tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35585666507562720432024-03-12T21:58:32.222-07:00My Sunshine SongWhitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.comBlogger200125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-79334328479340470232016-05-11T13:14:00.000-07:002016-05-11T13:14:11.124-07:00when it's overwhelmingFOUR. {4}. four. <div>
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I have four little humans that have been given to me and entrusted in my care. </div>
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I feel blessed. Blessed beyond measure, honestly. But also, in <b>all</b> honesty, absolutely terrified. </div>
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I don't want to mess them up. </div>
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I want to guard them fiercely from the darkness of this world. I want to parent with grace and gentleness and love. I want so many things for them and I don't know how I can possibly do it all.</div>
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<i>And the truth is, I can't.</i></div>
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<b>But there is someone who can. </b></div>
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And He comes to breathe grace and life into my tired mama soul in the smallness of the day-to-day moments when I <i>choose</i> to turn my eyes upward. When I <i>choose</i> to be still and stop worrying and planning and micromanaging. He comes to me when I say "yes" to reading stories with my Gracie instead of worrying about her picking up that larger than life pile of books in her room. He comes to me when I walk away from a sink full of dishes to go splash in the kiddie pool with my preschoolers in the warm sunshine. </div>
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He comes to me when I sit, exhausted and sore from childbirth, with a satisfied slumbering newborn on my chest and He whispers to me in my sleeping baby's soft breaths a sweet song of the beautiful gift <i>this very moment</i> <i>is</i>. </div>
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I don't want to waste this chapter away by longing to fast-forward out of this "baby phase" or this "terrible two's/three's phase." </div>
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On the hard days, it is so easy to just dream it all away and live in survival mode with your finger on life's "fast forward" button, pressing harder and harder willing it to skip to the next scene. </div>
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It's a natural coping mechanism all tired, frustrated Mama's at the end of their frayed ropes reach for.</div>
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But something miraculous happens if we ENTER IN to the meltdown moments. When we chose to stay present in the mess and embrace chaos with gentleness: </div>
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<i>God shows up shifts our vision away from today and onto eternity; </i></div>
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<i>and suddenly, a burden lifts and we are free to just "be" </i></div>
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<i>in this season that He has purposely planted us. </i></div>
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There is something about taking time to just hold a child--to stare at them in all of their beautiful uniqueness and watch their chest rise and fall with the gift of life. How their eyes light up with joy when you smile at them and pause to just drink them in. </div>
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<b>It invites a spirit of gratitude for the moment; and that is where Jesus lives: </b></div>
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<i>the stillness in the midst of the mess. </i></div>
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Let's go there, Mama's. </div>
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<b><i>Today </i></b>is beautiful in the garden we are growing. </div>
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[watch & listen & let the words sink deep].</div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-58064643194306213192016-04-06T15:42:00.000-07:002016-04-06T21:11:20.424-07:00Birth Stories (to be continued...)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Kai Quincy</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">July 30, 2010</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">12:54pm</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">8.5 lbs. 20.5" </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Good Shepherd Medical Center, Hermiston OR.</span></div>
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<b>Birth story: </b></div>
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<i>You were quite comfy in my huge tummy and didn't exactly want to come out! (You still love to snuggle with your Mama). Your Daddy had to leave for a job shortly after your due date to go diving down in the Gulf of Mexico and I wanted him to get to meet you before he left so I was induced at a little over 41 weeks. </i></div>
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<i>I had a very strong epidural once the induction was well underway and didn't feel much of anything through my labor with you. Once it was "go" time I only had to work at things for about 15 minutes until you were finally in our arms. You were a big healthy boy and born with the sweetest little cleft lip which you had repaired at Doernbecher's Children's Hospital when you were barely 5 months old.</i></div>
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<i>We knew before you arrived that we would call you Kai. It was a beautiful not "too" common name which has the most beautiful meanings in every dialect (Ocean, Happiness, Forgiveness, Strength). We chose "Quincy" as your middle name because that is where your Papa was born and raised---and little did we know how much your shy little smirky smile and quiet, laid-back personality would resemble the very individual your middle name grew from.</i></div>
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<i>You were an easy, happy baby and and the joy of our lives--which you continue to be with your sweet, loving spirit and old soul. </i></div>
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<i>There is not a day that goes by that I am not thankful that YOU were the one who first made me a Mommy. I love you with everything that I am, my sweet boy.</i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">And look at you now:</span></b></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Sunny June</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">July 23, 2012</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">10:26pm</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">7lbs. 21.5" </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Good Shepherd Medical Center, Hermiston OR.</span></div>
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<b>Birth story: </b></div>
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<i>Oh, Sunny Boo. I couldn't have imagined an easier pregnancy or delivery. Maybe that is part of the reason we felt so inclined to call you "Sunny."</i></div>
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<i>You came RIGHT smack dab on your due date. My water broke as I bent down to grab a beach towel for your brother who was busy swimming at Nana & Papa's house. I non-chalantly called your Daddy who was just a few minutes away working in Boardman. He met me at our house and we excitedly drove together to the hospital (after stopping at Starbucks first for an iced coffee and then the Snow cone shack for a pina colada treat--there is a reason you love that pina colada flavor, sweet girl). </i></div>
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<i>I remember my water leaking profusely on our elevator ride up to the maternity floor. I wasn't in any pain at all--and that was probably one of the most uncomfortable things I can remember about your birth. </i></div>
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<i>We checked in to our room, the Doctor came and "checked" our progress and I proceeded to have a few minor contractions while walking out on the warm rooftop deck before getting the epidural. After I was tucked in and comfortable, your Daddy asked the nurse if he had "time" to run to Walmart to grab a movie and some snacks. She said "of course" and he took off. Well, I watched my contractions get stronger and stronger and started feeling lots of pressure and had to call him to tell him to rush back--he literally walked/ran back up to the room and in one push there you were! </i></div>
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<i>It was too easy and too perfect. It felt like a dream. Your big brother was over the moon to meet you the next day--and you two have pretty much been inseparable since. </i></div>
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<i>We had a few names in our back pocket ready to give you--we liked Harper and Bailey. We knew you would carry your Daddy's Grandmother's name as the middle (June) but we hadn't really settled on a first name. A few weeks before you arrived your Daddy recalled how I'd talked a lot about the name "Sunny" for your brother if he would have been a girl. You know how much I love the sunshine. I knew, right then, that the sheer act of your Daddy "re-introducing" that name the deal was done. </i><br />
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<i>From that moment on, you have been our sunshine. </i></div>
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<i>I was really nervous about having a daughter--I'd always envisioned being a Mom to a bunch of boys, but you have been such a joy. Full of spunk with the biggest, most beautiful smile. I have fallen in love with having a daughter--someone to get pedicures with and share earrings and blush brushes. </i></div>
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<i>And if you haven't already figured it out, you have your Daddy absolutely wrapped around your finger. </i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">And look at you now:</span></b></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Gracie Sage</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">April 24, 2014</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">10:48pm</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">8 lbs. 20" </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Good Shepherd Medical Center, Hermiston OR.</span></div>
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<b>Birth story: </b></div>
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<i>Sweet Gracie girl. You made Mama feel it for the entire month of April before you decided to finally show up around 10 days before your cinco de mayo due date. My pregnancy had been quite easy up until that point--but after teasing us for almost an entire month, I finally felt crappy enough to tearfully have your Daddy drive me to the hospital to see if I was really in labor or if you were just teasing me some more. </i></div>
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<i>Thankfully, it was the real thing (especially since I'd had your Daddy drive home from his job in Portland the day before).</i></div>
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<i>Papa came and stayed with Kai and Sunny while your Daddy and I were at the hospital. Once we checked in, they told me to "walk around for awhile" until I progressed a bit more in order to get that lovely epidural. I walked for about 10 minutes and then started having massive contractions--so I decided to go back to the room. They got harder and harder, crashing over me like waves to the point where your Daddy went out to get the nurse because he was sure you were close. </i></div>
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<i>The doctor came and checked things and passively informed the nurse that I would not be getting an epidural because I was already dilated to almost 9 cm. </i></div>
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<i>And, I cried. I was terrified because up until this point I had not had to face an entire labor without the wonderful numbing crutch of my dear epidural. I could see the fear in your Daddy's eyes as the doctor walked out and we were left in foreign territory: NATURAL territory. </i></div>
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<i>The next 20-30 minutes felt like a lifetime of wrenching pain. I remember just watching the monitor and squeezing the living daylight out of your Daddy's hand (he ended up only letting me hold/squeeze the left hand just in case I broke something). I remember crying to the nurse and asking her WHY WHY WHY anyone would ever CHOOSE to feel this. And then, I remember feeling the most insane pressure and remembering what my natural birthing mama friends referred to as the "ring of fire" and not being afraid anymore, but instead SO STOKED that it was all coming to an end. </i></div>
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<i>The doctor ran in and you were out in a single push, my love. </i></div>
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<i>And I felt every square inch of your feisty body. </i><br />
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<i>It was raw and hurt like hell but was SO beautiful and exhilarating (As horrifying as it felt at the time I'm actually not convinced that I wouldn't do it again if I were to arrive to L&D that far along...).</i></div>
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<i>To this day you are our spitfire. You are stubborn and bossy and scary smart. You are super social and you love to be with people--and you are usually the life of the party with your contagious laugh and boundless energy. </i></div>
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<i>As exhausted as you make me, I cannot for one single second imagine life without you. </i></div>
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<i>We had planned to name you "Sage" but once we laid eyes on you it just didn't feel right. We wrestled for a day or so between "Jory" and "Gracie" and your Daddy called you Gracie. I think it had something to do with the double G's and the fact that that cute little Gracie Gold was all over the television for those 2014 Olympic games. It just fit. YOU just fit. </i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">And look at you now:</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Baby Rivers"</b></span></div>
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Due May 03, 2016</div>
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<b>Birth story: </b></div>
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<i>To be continued...</i></div>
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<i>(I can't WAIT to add to this section!)</i></div>
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<i>There is nothing that fills me with the fullness of the joy of God like being a Mommy.</i></div>
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-70556799832639830262016-03-27T23:06:00.001-07:002016-03-27T23:06:43.760-07:00Easter melt-downs & mercyThis morning we hurried out of our car into the pouring rain and through the puddle filled Ferris High School parking lot for our church's last Easter service of the day.<br />
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G carried Sunny while I instinctively but ever so awkwardly carried the heavier Gracie. I decided, in much discomfort, about halfway through our parking lot trek that her 35 pound body riding on my 35 week belly wasn't actually the best idea so I implored G to drop Sunny and instead carry the clumsier, heavier almost two-year old who really actually wanted to walk but would inevitably head straight into the nearest muddy puddle. He obliged and a 3-year-old melt down of epic proportions ensued.<br />
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We made a grand entrance into the the buzzing Easter-adorned auditorium foyer, soaking wet and turning heads with our screaming Sunny desperately clawing at our legs and demanding in the most loud and annoying toddler scream/cry/whine to be picked up and carried. It was glorious. My eyes immediately landed on a large bowl of donut holes near the entryway and I somehow broke away from the chaos and made a beeline toward the sugary treats in hopes of a possible diversion/bribe (don't judge) AND because I'm pregnant and pretty much couldn't help myself.<br />
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I returned to a newly silent but very sulky Sunny who refused the donut hole and instead thrust her skinny little arms upward in what I assumed was yet another attempt to get me to pick her up--to which I calmly replied "I'm sorry, baby, but Mommy CAN'T carry you."<br />
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She quickly corrected my errant assumption and to my surprise cried "<i>no, HUG, Mommy, HUG!</i>"<br />
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I knelt down beside her in the middle of that busy foyer and she melted right into my shoulder and cried the sweetest, sorriest tears of apology known to man. It was as if she literally could not take another single step toward her Sunday school classroom until she'd apologized and <b>been forgiven. </b><br />
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It broke me and I couldn't stop thinking about her urgent, emotional apology throughout the service...<br />
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<i>About the way it feels to know you messed up and the desperate longing for mercy.</i></div>
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<i>About how it feels to be guilty and sorry and then embraced and loved and forgiven.</i></div>
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<i>About how it feels to be defeated and dead on Friday,</i></div>
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<i>scared and uncertain on Saturday, </i></div>
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<i><b>and then alive and full of hope everlasting at an empty tomb on Sunday.</b></i></div>
