number of African American men. We have met our quota and shouldn't hire anyone else to throw off the balance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFiy9kAUu-vK4Yor10QlQz7m2P9IRHvlBdOmerLZdYBJ3sq0ApzowkK_rPKGwr9vviJe_ao8axTZ2gKMKegj6HsKNiKnT6XvlFliy_wew2vb1SIAgwrrjwIZYRb_Rr3TWwBBEvfQC3TLU/s1600/108807480_be5cb1e171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFiy9kAUu-vK4Yor10QlQz7m2P9IRHvlBdOmerLZdYBJ3sq0ApzowkK_rPKGwr9vviJe_ao8axTZ2gKMKegj6HsKNiKnT6XvlFliy_wew2vb1SIAgwrrjwIZYRb_Rr3TWwBBEvfQC3TLU/s1600/108807480_be5cb1e171.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Why is it that I can't just be American? Why do I have to be Caucasian or of something decent? I was born and raised on American soil. My ancestors have been born and raised here for a couple centuries. That would make me of American descent! I love it if you were born on foreign soil and moved here! Claim your heritage. Celebrate it! I won't discourage you from claiming you are Hispanic American or African American or Russian American, if that is the case. This is such a pet peeve of mine to have to <b>not</b> put on every survey for employment or other things AMERICAN! American is, has been and always will be a melting pot of cultures and beliefs. It has made us who we are. It is why I dig the thought of places like New York and Los Angeles! You have Chinatown sitting a few streets over from Little Italy. What is not to love about that? American has many problems, but it runs in my blood next to the oxygen. I'm not claiming that we are the greatest nation either. I just want my hertiage to be recognized. And dare I say it, celebrated!?!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQasDNWsK-e8_9FVswa91OScwZ9HNby6BhaPHbPdRiU4sM6ZCm-nWxH0tvJzSf4WnuTzRZ4fEXgvYvuwPT7WgFZJULuJMsdJlizzcJ4e1j54efP3ay6vtT8D2cqWWS9LO4cY9eXlLW3NT_/s1600/american.melting.pot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQasDNWsK-e8_9FVswa91OScwZ9HNby6BhaPHbPdRiU4sM6ZCm-nWxH0tvJzSf4WnuTzRZ4fEXgvYvuwPT7WgFZJULuJMsdJlizzcJ4e1j54efP3ay6vtT8D2cqWWS9LO4cY9eXlLW3NT_/s640/american.melting.pot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-86624592321741652142012-10-05T11:39:00.001-04:002012-10-05T11:47:05.984-04:00Nobody told me...This morning we woke up earlier than usual. I was checking my facebook. I found this blog from a website I discovered before Dylan was born. It was/is a place to talk to other parents about... well everything related to prenatal care, to caring for children, and relationships with your (for some in-)significant other. This morning's blog made me laugh and appreciate parenting. <a href="http://blogs.babycenter.com/community_buzz/100212why-didnt-anyone-tell-me-toddler-edition/?fb_action_ids=10151091827315698&fb_action_types=og.recommends&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582" target="_blank">Here it is, if you are interested.</a> These moms were dishing about the things nobody told them about raising a toddler. I think my favorite was about brand new carpet and a toddler getting into some paint...<br />
<br />
Here is my list of things nobody told me about parenting (or perhaps I've been told only to forget):<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyXtvftuSeaGZunirkNSzL1sgSVNkEY6GnyXy2oPzqZB0BC0ytsxZDYWeo4cDd_V4iQZv-3dTe_ircH8ABfLym7tgK9q6F8xzt0Lqr-kFsnaXNbyZhQ30TtJxvQtsSJeEaSvk6I2rtdMv/s1600/000aafc5_medium.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyXtvftuSeaGZunirkNSzL1sgSVNkEY6GnyXy2oPzqZB0BC0ytsxZDYWeo4cDd_V4iQZv-3dTe_ircH8ABfLym7tgK9q6F8xzt0Lqr-kFsnaXNbyZhQ30TtJxvQtsSJeEaSvk6I2rtdMv/s200/000aafc5_medium.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby signing time characters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<ul>
<li>My life would revolve around someone else's daily pillow time, bathing, bowels and belly.</li>
<li>I would become a preschool teacher. (...and love it!)</li>
<li>The flushing of the toilet could provide hours of entertainment if allowed.</li>
<li>I could be nice at 2am, oh... 3am, oh my... 4am, oh-you-take-him-am.</li>
<li>By encouraging bilinguality, dancing and music, I'd be listening to countless hours of Yo Gabba Gabba, Baby Signing time and other assortments of kids shows/music.</li>
<li>I'd wake up in the middle of the night with the music from the above shows playing on repeat in my head.</li>
