tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50399484735930146552024-03-05T08:38:37.465-08:00Paid for in fullBlamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-44303712808660956382021-04-18T11:00:00.003-07:002021-04-18T11:00:37.236-07:00Empty spacesEmpty spaces<br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes it feels like I have empty spaces,<br />
where your hugs and smiles used to be.<br />
The memories that linger don't fill them as well<br />
as your presence and laughter did for me.<br />
<br />
Our hearts were not made to hurt this much,<br />
I am amazed how they continue to beat!<br />
Through all the ache and swells in our throats,<br />Each day whispers, "Death will not defeat."<br />
<br />
Your breath was stolen from you too soon,<br />
and we struggle with feelings of regret,<br />
So much we wanted to say to you,<br />
and now quiet moments is all we get.<br />
<br />
Counting all these empty spaces shows<br />
Your life was not lived in vain.<br />
So many hearts that have held your love,<br />
are now learning to live through pain.<br />
<br />
One day we will meet again,<br />
God promises this suffering will cease.<br />
Until that wonderful day, Justin,<br />
May you rest in God's eternal Peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-72690979011143496462014-08-08T11:57:00.000-07:002014-08-08T11:57:30.641-07:00Sad<span style="font-size: large;">My oldest nephew was hit by a truck and killed a week ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He was 17.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6 people were given another chance at this life because of his donated organs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There is so much to say but I can't speak or really think clearly enough to share all the flooding memories that are running through my heart and mind...and then I am scared that I don't have enough memories.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My oldest son and Justin were very close. Each time I see Ethan break down, I hold him and cry for the helplessness I feel. There is nothing more than prayer and begging God to make the pain stop right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Although it brings comfort that we know Justin is in Heaven (<em>what a timely last post!</em>), the heart God gave each of us is feeling a pain that is indescribable.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tomorrow we lay Justin to rest. May he rest in God's peace.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-25557458219301919792014-07-04T12:29:00.002-07:002014-07-04T12:29:35.112-07:00Heaven is Real<span style="font-size: large;">Not because the Bible says so...although I trust in its validity.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Not because my Mom says so.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Not because my priest or neighbor or friend says so.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have been there. I saw it with my own eyes, felt it with my heart and all of my being. And I am not scared of death...because I know where I am going. It's not a fictional place and it doesn't require 'faith' on my part any longer--I saw and I believe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was eight months pregnant with my first baby, Ethan. The pregnancy had been smooth and uneventful, but the emotional toll of being an unwed, pregnant, soon-to-be mother was a weight that was both crushing and shameful.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was around this time that I remembered a 'deal' I had made with God when I was 13; <em>"If you let me live long enough to be a Mom, I will be ready to come live in Heaven with you. Just PLEASE let me have a baby first!"</em></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The memory of the deal sprang out of nowhere, but added a terrifying "what if He follows through on it?!" emotion to my unstable hormones.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I realized that I had failed to add in that I also wanted to be here to raise my children...and I was horrified to think that after hearing my baby's first cry, God might make good on our agreement.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was Easter morning, 1998, and I had prepared myself for church and headed off with my family. I was looking forward to the turkey dinner to follow the services...but was not looking forward to the curious stares and judgement-filled eye rolls of some members. My family formed a protective cocoon around me in the pew (we had begun to sit near the back, away from most stares), and sang our hearts out in celebration of Christ's Resurrection.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was during one of these songs that I felt some cramping, so I sat down. I sat through two more songs, wondering if maybe these were 'practice' contractions, and hoping I wasn't going to throw up on the church floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father sat down beside me after the last song and asked, <em>"Sarah, are you okay?"</em> I must have been showing signs of being ill. I tried to reply, <em>"No, not at all."</em> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father later told me that I had said, "I'm fine."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My vision began to turn black on the periphery at first, then closed off completely as it neared the center of my sight. I found myself in darkness...but not for long. There was a bright light in the darkness, and I was moving towards it. It got bigger and brighter as I approached, then burst open as I crossed a threshold.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There was a crowd of people welcoming me...I knew each one of them, but I can't tell you who they are. They loved me, and I them. Their faces shone so bright, it was difficult to see features. There were flowers and meadows. I remember feeling at peace--no worries--full of joy. There was no more cramping, no more pain, no more shame. I did not think of anyone 'left behind'....I wasn't worried about my unborn child...I was home. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have more memories about how it 'felt' there, than actual details of what I saw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then there was something pulling me backwards. I heard a voice say I was not going to stay...it was the worst, most heart-wrenching feeling I have ever felt. I fought to stay there...it was terrifying coming back....almost as if being ripped apart from within.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I awoke, very confused, upset, angry....to a smell of strong B.O. One of the parishioners had lent his sports jacket to prop my head up while I was unconscious. I didn't immediately remember any of the details of where I had been, but the feeling of peace was still a whisper of a memory on my skin. My fear of death was no more.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't look forward to the dying process, but I am not scared of the journey to come. Heaven is real...I wish I could describe it well enough for those who are desparate to believe, but can't. </span><br />
<br />
Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-66414962582976351072014-04-10T07:38:00.000-07:002014-04-10T07:38:04.259-07:00Happiest Birthday, princess Savannah!<span style="font-size: large;">Seven years in Heaven...it seems so long for your friends and family left here on earth! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As you play hop-scotch on the clouds, and sing in the angel choir, we remember how much we are missing out on because you are not here. Your surroundings are joyful and jubilant -- how I wish your Mother could see you soaring and laughing!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Send some angel kisses down from Heaven to remind your family of the love and hope you live each day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy 7th Birthday, Savannah.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-67280908555963693132014-03-17T11:53:00.001-07:002014-03-17T11:53:49.706-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>What is the 'right' way to parent?</strong></span></div>