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Oh, happy day!<br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-28024575606380720012016-03-08T10:38:00.000-08:002016-03-08T14:30:24.650-08:00"take a deep breath, sit down and read to your children."I overdid it a bit a couple of weekends ago when I spent 14+ hours too many in the car traveling to Portland and back. My 32 week pregnant body made me pay and I ended up being "laid up" (i.e. basically immobile) for the couple of days following my return. With G still working out of town, I found myself struggling to "take it easy" while my sweet little spawns tore the house apart with their incredibly feisty imaginations. With each crumb and dish that cluttered the kitchen I felt more and more like a failure on the verge, and beat myself up internally over having to keep my kids "in" so I could "rest," and for the fact that they were still in their pjs as we ate our dinner fresh out of the microwave.<br />
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Joy seemed as out of reach for me as that matchbox car, miles away at my feet that I kept swiping for over my swollen belly.<br />
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And then, out of the blue, in the mix of the bills and junk mail I found a card from my sweet Grandmother, who has gift for mailing letters and birthday cards and love--a lost and beautiful blessing of an art. It has been a little over a month since we have last spoken, but the Good Lord must have told her that I desperately needed these words:<br />
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As I read and re-read, my tears seemed to lighten my dark burden and create space for light--for joy.<br />
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While this final stretch of my final pregnancy has me weary, winded, and fatigued, I am so encouraged by the wise and God-fearing women in my life who continue to lift me up and remind me that it's actually NOT all about "keeping it together."<br />
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These women--grandmas, sisters, moms, friends--remind me that these brutally messy times are all about being desperate--not desperate for things like a vacation or more "stuff" or money--<i>but desperate to find that joy, often hidden but always waiting, in the midst of the chaos. </i><br />
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<b>And sometimes, that looks like dropping to your knees in the eye of your storm to pull that sweet busy baby into your arms, and just read. Breathe, and read, and hold. </b><br />
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<b>And now, I offer this letter of blessing and encouragement to you:</b><br />
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<i>Dear tired one--sleepless one--anxious one,</i><br />
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<i>I know at times you must feel completely overwhelmed and like you have "had it." </i><br />
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<i>But please, remember you are a GREAT mother. You work hard to give your children such great experiences. You work hard to give them the very best of all of you. You are selfless and you are enough.</i><br />
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<i>When dirty clothes are piled high and the sink and countertop are heavy with dishes, please, stop striving. Give yourself enough grace to slow down and drink in this very moment that you can never get back. Take a deep, slow breath--grace in, praise out. Grace in, praise out. Grace in, praise out. </i><br />
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<i>Find a child and meet them at eye level with an unhurried embrace and their favorite book. </i><br />
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<i>You are enough and you are SO loved. </i><br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-51199985444938768072016-02-24T18:18:00.000-08:002016-02-24T18:18:05.361-08:0010 ways to reverse a "hard" day.<div>
I'm having to prepare an arsenal for days like this since Kai is now old enough and intuitive enough to sense when I'm having one. </div>
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"<i>Mommy, are you having a hard day today?</i>"</div>
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It's what he says when he sees me throw a little tantrum when I can't get the lid on Gracie's cup when I'm in a hurry, or when I take that breath of exasperation as I frantically dig for my keys in the black hole of my purse while holding Gracie and a bag full of groceries with a very full (er, overflowing?) bladder, or when I look at him with sad eyes after giving up on chasing Gracie (again) down to wipe her still-poopy bum after wrestling her down to get the dirty diaper off of her in the first place. </div>
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<b>We all have them. </b><div>
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Wherever you may find yourself in this beautiful mess of life, the inevitable "terrible, horrible no-good, very bad day" or sometimes "week" shows up. I don't care if you have six kids or no kids, or if you work or stay at home or if you work from home...the "hard day" manifests for all of us in it's own ugly way. </div>
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I don't know about you, but there are moments on these "hard days" when I feel like I have to do something, like RIGHT THIS SECOND to keep me from exploding or crumpling into a ball on the kitchen floor or locking myself in the bathroom with a Costco sized bag of chips. I have to work diligently to change the position of my sails ASAP to avoid a wreck of Titanic proportions. </div>
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I don't have this all down pat--and I certainly don't always gracefully reposition the wind of the "hard day" storm--but every so often, in the midst of a moment where I'm teetering on losing it, I have a break through. And it usually involves doing one of the following:</div>
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<b>1. Being silly.</b></div>
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Wrestle and tickle and laugh that tension away. Your shift from pouty to playful will take your people by surprise and serve as an instant mood booster for all involved. Seriously, this works. Do something off-the-wall fun that seems over-the-top. I struggled last night in that pre-dinner but after-school trouble zone and my floors were already toast so I rolled up all of our big area rugs and let the kids go nut-so in the house on their bikes. They even helped me sweep afterward. </div>
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<b>2. Locking myself in the bathroom. Not with chips. </b></div>
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You guys I don't ever shut the door when I'm in the bathroom. I have pretty much given up on not being interrupted or needed or called upon or ALONE, like, ever. But, every so often, on said "hard days" I will actually shut and lock (gasp!) the door behind me. And do something luxurious like wash my face with warm water without one of my girls sneaking away with my makeup bag or playing with bath toys in the toilet. It's just me and my drippy shower. I breathe and pray and collect myself and maybe even look in the mirror and say some empowering affirmations or something like "NOT TODAY, SATAN!" Yes. This is something that typically helps. </div>
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<b>3. Fresh air.</b></div>
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My go-to for the non-frigid months. Not to say it's not beneficial when it's so cold your lungs burn and your nose and fingers feel like they might fall off. But a walk to the park or around the block to just get out and listen to the birds and watch the squirrels is just what the Dr. ordered. </div>
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<b>4. Misery loves company.</b></div>
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Text a family member or friend who gets it. Don't worry about what they might think--if they are a true friend they will sympathize and maybe even show up to your messy house after your kids have gone to bed to drink wine and cry with you while you watch Parenthood. We are all in this together. Vent, encourage, love each other through it all. </div>
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<b>5. Focus on helping someone else. </b></div>
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Do that thing for another person that you "never get around to." It can be as simple as calling your Grandma or sending a package to far-away family. Look at your calendar and see who has a birthday coming up and make them something thoughtful. Take your neighbor cookies. Go through your toys or clothes and donate. The act of giving is really allowing yourself to receive--and there is no better time to give than when you feel like all the world does from you is "take." It's' life giving to get your mind off of yourself and pour yourself out. Even when we feel empty, we are not.</div>
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<b>6. Exercise.</b></div>
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Activate those post-workout endorphins and get your heart rate up. Maybe this means checking your hoodlums into the gym daycare. Maybe this means throwing them all in the stroller or wagon and heading out on an adventure. It might look like an impromptu yoga session on your living room rug, or maybe even you doing something extreme like dumping a bunch of rice into a tub and letting them go to town so you can do burpees and pushups while you listen to the sound of rice scattering all over your hardwoods. But I guarantee, you will feel a lot less resentful and bitter cleaning that rice-mess up AFTER you have broken a sweat and gotten your heart rate up! </div>
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<b>7. Bake something. </b></div>
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WITH your kids. Preferably involving chocolate and batter and beaters. It's an instant pick-me-up for you and the kiddos who are stoked to stir. Then deliver to neighbors or firemen or nursing home so you don't eat them all while the kids nap. </div>
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<b>8. Shred the "to-do" list to do a messy creative thing.</b></div>
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Do that crafty project that you have been pining to do but haven't taken the time for yourself to sit down and do! Ignore the laundry and the floors and the dishes. Drag your kids to Michael's or JoAnns or Hobby Lobby and get what you need and get going. Let the kids craft along with you. It's a big chaotic FUN time. </div>
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<b>9. Sing the first uplifting, positive song that comes to mind. At the top of your lungs (that part is key--even if your "key" is very, very off).</b></div>
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My kids have learned many a chorus from me randomly belting them out while I'm struggling through lunch or dishes or toilet cleaning or even a super nasty diaper change. Don't think, just do it. I</div>
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<b>10. Take it up with God.</b></div>
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This doesn't have to be a whiny, angry conversation. It actually serves me best when I attempt to be thankful. Gratitude is like a softening agent to a hard, anxious heart. It's amazing what choosing to be thankful can do to an overwhelmed spirit. </div>
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Often times it comes out something like this:</div>
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<i>God, thank you for all of this. </i></div>
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<i>Thank you that my daughters are so painstakingly strong in spirit. </i></div>
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<i>Thank you that my son is so creative that he wants to build things all over the house. </i></div>
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<i>Thank you that my husband is gone because that means he is making money. </i></div>
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<i>Thank you for all of these dirty dishes because that means you gave us food to eat...</i></div>
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<i>Thank you for this chance to chat because if things weren't so chaotic chances are we wouldn't be talking right now...</i></div>
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I know I'm not telling you guys anything you didn't already know. </div>
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<i><b>I'm simply giving you permission to do the thing that might seem silly or irrational or spontaneous to get yourself out of your rut. </b></i></div>
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<i><b>Pray (plead) aloud. Sing like you mean it. Model for those little eyes that are watching your every move that you CAN, in fact, reverse and find joy in a "hard" day. </b></i></div>
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From one person on the verge to another.</div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-86910734728222218012016-02-19T14:45:00.000-08:002016-02-19T14:45:52.896-08:00Clean up & dance: Embracing your inner "5"This is Kai and his very best friend in his pre-k class, Lydia:<div>
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We have heard loads about how "fun and silly" she is from Kai, and G and I couldn't help but fall in love with her contagious smile and spunky personality--even if it was just in the few minutes we get to interact with her in the drop off/pick up line.</div>
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Well, Kai has been telling us for some time how he and Lydia "dance together" in class almost every day. He doesn't always give the most accurate and detailed descriptions, so we haven't really been clear on what context this dancing was occurring in. It's not like we've been worried, just curious. Kai is pretty reserved and neither one of us could picture our timid son "twirling" his sweet little friend around to music.</div>
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Well, today I got to witness it with my very own eyes. </div>
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I didn't cry, but I can't say I didn't have to blink back a few tears (duh). </div>
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So, when it's time to pick up after free-play there is a song that is played, and if the students have the room completely cleaned up by the time the song concludes they get to have a "dance party." Well, today, they got to have a "dance party" and I watched as Kai and his Lydia immediately found one another and excitedly grabbed hands. When the "dance party" song came on they twirled and whirled and laughed and smiled and looked into each other's eyes with the most pure, adorable, fun-loving gaze I have ever seen. I could hardly handle it. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">. . .</span></b></div>
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We can learn a whole lot about relationships from children. </div>
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They don't know how <i>not</i> to be real. </div>
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With enthusiasm, they seek each other out. With eye contact, they engage in smiles and laughter, and without abandon, they dance.</div>
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What if our "grown-up" relationships with our spouses, our children, our friends and our family reflected the playful joy and engaging presence that we see in Kai and Lydia? </div>
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There would be <i>presence</i> over presents.</div>
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There would be <i>acceptance</i> instead of expectation.</div>
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There would be <i>joy </i>instead of apathy.</div>
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There would be <i>laughter</i> instead of gossip.</div>
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There would be <i>self-confidence </i>instead of self-consciousness.</div>
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There would be <i>dancing</i> instead of doubting.</div>
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There would be life lived with <i>glorious intention</i> instead of hurried ambition.</div>
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So hurry up! Clean up your act before the song is over...</div>
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there is a dance party waiting to be had!</div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Living a life fully engaged and full of whimsy </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">and the kind of things that love does </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">is something most people plan to do, </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">but along the way they just kind of forget." </span></i></b></div>
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Bob Goff (<u>Love Does</u>)</div>
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Happy weekend, friends!</div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-76233669036111636672016-02-18T22:29:00.001-08:002016-02-19T06:51:14.006-08:00Crying all the tears. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Normal, well-regulated people don't cry actual liquid tears <i>every</i> time they are moved. </div>
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Unless they are 30 weeks pregnant and well, me. <b>Today.</b> </div>
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The kids and I had a great morning spent downtown frolicking in the cool sunshine of Riverfront park and playing with friends at Mobius (the Children's museum).<br />
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The waterworks didn't get started when we got home--around 2:00pm. </div>
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Kai and Sunny knew that it was well past Gracie's nap time, and I had prepped them as I put the car in park in our drive way to put their shoes and jackets in the closet and wash their hands while I put Gracie to bed. Well, I got sidetracked with something along the way and when I finally made it to the living room I saw that my sweet Kai had made Gracie a cozy little bed on our rug with with her favorite blankies and buddies and had her all tucked in and was snuggled up next to her singing "Peace" (Numbers 24--our family lullaby). It was too sacred to even snap a picture of. I couldn't even move. All I could do was cry at the sweet, sweet sight of it. </div>