</ul>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLr_g0NY2eX9i28iMesAbybsx5GOG7bW93-9J4D4XHpH9IFpy6BAc-g9sS9ydx6sbH5AfRICD-NA6e5Ht-f2X6R1LMqjHuppsjRnrHn4N0t6YDYgY2wed2YnNmTLPagR7SYt6Hxe2w8PAr/s1600/yo-gabba-gabba-party-in-a-box-dvd-nickelodeon-review.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLr_g0NY2eX9i28iMesAbybsx5GOG7bW93-9J4D4XHpH9IFpy6BAc-g9sS9ydx6sbH5AfRICD-NA6e5Ht-f2X6R1LMqjHuppsjRnrHn4N0t6YDYgY2wed2YnNmTLPagR7SYt6Hxe2w8PAr/s200/yo-gabba-gabba-party-in-a-box-dvd-nickelodeon-review.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yo Gabba Gabba Characters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>I'd come to love half-words/sentences like og (dog), ca (car), ish-is (fishes), ake-up (wake-up), dat ca top (that car stopped), I do ood (I do good) and cho-cho.</li>
<li>Brushing teeth is a fun activity.</li>
<li>I would watch things on TV and relate it all to my child's future or present. I have a hard time watching the news, movies about soldiers/criminals, etc.</li>
<li>Holidays are more fun with a child/ern.</li>
<li>Every scribble with a crayon is a brilliant work of art.</li>
<li>Sidewalk chalk is easier to get off walls than acrylic paint.</li>
<li>Hair brushes make great spoons for stirring toilet water.</li>
<li>Toilet paper floats in the sink.</li>
<li>My son would be better with technology (phones, tablets, Iphones, cameras, dishwashers, etc.) than me who grew up with computers.</li>
<li>I would become a Jungle gym to climb up, on, or over whenever I moved.</li>
<li>Hearing music with babbled words would be just as sweet of the sound of laughter and restful breathing.</li>
<li>I would go to the store or gas station or pretty much anywhere without my sweet kiddo and feel like I was on vacation.</li>
</ul>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheXrL0bUuO3BfwzUm6Xudm1nkF6SelhaaTWNCMdUJLSoFOBD6rGmADpvFmu7teugebuZG6WdqcsXZys_rtjZRBd9Ydf25QSI48ZOcAtNdwDY4qDdob5k8vRLCwIl0VeWqQC8tDg1CzrQ2/s1600/108807480_be5cb1e171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheXrL0bUuO3BfwzUm6Xudm1nkF6SelhaaTWNCMdUJLSoFOBD6rGmADpvFmu7teugebuZG6WdqcsXZys_rtjZRBd9Ydf25QSI48ZOcAtNdwDY4qDdob5k8vRLCwIl0VeWqQC8tDg1CzrQ2/s200/108807480_be5cb1e171.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some cute kid with a dog.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Everything from eating, cooking, cleaning, getting coats on, to putting my own socks on would take about 15-30 minutes longer.</li>
<li>Dogs would be cause for giggles and be one of the most interesting topics ever.</li>
<li>I would argue with my son over who gets to vacuum, sweep, and use the steam mop.</li>
<li>I would feel truly helpless when my son is sick and even more so when I am sick.</li>
<li>I would have a kid who loves tomatoes and onions, but wouldn't like most red meat, eggs or cheese.</li>
<li>Apparently texture in food is everything!</li>
<li>I'm an engineer-rocket-scientist-president-astrologist-billionaire-driver-maid to my kid. Who knew?</li>
</ul>
This is just a few out of many things, but I'm sure you get the idea. Have a good day!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-20372768627300881472012-09-17T23:41:00.002-04:002012-09-17T23:41:34.122-04:00What to write?I've been wanting to write something on here for a couple days. I've been doing a lot of in depth reading on different scriptures. I'd considered writing about them, but not every tool in the tool box will create the result you desire. A hammer is best used for pounding nails into wood. You get the idea.<br />
<br />
I've been toying with the idea of studying what the word glory means. I've heard the word a billion times or more. We fling the word around. Do we truly know what it means?<br />
<br />
The house is going up fast. Andy's job is going well. <a href="http://www.mops.org/" target="_blank">MOPS</a> starts again tomorrow after a summer hiatus. Thanks to some friends, Dylan and I get to go. Church is great. Trying to get my daycare licensing requirements list squared away. I want as much as I can finished before our house is done, so that can be up and running as soon as we are settled. Blah Blah Blah....Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-43426829377099309592012-09-11T13:50:00.001-04:002012-09-11T13:50:58.948-04:00Tangled- Best Day ever (HD Test)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WqmLdH_5aL4?fs=1" width="480"></iframe><br />
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I feel like this right now!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-64173125930819437972012-09-10T09:20:00.001-04:002012-09-10T09:20:48.007-04:00Urgency<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/kNAV98bAqng?fs=1" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<br />