<div align="left" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There are many wrong ways to parent, and each of us seems to be an expert in how others are screwing up. But, have you ever thought about what they might be doing right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We all agree that no one is perfect, but that doesn't stop us from expecting perfection from others. Whether it be our husbands (or wives), our children's teachers, our neighbors, etc. We can point out all the 'wrongs' they are doing by how it affects us...and spend very little time finding the 'rights'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When it comes to parenting, I have been guilty of thoughts (and sometimes spoken words) about other parents and what I deem a mistake in their technique. Why do I care about how anyone else raises their children? Because in some small way, it makes me feel less guilty about my own short-comings. If I can find a 'bigger' problem with YOUR style, then my mistakes don't seem quite so severe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And therein lies the root of the issues in society. We are skilled at deflection, when God wants us to grow. We spend so much time speaking about the awful actions of other people, believing that somehow we have nothing in our lives to work on ourselves. We miss so many opportunities to support one another through rough times because we somehow believe people have created these situations themselves, and deserve the mess they find themselves in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For every 'wrong' step a parent takes, there are many 'right' things they are doing that need to be praised and built up. A kind word, a compassionate smile, a knowing nod of the head for a parent dealing with a tantrum-ing child in a store. It can be the start of a better day for someone trying their best.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't be part of society's problem....be a part of the solution. Love one another.</span><br />
Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-49899163918051385582014-03-10T08:12:00.000-07:002014-03-10T08:12:17.462-07:00<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Special Needs child</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I hate this label.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><em>Every</em> child is special needs, some needs are just more obvious than others.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have never pitied the mother of a chid with special needs. How can you pity someone who has such a fierce love and protection, an armour of strength, and a confidence beyond what I could hope to acheive?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">No, pity is not the right emotion to have. Awe, respect, amazement, envy? Not envy of the struggles (<em>although that's likely what provided that solid strength I see</em>), rather envy of the inpenetrable exterior that faces so many negative and hurtful comments and assumptions every day. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I know the exterior doesn't truly reflect the pain that resides in the heart...but to go home each day and repair the damage so you can face another day--that is truly a heroic routine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Each of these Moms spend time wondering if there's a way to make others understand that their child IS capable, they are NOT the sum total of their limitations. Maybe it's the tone of voice they used, is that why the teacher seems defensive about the advice given? If I just had one more chance to explain things (<em>darn, why did the emotions show up that last time?</em>), maybe you would 'get' it then?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Listing all the deficits, the 'problems'--just to prove you are aware of them--doesn't allow for the time to show all the amazing accomplishments that also need to be on that list.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't want you to know all the struggles, I want you to know all the successes...what makes our little warriors thrive. The moment you start believing I am looking for pity is the moment you gave up on my child.</span><br />
<br />
Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-31779607355204069532014-03-03T18:18:00.000-08:002014-03-03T18:19:05.795-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>A Change is a-coming</strong></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A whole year since my last post. Strangely, not much has changed, and yet so much is different!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">God has taken me down some interesting paths this year, and the direction is becoming a little less foggy, although still not clear. Maybe I have decided to trust in His guidance, and spend less time arguing with Him about the wisdom of His message...or maybe I'm just too darn tired to fight?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Come to me,<sup abp="704" class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23488A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup> all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matt 11:28</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Rest. Yes, I have been given rest, but not in the form of sleep. My mother had a saying, "A change is as good as a rest." Although I would prefer more sleep, the changes have indeed felt restful!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The first 'change' came as an invitation to help teach new immigrants the English language. Our Church began a new ministry to reach out to the many newcomers to our land, and help them to communicate better, in hopes they would feel more at home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I hesitated to accept this position, as I had no formal training as a teacher, nor did I feel I could offer the mental space needed to be a support to strangers. Little did I know, but the Lord had already prepared me for such a time as this! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I found that each lesson brought back memories of my time in the Czech Republic, where I was the stranger in a foreign land. Each kind word or deed, helped me through a very isolating time. The people who showed patience and love, and helped me form their words, made my experience one to cherish.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I began to connect with my students, and we became fast friends. Each of them has a unique story, and such a beautiful heart. Where I thought I didn't have the mental energy to support, they filled that void with laughter and warmth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The second 'change' came when I attended the Annual General Meeting for my girls' French school. There was very low parent turnout, and even less willing volunteers to lead the PAC group. God had given me a dream the night before, in which I volunteered to lead. It was absurd to even contemplate, as I do not speak French fluently enough to lead such a committee!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Alas, God had other plans, and it was as though my arm was lifted by a power beyond my intentions....and I was applauded into my new role--most likely due to the relief of those not in my shoes, haha! I have received so much support in my role, and have grown in my use of the French language.