tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38870245448093458352024-03-18T19:47:22.674-07:00Preparing to LaunchThree baby birds. One almost ready to fly. The countdown to launch starts now...Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-83603784168912836602019-12-31T12:24:00.001-08:002019-12-31T12:24:59.908-08:00Good timesIt's Word of the Year time, people!!<br />
<br />
Apparently, this is also one of the few times a year I can muster the discipline to sit down and write anything for this erratic, ever-diminishing blog. But the New Year is not the time to quibble over details or fixate on failures! Let's be hopeful, and optimistic, and believe that this is the year I will write at least five blog posts!<br />
<br />
Or, at least one more than last year...which was one.<br />
<br />
<b>So, let's go for TWO!!!! </b><br />
<br />
You can tell I am filled with all of the hopes and dreams that a new year and a NEW DECADE inevitably bring. I am positively Pollyanna!<br />
<br />
This year my Word of the Year (henceforth to be known as WOTY), came to me well before the close of 2019. I wasn't even trying to think of one, and my train of thought was really somewhere entirely different, but I've found my WOTY can be tricky that way. It likes to sneak into my subconscious when I least suspect it.<br />
<br />
It's like a ninja WOTY.<br />
<br />
But let's back up for a minute...<br />
<br />
My WOTY came to me on a day when I was feeling a bit melancholy (<i>it happens</i>) and was fixating a bit too much on unknowns, things that are a-changing, and just generally stuff I can't really control. That's always a good recipe for melancholy.<br />
<br />
There are good things happening all around me. I'm watching my children, especially my older two, step into new opportunities and live their lives more and more independently. That's always been the goal, right? That whole <i>"Preparing to Launch" </i>thing means...one day they <b>launch</b>. And one of my main goals as a mom has always been to allow my kids to grow up free from feeling that they owe me a certain amount of time, attention, or gratitude. I want very much to have relationships with them for as long as I am on this earth, but I don't want relationships that are coerced or borne of out of guilt. I want them to be free and to know that I am always right here...their #1 fan.<br />
<br />
I love all the ways they are forging their own paths and making their way in the world.<br />
<br />
But I <i>do</i> miss them.<br />
<br />
2020 also brings a milestone birthday for me.<br />
<br />
Yep, all of us 1970 babies are turning 50 this year!<br />
<br />
For the most part, I'm fine with every new age that comes along. I tend to not get too focused on birthdays, even the biggies. But this one carries some extra...<i>stuff</i>.<br />
<br />
I rarely do parties or even much else in the way of celebrating my birthdays. <i>(Although I do refuse to ever cook dinner on my birthday. That's my bare minimum.)</i> I'm just not that into them. But the two big-ish parties I did have, for my 30th and my 40th, were both orchestrated, directed, and insisted upon by Tracy. Now SHE was a party girl, in the very best way.<br />
<br />
There is no doubt in my mind she would not have allowed my 50th to pass quietly.<br />
<br />
It is also always on my heart that our favorite party girl never had the chance to celebrate her 50th.<br />
<br />
So, on this melancholy day, I was thinking about all these good things, hard things, things that have been, things that never will be, and all of the things I'm hoping for and wishing for... and it came to me...<br />
<br />
It was so obvious.<br />
<br />
My 2020 Word of the Year is....<br />
<br />
<b>CELEBRATE.</b><br />
<br />
<i>(And if you just heard Kool and the Gang start singing in your head, well, you are my people.)</i><br />
<br />
Celebrate the little things.<br />
<br />
Celebrate the big things.<br />
<br />
Celebrate the everyday.<br />
<br />
Celebrate the extraordinary.<br />
<br />
Celebrate all we have been given.<br />
<br />
Celebrate all that lies ahead.<br />
<br />
Find something to celebrate every. single. day.<br />
<br />
In many ways celebrating is both natural and foreign to me. I'm looking forward to celebrating in ways that come easily to me, and also stretching myself to celebrate those things that might challenge me.<br />
<br />
I want to celebrate for myself <i>and</i> for others. I <i><b>really</b></i> want to celebrate for others.<br />
<br />
2020 is the year I find my inner cheerleader <i>(a cheerleader who can't even touch her toes and never in her life could do the splits)</i>. <b>An inflexible but enthusiastic cheerleader!! </b><br />
<br />
I'm still not going to have a big party for my 50th, but I do promise not to let the day pass without some sort of celebration, however small. It may not be entirely Tracy-approved, but she knows me and I believe she will understand.<br />
<br />
Mostly, I intend to focus on the everyday and celebrating all the small, good things that make up a life.<br />
<br />
An unexpected text message from a friend.<br />
A meme that makes me laugh.<br />
Sleeping in.<br />
Good news shared by my adult children.<br />
Couch and TV time with Annie.<br />
Dog snuggles.<br />
A husband who snowblows in winter, gathers leaves in the fall, and cuts the grass in the summer. And a million other ways he takes such good care of us.<br />
Chips and salsa.<br />
After school visits from my niece and nephew.<br />