Last night before I went to sleep, I prayed for God to show me what was necessary to get to Him. I prayed for him to show me how to get rid of the un-necessary things. I prayed for fear to be alleviated. I feel this urgency to figure things out. I've been worried about my extended family's words and reactions to my decisions. I've also been trying to create income from thin air.<br />
<br />
I don't know how much stock I put in dreams. I don't usually remember mine. I was surprised when I woke this morning to find I knew what I dreamed. It may or may not be significant. I decided to write it down anyway.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAIQWJBN_qEdfRJb2u0bR4CkvO7a6fePVnDef5GaxR7BGGETiUyicxa4Ii7os7XUP85t6uWjm_GZwjxXvoK37euneW-p09EmEp5vUX2ZZGf83ZvFf2-AKyCNLWlno_CXCZTpzio-GwDOe/s1600/2800.Pics-National.Geographic.Photo.Of.The.Day.Collection._2001-2009_---SaFTaZeeN-1489.jpg_desert-road-404212-lw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAIQWJBN_qEdfRJb2u0bR4CkvO7a6fePVnDef5GaxR7BGGETiUyicxa4Ii7os7XUP85t6uWjm_GZwjxXvoK37euneW-p09EmEp5vUX2ZZGf83ZvFf2-AKyCNLWlno_CXCZTpzio-GwDOe/s400/2800.Pics-National.Geographic.Photo.Of.The.Day.Collection._2001-2009_---SaFTaZeeN-1489.jpg_desert-road-404212-lw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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There was a woman in my dream. I h ave no idea of she was tall or short blonde or brunette. She was young-ish. She was quite pregnant, like last trimester pregnant. (By the way, I am not.) There was no sense of urgency in her movements. She was walking down a long paved road. You know like the ones in the desert. She didn't seem worried about anything. She was just strolling along. I remember a few other figures appearing along this lady's walk, but they vanished like a vapor. Their words were dust in the wind. I then woke up.<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-38960775849482483412012-09-03T13:00:00.000-04:002012-09-03T13:00:06.376-04:00Seven years and Carpe Diem<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVAmZF0GbyC6GueABpEDVg-oaRftr6nqQ3r5WYbcQlhDnyLXZij05jJRgkmxYNX3PGX8fHh2sA3jKu4BRWGBBBst4zXIu249961picu9AwMKieQfqq5aM1XKdtSUIfCMJ-HFoUiROxY7u/s1600/190636_4379070697_5546_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVAmZF0GbyC6GueABpEDVg-oaRftr6nqQ3r5WYbcQlhDnyLXZij05jJRgkmxYNX3PGX8fHh2sA3jKu4BRWGBBBst4zXIu249961picu9AwMKieQfqq5aM1XKdtSUIfCMJ-HFoUiROxY7u/s400/190636_4379070697_5546_n.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">September 3rd, 2005</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">From back then until now, I've never stopped loving you. We've seen difficult times as our love was tested. Those time have made the good times even sweeter. I wouldn't trade you ever. From now until now is then,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> "<span style="background-color: white;">I promise to give you the best of myself</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and to ask of you no more than you can give.</span></div>
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I promise to respect you as your own person</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
and to realize that your interests, desires and needs</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
are no less important than my own. </div>
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I promise to share with you my time and my attention</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
and to bring joy, strength and imagination to our relationship.</div>
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I promise to keep myself open to you, </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
to let you see through the window of my world into my innermost</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
fears and feelings, secrets and dreams. </div>
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I promise to grow along with you,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
to be willing to face changes in order to keep our relationship</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
alive and exciting.</div>
</span></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I promise to love you in good times and bad,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