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And then a dear friend from Bible study texted me to see if I was home so she could bring us dinner "just because" she knew i'd been fighting off a mean bear of a sinus infection and of course planning and cooking dinner was literally the very last thing on earth that I wanted to do or even think about and, well, SHE JUST KNEW. So, she dropped a Papa Murphy's pizza and activity book and popcorn off for my kiddos and I managed to hold back my tears until she left but then, well, you know. </div>
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And THEN, you guys, it just HAD to be Kindergarten open house at Kai's school. Not like actual registration or anything, just a simple "open house" for prospective parents to come and check out the room and curriculum and schedule and overall vibe of the school (this was at the private Christian school they have both been attending preschool at). </div>
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I didn't enjoy one single minute of it. </div>
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I sat uncomfortably crammed beneath a kindergarten sized desk and awkwardly wedged into a plastic chair built for a 5-year-old and held my tears back as the sweet little teacher spoke about everything I already knew but was not ready to hear. I sat there and focused on the little baby kicking like crazy in my belly, trying not to remember how it had just been yesterday that I was feeling those same flutters and taps from Kai. I didn't make a scene and even managed to keep it together in the car on the drive home. </div>
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I walked into the house and immediately busied myself with the task of outlining all of our "options" for school next fall and resenting how early this all has to be done. I filled up three whole sheets of notebook paper with all of the different scenarios and options that we have available to us for Kai's kindergarten and Sunny's 4-year old preschool. </div>
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And then I cried a little because there are so many darned options. When we lived in a small town I think I cried a little because there was such a lack of options. But now I was crying because there were too many and the pressure of the decision was overwhelming--even on a rainy Thursday in February, months before the new school year will even begin. </div>
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I took a deep breath and went to clean up dinner while G and the kids continued to play "WrestleMania"on the rug. A few minutes passed until Kai came and sat at the table and I stopped washing and just watched him, sitting there, taking big gulps out of his water glass while watching the rain drops slide down the big window in front of us and that is when the floodgates really opened. </div>
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I<i>'m not ready for him to be gone from me all day...all week long. </i></div>
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<i>How did this even happen? </i><i>Why does this have to happen? </i><i>What kind of cruel world do we live in that forces us to sacrifice our children for seven hours a day once they reach Kindergarten age? When did he get so handsome? Why does he have to grow up?</i> </div>
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ALL THE TEARS OF ALL OF THE LOVING MOTHERS streamed down my cheeks until G had to come into the kitchen to make sure I wasn't going into early labor. </div>
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And as he hugged me he chuckled and said, "<i>Oh babe, you're just pregnant</i>." </div>
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I can't argue with that. Not one bit. But I'm also grieving the growth of my first born that seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. And I'm looking around at my daughters running around the house like wild kittens in pink minnie mouse undies and thinking about how all too soon they will leave me too and how just like that we are going to be empty nesters and OH MY GOODNESS the tears. </div>
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It was over-the-top and highly unnecessary, I'm sure. And I may or may not be a bit out-of-sorts in the hormone department, BUT those tears needed to fall. Necessary or not. I <i>needed</i> this night of pregnant, hormonal, Mommy grief. </div>
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I <i>needed </i>to sneak into Kai's room after he had fallen asleep and just stare at him and push his red waves back off of his smooth, freckled kissed cheeks. I <i>needed </i>to hear that gentle, loving voice in the silence in-between his steady sleeping breaths whisper to my anxious Mama heart, </div>
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<i>"surrender."</i></div>
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And as I feel with each year and week and day and second, his little fingers slowly slip out of my grasp <b>I know </b>that out "there," in the unknown and dark places, there are arms wide open--waiting, eager and overjoyed at the anticipation of his embrace. </div>
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<i>He may be my son, but he is a child of God.</i></div>
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So tonight, with tears run dry and a peace that surpasses all understanding, I surrender.</div>
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<i><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. </span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. </span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">It’s wonderful what happens </span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.</span> </b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Philippians 4:6-7 (MSG)</span></div>
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And now I'm going to enjoy some pickles and a bowl of cereal since, you know, I'm pregnant, and crying all of the tears certainly takes a lot out of you.</div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-14791458477251840392016-02-14T15:50:00.000-08:002016-02-14T22:02:25.947-08:00Love of the {EXTRAVAGANT} kindThis post isn't about romance.<br />
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It's not about Hallmark cards and chocolates and flowers. </div>
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Shoot, it's not even about Valentine's day. </div>
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But, it's about love.<br />
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<i>Extravagant love. </i></div>
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Contrary to fairy tales and romantic comedy, extravagant love is not about riding off into the sunset on a white horse with your royal princess or knight in shining armor. <b>Extravagant</b> love is quite the opposite, really. It is the kind of love that really COSTS you. It is the selfless love that makes sacrifices and does hard things in the wake of a world that screams otherwise. </div>
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It is a love that you have to fight for. A love that forgives and endures and is patient and kind. </div>
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Last night, G and I celebrated our Valentine's eve by attending a fancy benefit ball for an organization called <a href="http://www.beautifullyinspired.org/" target="_blank"><i>Beautifully Inspired</i></a>. </div>
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<i>Beautifully Inspired</i> is an organization that provides support to the Tri-Cities area foster care community. G's sister Beth co-organized the benefit and I had the privilege of putting her family's adoption story into words to be displayed at the event and I think their story worth sharing, especially on a day like today, when so many of us are fighting for a deeper, less material and more "beautifully inspired" kind of love:</div>
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<b><i>Our Adoption Story: McCance Family</i></b></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I carry a heavy burden for the “plight of the orphan” that has pursued my heart into action and wrecked me. </i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When we are faced with staggering statistics of story after story of hurt and hopelessness and despair it is easy to turn a blind eye and list the many reasons why we can’t really do anything to help or make a real difference.</i></div>
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<i>I used to dream about all of the orphans I could save if I won the lottery. </i></div>
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<i>But then, beneath the weight of this burden God had placed on my heart, I discovered that the “lottery” has actually already been won. </i></div>
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<i>And it’s Jesus.</i></div>
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<i><b>Jesus is the ultimate lottery</b> and He will go the distance if we will take those first slow steps in His direction—even if that means walking into the unknown.</i></div>
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<i>This “ultimate lottery” Jesus is not about “all or nothing.” </i></div>
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<i>He is about taking one step of faith towards opening your home, softening your heart, giving your time and sharing what He has so graciously has given to you. It is in those obedient steps toward that aching need, that call that God has placed in your heart, where HE provides much more than you could have ever imagined—finances, peace, patience, grace, wisdom, help, resources, purpose. </i></div>
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<i>* * *</i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We currently have 6 kids in our home that are forever ours. We have two “tummy babies” and four from the heart (adopted from foster care). When we first began foster care, we went from two kids to eight kids within the span of six short months (I had always felt that I would have a large family, just be careful for what you ask for because God certainly has a sense of humor!). At that time, we were both working and living pay check to pay check but when we got the call for our kids, I had NEVER felt more sure of anything in my life. I felt beckoned to quit my job and bring our kids HOME. When those kids walked through my front door for the first time, I knew them. It’s as if they had always been in my heart and a part of what had once been empty was finally filled. My babies were finally home and safe.</i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But this journey has not been easy. In fact, there have been times where the thought of turning away from this call that God has placed on my heart sounded so blissfully easy. I wanted to give my kids the world—I gave them my heart and they stomped on it without hesitation. My oldest daughter spent the first year proving that she wasn’t worth being loved. She didn’t care about being trusted, because she had never been able to trust an adult in her life. Then God showed up, the healing began, and I received a glimpse of how Jesus must feel. Through the pain and hardships and triumphs He has taught me about His patience and grace, His true forgiveness, His unconditional, unfailing love, and His perfect peace. He has taught me to seek joy through the pain and to see the true miracle that our children truly are—beautiful potential just waiting, begging, to thrive! THEY are the true heroes and I am humbled to say that we have been blessed beyond measure.</i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our family has been thoughtfully woven together and when I reflect on </i></div>
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<i>God’s marvelous craftsmanship I am able to see how we fit more perfectly than I could have ever imagined. THIS is the family I dreamed of from before I had even laid eyes on them. Each one of us, intricately stitched together—beautifully imperfect and unfinished. A masterpiece of a journey that is just beginning.</i></div>
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<b>. . .</b></div>
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I think a question that we can all reflect upon, especially today, on this day dedicated to giving gifts to those we love, is how we can not just talk or think or plan to love with this kind of extravagant love--but how to put that kind of love into action. </div>
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I'm not beckoning every dear reader into a life of foster care--but rather into a life of identifying a need around you and not just acknowledging that need, but DOING something about it. Maybe it starts in your neighborhood or at your place of employment. Maybe your kids have friends that need some extra love and grace and hope. Perhaps your parents or grandparents? </div>
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I truly believe that God has us right where we can make a lasting, real impact on another. We just need to see with <i>His eyes</i> and love with <i>His love--</i>which is often not the most comfortable or natural thing to do. But when we give away that kind of love--the extravagant kind of love--we are giving away something that is lasting. Something immeasurable and life giving and so much bigger than ourselves. Something that lasts. </div>
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We don't always know how to help those who God puts in our path or on our hearts. </div>
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We don't have the words to take their pain away </div>
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or the resources to give them everything that they need.</div>
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But God has given us the greatest gift of all that we get to give away: </div>
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<b>His love. </b></div>
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<i>And it comes {extravagantly} wrapped </i></div>
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<i>in our presence, our time, our generosity & our grace.</i></div>
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Love,</div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-37405470595880692222016-01-13T15:24:00.000-08:002016-01-14T14:32:10.231-08:00Living "less" in 2016<i>Less.</i><br />
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That is my "word" for this year.<br />
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Does that sound depressing?<br />
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It certainly seems like it should--especially in our consumer-happy culture.<br />
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Many times, our initial internal response to the word "less" is a feeling of disappointment or feeling sorry for oneself. But as I sat down and wrote out my goals for the year and really sat with God to hear what it was that He wanted for me and for our family this year, I just kept hearing and feeling and repeating "l<i>ess, less, less."</i><br />
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And it wasn't the pitiful, self-deprecating kind of "less."<br />
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<i>It was a hopeful, freeing, deep sense of "less."</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> {Check out Jennie Allen's <a href="http://www.jennieallen.com/2015-dream-guide/" target="_blank">Dream Guide</a> for a great goal-setting outline!}</span></div>
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So the following, my friends, is the is the "less" that I am compelled toward for the year ahead:</h2>
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<b>Less screen time.</b></h3>
I absolutely set limits on my kids' "screen time" and I pride myself on getting them outside and engaging in creative ventures on the daily but lets face it--we could all spend <i>less</i> time staring into the glossy sheen of the TV, iPad & iPhone.<br />
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<u>TV:</u><br />
At the start of this new year, G and I (along with the nagging voice of Dave Ramsey) made the painful decision to break up with Directv. Instead we have Netflix/Amazon Prime to stream and a working antenna and I no longer feel compelled to click through the DVR or channel surf when I have more pressing tasks in front of me like mopping floors or stripping beds. It's also better for the kiddos because after they get their "wake-up" show--it stops! It's easy to let a 30 minute show turn into 90-minutes of Disney/Nick Jr. when it plays continuously. So, love that--AND the fact that we are saving a TON of money (happy Dave?)<br />
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Which also led me to also say "less" to another distraction--a worse one.<br />
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<u>iPhone: </u><br />
My children wouldn't allow me to sit on my phone all day even if I tried. HOWEVER, I often find that when I do have a lull in the daily grind and a chance to actually be still for a moment I am reaching for my phone. While there ARE times that I may be doing things that are productive and necessary (i.e. paying bills, responding to emails, reading about current events) there are also times I am mindlessly scrolling through social media. Not that that is BAD--it's just a waste of time if it's being done several times a day AND it's not exactly how I want my kids to remember me--staring into the light of the rectangular screen in my hands. What is that teaching them?<br />
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SO--the parameters that I have set for myself are to check email/social media twice a day. Once in the morning before kids are up & then again at night after kids are in bed.<br />
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I'm not saying "no," I'm just saying "less."<br />
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<u>iPad:</u><br />
30 minutes per kid, per day (not including the 1-year old who just smears her drooly fingers all over the place). We only have educational apps on the iPad, so it's not like they dumping that time down the drain but I just feel that so much is missed when their little eyes are so glued to that screen--they miss the birds in the backyard and the sunset and the big cardboard box in the garage just begging to be transformed into a rocket. There are days that they don't even ask for iPad time, and then there are days they beg for it (usually extreme weather days!). On those "begging" days limits are a good thing to hold both parent and child accountable!<br />