Sister time.<br />
A good book.<br />
Watching the cousins swimming at the lake.<br />
Snowy winters and hot summers. (Although the snow gets harder and harder to celebrate the older I get...)<br />
French fries.<br />
Fresh baked cookies.<br />
Champagne. (!!!) (TONIGHT!)<br />
<br />
The list goes on and on.<br />
<br />
So, off I go into this year of Celebration. If you have any good news to share in 2020, large or small, be sure to let me know and I will be the first to give you a big, "WOOHOO!!!!" <i>(I can and will do the 'Woohoo", but do not expect splits or cartwheels. I am 50, after all. Almost.) </i><br />
<br />
And, because no WOTY is complete without a VOTY:<br />
<br />
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Happy New Year, friends!<br />
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I celebrate each and every one of you!<br />
<br />
XO<br />
<br />
<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-6860399094724396882019-01-10T10:35:00.001-08:002019-01-10T11:01:16.881-08:00Soup and BreadLast night I made a soup that I haven't made in over 3 years.<br />
<br />
The last time I made this particular soup recipe was on Friday, December 4, 2015.<br />
<br />
I know this not because I have some incredibly organized system for recording every meal I have ever made, but because I made that soup for a special lunch, with some special friends, that turned out to be even more special than we knew in the moment we were living it.<br />
<br />
We had planned the lunch because for the first time in over 10+ years our little Dinner Group, which we had organized when our kids were still in preschool and some were not yet even born, was not going to have its annual Santa Party.<br />
<br />
It was a tradition we all enjoyed and loved but that particular year life was getting in the way. The kids had gotten older and had wildly varied college Christmas break schedules. There were private health issues creating concern and complication. The kids still at home had winter sports tournaments and performances. For the first time in well over a decade we all reluctantly agreed to forego the party.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This doesn't mean it's the end. We can do it next year! We will figure it out!</i><br />
<br />
And a million other assurances flew back and forth on that email thread.<br />
<br />
But I really do think, looking back, we all did kind of know it was the end.<br />
<br />
As the Brad Paisley song says, <i>"There's a last time for everything."</i><br />
<br />
(<i>Because there is a country music song for every occasion.</i>)<br />
<br />
Not wanting to let the Christmas season pass without any opportunity for connection, we decided to meet for lunch, just as gals, early in December- before everything got TOO crazy.<br />
<br />
Again, life got in the way. In the end it turned out that only 4 of the 6 of us could meet. Tracy, myself, and two of our old, dear friends.<br />
<br />
It always kind of surprises me when I realize I have "old friends" in Seattle. Since I didn't grow up there, there were so many years I felt like everything and everyone was new. But I think it's fair to say that when you have been friends for 20 years, you now qualify as "old friends."<br />
<br />
And, of course, Tracy and I were the very oldest and dearest of friends.<br />
<br />
As we sat around the table someone suddenly noticed and remarked, "<i>Well, this is kind of perfect. Here we are, the original four who decided to start the Dinner Group."</i><br />
<br />
We started reminiscing about that day, many years before, when we were all together watching our kids play and Tracy floated this idea (<i>of course it was Tracy's idea) </i>of gathering together with our spouses, every couple of months, just to eat a meal and talk. That simple idea launched both many fun, lively dinner gatherings, and an annual Christmas party that our grown kids still talk about. From preschoolers to college graduates, we watched each other's kid's grow and talked about everything under the sun.<br />
<br />
I don't remember anyone saying it this way, but I think the four of us sitting there felt like that lunch together validated something.<br />
<br />
It was a marker of some sort in which we said silently to one another, <b><i>Thank you</i>.</b><br />
<br />
Thank you for giving me connection and community and support during those busy, sleepless, uncertain years of raising little ones.<br />
<br />
Thank you for making me laugh more times than I can count.<br />
<br />
Thank you for bringing me food when I was sad.<br />
<br />
Thank you for babysitting my kids.<br />
<br />
Thank you for commiserating about sleep schedules, school choices, picky eaters, diet and exercise, discipline, homework battles, health concerns, family dynamics, fashion trends, and a million other life issues both mundane and significant.<br />
<br />
<i>(And, on a personal level, I hope my heart remembered to offer a special thank you to Tracy, because I'm pretty sure she came up with this idea in large part for my benefit. She was always working her magic to help me put down roots in a city that was not my own.)</i><br />
<br />
The four of us ate a cozy meal of soup and bread on a cold, December day, celebrating what had been and perhaps quietly acknowledging the future would not look quite the same, even if we didn't yet know how or why or in what way.<br />
<br />
One week later Tracy passed away.<br />
<br />