with all I have to give and all I feel inside in the only way I know how.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Completely and forever." -<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">Dorothy R. Colgan</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLBAtstWmhVAz2vGDPpoJEDTtCqKAEKM7OgzaJgabQAMAK1VdeArlvoOt14TtN2Yi7VikOwUlTlj9PHVM4HA5Lpq2V2Zys9AcYLDLztpSnBabg6cNYY-n8eUZrgPq4-_1dwPf7XxZOOCX/s1600/Family+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuLBAtstWmhVAz2vGDPpoJEDTtCqKAEKM7OgzaJgabQAMAK1VdeArlvoOt14TtN2Yi7VikOwUlTlj9PHVM4HA5Lpq2V2Zys9AcYLDLztpSnBabg6cNYY-n8eUZrgPq4-_1dwPf7XxZOOCX/s320/Family+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October 2011</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-37532913822131747592012-08-22T21:08:00.000-04:002012-08-22T21:08:57.805-04:00The time has come...The time has come for me to wake up from this sleep.<br />
I wasn't born to be a sheep.<br />
I was meant to be a lion in this lamb-type world.<br />
I will speak out.<br />
No longer will I keep with the sheep.<br />
Life tastes to good to follow blindly those who think they know best.<br />
I am a lion.<br />
I savor life with hopeful abandon.<br />
I run with the wind.<br />
I know who I am in this lamb-kind of world.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-25387323071884881052012-08-15T15:28:00.000-04:002012-08-15T15:28:56.310-04:00WAHOO!<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggK8Lqewk3uYNqlN7DtQOmz8pugOxHXvgsYMg3WUWiXX-OCiSZ_L3Z71kWuPZjTDp2Agc6p2R6ykhLVOd0f-pyALv8om7Lt39UPtFTTtYLwZyTW1prre2MIOpUXRod1OoSCFNragsOD1ML/s1600/Outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggK8Lqewk3uYNqlN7DtQOmz8pugOxHXvgsYMg3WUWiXX-OCiSZ_L3Z71kWuPZjTDp2Agc6p2R6ykhLVOd0f-pyALv8om7Lt39UPtFTTtYLwZyTW1prre2MIOpUXRod1OoSCFNragsOD1ML/s320/Outside.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exterior look</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On June 15th, Andy and I started the process to have a house built. We decided to build with Allen Edwin an experienced builder in our area. We choose a floor plan we liked. We signed a bunch of paperwork that agreed to the materials that were to be used, agreed to the floor plan/exterior look of the house and papers giving us ownership of the plot of land we were going to build on. We handed over our earnest money.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQEdw79_rY30DPHE5DBJLNBZ6Cnjf4NIGH-xC17MWoL8pPbth7wDu__t3de_dzyqLgIvY28cyp331_pki1hjkpMT4_Pn4BP7e7cILAzYQDWVbKR5A2WKKs6h1EMARCI9oTtusY6_r-G8Zy/s1600/Basement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQEdw79_rY30DPHE5DBJLNBZ6Cnjf4NIGH-xC17MWoL8pPbth7wDu__t3de_dzyqLgIvY28cyp331_pki1hjkpMT4_Pn4BP7e7cILAzYQDWVbKR5A2WKKs6h1EMARCI9oTtusY6_r-G8Zy/s200/Basement.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished basement</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvI_piM7RFIEe_GBjF5sP8XGZ8y4kJjbEzrUSGm3GduKwqw6kFVASpLg_4g4uRtdHycqUeYvMRVCnMcFqZfyVaIRh9DwoqqJbwN0Dmx0isRYMN_vjf4m8cQJk8tuHnRR6l4iSwVBg_Fhj/s1600/523966_10150965935681381_804654373_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvI_piM7RFIEe_GBjF5sP8XGZ8y4kJjbEzrUSGm3GduKwqw6kFVASpLg_4g4uRtdHycqUeYvMRVCnMcFqZfyVaIRh9DwoqqJbwN0Dmx0isRYMN_vjf4m8cQJk8tuHnRR6l4iSwVBg_Fhj/s200/523966_10150965935681381_804654373_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main floor</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEwfJO87PlX1thyIqbCVBmk3ukaHGoi_quezrsK2P8ERSLWrpMMJvmsudoQi2Cfnbuig_PnK7yIgvMBoNSuM-mI3zaJsqM5ckn1WUcMIcXLXaO5GrKPYBBkC_UaTTaMSo_Mv7EQWwm3sv/s1600/Second+Floor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEwfJO87PlX1thyIqbCVBmk3ukaHGoi_quezrsK2P8ERSLWrpMMJvmsudoQi2Cfnbuig_PnK7yIgvMBoNSuM-mI3zaJsqM5ckn1WUcMIcXLXaO5GrKPYBBkC_UaTTaMSo_Mv7EQWwm3sv/s200/Second+Floor.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second floor<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnrblobsTKLlPpKrLpoSNTqrdTHSbb3u-ufMpY2IaFCq-M0RChZ4frNA8fFQfBGOrLgAt2Hsv47X8PATRoMu-1r_9ZheZvjzUPu_biLheKx1sgbNAklCK-4sPsWtHhfA-PDpnkuWuPUDX/s1600/524069_10150935557931381_840943312_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnrblobsTKLlPpKrLpoSNTqrdTHSbb3u-ufMpY2IaFCq-M0RChZ4frNA8fFQfBGOrLgAt2Hsv47X8PATRoMu-1r_9ZheZvjzUPu_biLheKx1sgbNAklCK-4sPsWtHhfA-PDpnkuWuPUDX/s320/524069_10150935557931381_840943312_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our land</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHL3Msv1hzVKoJuphIo7Udry6qrFUfo2Ie6oPRQE0qYKvGI15NCZoHgJ-jVI8S-wjyc56chimTO4V66jbH6QAEhSLl0dv1jOYy-HMXZdK5I8vCSndjwceuO8PSq5GqjpMFRC0huHv81eY/s1600/DSCF0027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHL3Msv1hzVKoJuphIo7Udry6qrFUfo2Ie6oPRQE0qYKvGI15NCZoHgJ-jVI8S-wjyc56chimTO4V66jbH6QAEhSLl0dv1jOYy-HMXZdK5I8vCSndjwceuO8PSq5GqjpMFRC0huHv81eY/s200/DSCF0027.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The selections we made for our house: the cabinets, bathroom<br />