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And guess what?<br />
<h3>
<b>Less screen time = More together time.</b> </h3>
I will admit that with Gracie's hyperactive/annoyingly needy tendencies, I am often guilty of turning a show on for her while I make/serve dinner just so she's not all up in my grill. And then everyone ends up eating in front of the TV which makes for less conversation and more screen time and not the most fulfilling family time. WELL NOT THIS YEAR. I am really good at the whole "family dinner at the table" thing when we have company or when G is home--but when he's gone...different story. Well, this year dinner time is sacred and the only sounds that will be filling it will be slurping and stories about the day.<br />
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<b>Less "lazy" spending.</b></h3>
<i>Darn you, Dave Ramsey.</i> G and I read (let me rephrase--I READ TO G) his "<a href="http://www.daveramsey.com/store/prodtmmoclassic.html?ictid=aw05&ectid=gaw.publishing-drbooks-all-dynamic" target="_blank">Total Money Makeover</a>" book and it pretty much slapped us in the face about careless spending. This summer is when we really started to feel the effects of dropping from two incomes to one--and I was feeling a bit trapped and helpless with student loan debt and just getting by each month. Well, this book was like a beacon of light in the never ending tunnel of bills and budgets and debt that I felt like I was wandering in. The book is challenging yet inspiring and hope-filled. It totally puts the ball in your court and basically says you CAN be debt free but you have to "live like no one else now in order to live like nobody else later."<br />
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So for us, that means:<br />
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<u>1. Cars</u><br />
We are downgrading in the vehicle department. We have used, less luxurious but more economical cars waiting for us once we can get rid of the ones we have now and I can already feel so much freedom from simply listing them for sale.<br />
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<u>2. Food</u><br />
We have been <b>super</b> lazy about our grocery budget--and WHERE we choose to buy groceries. I am not a meal planner by nature so I could easily just decide what I "feel like" making for dinner that day and swing by our neighborhood grocery store (that is very overpriced) to get what I need. That is lazy spending. This year, I have decided to sit down on Saturday morning and write out a meal plan and grocery list that will carry us through two weeks and then drive the whole 15-20 minutes to the much more economical <i>Winco</i> to save me literally almost $100 on my grocery bill. WORTH IT. I've already seen the positive benefits of not only having a plan but also going out of my way to stick to a budget.<br />
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G can also spend an ungodly amount of money on meals when he's working out of town which is very convenient for him but harmful to our budget. So, I have also set out to "meal prep" for him after church on Sundays so he has healthy, quick options to eat on the job throughout the week. It's not as nice as the Sunday nap or football veg-out sesh, but it's money saving and fun for me to be in the kitchen <i>alone </i>for a change (if only I could have a glass of wine) while G takes a "Daddy Daycare day."<br />
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<b>Less sleep. </b></h3>
Yikes. When is this ever a good thing? Well, <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/successful-ceo-sleep-schedules-2013-10#" target="_blank">studies show</a> that many of the worlds most successful people sleep very little so I need to just stop being a whiny baby, right?! Even when it's dark and cold. Let's face it--this one is really about me getting my butt to bed before midnight.<br />
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One of the things I felt God wanting the most from me was alone time with me FIRST THING in the morning. He knows how much I love to stay up late and not even open an eye until I hear Gracie chirping in the monitor. But He also wants me to put Him FIRST. As in meet with him FIRST, before anything else. Before my day gets too cray. There is so much about this that goes against my nature as I am the definition of a "night owl" in every sense of the word. But less sleeping in = more Jesus, more time, more productivity, and ultimately, my next "less":<br />
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<h3>
<b>Less excuses.</b></h3>
There are a couple of things that have been stirring in my heart that I have continued to shove down deeper each time I feel them bubbling to the surface. I find a MILLION excuses not to act on those callings that I KNOW God has placed in my soul for a purpose--not MY purpose, but HIS purpose.<br />
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This year, I am going to complete the process to become a licensed foster care provider--something that I have felt that "tugging" on my heart to do for some time now. I often say "how in the world am I going to do that when I have my own family of six to care for?" <i>But how selfish is that thinking?</i> It's not about ME--it's about showing the love of Jesus to a child who has been through the unspeakable and needs a safe place to go. We literally have two unused bedrooms in our home and there are times I walk by them and just stare into their echo-y expanse and actually feel shame that I am not sharing them when a child who needs a bed. A home. A family. I have been through the orientation but the rest of the certification process has felt like an overwhelming burden and so tedious it has just come to a halt. "<i>I just "don't have time.</i>" Well, I'm making time. It's happening.<br />
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Messages like <a href="https://vimeo.com/144940710" target="_blank">this </a>that I have heard at my <a href="http://www.summitspokane.com/" target="_blank">incredible church</a> have done nothing but validate what I know I need to do! (For full sermon <a href="https://vimeo.com/145209752" target="_blank">click here!</a> I highly recommend watching!!)<br />
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The other "call" I have been ignoring for even longer is my writing. Not so much my blogging (even though I often ignore that, too), but my intentional, formal writing. I have at last begun the process of paging through my scribble-filled notebooks and outlining a book proposal. I also joined an <a href="http://hopewriters.com/" target="_blank">online community of writers</a> for accountability and direction which has been SO motivating. This is the year, friends. I am making the choice to say "yes" to less. Even if that means less comfort. Less sleep. Less "me."<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">...</span></b></div>
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John 3:29-30 is what I have coined as my "Mission Statement" for 2016 and I LOVE the Message (MSG) version of it's words:<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">"That's why my cup is running over. </span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">This is the assigned moment for Him to move into the center, </span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">while I slip off to the sidelines."</span></b></i></div>
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May this be a year where I "slip off to the sidelines" while Jesus comes off the bench to be the star; and may our cups "run over" from more of <i>Him</i>.<br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-92232681660293359182015-11-25T12:35:00.000-08:002015-11-25T12:35:50.071-08:00Gratitude in the dark.<i>Gratitude.</i><br />
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As I reflect upon "gratitude," and the times in my life that I have been overwhelmed by gratefulness, what strikes me is how those profound moments--the sacred ones that have really stuck with me, are not these extravagant, mind-blowing moments; but instead, are quiet and simple and often arrive not when I feel that I am in a "comfortable" place in life, but rather when I am in the dark. <br />
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One of these moments that I will forever treasure as long as I live is the way that my firstborn looked into my eyes when he was brought up to my chest at his birth. The first words I heard the Doctor say after delivering him was "t<i>his baby has a little cleft lip!</i>" Those were shocking, unexpected words to hear, but then there he was--this perfect, beautiful baby boy in my arms, with these piercing big blue eyes with a trusting love that looked straight into my soul. I don't even remember his lip, just those eyes, and the way he stared into me filled my heart to overflowing with gratitude for the privilege to be on the receiving end of something words cannot even give justice to.<br />
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I feel that gratitude when my hardworking husband says "I got her," when our baby chirps early in the morning and we are both tired and groggy and not ready to start the day.<br />
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I find gratitude when I stop and marvel at the intricate, delicate beauty in the smallest of creatures that Kai drags into the house from the garden--often in my favorite coffee cup or wine glass.<br />
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I hear kindness in the voices of my children as they play when I'm still enough to listen. When I look beyond the mess, I can hear the laughter and feel the joy with which they create and imagine and play and it gives me immediate perspective.<br />
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I am often filled with gratitude when I watch the sun rise after a long night up with a sick or teething child. When I choose to open my eyes to the vibrant colors that streak across the sky and marvel at the greatness of the God who painted that sky for me, on that morning, I am grateful for another day to see, to rock, to love.<br />
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When I get outside for a hike or a run under the warm winter afternoon sunlight and listen to the birdsong singing praises of joy to the author of life and beauty in the midst of any circumstance, I am filled with gratefulness that I really do have everything that I need; and like the birds, have plenty of things to sing about.<br />
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Gratitude is often uncovered by a little voice saying "I love you, Mommy" in the middle of a mess or hectic morning.<br />
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It is found while singing to a sink full of dishes.<br />
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I see it in my weathered, strong, hands that cook, scrub, hold tiny fingers and fold in prayer.<br />
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I hear it in the whir of my washer and dryer that does loads and loads and loads of laundry.<br />
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And it was embraced by the light of a battery operated bulb, beneath a cave of worn, cozy quilts with warm little bodies reading book after book when many of our everyday luxuries were suddenly stripped away by a violent wind storm. During those cold, dark days I felt warmth in togetherness, I could hear beauty in the quiet, I saw hope in the kindness of others and stumbled upon gratitude in the dark.<br />
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On this Thanksgiving eve, I reflect upon that gratitude that comes to us in the dark. On that light that slices through our deep valleys and illuminates the goodness and beauty that are actually right in front of us--<i>just brought into focus by our will, determination and desire to see it.</i><br />
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<b><i>May your Thanksgiving be filled with reflection for the simple joys that we often rob ourselves of in our own busyness, and may your hope be found in the unseen--like gratitude in the dark.</i></b></div>
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-54154469718269421812015-11-11T15:39:00.000-08:002015-11-11T15:39:15.924-08:00"It's lonely in timeout. But, it feels better when I come out and get a hug from brother." (Sunny)I loved this particular quote from Sunny.<br />
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She occupies the "calm down" chair more than her siblings, that is for sure; so she knows the feeling of being there well. The "chair" is located out of kid-friendly territory in the corner of our guest bedroom, so it has a remote feel to it--but it has provided adequate "thinking" time to our sweet but fiery and frequently disgruntled preschooler.<br />
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What I love most about my strong willed three year old's words is how she says "<i>it feels better</i>" when she gets a "<i>hug from brother</i>." She knows the drill--after having some quality contemplation in the silence of the cold and lonely fourth bedroom, either me or G goes in and gets down on eye level with her to make sure that: 1) she understands why she's there, and 2) she is calm and hopefully, sorry.<br />
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Once we have assessed the situation and have determined that she is no longer a physical or emotional hazard to her siblings or cousins or friends, we walk her out of the room and straight to the individual whom she has hurt (usually physical but sometimes emotional). We then encourage her to look the victim in the eyes (that it key) and offer a genuine apology and then a hug. SHE is the one who then hugs her brother or sister--but notice what she said...what makes her feel better is that her brother (or sister) <b>HUGS HER BACK.</b><br />
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Forgiveness is not something that is said, it is something that is <i>felt. </i><br />
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Sunny may not completely comprehend the idea of "forgiveness" in her young developing brain, but she certainly identifies that she is receiving something kind from the person she just, moments ago, kicked in the head.<br />
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When we get love or forgiveness or a second chance that we feel undeserving of, it feels just like that.<br />
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Like your arms reaching out, hesitantly at first, to a dear friend or sister or child or husband that you have hurt, and then the warmth of their arms wrapping right back around you.<br />
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When was the last time you felt grace with words?<br />
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We <b>receive</b> grace when we feel accepted, received, <i>hugged back. </i><br />
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And we <b>give </b>grace when we lift our arms and just <i>hold on.</i><br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-34013801531655297062015-11-10T16:14:00.001-08:002015-11-10T16:15:00.137-08:00Gratitude with Kai & Sunny: In the midst of the mess.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"It's yucky when Gracie poops in the tub; </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>but it feels good to get back into the new, warm, water after it's all clean!" </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>(Sunny Boo, 3)</b></div>
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Thankfully, those bathtub accidents aren't a regular occurrence around here; but when they DO happen, it's not just one isolated incident. I mean, I put guilty child onto the toilet to "finish" while I fish the "job" they already did out of the draining tub but said child NEVER "finishes;" which leads me to falsely believe they are done. So, after pulling unspeakable material out of the tub with my bare hands and wipes and whatever else I can desperately think to grab with and scrubbing and bleaching and rinsing, I put my shivering kiddos back into the warm soapy water only FOR IT TO HAPPEN AGAIN. Fun times.<br />
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I think it's been a bit traumatic on the older two, because sometimes there will be a dark colored toy lurking under the bubbles around Gracie and I have a quick freak-out moment which sends both Kai and Sunny flailing out of the tub like their life depended on it. 99% of the time it's just Sunny's little toy horse or this creepy looking giraffe head which I should really just throw away, but when it's not, well, it's just yucky.<br />
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BUT, I get a clean tub out of the deal, and after I get the kiddos all situated again I see that I've got my cleaning supplies out so I just go ahead and clean the rest of the bathroom and then the other one, while I'm at it. So, I get clean bathrooms out of the deal. Thanks for that, Gracie.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>It's not fun to throw up. </b></div>
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<b>But, after you do it, you feel a LOT better. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>(Kai, 5)</b></div>
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Kai is our puker. He throws up at the first sign of bodily unrest. I'm actually convinced I could talk him into it. I won't ever try, but I know it would work. Last time he had the stomach flu, his first (and the first is ALWAYS the worst) "spit up" as he calls it, was, of course done leaning over our bed--like, right in that place where my feet hit the carpet when I swing my legs out of bed. Oh, and let me add that this happened the actual moment I drifted into deep sleep after already staying up too late.<br />
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So, after he "spit up," he "felt a lot better" and went back to bed and I got to do my favorite clean up job (G was gone out of town for work OF COURSE) by the light of my iPhone at 1:30 in the morning. After scooping the seemingly life-sized puke pile with approximately 30 plastic grocery bags, spraying/soaking and vigorously scrubbing the carpet, I was was pretty wired so I figured why not start some laundry and since I had my special spot/stain spray out, why not go spot clean the couch and then, why not empty the dishwasher and shoot, why not start some crockpot oatmeal for the morning?<br />