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Throwing myself into roles where I am uncomfortable has given me a new perspective, and has humbled me to ask for help from others. Although I enjoy the interactions and new friends, I am terrified and plagued by anxiety before each meeting. I hope those feelings will dissipate with each month. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That's it for now. Hopefully it won't take another year to update *tee hee* God Bless!</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-66352454984817039782013-01-22T11:56:00.000-08:002013-01-22T11:57:27.184-08:00Smile<span style="font-size: large;">2013 will be a good year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't anticipate that there won't be bumps and obstacles to overcome this year, yet there's a relief that we won't have to repeat any of the challenges that met us in 2012. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful that while the Lord pruned us, He gave us strength to grow through pain. I am full of praise and in awe of our great and merciful God.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Alec is back in school. Public school. This is necessary for his healing--as well as ours. Just when you think you have worked through an area of hurt, another 'trigger' rears its ugly head, and we have to learn to reset our hearts and minds in order to have success. We have been blessed to find a school with truly compassionate teachers, and an administration that wants to see us all succeed. What a difference it makes to have a 'team'...I didn't realize how alone I was at the last school until I saw how wonderfully supportive the staff at the new school is. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Today is Annlise's 11th birthday. I have no clue how she got to this age so quickly! She is such a happy, bubbly, friendly young lady....with a heart made for loving! We presented her with a gift before school: a hamster cage. She was so delighted, and shreeked with joy. We will be going sometime this week for her to adopt her furry little creature, and pick out the toys for the cage.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thank you Lord for your Love.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-12476846983798552692012-01-14T19:18:00.001-08:002012-01-14T19:35:28.920-08:00Happy New Year!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-o7VjhYSyvhnE-u1DHHQaRADl_QJEMGjvbJRekGar3MfFNkhyphenhypheng4XPPomrPWSTGG_un1c3GjZBGzgP3lZ5SRKzxk3RU9KSs-Tz5aYpHGuSzEVP4nVzmx6mYhcEeCEdP2CwBJP3kxFgAl42/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-o7VjhYSyvhnE-u1DHHQaRADl_QJEMGjvbJRekGar3MfFNkhyphenhypheng4XPPomrPWSTGG_un1c3GjZBGzgP3lZ5SRKzxk3RU9KSs-Tz5aYpHGuSzEVP4nVzmx6mYhcEeCEdP2CwBJP3kxFgAl42/s320/010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697697022338082034" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I haven't written a new blog post in a long time....partly because I couldn't think of anything to write about...but mostly because I had forgotten my password for signing in.<br /><br />It's a simple fix, but I was too lazy to figure it out--until today.<br /><br />I know you all are celebrating out there in the blog world....it must have been hard waiting so long to 'hear' from me again. (<span style="font-style: italic;">I just giggled to myself, realizing that *I* am the blog world that I refer to...and thus, I WILL celebrate to hear from me again!</span>)<br /><br />During my silence, I did occasionally visit my blog, and read over some of my ancient posts. Not to revel in my awesomeness (*<span style="font-style: italic;">ahem*</span>), but rather to reflect on some of my previous thoughts and discern whether I still stood by those words. God has this neat way of having words spill out of my mouth (<span style="font-style: italic;">or type out of my fingers</span>) that touch me over and over again.<br /><br />I don't know if anyone else has ever had the experience of giving advice that never passed through your mind before it exited your mouth....and then thinking, "Wow, those are words I should really apply to myself!"<br /><br />Sometimes that happens with my blog posts, too. I write it out in a long stream of unedited thoughts (<span style="font-style: italic;">aside from spell-check</span>), only to read it over and see that God was sending ME a message--through my OWN words!<br /><br />When this happens, it confirms my belief that the Bible is the inspired word of God. Because I have experienced how it works in my own life. 'Man' will always have arguments as to why the Bible is invalid for them...until they live it themselves.<br /><br />God bless you all in 2012!</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-36068151157767315542011-08-30T19:38:00.000-07:002011-08-30T20:16:54.378-07:00Untitiled #2<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEU_in8WBCRYk06JharP7qKcWQRAF2RpMyRQUCjdEob6cTXm3Nc7dXmY9vWCttbkr_QWy4HLoih-Y_cztZw1xSRPPHdtVAGlziAyNgGFrqCMs5v_gSWllRkLXz0D9SGJx58C8lSckjZCF/s1600/060.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEU_in8WBCRYk06JharP7qKcWQRAF2RpMyRQUCjdEob6cTXm3Nc7dXmY9vWCttbkr_QWy4HLoih-Y_cztZw1xSRPPHdtVAGlziAyNgGFrqCMs5v_gSWllRkLXz0D9SGJx58C8lSckjZCF/s320/060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646844325082764706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />
<br />There must be some good soil under this rocky sand....how else could this tree plant its roots and grow so well?
<br />
<br />Sometimes it's hard to look past a person's life experience to see the good soil in which God's word can grow and produce magnificent results. Sometimes it is ourselves that cannot see the good soil that sits in our hearts, waiting to nurture love and Truth.
<br />
<br />In reflecting on God's love, and trying to reconcile the fact that He loves EVERYONE (really, there are some people I truly have difficulty believing He loves), I came to the realization that there are some things that are hidden to this world because they have to be felt with by the heart.
<br />
<br />There is a lovable place within each of us. That is the place that Jesus could see while He walked the earth....He looked at the heart, the most vulnerable place in any person's life, and was able to love...even when hate was returned. On the surface, sand covered the good soil--everyone knows you don't plant seeds in sandy ground--but Jesus saw the hidden nutrients, and planted a seed of love in the very people who were deemed 'unlovable' (remember the tax collector?).
<br />
<br />Each day I will do my best to look past the outer layer of sand and see the heart of each person I come across. It's amazing how much good soil is waiting to be planted.</span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-38113819467615782072011-08-28T18:50:00.000-07:002011-08-30T20:17:20.934-07:00Untitled #1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5W0FsLyJXZrdTSeTeRwgx-AwUraN7l2PTmcOvQMKM-CDGn58ddF7tSg-nKXQcyBtSXl7S4lIo1BoRsMrvpGJoi8Nnnfq_X3yvNywKtbswqhJ3pJ6sqw84WaKn5mu84h3NzpJvU9dvC0Fm/s1600/126.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5W0FsLyJXZrdTSeTeRwgx-AwUraN7l2PTmcOvQMKM-CDGn58ddF7tSg-nKXQcyBtSXl7S4lIo1BoRsMrvpGJoi8Nnnfq_X3yvNywKtbswqhJ3pJ6sqw84WaKn5mu84h3NzpJvU9dvC0Fm/s320/126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646091690586521890" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I thought I'd squeeze in at least one post this month...seeing as how I've been averaging one post a month and August is almost over with no posts yet.
<br />
<br />I will have four children going off to school this September. One to a very private home-school set up, and three to regular school. This will be the first time in 13 years that I won't have a baby or toddler or child at home during the days. I'm both excited and shell-shocked...and a little sad at how fast the years have gone by.