counter tops,the kitchen back splash. counters and linoleum</td></tr>
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On July 17th, we went to pick out our interior/exterior colors, tile, appliances, counter tops, and carpet. On the 19th, we signed papers finalizing our selections for the above things, gave permission for permits to be pulled on our land, and paid our first property taxes. We were told then to expect a phone call telling us a date of completion and a foundation being poured within the next 45 business days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByhfSNExDSjjPZ_f0-fY7vuxOhyPzk084qxqGQtoSG7v1AsL0M3IgxBg4hPGR4DXZ4Sky3-ZyV_bpfFF1aNAdPU2otJvkxcdkqd1f2xyl89FjB_QrFcYd2QdcSurLF0PY1AJaARHDiKE2/s1600/Land+staked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByhfSNExDSjjPZ_f0-fY7vuxOhyPzk084qxqGQtoSG7v1AsL0M3IgxBg4hPGR4DXZ4Sky3-ZyV_bpfFF1aNAdPU2otJvkxcdkqd1f2xyl89FjB_QrFcYd2QdcSurLF0PY1AJaARHDiKE2/s200/Land+staked.jpg" width="119" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 31st</td></tr>
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On July 31, my older sister, who lives down the street, text me saying they had staked out the property lines. We worked on our loan stuff and waited to hear from the builders. We knew they'd put a sold sign up before everything really started. On August 13, My nephew said he thought he'd seen little flags around our property. He wasn't certain though. You can imagine my surprise when I got the text with the following picture today!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXYgajqwzxLIV2HsXFuwmt8hlYXekZPpmIL0fu2YLt8u4Xk4cwfxZYJhrF13BN2avn4fFfVmwv5XdrnoHIxYbDGBN1Mhlq2TG5O6uAWDSI7Kp6qCN8AobUVMf7gQs-J9R_tEJtAJ04fRn/s1600/Foundation+for+house+being+dug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXYgajqwzxLIV2HsXFuwmt8hlYXekZPpmIL0fu2YLt8u4Xk4cwfxZYJhrF13BN2avn4fFfVmwv5XdrnoHIxYbDGBN1Mhlq2TG5O6uAWDSI7Kp6qCN8AobUVMf7gQs-J9R_tEJtAJ04fRn/s400/Foundation+for+house+being+dug.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 15th- Its for real!</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-42352827811558334432012-08-15T09:14:00.001-04:002012-08-15T09:14:34.944-04:00For whom did God create all the beautiful stuff???<br />
A lovely lady I met recently posted this in a group I joined. I don't think I could have said it better! It is with her permission, I post this.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"Sinners! If you believe some religious leaders, only sinners are to enjoy the beauty of God's creation.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Take gold, silver and precious stones, they are only for the most sinful among us. Sure they are beautiful. Sure they can give pleasure in viewing their beauty. Sure God did indeed create them; nothing man has created can compare to the beauty of God's creations. But did He really intend that only those headed for hell may enjoy the beauty He created? Should christians wear only ugly, plain stuff? I refuse to believe this. It is as wrong headed as the statement that money is the root of all evil --it is the LOVE of money, not the money itself. If your jewelry becomes your god, then yes it may become a sin but so can your car, your home, anything that you allow to come between you and God can become a sin but very, very few things in life are in and of themselves a sin. Denying ourselves any beauty is more likely to cause a lustful, coveteous spirit than one of joyful servitude.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">What about the beach. Did God create that only for the pleasure of the sinful? If we cannot go where people are not decently clothed, then stay out of the mall, the park, amusement parks, even the grocery store </span><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.spiritualabuse.org/supportgroup/images/smilies/nah.gif" style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; vertical-align: middle;" title="Nah" /><span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Again, I refuse to believe this; all of God's creation was made for our pleasure as we are made for His pleasure. The ocean has a very beautiful, awesome, calming effect on most people. In fact, all of God's creation engenders a spirit of awe, pleasure, reverence, joy when one takes the time to truly enjoy.