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I find that I behave that way more often when I'm pregnant, but it was erratic and necessary at the same time. And, of course by the time I finally wound down and crawled back into bed, it was "round 2" on the whole "spit-up" game.<br />
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If I was going to write the longest blog post of all time, I'd expand on about 80 of the other "clean up" scenarios that range from a giant glass jar of honey shattered all over the living room floor to a sack of flour that "snowed" all over the whole entire literal house to Gracie ditching her diaper to do her "duty" in every one of our bedrooms.<br />
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<i>You know the saying "the quickest way to get a clean house is to have company over last minute?" Well, it also works with sick kids, bath time with a baby, and well, that general toddler tendency toward sensory play.</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Bottom line: It is after the biggest mess, that we get the best "clean." </b></div>
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It's one thing to do daily upkeep every day--but it's another thing to get on your hands and knees and scrub sticky honey off of your baseboards and the never-seen hard wood beneath your hutch and couch and chairs. Once you get going, you see all the other crap that needs cleaned down there and since you are there...<br />
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<i>Today, I reflect on how grateful I am for the big messes I've lived through--and I'm not talking about the kind caused by my kiddos.</i> I'm talking straight-up LIFE. I'm talking about the kind that leave you crying in the shower or not wanting to get out of bed because you feel so empty kind of messes (although some of the bad kid-caused messes have that effect as well).<br />
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I'm talking about the kind of messes that we make ourselves, or the kind of messes that we get into with others. Some of them come from things like death and sickness and others come from selfish living, messed up priorities, an ungrateful greedy spirit and just plain being far, far from God.<br />
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None of my messes have been easy "surface clean" type of jobs. They have all required the deep, sweaty, bleach bottle kind of scrubbing.<br />
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But it's in the effort of ridding the dirt and grime and grit from those hard to reach crevices in my soul that makes a way for grace; and it's in the surrender and humility to keep dropping to my knees to do the dirty soul-work that is so easy to avoid that I feel like I'm deeply loved and accepted and, well, <i>clean.</i><br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-77970791001550646192015-11-09T09:55:00.001-08:002015-11-09T20:19:41.268-08:00"It hurts when you get an owie..." <div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"...but THEN you get a "Ninja Turtle" or "Frozen" bandaid! </b><br />
<b>Or, maybe even a cool ice pack." </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>(Kai, 5)</b></div>
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When we are in pain, we just want relief.<br />
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We can't see beyond the bandaid or pain reliever or ice pack.<br />
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It's amazing what kind of "healing power" lies in an adhesive bandage bearing Elsa or Michelangelo's face. Other "magical" remedies in our household include the Piggy/Penguin/Froggy faced icepacks in the freezer and kisses from Mommy or Daddy. After one or all of the above responses to a bump or bruise or general overreaction, the injured child is calm, cool, collected and no longer screaming or writhing in pain. It's a miracle.<br />
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But often times, after we have treated a wound and the initial pain has subsided, we are left as spectators of the healing--and sometimes, the development of a scar.<br />
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A scar that serves as a reminder not only of the pain, but also of the healing.<br />
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It's when I'm in the bath tub that I really notice mine.<br />
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The two prominent scars on each of my legs--one on my left shin from box jumps to literal failure in my college basketball conditioning class. The other, on my right knee, from a jagged boulder on the banks of the Deschutes river, where I had spent the day riding rapids with my Campus Life group as a teen. I had sea legs and was fatigued from the heat and adrenaline of paddling for my life and slipped on the walk back up to the van (I usually omit that last part and just tell inquirors that I acquired it on a "white water rafting trip"). Looking down at my strong legs and contemplating those scars feels quite similar to flipping through old photo albums. I run my fingers over the scars like an old image, frozen in time, and let my soul drink in the view from the bridge that connects the past to the present.<br />
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I don't feel quite the same nostalgia about the scars that line my midsection--stomach and hips. The scars that I wear there tell the story of a belly swollen with life. A belly bursting at the seams that gave way to angry streaks that seem to brag about how my tummy used to be flat with cute little belly button ring on tanned, flawless skin. But you know what's funny? Today, despite the extra baby weight, wider hips and larger sizes, <i>I feel lighter than ever</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mysunshinesong.com/2011/12/its-been-year.html" target="_blank">And then there's the other scar that changed my life right along with the stretch marks from the little boy it came with.</a> And it happens to be right above the left side of my son's sweet, shy, smile. The scar that is a part of him, but doesn't define him. The scar I prayed and cried over when it was swollen, bloody and stitched up after I brought him home from his cleft lip repair at barely 5 months old. The scar that joins the delicate pale skin that I taped together in prep for the operation from the time he was six weeks old. The scar that he embraces as part of him, his story. <i>A scar that has shaped his smile and my soul.</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTE6jk8JERPHWCjr6kNmkn9B2bGoc9YUP44_4u_8sKH6KcI9J7PYV5as78BckAr0sJww5c5OQy6kbDi23Wnokz2SCq8S-fJr7GFAMR8btt8RpM-rSvWn_XGIOza8xQYD46ha58TPMtmPSr/s1600/chicksdigscars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTE6jk8JERPHWCjr6kNmkn9B2bGoc9YUP44_4u_8sKH6KcI9J7PYV5as78BckAr0sJww5c5OQy6kbDi23Wnokz2SCq8S-fJr7GFAMR8btt8RpM-rSvWn_XGIOza8xQYD46ha58TPMtmPSr/s640/chicksdigscars.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Chicks Dig Scars."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Scars have the power to not only show where you were, but <i><a href="http://www.mysunshinesong.com/2011/03/not-just-scar.html" target="_blank">what you have become. </a></i><br />
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They tell painful stories, but from their imperfection reflect hope and strength and healing.<br />
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<i>Our skin is just a canvas. </i><br />
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When I lean in and look closely at the marks that stretch across my stomach or the way Kai's smile pulls a little higher on the left, <i>I feel the hand of The Artist at work. </i><br />
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I feel <i>His</i> scars, <i>and rest in His grip.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8l8H2osGkgD3UmekgK7ZPFRvWWJMVt5FtyV4xqqU5az9Dt86Yl_S9onNXIfSSoE8hzNn3JFvyO1-tq1nguqmxPC3FmTVTcfxphMRmuj5lZgYCKBkp4z_2LB4z0bCfPqTUdvyBLkFrwvY/s1600/img_0529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik8l8H2osGkgD3UmekgK7ZPFRvWWJMVt5FtyV4xqqU5az9Dt86Yl_S9onNXIfSSoE8hzNn3JFvyO1-tq1nguqmxPC3FmTVTcfxphMRmuj5lZgYCKBkp4z_2LB4z0bCfPqTUdvyBLkFrwvY/s320/img_0529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://crazyblessedblog.com/new/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/img_0529.jpg" target="_blank">{source}</a></span></td></tr>
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<b>I am thankful for scars, and the stories that they tell. </b></div>
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<b>I am grateful for the way they shape, stretch, <i>and save.</i></b></div>
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-21777384936781182352015-11-06T14:25:00.001-08:002015-11-06T14:36:48.450-08:00"It's frustrating when our playroom is so SO messy that I can't find my favorite cars and trains..."<b><i>"...but then, I get my sisters to help me pick it all up since it's mostly their mess anyway and it feels so clean and nice in there and I can spot all of my favorite things again!"</i> (Kai Quincy, 5)</b><br />
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It's nice to have your own space.<br />
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I think so often we overlook the importance of a "sacred space." Somewhere we have for just us. To sit and be alone. A space to breathe, to read, to imagine, to cry.<br />
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When I think back to my childhood, so many memories of my "sacred space" were outdoors. I was always finding some grassy spot outside and making it my "reading nook," or my space to escape my siblings and sometimes, my parents.<br />
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It was important to us that the kids had somewhere that was their space--not just their room, but a special play spot--with the sole purpose for their imaginations and creativity to run wild. I think this day in age, imaginary play has somewhat escaped our children--it has slipped through their fingers while they stare at screens; while they "watch" play. It's not the same. They need to construct cities out of blocks and build blanket tents and play "school" with their stuffed animals. Unstructured play is VITAL for growing little minds--and so many of us have just gotten so, well, busy. Everything is "planned" and structured and if it's not then there is the iPad or Mommy's iPhone to keep them "quiet."<br />
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I say, let them be loud. <u>But give them a space to do it. </u><br />
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<i>And you know what? Adults need this as well.</i><br />
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Mommy needs a "space" that is hers--that is quiet and comfortable and that calls me to do what makes my heart come to life. I denied myself that space for so long, you guys. I gave my kids a playroom--I let their little minds be beckoned to a safe, creative space, but failed to allow myself the same. I would "set up shop" on the couch or clear off a spot on the sticky kitchen table or sometimes even my bed. But I can't think clearly in that space. I can't let the words that I read sink in when there is clutter all around me and my pile of notebooks and Bible and books and laptop are falling every which way.<br />
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<i>I can't write my heart when I'm crowded.</i><br />
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And then one day I found myself rummaging around in our guest bedroom and needed some more light so I threw the curtains open and just stood and admired the view. It was like I was seeing out that window for the first time. And I thought, WHY is my desk not here? And then I thought WHY am I not using this space that is literally only utilized a couple of weekends a month when we have company?<br />
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And then, this happened:<br />
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And it's my new favorite spot in the whole house. It will have a hard time beating out my "sun room" this spring/summer, but for now, it's just what I need.<br />
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It's where I go to read my Bible, to pray, to write, to read, to think. And I need to be there at least once a day--just like my kiddos need to spend time, each day, in their "rocket ship" or "sail boat" or "teepee."<br />
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<i>Don't deny yourself "your" space. </i>That special place that is INTENTIONALLY constructed for you and for your "art," whatever it may be--maybe it's crafting or sewing or painting or baking. Don't let life and structure keep you from doing that which makes your soul say, "YES."<br />
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<i>Today, Kai and I say "thank you" to the spaces that fill <b>us. </b></i><br />
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<i><b><br /></b></i>Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-18647940655159897832015-11-05T15:19:00.000-08:002015-11-05T15:19:48.813-08:00"Sometimes, when you have a hard day, it's good to eat some bubblegum ice cream. And then, you are happy!" ~Sunny Boo (3)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>Let's face it. In our family, we are thankful for ice-cream. </i></div>
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If I could only have one dessert for the rest of my life it would hands-down be ice-cream, and I'm happy to see that my love of the good stuff has been passed down to my children. </div>
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Here's the thing about ice-cream though: It's certainly not as fulfilling to indulge in my favorite treat when i'm standing over the carton at my kitchen counter trying to scoop quietly so no one else hears me and wants some or makes some comment about how it's only 9:30 in the morning...(G).</div>
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It tastes the best when it's enjoyed around a table with people. When the cold, sweet, creamy, drippy waffle cone is complimented with laughter and little voices and pauses to listen to the birds or the way the breeze is whistling through the tall pines (one of my new favorite sounds!). </div>
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<i>I think that is the "healing" power that Sunny has experienced. </i></div>
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It's not the sugar. It's not the way those candy bubblegum bites dissolve in your mouth or the beautifully intricate way those ribbons of caramel weave in and out of brownie and sweet cream. </div>
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It's the walk, together, to that ice cream parlor. It's the sacred time spent sitting, smiling, staring at the different way we all "wear" our drippy treat. It's admiring the simplicity of a moment spent around a table with each other, pausing from our busy schedule or normal routine to just be together and take a deep breath. To slow down and savor each lick, each bite, each voice, each sticky face. </div>
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<i>The best medicine for a hard day is togetherness: a moment carved out of an otherwise ordinary afternoon or evening to look away from our flashing screens, away from our "to do" lists, away from the clock, <b>and at each other. </b></i></div>
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The ice cream is optional but most definitely recommended. </div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-24689557429993292252015-11-04T12:26:00.001-08:002015-11-04T12:26:14.719-08:00"It's sad when your Daddy has to be gone for along time for work..."<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"...but then your Mommy snuggles you extra tight </b></div>
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<b>and it feels like your Daddy is there too."</b> </div>
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--Kai Quincy (5)</div>
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<i>We are living channels of love. </i><br />
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Sometimes, a hug, a listening ear, a phone call, a letter, an apology, a smile, or just <i>showing up</i> can usher in something the recipient is desperate for.<br />
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<i>I haven't been very public with this, but I had a miscarriage between Kai and Sunny. </i><br />
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I lost the baby at around six weeks and I remember getting angry about the fact that I even knew I had been pregnant--that I'd ever had a "hunch" to even take that test. It felt like a cruel joke someone had played on me.<br />
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I will never forget sitting in my car in the parking lot of the ER, knowing in my heart that the baby was gone and dreading the impending confirmation. I texted the few family members and friends who had known about the pregnancy while I sat there, asking them to pray.<br />
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G was away for work--hours away--and was unreachable by phone at the time and I had dropped Kai off with my parents. I guess I just wanted to go in and get confirmation of the loss and get on with it. Something like that.<br />
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But then, just as I took my seat in the waiting room, around the corner peeks the familiar face of a dear friend. I hadn't asked her to be there with me, she was just responding out of love to my blast prayer request text and knew from her own loss what I might be going through.<br />
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We didn't say much, but sat together that summer day as the doctor informed me that there was no baby. I just remember hearing the word "empty" and feeling it literally echo off of the walls in that cold room; and how I'd never felt more hollowed out and lifeless as I had at that moment.<br />
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I remember her holding my hand, and walking with me out of the hospital into the seemingly reverent sunlight, and how she hugged me extra tight as we stopped in front of our cars.<br />
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<i>I remember that right there in that hospital parking lot, in the midst of the sadness and confusion and anger, God showed up beneath that warm sunshine as I stood, desperate, in the arms of my friend.</i><br />