That was the last meal she and I shared together. That was the last meal we as four old friends shared together. I guess you could say it was the last meal of our little Dinner Group.<br />
<br />
And for over three years I have not been able to bring myself to make that soup again.<br />
<br />
But last night I did.<br />
<br />
It was just for my little family of three. It was cozy and warm and Annie declared it to be, <i><b>"Sooooo good."</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I made it giving thanks for good memories and good friends. I made it feeling grateful that even as life sometimes brings unexpected change and loss, I have known what it is to be held and lifted up by community and friends. I made it as a promise to myself to seek, nurture, and celebrate the important relationships in my life. I made it with hope that this year is going to bring a deeper sense of community and home. I made it to remember.<br />
<i><br /></i>
It made me happy to make that soup.<br />
<br />
I think I will officially rename that soup in my own mind: <i>Friendship Soup.</i><br />
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Easy.</div>
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Not at all fussy.</div>
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Simple ingredients.</div>
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Consistent.</div>
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Comfort with a capital C.</div>
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All it takes is a little time to get the flavors just right.</div>
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Just like old friends.</div>
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Thanks to all of mine. 😘</div>
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Okay, here's the recipe. It's a total 1970's dump in the crockpot type recipe with the modern addition of quinoa. 😄 I have found it works better to prepare the quinoa separately and then add it to the soup. When it cooks with the soup it just keeps soaking up all the liquid and it gets really, really thick. If it is prepared on its own, even if you still then add it at the beginning and let it cook for 4 hours, it doesn't seem to do that. For SUPER convenience, I used the frozen Trader Joes quinoa packets. I cooked two in the microwave and then added them to the crockpot. Everything else, I did as written. Couldn't be easier.</div>
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<a href="https://mixandmatchmama.com/2015/10/chicken-quinoa-soup/" target="_blank">https://mixandmatchmama.com/2015/10/chicken-quinoa-soup/</a></div>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-8205528679106657112018-12-30T14:48:00.000-08:002018-12-30T20:43:17.526-08:00Riding on the backs of whalesWhen I was very young, probably only 3 or 4 years old, I remember riding in my grandparent's boat on Hayden Lake. We were speeding along and the boat was bouncing up and down on the choppy water. I asked my Grandpa why the boat bounced up and down like that?<br />
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He gave me a smile and said, <i>"Don't worry. We're just going over the backs of whales." </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going on a whale hunt!<br />
(Obviously I'm the only one who gets it. Whales, people! Look alive!)</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i>
I spent the next several summers peering over the edge of the boat hoping to catch sight of one of those whales. Sometimes I still do.<br />
<br />
Around the time I was 7 or 8, I developed a strange nighttime phobia. My young, overactive, slightly weird mind became convinced that if I were to put one leg outside the covers at night, a witch would come along and paint my leg.<br />
<br />
Looking back, it seems to me that if a witch is going to pay you a visit in the night, painting your leg would be one of the more benign spells he/she could conjure up. So I'm not entirely sure why I was so afraid of this Van Gogh-like Witch that lurked in the shadows of my bedroom. But nevertheless, the idea that I might wake up with a purple leg was enough to keep my legs safely tucked under the covers no matter how warm I got.<br />
<br />
When my sister came along and grew old enough to participate in my fanciful adventures, I was not above manipulating her youthful innocence to join me in my bizarre inner world. She still loves to share how I convinced her that this random, lone screw on the ceiling of her bedroom was really the opening to a secret candy chute to which, of course, I held the only key. If you know how much Baby Valerie loved her sweets then you know this was rather mean storytelling on my part. But, truth be told, knowing how my mind worked and how easily I myself believed in magic and mystery, I really do think I just wanted someone else to see what I could see.<br />
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I mean, OBVIOUSLY that was a portal to a hidden candy chute. Who couldn't see that?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, the places we will go, little sister!<br />
So...see that funny little silver thing on your ceiling...shhh....don't tell anyone but....</td></tr>
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<br />
All of this is to say that I have always had a rather rich, expansive, easily influenced imagination.<br />
<br />