<br />
<br />I know my 'job' as Mom continues, but for a large portion of each weekday, I am putting my trust in others to expand on the start I've given my children.
<br />
<br />13 years...wow. All of them were well worth the sleepless nights, the scrapes and boo-boos, the irritable days of teething and the common colds. The Lord truly blessed me with mountains of memories that I will cherish of those earlier days.
<br />
<br />I really could barely wait for this day to come, and now that it is nearing, I'm starting to wish it would hold on just a few more weeks...or months...maybe years?
<br />
<br />Okay, Lord, I'm here. Use me. :)</span>
<br />Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-17137255584334528162011-07-22T20:14:00.001-07:002011-07-22T20:27:20.738-07:00It's the little things.<span style="font-size:130%;">For anyone who has experienced bouts of anxiety or helped someone else suffering through anxiety, you will know that the small steps forward deserve a celebration.<br /><br />It's been 19 months since Alec's first symptoms showed up, following the abuse by his teacher. The roller coaster of emotions he felt, that our family felt, is a ride that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.<br /><br />Here are the things we are celebrating in Alec's recovery:<br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He can now look at a menu in any restaurant and choose his own meal.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He can sit through a meal and not have the urge to run away.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He is once again testing his own blood sugars, measuring out his injection, and giving himself needles.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He joins us at the family dinner table and eats with us.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He laughs...multiple times a day.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He plays with his friends again.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He rides his bike and goes to the park...on his own.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He says his prayers before bed, and sleeps through the night (no nightmares)</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He tidies his room.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">He cares for his dog.<br /></span></li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;">Most of the things I have listed seem really insignificant to most people. What's so remarkable about an 11 year old boy acting like an 11 year old boy? Well, for 18 months, he wasn't doing any of these things....the anxiety caused panic attacks, which essentially stopped all 'normalcy' in our lives as a family.<br /><br />I am so grateful that God has restored our beautiful son to us. I won't take these small steps for granted ever again. We are truly blessed.<br /><br />Praise God!<br /><br /></span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-23108413428201913912011-05-13T19:39:00.000-07:002011-05-13T20:21:24.566-07:00Planes, trains and automobiles<span style="font-size:130%;">We set off a week before Christmas 1998. <br /><br />Arnaud, me and our 7 month old baby, Ethan, were on our way to France from the Czech Republic to celebrate the holiday with Arnaud's family. We had also arranged (<span style="font-style: italic;">or rather, my mother in law had arranged</span>) to have Ethan baptized in a local Catholic Church on Christmas Day.<br /><br />My husband didn't want to pay the airport parking fees in Prague, so it was decided that we would take the train from our small village to the big city. <br /><br />We packed as little as we could, as there would be a lot of walking and connections to make which means we would have to be able to carry everything we brought. I put Ethan in the snugly, my jacket covering us both, then put an over sized backpack on and a large cooler (<span style="font-style: italic;">with all our baby foods and snacks</span>) over one shoulder. With one hand, I carried the diaper bag.<br /><br />Arnaud was just as heavily laden as I was, with a backpack on his back, on his front, and dragging our large suitcase behind him.<br /><br />We arrived at the train station, and bought our tickets. Our plane tickets had been purchased the month prior, so we had to time everything perfectly.<br /><br />We stood on the platform and waited. Ethan slept peacefully...but I was getting hot. We saw the train approach....but as it got closer, Arnaud realized it was the wrong one! Our train was on the next platform!<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Run! Sarah, quickly</span>!" Arnaud shouted over the rumbled of the approaching train.<br /><br />He was already jumping down on the tracks with his baggage, while I stood horrified at the thought of jumping in front of an oncoming train. If I didn't go, I would miss our only chance to catch the right train....but going meant risking mine and my baby's life if we tripped.<br /><br />I still to this day cannot believe I jumped too...and ran for my life--<span style="font-style: italic;">literally</span>!<br /><br />We made it. I was sweating, and promised myself to yell at Arnaud when we were safe and sound on the train.<br /><br />God had other plans.<br /><br />The train was packed. <span style="font-style: italic;">Like sardines in a can</span>. All the seats taken, all the hallways filled, people hanging on the outside of the train. <span style="font-style: italic;">Packed</span>.<br /><br />Arnaud climbed on first. My lip began quivering. My eyes began to tear up. He turned around and held his hand out to help me up. I could barely fit through the entrance with my over-loaded shoulders.<br /><br />Then Arnaud disappeared into the train. He told me to wait where I was...among strangers...with our little baby boy....he was going to look for a place for me to sit for the ride. I wondered what the heck I was doing in this country, and why I had agreed to take a train to Prague.<br /><br />The train began to move. I lost my balance, but a kind man grabbed onto me and my things and held me until I regained my feet. I thanked him. It was 30 minutes before I saw my husband again, and he led me down the hall, squeezing through the crowd, to an empty seat....one given up by a man who took compassion on a young father looking for a place that his wife and child could rest.<br /><br />We arrived in Prague after 2 hours on that train. It was a subway terminal where we got off, and Arnaud went to look for the right line to take to the airport while I sat with our luggage. Ethan was awake and hungry by this time, so I took out some baby food and fed it to him in the snugly. I was hungry too, but I was not able to reach the snacks in the cooler, so I ignored the hunger pangs.<br /><br />We boarded the subway with no problems, and arrived at the stop for the airport. This is where we found out we had to climb the stairs (<span style="font-style: italic;">there were about 300 of them</span>) to get to street level where we would have to take a bus to the actual Airport!