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<b>When we love each other through the pain of a daddy who has to be away for a long time for work or through the mourning of a child who went to heaven before we did with that tight-embrace, show-up-anyway extravagant kind of love, GOD SHOWS UP.</b><br />
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<i>And from our ashes, comes beauty.</i> {Isaiah 61:3}<br />
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Today, Kai and I are thankful for those "extra tight" hugs.<br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-39089849493812633622015-11-03T11:10:00.001-08:002015-11-03T11:21:33.265-08:00"It's scary on your first day of school; but then your new teacher gives you a hug and calls you "Super Kai." ~Kai (5)<b>Gratitude surfaces in the midst of fear, and often it's in the form of a quick, simple, <i>but genuine</i> hug or a smile.</b><br />
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Like on the first day of school, when you are in a whole new place in a sea of a bunch of new faces and your Mommy gives you a goodbye kiss and you are scared. And shy.<br />
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But then your teacher kneels down and looks you in the eyes with a kind smile and gently pulls you in for a tight hug just long enough to whisper in your ear "I'm SO glad YOU are in our class this year!"<br />
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At that moment, my timid son's hazel eyes looked up and met mine with a little nod signaling my permission to turn around and walk down the steps, out of sight, to the car.<br />
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I'm so thankful for those "teachers" in my life that come in the forms of moms and sisters and mentors and friends. The ones who pull me in for those hugs and kneel down to look me in the eye and ask me the hard questions and love me anyway. They are the cheerleaders who affirm and encourage and speak life with the kind of love that says "I'm SO glad you are YOU."<br />
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There are going to be days when you don't feel like gluing tissue paper squares to your stained glass apple and your "apple window" has the bare minimum effort requirement of five small squares. But that's ok. Your teacher proudly hangs it up anyway.<br />
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There are days when you feel tired and like you aren't very good at counting or coloring or, um, housework and cooking. But your cheerleaders see you and say <i>it's ok.</i> <i>You are so special and so beautifully unique and are SO super good and many other things! </i><br />
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I don't think we put enough stock in how some of the most simple things we do can have such a giant impact on another. I know we don't tell each other enough how much we appreciate those small gestures--like encouraging notes sent in the mail or flowers on the doorstep or offers for help with yard work or children or french braiding lessons or that one person who came and talked to you when you walked into a new place and didn't know a soul.<br />
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<i>Or a teacher, greeting you each morning with a beaming smile and high-five for her special "Super Kai."</i></div>
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<b>WE have the power to be that light--and today, Kai and I are thankful for the people in our lives that illuminate our dark spaces.</b><br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-29461788596688825782015-11-02T13:57:00.001-08:002015-11-02T13:57:15.903-08:00"It's scary when I get stuck behind the couch..."<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>"...but it feels good to wiggle out and be free!" </b></i>~Sunny (3)</div>
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<b>Thankful, we are, to wiggle out.</b><br />
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To become free of that which crowds us, traps us, suffocates us.<br />
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I have often felt "stuck" behind the crowding "couch" situations of life.<br />
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Stuck in the cycle of life and the never-ending mundane dishes and laundry and bills and messes. Stuck in relationships that seem to no longer flourish. Stuck at a table with family or friends when there is an argument or huge elephant in the room that is begging to be brought into life but that no one is brave enough to address. Stuck in a job that didn't feed my soul. Stuck in a college major with no real vision for life-work. Stuck in a lonely space with people all around me...<br />
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Where does gratitude come from in these "stuck" spaces? Does it come at the end of the chapter, when you have cried and sulked and prayed and screamed and clawed your way to be, at last, "unstuck?"<br />
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No.<br />
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I have learned, from my "stuckness" that we don't have to wait for that "happy ending" to feel gratitude.<br />
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It comes most powerfully in the moments when you feel SO jammed against that wall that you feel like you can't breathe...and you utter a desperate prayer and you suddenly feel not so alone behind that couch. You relax a bit, take a deep breath, feel your insides calm and your soul melt into peace as if someone is whispering "I love you, I've got you" into the depths of your stuck, broken, spirit.<br />
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It comes in the form of the random but much needed kind words of a stranger, an unexpected hug and "I love you" from a busy toddler, or warm sunlight streaming in illuminating the precious faces of your sleeping babies. It comes to us in the midst of our stuck situation, whatever it may be.<br />
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And we learn, one "stuck" day at a time, to take it slow. To not worry about tomorrow, but to turn our eyes and hearts to heaven for today, and open our clenched fists to receive those small gifts and to just. keep. reaching.<br />
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It's in the reach, from our stuck places, that we <i>receive.</i><br />
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<b>Don't stop reaching.</b><br />
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One day, you will find yourself free of that which held you captive, and you will reflect on your time spent "stuck" and realize you were never alone behind that cold couch.<br />
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<i>And you will marvel, with tears of joy and awe, at how while you were wedged into that tiny space between the couch and the wall, you traveled so very far. </i><br />
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<b>. . .</b> </div>
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So today, I am grateful for the many couches in my life that I have been "stuck" behind, and the freedom that comes not just in the release, but in the "wiggling."<br />
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<i><b>Where the spirit of the Lord is</b></i></div>
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<i><b>there is freedom.</b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">2 Corinthians 3:17</span></div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-71303363658586569382015-11-01T22:57:00.001-08:002015-11-01T22:57:34.983-08:00Lessons in Gratitude from Kai & Sunny: IntroductionToday is November 1st.<br />
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The day that many set out to be extra honed-in on thankfulness and blessings and gratitude for a month in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday. Some find this annoying and redundant in it's repetitiveness on social media feeds but I, personally, LOVE IT. I think there is something so very powerful about being intentionally grateful--especially on those days when you really have to dig for it. How uplifting is it to read all the "I'm thankful for" posts every day and realize that, "hey, I'm really thankful for that too!" If November wasn't such a dreary, chilly month (NW style) I would wish for it to be November year round...<br />
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In the past, I have done the daily Facebook "gratitude" post but this year, I'm gonna switch it up a bit.<br />
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Lately it seems I have been having more and more conversations with my preschool-aged kiddos about how good comes from "bad." About how happy comes from sad and beauty from the ugly. I know it seems like something that has more depth than a three or five year old mind can comprehend, but, you guys, <i>they get it</i>. The don't always get it when it's their own life (I still struggle with finding good in some of the hard days) but they get the concept. I don't give them enough credit.<br />
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So, what we have done for this month is come up with a "bad" thing for each day of November up until Thanksgiving. Sounds fun, right?! I can only imagine your anticipation for the daily post.<br />
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But wait, there's more.<br />
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Together, as a collaborative blogging team, we (me, Kai & Sunny) have brainstormed the "good" that shows up after--and sometimes during, the "bad."<br />
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Because throughout the month of November we are so very good at being thankful for all the good and all the beautiful and all the happy. But we often overlook the trials and tears and sometimes raw heartache that transforms us. We forget those hard parts, they are often too painful to revisit.<br />
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But we miss something when we shove those moments deep into our archives. We miss the story. We miss the journey. We miss how our Great Author walked with us--or is there walking WITH us through the dark valley and is guiding or has guided us to the light. <i>Back into His light. </i><br />
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Over the next several days you will have not only my stories and words, but also the preschool version of the daily dark that scares and frustrates and hurts--and how it gives way to light.<br />
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Even when it's something like a puddle under your favorite swing or your ice-cream cone on the sidewalk.<br />
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<i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">Through the heartfelt mercies of our God,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">God’s Sunrise will break in upon us,</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">Shining on those in the darkness,</span></i></div>
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">those sitting in the shadow of death,</span></span></i></div>
</span><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">Then showing us the way, one foot at a time,</span></i></div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><div style="font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">
<i><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Luke-1-67-Luke-1-79" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">down the path of peace. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <b>Luke 1: 78-79 (MSG)</b></span></div>
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</span></i></span>Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-32154247712544136282015-09-21T11:11:00.000-07:002015-09-21T11:11:04.199-07:00When church doesn't feel "worth it."It doesn't matter how early we wake up or how much night-before planning I do:<br />
<br />
<b>Every single Sunday, we barely make it to church. </b><br />
<br />
You guys, our church is literally less than two miles away from us. I'm talking two turns and two stop lights. We literally only need to leave about 10 minutes before it starts--and get this--there are THREE service options. <b>But it's never easy.</b> As a family of five with three members under age five, I count it a small victory when I slam the car door behind me and glance back to see all of their faces--semi-clean, dressed and buckled in (probably with breakfast in hand or in my lap ready to be thrown back at them to gobble down over the long 5 minute commute).<br />
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<br />
It's really different every week, but let me paint a brief picture of what the process of leaving for church looked like just yesterday:<br />
<br />
<u>8:20am</u><br />
G and I realize that all the kids are up (weird) and we could actually make it to the 9am service. G likes this idea because it interferes with the least amount of football. He says, "you better get going if you want to do this" so I literally drink the rest of my cereal down in a gulp and shuffle-run down the hall to start collecting church clothes (this is not a job that I prefer G to do--he would try, bless his heart, but something about his choices tells me he just opens a drawer and grabs the first item that touches his hand). My theory on getting out the door in a time-crunch with kids is dressing/cleaning them off/doing their hair first and then taking care of myself (which I can do in record time, I assure you--I have it down to a low-maintenence science).<br />
<br />
<u>8:30am </u><br />
Begin the dressing process which includes chasing down three wild things, trying to wrangle them out of their PJs, and convincing them (older two) to slide their church clothes on (they hate jeans and buttons and anything stiff or formal looking. Well, clothes in general. Don't judge.) On any given day, this includes a screaming fit from Sunny about an clothing item with ruffles or lace or a passive-agressive Kai sneaking off to his closet to change into "something cozier." Today we were lucky, and averted the clothes catastrophe. What has turned into our "routine" is me throwing their clothes onto the couch and then G dressing the older two while I literally pin Gracie down to change her diaper and then chase her down and wrestle her into her dress and then shoes. It's a workout and part of the reason I wait to dress myself.<br />
<br />
<u>8:45am </u><br />
As I stare into my closet and simultaneously sniff the shirt I want to wear that I found in a corner of my bedroom I hear G unwrapping granola bars for Kai and Sunny. Love him. He actually acknowledges that they haven't broken fast yet. Have I? Who knows. Oh yeah, I finished Gracie's left over cereal. That should suffice.<br />
<br />
<u>8:50am</u><br />
I'm dressed and have Sunny and Gracie up on the counter and am trying to do something with Sunny's matted, curly mess. I will be honest, I have no clue what I'm doing when it comes to hair. If you know me, you know that the messy top-bun is my thang. Outside of that and the quick post-shower "scrunch" I'm so out of my element it's not even funny. Only a God with a sense of humor would give me two daughters that I literally am responsible for brushing and braiding and curling(?). Scary. Anyway, I get their hair "did" the best I know how and hurry them along to get in the car with Daddy and glance at the messy bun that I woke up with (ha!) and just spray some hair spray to tame my fly-aways. I open my make-up bag and see my like-new cover up and mascara and reach under them for my perfume and spray that because maybe if I smell super good people won't notice how tired I look? Whatever, dude.<br />
<br />
<u>8:53am</u><br />
I throw my Bible and Nalgene bottle in my diaper back-pack and snag a banana as I run out the door to the running car. I shut the door behind me and see all my loves buckled in and fully dressed and if fortune is in my favor (yesterday it was!), smiling.<br />
<br />
<u>8:59am</u><br />
Check kids into nursery/sunday school and go get a full cup of delicious, strong, piping hot coffee in the lobby while G goes and "gets our seats" because heaven forbid he not have an aisle seat not by the a/c.<br />
<br />
<u>9:10am</u><br />
Worship starts and I feel God wrap His arms around me, greeting me--acknowledging the struggle it was to get there, and the tears fall. I'm not much of a dramatic or obvious type of "crier," I just stand and sing and let the tears roll down my face with a nonchalant swipe every so often. Friends, this happens just about every Sunday. Once I finally find myself seated in the sanctuary I'm exhausted and sweaty and usually notice that my clothes aren't clean but I'm there, sitting before my Jesus saying to Him with every word I can manage in song, "here I am, Lord. I'm so tired but I came here to be with you and to hear from you and to tell you that I love you and I so desperately need you and that you are a good, good Father..."<br />
<br />
<i>It feels like one big, heavenly exhale</i> and the faithfulness and goodness of the God who meets me there is overwhelming. It is truly one of the most sacred, meaningful, beautiful, rejuvenating and uplifting 90 minutes of my week.<br />
<br />
YET every single Sunday, it is that much harder to get everybody up, ready, fed, clean, dressed and out the door. There is almost always that moment, in the process of it all, where I think "is this even worth it?" Like when Gracie has a diaper blowout that I notice on the way out to the car that also leaks onto my shirt or like when Sunny spills juice all over herself and we are already late or that one time where Kai was just trying to be helpful and not slow us down but decided to blow his nose in his shirt as we back out of the driveway.<br />
<br />
But when we push through and fight off all of the distractions this amazing thing happens once we sit down to worship--with hundreds of other tired, hurried, messy people. This morning I felt it before the music even started:<br />
<br />
<i>It was grace. It was love. It was community. </i><br />
<br />
I may have had to run a steeplechase through my house and out my door to get there, but<b> God met me there and hasn't failed to show up no matter how rushed or tired or late we were. </b><br />
<br />
<i>Church is worth it, you guys. </i><br />
<br />