My mother loves to tell the story of how one day she had another adult come to the house for some sort of meeting. A good 45 minutes into their conversation the visitor felt compelled to interrupt their discussion to say, <i>"I just have to tell you that those children have been playing so nicely in there!"</i><br />
<br />
My mom hesitated for a moment and then started to laugh. <i>"Children? <b>That's just Lori</b>." </i><br />
<br />
Apparently the visitor literally had to get up and see for themselves that all of that animated, verbose, delightful chatter was indeed the product of one, small child.<br />
<br />
I suppose that's why to this day I never really mind being alone. Me and my constant inner dialogue are our own One Woman Show! 😃<br />
<br />
Imagining the unimaginable. Turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Conceiving of the inconceivable.<br />
<br />
Easy peasy.<br />
<br />
The problem is that as much as imagination can be a gift, it can be equal parts curse. Because sometimes it means you give life to ideas and visions and fears and worries and worst case scenarios that haven't even happened. That may never happen. That most likely <i>never will</i> happen.<br />
<br />
Thoughts and perceptions that are not true, or at least you don't <i>know </i>them to be true.<br />
<br />
Storylines that have never played out anywhere but in your own head.<br />
<br />
Amplifying the voices in your head instead of the voices of the real life people who care about you.<br />
<br />
When imagination takes the place of reality, or faith, it loses its value and the positive, creative function it can play in our lives.<br />
<br />
When I started mulling over what I felt I was being called to explore in 2019, at first I thought my word would be FAITH.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't quite right.<br />
<br />
For me, FAITH is the constant undercurrent of my life. It is who I am. Even when I wrestle with doubts FAITH is still the firm foundation I can't help but find my way back to.<br />
<br />
It is.<br />
<br />
I needed something to DO.<br />
<br />
I wanted a verb.<br />
<br />
I wanted a word that felt active.<br />
<br />
<i>(Well...not too active. I mean more mentally active. Something I can still do while sitting on my couch.)</i><br />
<br />
What is the verb of faith?<br />
<br />
If faith is the be-ing, what is the do-ing?<br />
<br />
On the two hour drive to my sister's ski cabin it came to me....<br />
<br />
BELIEVE.<br />
<br />
Believe the best in others.<br />
<br />
Believe God is for you.<br />
<br />
Believe in the big picture, everything is unfolding as it should.<br />
<br />
Believe your children, especially your adult children, will find their path and thrive.<br />
<br />
Believe in the power of each new day. God's mercies are new every morning.<br />
<br />
Believe that it is not all up to you. Rest.<br />
<br />
Believe that it will not kill you to leave the house after 5pm. (<i>I may not practice this one until at least May or June...</i>).<br />
<br />
Believe that the future holds unknown blessings and adventure. (<i>Nothing toooo adventurous, I hope)</i>.<br />
<br />
Believe in naps. (<i><b>Done</b></i>.)<br />
<br />
Believe that which is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and worthy of praise. (Philippians 4:8) Not paint brush wielding witches, or any other improbable, unlikely, unreal, scary scenario you've dreamed up.<br />
<br />
Believe, believe, believe...<br />
<br />
What a perfect word to center me and bring me back to what is real in 2019. I'm sure there will be any number of ways I will get to BELIEVE in the year ahead.<br />
<br />
And for anyone who is thinking, <i>hmmmmm....BELIEVE is a good word but I can't help but notice it's just a tiny bit Christmasy???</i><br />
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What can I say??<br />
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If I have to spend the next 365 days with Josh Groban singing in my head...well, that can't be helped.<br />
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And because I always pick a scripture to go along with my Word of the Year....<br />
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Bonus! BELIEVE gets two!<br />
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The first is very personal to me and is the first scripture that always comes to mind when I think of belief and the challenge of putting faith into action.<br />
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"Lord, I believe; please help my unbelief." -Mark 9:24<br />
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I soooo get this guy. Belief...easier said than done sometimes. In fact, most of the time. Love this reassurance by one of my faves, Frederick Buechner.<br />
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And this one, because it's short and sweet and brings it all back to the point.<br />
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So, there it is.<br />
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Let me finish by saying I <b><i>BELIEVE </i></b>in you. I believe in the spark that is gifted to each of us by the Creator. I believe you are here for a reason and whether your purpose feels large or small by worldly standards, your presence and participation are needed and necessary.<br />
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You are loved.<br />
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Believe me.<br />