<br /><br />I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry. I told Arnaud I was okay...but I wanted to just sit and rest my feet.<br /><br />We continued on.<br /><br />We made it to France. I began crying when I saw Arnaud's parents, and was given a big hug. I vowed never to take anything for granted about travel again. The visit was wonderful, and the baptism was just beautiful (<span style="font-style: italic;">I'll leave that story for another post</span>).<br /><br />Then we had to return. The same way we came. But in reverse order, with heavier baggage (<span style="font-style: italic;">we received LOTS of presents for Christmas</span>).<br /><br />Onto the plane we went. Arriving in Prague, we caught the bus that took us to the subway station...the subway was nearly empty, as most people were out partying on New Year's Eve. There was plenty of room to sit while riding.<br /><br />It was looking like an easy trip back home! We had a whole cabin to ourselves on the train, so Ethan could sit by the window and have some space to play around for the 2 hour trip.<br /><br />We arrived at the second-last stop before our town. It seemed an extra long stop, and eventually Arnaud got up to see what was going on. He was then informed that this was the last stop, and there were no more trains going to our town!<br /><br />It was nearly 10:00 at night, and I just wanted to be home. We got off the train and began to walk aimlessly through the town. It was starting to snow. There was a light on in a hotel close-by, so we stepped in to see if we could rent a room for the night.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Sorry, we are completely full. All the hotels and hostels are full on New Year's Eve.</span>" <br /><br />We then asked if there were any taxis we could call, and were informed that there were none.<br /><br />I began to cry, silently. Arnaud hugged me. He thanked the woman at the front desk, and we walked out into the cold again.<br /><br />Just as we began to descend the stairs, someone called out to us in Czech, "<span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, hold on! I think I know someone who can help!</span>" The man went into a back room where many people were drinking and ringing in the new year, and brought out an elderly man.<br /><br />I don't remember his name, but he owned his own car. In the Czech Republic, most people did not own cars until they were in their mid-late 50's, as it cost them 10 years' salary.<br /><br />He offered to drive us to our small town, a 30 minute drive. We eagerly accepted the offer. As we drove, I took out all the money I had on me and told Arnaud to pay him all of it. I didn't care if it was way more than a normal taxi ride would cost, I was just so thankful to be going home.<br /><br />When we arrived at home, it was nearing 1:00 a.m. We unloaded the car with the driver's help, then Arnaud handed him the money. He had tears in his eyes, placed his hand upon Ethan's sleeping head, and refused the money.<br /><br />He drove away. I never knew what it was like to meet an angel in real life. But I knew then....and I also knew that God was watching over us, and would continue to do so.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-36025190365710837762011-03-23T19:01:00.000-07:002011-03-23T19:10:50.053-07:00Living under scrutiny<span style="font-size:130%;">It's not a very good feeling to know that your every move is being watched, especially when you want others to view you as a good person, but you know they are just waiting for a mistake to prove you are not. <br /><br />Instead of going about 'as usual', you begin to try and orchestrate how you will say things, or which clothes will best portray the person you want to be....your reactions to the kids will change in front of others, as you second guess yourself as a parent.<br /><br />You can pull it off for a long time, but the effort catches up to you. The fatigue sets in, and the constant justification of your actions and words eat up all the confidence you have left. <br /><br />The gig is up. "YOU" have been outed. And it's not the 'you' that you want to be.<br /><br />It's lonely when you get to that point. <br /><br />That's when God meets you, holds out His hand, and lets you know that He still loves you, even if the world forsakes you.<br /><br />God offers new life....new breath....and hope for the future He has planned for you.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-65544195127854618102011-02-01T08:24:00.001-08:002011-02-01T08:40:16.728-08:00Homeschooling<span style="font-size:130%;">I have </span><span style="font-size:130%;">officially signed up to home school Alec until June.<br /><br />I'm am both terrified and determined....but mainly terrified. It's a decision of necessity, not one of calling, although I have no doubts that God has lead me to this path. <br /><br />I have been thrown into the world of 'curriculum', 'progress reports', 'learning objectives' and scheduled lessons. If I didn't have an appreciation for what teachers do before this, I am in awe now that they are capable of performing all these duties year after year for 30 students at a time! I took it for granted all the organizing and planning that teaching involves....but I will never again look at a (good) teacher without a deep respect for the service they provide.<br /><br />Although I'm early on into this, I have quickly recognized that I am in need of quite a few refresher courses in Grade 6 math....and science....and language arts...and...well, all of it!!! It's hard to stay ahead of Alec when all the new ways of learning go against the processes I learned in school. Maybe this is God's way of getting me back into the learning mode before I attempt going back to school?<br /><br />As scared as I was to make this decision, I am confident that it is the best one for Alec and for our family. The stress levels have diminished so much in our home now that we are not dealing with harassment from the school, and hope is once again restored for our futures. It's an empowering decision....to know that I am capable of providing for my children in a time of need.<br /><br />God is so good...He even provided my mother's skills as a teacher to take on some of the more difficult lesson planning, as well as offer to teach Alec 3 mornings a week. I don't think the decision would have been as easy to make without the support that Mom has offered.<br /><br />If you have any tips or words of encouragement about home schooling, I'm all ears!</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-91088295888725440752010-12-19T10:19:00.000-08:002010-12-19T10:40:56.030-08:00Christmas is upon us<span style="font-size:130%;">Christmas is my most favorite time of year. My heart is full of memories of large family dinners, Christmas carols, a fireplace blazing with warm light, and eggnog. <br /><br />I even love going out and shopping for unique gifts for friends and family....looking all those other shoppers in the eyes and smiling, knowing it may be the only time I ever lay eyes on them, and wanting to make sure my first impression is a caring one.