It may seem daunting or impossible or at the time, like it's not worth the hassle. But once you get yourself there and allow yourself to receive from the reaches of His grace within a community of believers who, like you, struggled to find their way into their seat, you will be filled.<br />
<br />
<i>We can't do this life on our own. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We need each other. We need community. We need church.</i><br />
<br />
And speaking from someone who is running on "E" upon arrival, it is overwhelming and worth far beyond whatever chaos had to ensue to get us there.<br />
<br />
The enemy doesn't want you in that seat at church. He wants you to throw in the towel and to just stay home in your sweats and will put a million different temptations in your way to get you to do so (diapers, time, football, to-do lists, tantrums, nap time, wardrobe, etc.) Ephesians 6:12 reminds us that our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the unseen world, the dark forces...which sometimes come in the form of, well, spilled chocolate milk or a leaky diaper.<br />
<br />
<b>Power through, dear Mama. </b><br />
<br />
Get yourself in that chair. And bring it every single week. Marvel at the strength and stamina God has given you as you sit there basking in the glow of His love. No matter how crazy my morning has been, I have never regretted showing up. In fact, I have found that forcing myself to make it happen is actually the best thing I can do to get my week started off on the right note.<br />
<br />
Upon moving to a new city our church has been my saving grace. The community and fellowship, opportunities to volunteer and pour into others and of course the chance to receive God's love through His word and through His people are invaluable.<br />
<br />
Those reasons that keep you home--or that tempt you to stay home will pale in comparison to the way that God wants to pour into you as you sit in a community of believers before him.<br />
<br />
That couple of hours may be hard to give on a Sunday morning. But perhaps we should stop seeing it as our time to "put in" or to "give."<br />
<br />
Our Father God <i>wants</i> to meet us there so HE can give to us.<br />
<br />
<b>Our job is to show up and to <i>be loved.</i> </b><br />
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[Our pastor featured this verse below in His sermon last week, and it has stuck with me in such a big way pertaining to God's love and faithfulness and our surrender...and the song was played a few weeks ago at the end of the service during a time of prayer and reflection and YOU GUYS, it's just beautiful. Listen to it loud with your eyes closed and enjoy!]</div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">PSALM 18: 16-21 (MSG)</strong></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">16</strong> <span class="verse-16" style="box-sizing: border-box;">But me he caught - reached all the way from sky to sea; he pulled me out of</span></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">17</strong> <span class="verse-17" style="box-sizing: border-box;">that enemy chaos, the void in which I was drowning. </span></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">18</strong> <span class="verse-18" style="box-sizing: border-box;">They hit me when I was down, but God stuck by me. </span></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">19</strong> <span class="verse-19" style="box-sizing: border-box;">He stood me up on a wide-open field; <b><i><u>I stood there saved - surprised to be loved! </u></i></b></span></div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 5px; margin-right: 3px;">20</strong> <span class="verse-20" style="box-sizing: border-box;">God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I got my act together, he gave me a fresh start. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(emphasis mine)</span></span></div>
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Love and light,<br />
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-11769339861185385592015-08-27T10:06:00.000-07:002015-08-27T10:06:28.019-07:00A Mom's Search for MeaningJust to be honest, there are days that all I feel that I ever do is pick up toys and wipe bums. And make food. And clean up the crumbs and sticky left behind. With a lot of play and reading and more mess making in between and if I'm lucky 2 out of 3 might nap at the same time and I can squeeze in a quick workout or reading/zone out session in peace on the couch.<br />
<br />
This full-time Mommy biz is hard, you guys.<br />
<br />
There are days that I pine for a nice quiet counseling office to retreat to at a school where I don't have to wipe bums and make food and snacks and beverages for needy children ALL DAY LONG.<br />
<br />
I traded my workin' Mama status for the SAHM status last January. It's been EIGHT months.<br />
Eight hard, growth-filled, beautiful months. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing in this world I love more than being a wife to my husband and a mommy to my babies. And I have a LOT of fun doing it. We have had the best eight months making memories, not having to be up and out of the house by 6:45am, and getting to explore our beautiful new city--AND have Daddy around a lot more.<br />
<br />
But it has still taken some adjustment on my part, and some days my soul gets restless.<br />
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This last leg of summer has found me dreamily perusing local school counseling job listings. And, well, applying for some. But something funny happens when I get a call about scheduling an interview. I back out. I calmly and professionally give my regrets but in my mind body and soul I am running for the hills with everything that I have, leaving me in a face-in-palm cold sweat wondering<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!</b></i><br />
<br />
It's taken some soul reflecting to sort it all out. I'm not all the way there yet, but I want to share with you, dear reader, the craziness that I am sorting through because I think it is something many Mommies (the honest ones, anyway) face on the daily. And I want you to know that you are NOT ALONE in the mess that is babies and toddlers and preschoolers and diapers and dishes and laundry.<br />
<br />
You see, at the core of my issue, when I get real about it, is <b>not </b>my desire for a break or a vacation or even a dang nap (although THAT would be incredible). It is a desire to have more of myself for everything else. There are days that my children feel like all-consuming super bugs that leave me with little time/energy/availability to put time into anyone or anything else. Which in essence, is where the real struggle stems.<br />
<br />
This summer has been a season of spiritual growth and nourishment and refreshment for me. I have read loads of amazing books and have journaled and studied the Bible like never before. And as I am being fed and encouraged and challenged, I often felt myself feel chained to my messy kitchen with kids crawling and clinging to my legs. I have these desires to DO--to help and be used by God to uplift and speak life and to GO and love and be Jesus to those who so desperately need him. Things about my career in serving students as a counselor that I very much miss.<br />
<br />
So, just the other day, I started complaining about it to God during my prayer time. In frustration, I asked Him why I felt so unsettled, unfulfilled--like I was just living diaper duty and short-order cook and maid and entertainer extraordinaire on repeat. I told him, "God, you know my desires. You gave me these gifts to use for you--TO POUR INTO OTHERS." And then He got me good. Like a punch in the gut. <br />
<br />
<i><b>They are my "others."</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>This IS a season for me to serve and love and pour God's goodness into others, and those "others" are the sweet messy faces that are sitting across from me as I furiously scribble angry prayers into my journal about purpose and calling and gifts and service. </b><br />
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The work that this season calls for is not glamourous. It is not highly recognized, publicized, revered or even appreciated. It is not measurable and cannot be checked off of a "to-do" list.<br />
<br />
This work is messy. It is exhausting and mundane and tedious.<br />
<br />
<i>But like the very best of work that God calls us to, it is selfless.</i><br />
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It is about finding joy and experiencing God at my kitchen sink, and in another sleepless night and bent over the bathtub realizing I should probably just get in with them since I can't remember the last time it was "my turn" for a shower.<br />
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God can and is and WILL use me. I don't need a title or an office or a salary to give me worth.<br />
My identity is not wrapped up in a job title.<br />
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<b><i>I am right where I am supposed to me. </i></b><br />
<br />
And just yesterday, that affirmation was echoed in the tears that snuck down my cheeks behind my sunglasses in the traffic of a busy Spokane intersection where my sweet son randomly piped up with THIS out of the blue:<br />
<br />
<i><b>"Mommy, I really like that Daddy is the only one who has to go to work now. </b></i><br />
<i><b>I love you to be home with us all of the days now."</b></i><br />
<br />
You guys, it was as if he was inside of my mind. He has no idea about any of my pending interviews or applications, nor has he overheard any talk of them. He has also never really acknowledged or thanked me over the course of this last year (and I never would expect him to!) for putting my career on hold to be home with him and his sisters.<br />
<br />
And in those few honest, heart-felt words from my five-year-old, I heard Jesus tell me:<br />
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<i>You are enough. Right now, today, YOU ARE ENOUGH. You don't have to do something BIG, you don't have to reach the masses, you don't have to put your children on hold in order to pour into others to be loved by me. I LOVE YOU RIGHT NOW, and I see your heart for my people in the way you nurture and care for the children I have entrusted to your care. I am there with you as you dry dishes late into the night after finally getting your last baby to sleep. I am there with you in the laundry piles and the sticky floors and in the books and toys strewn across the floor. </i><i>I am there in the laughter and even closer in the tears. </i><br />
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And so, the conclusion I have reached is this:<br />
<br />
<i>This work that I am immersed in through this season that seems to suffocate me isn't smothering me at all. <b>It is </b></i><i><b>setting me free. </b></i><br />
<br />
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<b>***</b></div>
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You aren't alone Mama.<br />
<br />
Working Mom, Single Mom SAHM, Super Mom, Sad Mom, "think-you-are bad" Mom:<br />
<br />
<i>You are enough. </i><br />
<br />
You were made for this sacred work--and not just to survive it, but to THRIVE in it!<br />
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We are being used by a great and almighty God, who is strengthening us and equipping us with each and every day we show up for Him. Keep showing up. Keep whispering prayers as you rock your babies or pick up the same toys for the eighty-seventh time in a single afternoon.<br />
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He is faithful. His plans for us are intricately designed and He has the most beautiful stories to write with the the lives of those who are willing to <u>hand over the pen</u> and let HIM author words of life and purpose and extravagant love into what might otherwise feel, well, like diapers and dishes.<br />
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Let's surrender and let HIM strengthen our hands for His work (Nehemiah 6:9).<br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-48332590049180047872015-07-09T13:55:00.000-07:002015-07-09T13:55:00.740-07:00Rest<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
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This picture and story was shared all over social media last weekend:<br />
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I'm not one for getting all sappy and weepy over Facebook--but something about this photo brought almost immediate tears to my eyes. As I sat down and went back and forth from the story to the picture, the tears continued to fall. Maybe I was tired and maybe it had been a long afternoon and maybe I was hormonal. Just maybe. BUT, there was just something about that picture that just broke me. What was it?<br />
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<i>It is the way that sweet, scared little girl is resting in that officer's arms. </i><br />
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She doesn't know him from the next stranger on the street, but in her moment of terror and pain and unthinkable anxiety he offered his arms to her and, well, <i>look at her</i>. Still scared, still hurting, but not alone. She is lying in his arms, not tense, not looking all around or frantic, but <i>resting</i>.<br />
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I can only imagine that after the events that led up to this photo how safe she felt--even for just a moment, against that officers warm body tucked tightly in his arms.<br />
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<i><b>That police officer was Jesus to that scared little girl that night--wrapping her in rest.</b></i></div>
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I needed that visual of God's love in that moment as I sat hot, sticky, overwhelmed and tired that evening on my couch. Those tears pooling in my eyes were whispers to my soul to get up off of the broken glass beneath my feet and look up, reach up, climb up into His arms and lay my head and my burdens and imperfections down, <i style="text-align: right;"><b>and rest.</b></i><br />
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<i style="text-align: right;"><b>...</b></i></div>
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<span class="passage-display-bcv" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; margin: 0px; padding-right: 10px;">Matthew 11:28-30</span><span class="passage-display-version" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.1;">The M</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.1;">essage (MSG)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.1;"><br /></span>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span class="text Matt-11-28-Matt-11-30" id="en-MSG-10032" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">28-30 </span>“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? <b>Come to me.</b> Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. <b>I’ll show you how to take a real rest.</b> Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”</span></div>
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<i>In HIS grip,</i></div>
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Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-47620706930950815962015-06-02T13:28:00.002-07:002015-06-02T13:30:14.391-07:00toddlers, tantrums & oceans of graceI've posted before about Sunny's special bedtime song--<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy9nwe9_xzw" target="_blank">Hillsong's "<i>Oceans</i>." </a><br />
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I sing the chorus to her every single night, which is always welcomed because Sunny and I often exist in somewhat of a rocky sea full of unpredictable weather and all that comes along with that.<br />
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But singing "waves," as she calls it, and holding her as she holds me, both of us exhausted; has proven to be the very best way to end the day.<br />
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Many a mommy tear has been shed to the singing of "waves" while I brush the wild curls away from her soft little forehead.<br />
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Typically, when she has bad days, WE have bad days. And those days are seemingly full of time-outs and temper tantrums and power struggles and regrets and lost patience and just, well, the terrible two's toddler type of turmoil.<br />
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But then at the end of the day, I hold her tired little body, warm and sweet smelling from her bath, in my arms and I rock and sing:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"I will call upon your name, </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">keep my eyes above the waves, </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">when oceans rise my soul will rest in your embrace, </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">for I am yours and you are mine..."</span></i></div>
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over and over and over.</div>
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And then I lay her sleeping body in her bed, cover her up, give her a kiss and creep out of the room,<br />
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<i>with my eyes above the waves.</i></div>
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It's not just a verse to the chorus of a song, it's a plea:<br />
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<i><b>keep</b> my eyes above the waves...</i></div>
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I'm not telling Jesus "hey, I got this."<br />
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I am asking, <i>begging</i> Him, to KEEP my eyes above the waves.<br />
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Maybe today you feel like you are sinking.<br />
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Like you can't tread in the thrashing waves any longer.<br />
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You feel forgotten and beaten down and hopeless.<br />
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Maybe it's a stressful work situation, maybe it's finances, maybe it's a broken relationship, maybe it's motherhood, maybe it's your health or the health of a loved one that you feel is pulling you under.<br />
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Whatever waves you feel are enveloping you,<br />
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<b>Look up. </b></div>
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He is there, keeping you afloat.<br />