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Happy New Year!Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-26090396303651035812018-10-18T13:24:00.000-07:002018-10-18T13:27:57.642-07:00Who says?Yesterday, I took a little drive.<br />
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I didn't mean to take a drive. It really all started because there is a bunch of construction going on in my neck of the woods and the only way I can leave my house is by way of one of several different detours. There is literally no direct route from my house to anywhere right now. It's fine. It's all fine. Everything is FINE.<br />
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Ahem.<br />
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Anyway, as I approached the detour, I had a sudden urge to detour from my detour.<br />
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I took a left and began a long, meandering drive through the south-iest roads of the South Hill. These are country roads I know like the back of my hand. They are the roads on which I learned to drive. Roads where even now you might drive your entire route and not pass a single other car. What a blessedly wonderful way to dip your toe into the world of gas and brake pedals, turn signals, and windshield wipers. And they are the very best roads for turning up the Billy Joel station and singing <i>Scenes from an Italian Restaurant </i>at the top of your lungs. Both when you are 16 and when you are 48....<br />
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I found myself getting a little giddy thinking about teaching Annie to drive on these very same roads. Not giddy in the sense that I am ready for that to happen. Sweet fancy Moses, no. Thank heaven we are still a couple of years away from that. But giddy knowing that she will get a chance to master some fundamental driving basics while being surrounded by nothing more than fields and the occasional deer before having to do anything INSANE <i><b>like merge onto the Ballard Bridge.</b></i> (Sorry, Seattle flashback.)<br />
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Seattle peeps, can I get an AMEN?!<br />
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Speaking of Amen....while on my detour of the detour I passed the Catholic Retreat center that has been there as long as I can remember. A little further up the road I saw a Sister out for a brisk morning walk. I slowed and made sure to veer as far over to the other side of the road as I could so as to give her plenty of space and not kick up any dust on her. As I approached her she gave me the brightest smile and a friendly wave.<br />
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I know my smile was equally bright because she made my day.<br />
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In that moment, I knew for sure my detour from the detour was a great idea.<br />
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Two years ago, my most fervent prayer was simply that this place would become Home. It seems strange now and even did then that Home was so elusive. I had been born and raised here. All of my immediate family is here. I didn't even have to learn my way around. There was so much that was familiar.<br />
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And yet.... My entire adult life had been spent somewhere else. A place that had become Home. I began my married life there, raised my kids there, had friends there, survived multiple remodeling projects there....<br />
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Sometimes I'm still not sure what made us hear and listen to the whisper that said, <i>"It's time to go."</i><br />
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But we did. And we did. It was time to go.<br />
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I remember I kept hearing that line in the Rascal Flatts song:<br />
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<i>I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong.</i></div>
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Even so, I miss it sometimes. And of course there are people I miss. (<i>Home is always really about the people, right?)</i></div>
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But when I drive these country roads I've been driving for over thirty years... When I pick my daughter up from her bus, which happens to be at my sister's house, and tell her that "<i>I'm just going to go in and talk to Aunt Val for a minute"</i> (a minute, riiiiight....)... When I drive past the McDonalds in Lincoln Heights where I spent a ridiculous number of Friday nights hanging out with my high school friends... When I just "pop downtown" not worrying about time of day or traffic... When I am able to see nieces and nephews on their birthdays, or just because.... When I realize that my own daughter is herself becoming a "Spokane girl".... And when those first snowflakes fall and we are reminded once again that we won't be traveling for Christmas because Christmas is here, and we are here, and...well.....honestly....</div>
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I marvel to myself... literally <i>marvel</i>.... I. Live. HERE. </div>