<br /><br />And then the guilt hits. It seems I save all my Joy and Christmas cheer for complete strangers, and fail to provide the same for those closest to me. I am much less patient with my children than I am with whining shoppers in checkout lines. I can see the humor in almost any situation...but I seem to be blind to the need for it at home.<br /><br />My home should be a safe and calm place for my family to lay their heads...instead I have let the negativity cover all the opportunities for peace. My heart sinks when I look at the pile of dishes left in the sink...when I should be elated at the fact that my husband cooked dinner for the family.<br /><br />The laundry piles are on my mind when my youngest wants a story read to her before bed. The vacuuming did not get done (again) because the dog escaped from the backyard and we all had to go find her.<br /><br />BUT.....<br /><br />My children are healthy.<br />Our home is nice and warm.<br />There is food in our fridge.<br />Gas in our van.<br />Bills are paid.<br /><br />Dear Jesus,<br />Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. <br />Thank you Lord for answering prayers, even before they are spoken.<br />Thank you for Your saving Grace, and for giving us Your Son....knowing that we would use and abuse Him in this world. Your Love amazes me daily.<br />Amen.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-37595639657410850752010-11-16T14:18:00.000-08:002010-11-16T14:37:15.759-08:00It's not the same<span style="font-size:130%;">I was reading a friend's blog today, and her words spoke to me and to some of my pain.<br /><br />I'm not sure I knew this particular area that I was hurting before reading her words, but I sure know it now.<br /><br />Her journey is one of heartache, anguish, bone-crushing agony...and hope. A path that has brought her to the brink of ruin so many times, and yet she pulls herself back and bravely faces the world again....even though it's only a matter of time before the waves of grief pull her once again towards the ocean of despair. <br /><br />Her baby girl died this past spring. Suddenly, with no warning. There is no comparable pain.<br /><br />So how could her words speak to my struggles? How can I even remotely relate to a portion of her pain? My children all continue to breathe, sleep, and live.<br /><br />I think I realized today that while Alec is still alive...and while he still makes small steps towards recovery...a part of him <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> die back in December when his teacher hurt him.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A part of him did die</span>.<br /><br />The part that gave him his spark, his will to live....<br />I miss who he <span style="font-style: italic;">used</span> to be. I accept who he is now, but my heart will always grieve what could have been. I cry myself to sleep many nights. I beg God to let us all go back to before the '<span style="font-style: italic;">bad stuff</span>' happened. I fear the future.<br /><br />God has the power to bring back to life that which has died. It's not always what He chooses to do. <br /><br />It's hard for me to trust in His plan when I hurt like I do. <br /><br />I want to care about others and their problems, and I want to be happy for those who never have to know their <span style="font-style: italic;">10 year old child has contemplated suicide</span>,....but sometimes I feel my heart isn't big enough anymore.<br /><br />My pain is not the same as my friend's pain. But it hurts too.<br /><br />I'm waiting for God to help me release the hold of anger on my heart...<span style="font-style: italic;">and maybe he's waiting for me to allow him.</span></span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-87034991800488542652010-11-01T10:00:00.000-07:002010-11-01T10:18:52.643-07:00How does God speak to you?<span style="font-size:130%;">I have been asked this question multiple times, and I mostly stumble over my answers.<br /><br />The truth is, it's hard to explain how God speaks to me. Sometimes He speaks through visions or dreams, other times it's a still, quiet voice. Not quite a whisper....more of a gentle breeze past my ear with words that burn my heart.<br /><br />I have had God speak to me through others....even through non-believers. As pain and turmoil is shared, that loving caress with words that build you up from the inside out is as much God's voice as the booming baritone that most expect to hear.<br /><br />Sometimes I miss the message....maybe most times, actually. He guides me with words that make no sense to the World's ways. I am asked to say or do things that will most definitely make me stand out....but not in a 'wow, she's so awesome' kind of way....more like a 'yep, she's whacked' kind of way. <br /><br />That's how I know it's God's voice.<br /><br />And that potential for embarrassment is what keeps me from the growth I desperately need. <br /><br />The voice has been strong lately, and He's telling me to forgive. He has even been clear on WHO to forgive, and HOW to do it. I'm still hurting. My son is still hurting. And God wants me to forgive. I know the message is urgent, for He has used every communication tool to convey it.<br /><br />I have had dreams. And visions.<br /><br />I have heard the still, small voice brushing past my ears.<br /><br />I have heard the booming command, and had His words jump at me from the Bible. My heart has been convicted.<br /><br />So I will listen. Because I know that God's ways are not always understood, but they are always right.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-63123481027866173102010-07-15T15:28:00.001-07:002010-07-15T15:30:22.944-07:00I must apologize<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5yVjugryaLPgPbACb12y2B1GE_0uYq-Q6K7SLBCuBaipDDPOUUjo0r2hoiT2WP3O9juEdE5VTEF0KiRnF1fqxuhOMC6yUhoIRMQRzS6-YJk5VNtLE_FcnEtGKez3SzsoJYNcYVYdjmS_/s1600/133.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494263717705120146" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5yVjugryaLPgPbACb12y2B1GE_0uYq-Q6K7SLBCuBaipDDPOUUjo0r2hoiT2WP3O9juEdE5VTEF0KiRnF1fqxuhOMC6yUhoIRMQRzS6-YJk5VNtLE_FcnEtGKez3SzsoJYNcYVYdjmS_/s320/133.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">To the unsuspecting stranger who unwittingly posed for this picture in the background.</span><br /></div>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-58145521016418074052010-06-17T07:56:00.000-07:002010-06-17T08:16:09.026-07:00A superficial post<span style="font-size:130%;">Fashion sense...do you have it?</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Some days I'm convinced that I have so many skills in this area, and I hold my head high as I walk out my door in my colourful ensemble.....only to pass by a shop window and realize that not<em> ALL oranges</em> go with <em>ALL blues.