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We can't see Him.<br />
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Sometimes we can feel Him and other times we can't--and when we can't, we feel alone and scared.<br />
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<b>But He is there</b>, IN those waves with us, and if we stop panicking and <i>listen</i> we can hear Him whispering:<br />
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<i><b>"do not be afraid--I am here with you."</b></i></div>
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It's in those places; in those dark and quiet bedrooms and nurseries where we rock our sleeping children back and forth, back and forth, on the waves of that churning sea with exhausted tears of love of the most unconditional kind rolling down our cheeks, <i>that we find rest. </i><br />
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The tide may toss and turn, but we rock and sing and cry to that unforced rhythm of grace and lift our eyes up, up, up over the waves that <i style="text-align: center;"><b>we were MADE to rise above.</b></i><br />
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You are strong, you are brave, and you are LOVED.<br />
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<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-15751055842178460262015-06-01T09:05:00.000-07:002015-06-01T09:05:52.235-07:00Mommy, meet my Jesus: What I am learning about faith from my preschoolerOne of the most sacred things that I get to do as a parent is teach my babies about Jesus.<br />
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In partnership with my believing extended family and our church family and things like Christian radio and other media it has been so fun to see their faith develop and begin to unfold.<br />
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I love what they are learning and picking up on and even questioning.<br />
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When I hear them belting out a worship song that they learned in church or heard on the radio I feel like I can literally <i>feel</i> Jesus smiling down upon them.<br />
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Hearing your children pray and sing out to Jesus is one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard--even if the words are jumbled and it's completely off-tune and parts of the chorus are skipped or repeated over and over a hundred times.<br />
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<i>It is a symphony to heaven. </i></div>
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<i>And as my Mama heart watches from the front row, </i></div>
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<i><b>it is their worship that teaches me. </b></i></div>
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<b>...</b></div>
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Kai is currently in a "<i>is Jesus bigger/stronger/taller/deeper/etc.</i>" question asking phase.<br />
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It's awesome.<br />
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Here are a couple of recent examples:<br />
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On the ferris wheel with Sunny a few weeks ago as we are stopped at the very top:<br />
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<i>"Mommy, is Jesus higher than this ferris wheel?" </i></div>
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At the very top loading dock of the tram at OHSU two weekends ago:<br />
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<i>"Mommy, can Jesus stretch higher than this tram?" </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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Swinging in the "high" swings at one of the parks we frequent:<br />
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<i>"is Jesus higher than THIS?" </i></div>
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<i>"Than THIS?!"</i></div>
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In the middle of one of the thunderstorms we've had here lately (that are awesome, by the way):<br />
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<i>"Is Jesus bigger than that thunder?" "Is he LOUDER than that thunder?"</i></div>
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He knows the answer to all of these questions. I answer him just about the same every time:<br />
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<i>"Yep, buddy, He sure is--isn't that awesome?!"</i><br />
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It's like when his senses are are exhilarated by heights or speed or sound He immediately sizes it up to Jesus. I don't know where he learned how to do this, but he's teaching me so much.<br />
<br />
When I'm feeling overwhelmed or like things are sky high and out of my reach, I need to measure whatever problem that I feel is too big up to Jesus.<br />
<br />
<b>Because no matter what, Jesus IS always bigger. </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>...</b></div>
<br />
I die a little bit every night when it's Kai and Sunny's "turn" to talk to Jesus. I don't make them pray, but I always give them the opportunity to talk to Jesus after I have. Most nights, they take it, and I feel like I'm left either holding back tears or holding back laughter. Usually both.<br />
<br />
Kai likes routine and often says the same thing:<br />
<br />
<i>Jesus help me not have that one bad dream, and that other bad dream and that other bad dream and the rest of those bad dreams. And help me not to drown in Nana's pool. And thank you for [usually something that we did that day like the park or riding bikes with a friend or eating pizza].</i><br />
<br />
Sunny's are adorable. I usually ask her if she wants to "<i>thank Jesus for anything?</i>"<br />
<br />
And she thanks Him for things (mostly toys and food) like:<br />
<br />
<i>my green turtle in the bathtub and my favorite purple spoon and for Honey and my little red frog that jumps and jumps and jumps...</i><br />
<br />
They also ask for prayer for their "owies."<br />
<br />
Just yesterday we were at the park and Kai bonked the back of His head. He wasn't crying but was holding it in and on the verge when he came over to me. I offered to kiss it and after I did he said "now can you pray for Jesus to heal it?" So I did. Right there in the middle of that busy park. And after I said "<i>amen</i>" he just turned around and ran back to his friends. The older couple on the bench right next to me sure got a kick out of the whole thing.<br />
<br />
<b>I want faith like that.</b> When something is hurting me--whether it be physical or emotional, <i>I want to run straight to Jesus, confident in His healing peace and love.</i> He should be the first to hear about my worries--but all too often it's everybody else who hears about them and THEN I take them to God.<br />
<br />
Kai knows better.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrIsKtOHx4GEM0H7mWsC9QcS1UX2p374Ny6CgBAbj-VYBmJMQnmARdHmwW1wYrt3x3c81O3cPdmK9s5HLFAkX6zht8gi4Vu62-iSJos2xP1DN61tdhdv-HZxPUWvaVR0-eCI36MF1QCM0/s1600/11265310_10100144994082920_6297640875139300247_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrIsKtOHx4GEM0H7mWsC9QcS1UX2p374Ny6CgBAbj-VYBmJMQnmARdHmwW1wYrt3x3c81O3cPdmK9s5HLFAkX6zht8gi4Vu62-iSJos2xP1DN61tdhdv-HZxPUWvaVR0-eCI36MF1QCM0/s400/11265310_10100144994082920_6297640875139300247_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Phillie (dog) in heaven with Jesus" By: Kai</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>...</b></div>
<br />
And then there are all of the hundreds of questions about heaven.<br />
<br />
The one I get most often is, "<i>but Mommy, how will we get there?</i>" But then there are many other questions like, "<i>In heaven, will we have chocolate?</i>" and "<i>In heaven will there be a swimming pool</i>?" and "<i>Will we have soft beds, in heaven, to sleep on</i>?"<br />
<br />
The idea of "Heaven," for most, is hard to grasp.<br />
<br />
Kai's eyes light up when we talk about it and he is anticipating getting to spend forever there--with all of his favorite things, of course.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<b>I want to be heavenly minded in the way that my son is.</b><br />
<br />
I want to <i>long</i> to spend eternity there with Jesus, and daydream about how wonderful it will be.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>...</b></div>
<br />
Formulating answers to their sometimes non-stop firing of questions about Jesus and heaven and angels and prayer and healing has given me more perspective and depth to my own faith.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I need to "think" less and do more singing with joy at the top of my lungs </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>(like even in busy shopping mall dressing rooms).</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I need to daily, hourly, moment-by-moment acknowledge that Jesus is </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><u>ALWAYS BIGGER THAN IT ALL.</u></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I need to lift my eyes, with joy and anticipation, toward heaven </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and pray with the faith of my four-year old. </i></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6TLQfCUA_sgYAgvliVZvwZVqHUIzSyN5qYSfAUzjTXmsZY54sxampT73mHcgNQKH5EZ4NF6nXCJ_wFDTMLj3xfVQMU9veeQXqgvDOt0-3MZ1ctK3rIgd9ZD6waYHEtSN5yOwbOBeyLKu/s1600/IMG_3092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6TLQfCUA_sgYAgvliVZvwZVqHUIzSyN5qYSfAUzjTXmsZY54sxampT73mHcgNQKH5EZ4NF6nXCJ_wFDTMLj3xfVQMU9veeQXqgvDOt0-3MZ1ctK3rIgd9ZD6waYHEtSN5yOwbOBeyLKu/s400/IMG_3092.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Thanks, buddy boy, for growing with me.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXOdwzx5iUlJ6ReS3MDlJ3_78UtoHbtXwnmclKjO8u_qq2Fc1gKntcvY036N-gcR7nVsqyW73kpmUH8siPdWrVYpyVoQAL_37yOWlANc8nSaL8Ylx-07zEdgl3Vyf0N3ZGupoVd0Xm1J8/s1600/97C0BB41B1E46A6764C761A71825137D.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXOdwzx5iUlJ6ReS3MDlJ3_78UtoHbtXwnmclKjO8u_qq2Fc1gKntcvY036N-gcR7nVsqyW73kpmUH8siPdWrVYpyVoQAL_37yOWlANc8nSaL8Ylx-07zEdgl3Vyf0N3ZGupoVd0Xm1J8/s1600/97C0BB41B1E46A6764C761A71825137D.png" /></a></div>
<br />Whitneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04744367708780194409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3558566650756272043.post-17387631020334668692015-05-28T09:05:00.001-07:002015-05-28T09:05:30.458-07:00IF: Gathering Series Conclusion {Chris Caine}How could I possibly pick a few key points to highlight from Chris Caine's IF: Gathering message?<br />
<br />
Yeah right! I couldn't get my pen moving fast enough to keep up with the fire of God that was pouring out of her soul into the most convicting and beautiful and inspiring words.<br />
<br />
The crux of her message was really about just stepping out and DOING. It was about serving and taking action and not just waiting around for God but living like there isn't a moment to waste because He is waiting for us!<br />
<br />
I pray that as you read over the notes I have included below from her segment that they would ignite (or reignite if you have heard her message!) a fire deep within to GO. To take that step. To be a servant and love in a way that knows no bounds. To be brave enough to follow Him into the beautiful but dangerous unknown.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>...</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>We are here to do the works that God prepared us to do before we were even here.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUrO2YhtmtpNFc8Wx9KDBie2hqsy1L6g9ZU_jjX3OhyUJUTQISXymYOZx6jMyPKKlgGZIKZdDRhNeQbB3d4YqTAQjJWRZjQiNhvfFdZyPVEjIAgztGZ9Yq7BETF4d_iuBmGBmf7cUGT2Dg/s1600/1458474_856714904730_1027779773_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUrO2YhtmtpNFc8Wx9KDBie2hqsy1L6g9ZU_jjX3OhyUJUTQISXymYOZx6jMyPKKlgGZIKZdDRhNeQbB3d4YqTAQjJWRZjQiNhvfFdZyPVEjIAgztGZ9Yq7BETF4d_iuBmGBmf7cUGT2Dg/s400/1458474_856714904730_1027779773_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>We are at the edge of our promised land and we will remain there unless we begin to "DO." </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>We can sing, pray, talk, etc. but unless we "DO" there is no promised land.</i></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Let go of the past and step into what will be. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Don't hang on to "what was." </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>If the horse is dead, dismount! </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>We are all unhealthily attached to the past. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Focus on the good and leave the rest at the foot of the cross.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYZyL7_dKzr1QdCRkNCRq_Y6BucPypdQyCLo2Q1PhsTqKSEyLU4e-TSTSmXV5ZnhqeDe4n8XZnzTutNoV-nN-7fXrEYldoeJ9UVz8R5zO4bQXvD_fybtL53LeSdATrlmf4QZhkHuzaAr-/s1600/1011094_806548403800_1553681449_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYZyL7_dKzr1QdCRkNCRq_Y6BucPypdQyCLo2Q1PhsTqKSEyLU4e-TSTSmXV5ZnhqeDe4n8XZnzTutNoV-nN-7fXrEYldoeJ9UVz8R5zO4bQXvD_fybtL53LeSdATrlmf4QZhkHuzaAr-/s400/1011094_806548403800_1553681449_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For lasting and meaningful purpose, SERVE.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Talent does not prepare you for the battle...service does.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The devil will send a spirit of fear into EVERY transition of our lives.</i></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Don't wait for God--He is waiting for you!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>SET. YOUR. FOOT.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrUW7SBsSHbn4zHpj6fMezTE695xomNp0EBzD-XvhZbGiPlHUWvsmfThyphenhyphen8MxEwLOEHCCnMBUKjePcTTS8M2FNvDXRE3JVFY3eG6im4MiOTzD0tfAYkEhTn_6Hrmo5-7ofOtqsv6GwP3mr/s1600/11295547_10100151417230880_2010356488481323387_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrUW7SBsSHbn4zHpj6fMezTE695xomNp0EBzD-XvhZbGiPlHUWvsmfThyphenhyphen8MxEwLOEHCCnMBUKjePcTTS8M2FNvDXRE3JVFY3eG6im4MiOTzD0tfAYkEhTn_6Hrmo5-7ofOtqsv6GwP3mr/s400/11295547_10100151417230880_2010356488481323387_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Begin to move. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Joshua would NOT have taken the land </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>if he didn't have faith to set foot onto the land!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Be willing to work. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The call of God is inconvenient.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Make a decision to get into the word and </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>s</i><i>tay in the word and </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>roll up your sleeves and serve.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeg2rx4YGVRS9zgIt3cgB4cLb_tmlhK56i4flPvlHxZ8Wbs4Da_jkWiCqCtfwD8h4AYBCTOdz0cYfKHyswPDt3eltnEx2hNKyM4VO5PokYi_JguejgbwJK81fP27BKYTuBuYrcA0aYaxb/s1600/10632709_956877702680_322262073764659091_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeg2rx4YGVRS9zgIt3cgB4cLb_tmlhK56i4flPvlHxZ8Wbs4Da_jkWiCqCtfwD8h4AYBCTOdz0cYfKHyswPDt3eltnEx2hNKyM4VO5PokYi_JguejgbwJK81fP27BKYTuBuYrcA0aYaxb/s640/10632709_956877702680_322262073764659091_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Communion with God HAS to be INTENTIONAL.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The glory of God is a man or woman FULLY ALIVE!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFh0m21L9W3w2tAh1Y6O_w9x79s4vOhGx0imEiUl9xwHoUcK3-uv5EcFodMoY0TB91PWqW9rkJPMQqWuCgLVJyZEPfE504OudHh1GlcGOqk6A8HMjTDsj76VDSXK2ieY6XCNh0JIXoxSC/s1600/11156135_10100136613622430_7206356207815029588_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFh0m21L9W3w2tAh1Y6O_w9x79s4vOhGx0imEiUl9xwHoUcK3-uv5EcFodMoY0TB91PWqW9rkJPMQqWuCgLVJyZEPfE504OudHh1GlcGOqk6A8HMjTDsj76VDSXK2ieY6XCNh0JIXoxSC/s400/11156135_10100136613622430_7206356207815029588_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Quit talking about doing something and just DO.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Ask God "what is mine to do?" and </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>open your eyes to </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>who/how/when</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I can serve.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNxNCfH5_U_-_nGk7U7ZWRDfNRyIn3Gjl8Tl4cMKD5qp9uq3MNSDrbLmbeRfWi5Hgmko1QPsZrwSUorOsEakfMuvf50tVTblYhPxOXGj6xY26ftovA5hIq1QJqSPZwos5HF2GH-qyTCNuF/s1600/1010653_808266884950_382631376_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNxNCfH5_U_-_nGk7U7ZWRDfNRyIn3Gjl8Tl4cMKD5qp9uq3MNSDrbLmbeRfWi5Hgmko1QPsZrwSUorOsEakfMuvf50tVTblYhPxOXGj6xY26ftovA5hIq1QJqSPZwos5HF2GH-qyTCNuF/s400/1010653_808266884950_382631376_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Be deeply kind. Be courageous. Be brave.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV31ZQGzNtY7jmeprZ5gkTkBzzbjvnR9bJL0peJzklrDGhzEb9Voor93NBN9KRYjA1wG7JFE0RlsYpKtKsGGuazrmgwZzjibeuffjeiyWgH8x9ZFmqW5zMbIvD3gLOe_r94wIK526nXko/s1600/253705_601846353350_3421974_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV31ZQGzNtY7jmeprZ5gkTkBzzbjvnR9bJL0peJzklrDGhzEb9Voor93NBN9KRYjA1wG7JFE0RlsYpKtKsGGuazrmgwZzjibeuffjeiyWgH8x9ZFmqW5zMbIvD3gLOe_r94wIK526nXko/s400/253705_601846353350_3421974_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>He will give you the grace you need for right now. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>...</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To my dear sisters in Hermiston who are "re"gathering together tonight I am praying for your time together. I wish I could be there to fellowship and pray and worship with you! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It has been so good for me to embark on this short little series review of the "IF Gathering."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have been able to dig deeper and really re-live the event. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have been humbled and convicted and encouraged and inspired. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thank you for reading and reviewing along with me--and thank you, Heather, for encouraging me to blog again.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>It feels good to be here. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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