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">There are so many [religions] forbid their adherents to enjoy with the stated premise that doing so would be sin and lead to a backslidden condition. I believe that on the contrary, forbidding people to enjoy what God intended them to enjoy leads to frustration, anger, hurt, envy and eventually sin and pulling away from a God who is as seen as unfair, uncaring, unloving. </span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: #f5f5ff; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, 'lucida grande', arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">A heart full of love, joy, peace, longsuffering, meekness,etc. would have no place for anger, bitterness, envy, strife, etc. and the beauty around that individual is simply life's pleasures provided by a loving God. These things of beauty are not God's consolation prize for sinners - but rather God's gift to all, given freely as a part of His creation plan."</span></blockquote>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4912995521791536598.post-41252217828243643822012-08-14T00:25:00.000-04:002012-08-14T00:25:59.204-04:00Toughie, the MOPS kid...Change creates stress even in the best of circumstances! It's no surprise, with all my conversation with my present and future self, I am feeling the effects of it all. The following email mirrored my heart at the moment I needed to "hear" it. I thought I'd share.<br />
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<center style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">
Toughie</center>
<div align="center" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">
by Alexandra Kuykendall, mom of four</div>
<span style="color: #383838; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;"><span align="left"><br />“My name is Toughie” 3-year old Gracie insisted from her car seat.<br /><br />“No. What’s your REAL name?” her older sister pushed back.<br /><br />“Toughie!” Stubborn, as her new nickname insinuated, Gracie wasn’t going to back down.<br /><br />One morning a few days earlier, our family activity was a mile and a half hike through the woods to a lake. Our two older girls walked, ran and jumped over tree stumps in the path while the younger two rode on their parents’ backs. We didn’t get far before stubborn Gracelynn decided she wanted to be like her older sisters and, as she said, “hite.” With her own two feet.<br /><br />Out of Derek’s backpack, she ran to catch up with the older set. Her toe caught on a tree root protruding in the trail and she fell on her hands and knees.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;"></span><div align="center" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;" valign="center">
<span style="color: #57a5c4; font-size: x-small;"><strong>"Her father told her who she was<br />and she not only believed it,<br />she had become it."</strong></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">
<span style="color: #383838;"><span align="left"><br /><br />“Come on Toughie,” Derek said as he picked her up, “that’s part of hiking.”<br /><br />She looked up at him and I could almost see her internal processing. <em>If I want to hike, and I do, then I need to put up with the falls</em>. And there were more falls. Four more if you count them by the scrapes that were left on her knees. At every fall we called her Toughie and cheered her on and every time she bounced back up proving she was up to the name. Absorbing her new persona. She WAS Toughie.<br /><br />“But what if on the first day of preschool she’ll tell kids her name is Toughie?” her older two sisters worried in the car days later.<br /><br />Gracelynn’s ears perked up. Preschool? She could carry her Toughie image there too? I again could tell the internal wheels were turning.<br /><br />Her father told her who she was and she not only believed it, she had become it. I pray this will always be true. <em>“It's in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for”.</em> –Ephesians 1:11<br /> </span><br /> </span></div>
<div align="left" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; min-height: 31px; width: 365px;">
Lord, help me to hear who YOU say I am. I want to absorb it and become it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06393391352041133196noreply@blogger.com0