</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I am much more comfortable in my black tees with my blue jeans. I know <em>FOR SURE</em> I won't stand out (<em>good or bad</em>), and I can just focus on being a nice person without the added pressure of being stylish too. I'd rather someone know my occupation (<em>Frumpy MOM</em>) by how I dress, than wonder if I do clowning on the side.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em><strong>Case in point:</strong> I decided to experiment with scarves. I see them everywhere on women, even in the summer! I picked up some safe colours (greys, black and white, one with pink in it!) to start.</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>My first outing with a scarf included a beige jean jacket-type thing over a white t-shirt, with a grey/white scarf. A nice pair of dark blue jeans finished off the look, and I exited my room feeling quite proud of my efforts.</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>The great thing about having young children is that they are always honest...even when you don't ask for it.</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>As I grabbed my purse to head off to the meeting (that I had dressed up for), Alec asked (quite innocently), "Mom, why are your dressed like an explorer?"</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Most would feel defeated at this point. Not I. Why? Because at least he wasn't laughing this time.</em></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">My oldest daughter, Annlise (8), definitely has more style than myself. It comes naturally for her, and I'm glad...because I couldn't <em>teach it to a chimp</em>, even if I had a magazine to help me. There have been days that I helped her be creative. She would smile, eat her breakfast, then promptly go change when I was looking the other way. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">She didn't want to hurt my feelings. <em>What a sweetheart</em>. What she doesn't realize is that I've already accepted my shortcomings in this area, and feelings cannot be hurt when the concept of fashion seems to be a joke to me. <em>A cruel joke</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I like to tell myself that fashion is like art. It's all subjective and up to each individual to interpret. What all that <em>really means</em> is that everyone dresses really funny, and <em>awkward</em>, and <em>foolish</em>....to at least one person that sees us each day.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So, I'd rather be comfortable (<em>and un-stylish</em>) when people see me, so that maybe they'll look past the clothes to see the contentment.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love looking at other women's style...and wonder if sometimes they feel <em>just like me</em>.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-49521292160551128512010-06-02T12:50:00.000-07:002010-06-02T12:59:10.112-07:00God has such a big job to do<span style="font-size:130%;">Do you ever feel like you would like to save the world?<br /><br />I have moments when bright ideas pop into my head, and I think to myself, "<em>If I did this, the world would be such a grand place to live!</em>"<br /><br />That's when the details of actually accomplishing these far-fetched goals bog me down, and the reality of just <em>how many obstacles</em> are in the way prevent me from even <em>starting</em>.<br /><br />I had a revelation the other day, and I'm sure it was from the Holy Spirit, that I'm not God.<br /><br /><em>Seriously</em>. That's what popped into my mind. <strong><em>I'm not God</em></strong>.<br /><br /><em>Duh, </em>right? Well, when further contemplating this revelation, I came to the conclusion that I don't have to see everything through to the end. If I use the talents that God gives me to begin a good work, <em>and the goal is a God-centered one</em>, then He will see it through to the end.<br /><br />Those obstacles? Way too big for me...but not even close to stopping God. I don't need to have solutions right now for what has<em> yet to happen</em>. I need to trust that God will provide the answers to the impossible.<br /><br />I'm glad I'm not God. He has <em>SUCH</em> a big job to do!</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-1303229119165259602010-06-01T19:58:00.000-07:002010-06-01T20:15:13.888-07:00Stress<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJbPTIvIlDVIwkw8x6IoX-OMaqMudRwenFzp0oeyyDRCGPKHUSXhYV5lDWbKGz4EHMGBJJ2YTcZ_C5qIxs8G20LELnFbHUSmbuoXYX7ehXdk3ufRBY4nQWr3A8sZw15UmGPjzpesgDSpS/s1600/park+pic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478009500514761170" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJbPTIvIlDVIwkw8x6IoX-OMaqMudRwenFzp0oeyyDRCGPKHUSXhYV5lDWbKGz4EHMGBJJ2YTcZ_C5qIxs8G20LELnFbHUSmbuoXYX7ehXdk3ufRBY4nQWr3A8sZw15UmGPjzpesgDSpS/s320/park+pic.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="center"><br /> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'm not stressed. <em>Right now</em>.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I have experienced a lot of stress this year. It has caused me to reflect on the important things in life. I have learned that stress can be felt in different doses, and it can cause the most sane person to behave irrationally at times.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">It is not benign.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">Stress doesn't usually bring about positive feelings. I think it most closely resembles anger. Sadly, when let loose, it tends to have a domino effect on our loved ones.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">How often do you admit to one another that you are stressed? How quickly are you able to pinpoint that you are not in fact angry, but rather you are stressed? </span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I've been learning through these past few months that when I used the proper term for my feelings <em>("I'm feeling really stressed with the work I have to get done")</em> as opposed to anger <em>("Don't you see I am working and have deadlines??!!?!),</em> I tend to get along better with those I care about most.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">It doesn't necessarily take away my stressed feelings, but it does prevent further stress by preventing the domino effect.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I have always said that there are reasons for every season of our lives, and for every circumstance there is a lesson to be learned. I sense that experiencing this stress now, and learning coping mechanisms, is to better prepare me for the teenage years to come.</span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I pray for all who are experiencing stress right now, that they may know Peace in their hearts...in the midst of the chaos.