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Who says you can't go Home again?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79NW0mbzaNz55cx2r-j1g5vfxv0YPaBQYqbEZa7wh4PgvACZvhi6YmhibwOBmsXwcUI9mTEzouR4lWsjSZAYESIYspTe56DkbMODOeubhcisj8rvrrYvQw_AxHuS5WC55CaA5mVarM3w/s1600/IMG_2831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1381" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79NW0mbzaNz55cx2r-j1g5vfxv0YPaBQYqbEZa7wh4PgvACZvhi6YmhibwOBmsXwcUI9mTEzouR4lWsjSZAYESIYspTe56DkbMODOeubhcisj8rvrrYvQw_AxHuS5WC55CaA5mVarM3w/s320/IMG_2831.JPG" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Spokane childhood was nothing if not fancy. </td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-54955912586916501762018-10-03T18:02:00.001-07:002018-10-04T15:06:33.111-07:00What if?<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">six impossible things before breakfast."</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">~Alice in Wonderland</span></i></div>
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If you are into personality assessments and jazz like that then you have probably heard of the Enneagram. If not, just suffice to say it's one of those tests where you answer a bajillion questions about what you "most likely" or "least likely" think, or believe, or say, or do, and then it gives you a number as to your personality type.</div>
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I'm an Enneagram 9.</div>
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I've taken various versions of the Enneagram multiple times and I am always, always a Nine.</div>
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I really don't know why I keep taking it because when I read the description of a Nine it's exactly me. I mean, like...wow, that's me. So maybe I keep taking it because I want to see if the test is fallible, or if maybe on any given day I might be less Nine-like than other days.</div>
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So far, nope.</div>
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I'm as Nine-iest as you can get.</div>
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Here is a brief <a href="https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-9/" target="_blank">description</a> of Nines:</div>
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<i><b>Nines are accepting, trusting, and stable. They are usually creative, optimistic, and supportive, but can also be too willing to go along with others to keep the peace. They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting. They typically have problems with inertia and stubbornness. At their Best: indomitable and all-embracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts.</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Basic Fear: Of loss and separation</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Basic Desire: To have inner stability "peace of mind"</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.</b></i></div>
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<i>"They typically have trouble with inertia..." </i>That makes me laugh out loud every time. You know what a Nine's root sin is? SLOTH! Something I've been saying about myself long before I ever even heard of the Enneagram. In fact, I consider the sloth my spirit animal.</div>
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<i>(And the fact that I say that with pride might mean I have leaned in a bit too much to my Nine-ness).</i></div>
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So, now that you know way too much about me and my peace-loving, conflict-avoidant, abundantly Nine-like ways, you may have every reason to disregard everything I'm about to say. </div>
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You may read what comes next and think, "<i>Well....yeah....but this is really just because you want everyone to get along, and don't like people fighting, and can't handle tension, and conflict, and hysteria."</i></div>
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You'd be right. </div>
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However, it's also because I want people to be able to get along, and coexist peacefully, and allow others their dignity, and still be able to laugh together at the end of the day.</div>
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Oh, wait. That's basically the same thing.</div>
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Okay, you are still right. </div>
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BUT....because I do know what it's like to feel all angsty and twisty and ragey inside, and because I really don't believe that is a healthy place to set up camp and hang out for too long, I have a suggestion for anyone who would like to take a break from Camp Frowny Face.</div>
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Before I share this, please know I'm really not referencing anything specific in today's world, politics, celebrity romances, or my own personal relationships. This is a technique that can be used in any number of situations and I've been known to employ it multiple times in a single day. I mean, that's kind of exhausting when that happens, but I'm just saying that while you might be inclined to think I'm writing about specific current events, I'm really not. This is just something I have been thinking about and today was the day I overcame my inertia long enough to sit down at the keyboard and write it out. </div>
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That's how any of my blog posts happen. And why they are so infrequent.</div>
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The inertia is real, my friends.</div>