</span></div>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-77151232374161221602010-04-09T20:20:00.001-07:002010-04-09T20:23:13.161-07:00Did you think I would forget?<span style="font-size:130%;">I was just in denial that it's been 3 years. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Really? I guess it's true. You must be sassy (but the adorable kind of sassy) and have an opinion on everything. I'm sure Jesus loves to hear your thoughts about how the world turns (around you!).</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I hope you felt the love from your family and friends up in Heaven on this, your special day.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Happy 3rd Birthday, Savannah. You are never far from my heart.</span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-86976766247581657522010-03-18T13:57:00.000-07:002010-03-18T14:25:02.415-07:00Bullies<span style="font-size:130%;">I really don't know where this post will lead. I suspect I will end up just rambling some unconnected thoughts, seeking an outlet for the many tidbits that lay stacked up inside my head.<br /><br />Any feedback is welcome....even if written in <em>Chinese</em>! :)</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Some days I'm sick of the constant exposure to media stories on bullying and bullies. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Yes, they exist. Yes, it's unfortunate to be the victim of bullying. Yes, it can cause life-long issues that one will have to deal with...and there are some who never quite heal.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Today I'm <em>not sick</em> of the topic. In fact, I want to share my own thoughts....and I may stick to this topic for quite a few posts, just to get it <em>off my chest</em>. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I think some exposure to being picked on is a good thing; it can test our abilities to cope through rough times. Surviving the ridicule and humiliation can either strengthen us or cause us to close the world out. The difference, I believe, is in how the <em>adults</em> in a child's life react to each given situation.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">If a capable adult is quick to act, and fair in their judgement, both the bully and the victim can learn from the pain. If the adult(s) ignore or minimize the issues, I dare say they are <em>just as</em> <em>guilty as the bully</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">As we enter into adulthood, there is an expectation that bullying ceases to exist. Almost as if the very idea of bullying is a childish one...belonging to adolescents. Sadly, some bullies do not change because they have never been confronted to change.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">In our day and age, we attempt to avoid doling out consequences for poor behaviours. We help the oppressors <em>justify their actions</em>, as opposed to learn from their mistakes. Teachers are taught to not take sides.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">My father (<em>a doctor</em>) has an old newspaper clipping of a quote that summarizes exactly my thoughts:</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>TAKE SIDES!</strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Neutrality only helps the oppressor, never the oppressed.</strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I challenge all you blog readers to take a stand against wrong doing. Protect the defenseless, come alongside those who hurt others because they hurt inside, and give power back to the ones stripped of self-worth by others' harmful actions.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">More to come.....</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5039948473593014655.post-51674000346925431772010-02-19T07:02:00.000-08:002010-02-19T07:19:41.937-08:00My first February post<span style="font-size:130%;">Do any of you say the word 'Feb-RU-ary' while typing it...just so you don't forget the first 'r'? I can still hear my second grade teacher's voice in my head whenever I am writing the month's full name.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">But this post is not about spelling, it's about February. And what a great month it is! My youngest daughter, Kalyna, turned four on the 6th of this month, and I will be turning <em><strong>NOT 6</strong></em> on the 21st!</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We had some family and friends over to celebrate both my girl's birthdays (<em>Annlise turned 8 on Jan. 22</em>) early on this month, so I'm all partied-out. Well, not <em>all </em>partied-out, but<em> mostly</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">God has been doing some amazing things in our lives, more specifically, in Alec's life. I hope to one day be able to reflect back on these past few months and share just how God's love has transformed us all through an unexpected ordeal.<br /><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Here are some pictures of the Birthday girls!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Mdl5xWXE2pnWlYbqxRu3NRTCgBia_BvrR9WLJDtxXFJMg0yqOEu8rFe3ej-GNsU64_s2CCQijLe54T1idCY04E0MtiuSUafgmNV1gKzBO7i_PF7GgV3BsM6n5rFo8Nbdml3tlJf-0a9b/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439974018225913698" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Mdl5xWXE2pnWlYbqxRu3NRTCgBia_BvrR9WLJDtxXFJMg0yqOEu8rFe3ej-GNsU64_s2CCQijLe54T1idCY04E0MtiuSUafgmNV1gKzBO7i_PF7GgV3BsM6n5rFo8Nbdml3tlJf-0a9b/s320/008.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJwEkb2y91SN4cyeGvPBmWPifpd329BdjTq2K5bVQajKsarhMogwIVJnEoLYuuPNSrn6lwtZKHZwWD6DQWsfqXFzDVG2J0BshhM_4Z302qjV0MRQeNuUjoky_d0QGO58GvHbNbZj3zW9m/s1600-h/018.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJwEkb2y91SN4cyeGvPBmWPifpd329BdjTq2K5bVQajKsarhMogwIVJnEoLYuuPNSrn6lwtZKHZwWD6DQWsfqXFzDVG2J0BshhM_4Z302qjV0MRQeNuUjoky_d0QGO58GvHbNbZj3zW9m/s1600-h/018.JPG"></a><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsIKsIXKq_X7VcLIBCGrOdPbsznMQW_0bzpPv9ab5YtCcAs30KaWgP7-O0iFTpZwSZSmfUPIWMRUPPcpmcdPC0Zd1amGEEKwntltyJMB7B-2b8Irw0Nb2gRr3Ae1HwpB4mTwO9T7L7ZOB/s1600-h/021.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439974016597380706" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsIKsIXKq_X7VcLIBCGrOdPbsznMQW_0bzpPv9ab5YtCcAs30KaWgP7-O0iFTpZwSZSmfUPIWMRUPPcpmcdPC0Zd1amGEEKwntltyJMB7B-2b8Irw0Nb2gRr3Ae1HwpB4mTwO9T7L7ZOB/s320/021.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJwEkb2y91SN4cyeGvPBmWPifpd329BdjTq2K5bVQajKsarhMogwIVJnEoLYuuPNSrn6lwtZKHZwWD6DQWsfqXFzDVG2J0BshhM_4Z302qjV0MRQeNuUjoky_d0QGO58GvHbNbZj3zW9m/s1600-h/018.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439974012488541602" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJwEkb2y91SN4cyeGvPBmWPifpd329BdjTq2K5bVQajKsarhMogwIVJnEoLYuuPNSrn6lwtZKHZwWD6DQWsfqXFzDVG2J0BshhM_4Z302qjV0MRQeNuUjoky_d0QGO58GvHbNbZj3zW9m/s320/018.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Blamelesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03816584093771994699noreply@blogger.com1