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Anywhooooo....Here is what I do when I feel myself slipping into that place where I cannot understand how anyone could possibly see this situation, or issue, or event, or person, or concept, or belief...any differently than I do. </div>
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We've all been there. Somewhere in our heads every sentence starts with, "Who in their right minds would _______________?!" Or, "How can anyone think that ________________?!" Or, "I don't want anything to do with anyone who thinks __________________!!"</div>
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And we start mentally dividing people into camps. Of course we ourselves are sitting over here at Camp Always Right, while all of those <i>other misguided souls</i> are sitting at Camp Stupid People. </div>
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Maybe you are more diplomatic and don't actually call them Stupid People. Maybe you even like or love some of those Stupid People but secretly seethe knowing they think ____________. But the bottom line is we have usually put masking tape down the center of this universal room we all live in and... lo and behold we happen to be on the side of all that is good and righteous, and everyone else is....over there.</div>
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I'm not being judgey because I do this too.</div>
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It's kinda human nature. </div>
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Okay, enough meandering and over-explaining. Let me get to the trick.</div>
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It's great because it's only five words so it is really easy to remember. </div>
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When you feel like you just can't deal one second longer with those people or that person who think(s) differently than you do, say these five words....</div>
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<b>What if I am wrong?</b></div>
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Sit with that for a second. Or a minute. Or five minutes.</div>
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Don't start justifying or talking back to yourself or making mental counterarguments.</div>
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Just ask the question and sit with it. </div>
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Then, take a trip down that imaginary alternate path. Envision what being wrong might look like. If you can't fathom any possible way you could be wrong in the big picture, is there something smaller you could consider? Is there one piece of the puzzle you could take out of the larger equation and study it differently?</div>
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Is there one small thing, or idea, or concept, or "truth" you could flip on its head and truly explore the idea of discovering you were wrong?</div>
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And if you were wrong, what then?</div>
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This can be painful. I've done this with some of my most deeply held beliefs. I've done this in situations where I felt wounded and irrefutably wronged (at least in my own mind). I've done this with my faith and it took days to recover from the sloth-fest that ensued as a result.</div>
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It's not easy to do it right.</div>
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But it's also the easiest thing in the world to do to get yourself unstuck.<br />
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I'm not saying that this will or even should change what you ultimately believe to be right or wrong. But what it might change is how you feel about the people or person you disagree with. When you make room for other perspectives, even just a little, you make room for the possibility of understanding...and maybe even, peace. </div>
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For me, this is an exercise in humility. It is challenging myself to remember that I do not hold the key to all of life's truths and answers. I am not in possession of a crystal ball that allows me to see into the minds and hearts of others. I am human, and fallible, and limited, and self-absorbed, and short-sighted, and stubborn, and lazy.....and sometimes I. am. wrong.</div>
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It also reminds me how much I hope that when I am wrong, or other people think I am wrong, that those who love me will still always give me the benefit of the doubt and believe the best of me rather than the worst. </div>
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I could be wrong right now and this is a terrible idea to suggest to someone else.</div>
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If I am, I'm sorry.</div>
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You don't have to do this.</div>
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Plan B is grab your favorite chips, adult beverage, something sweet, and a cozy blanket, and then watch <i>Elf.</i></div>
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That should work, too. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfX9EQjqts0h7YYuprUxf-pM2z_dbUeYMwBYq_MaBJDIV62iJw56z1eJD0yRsfYVBbRCXBtOMOWvohcnuNuHar2gvM6NJ0YeJhVOLQ3Qqm4L1ATNgliR3edDMkIU-kD0pyrzYf4C51pY/s1600/Elf-Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfX9EQjqts0h7YYuprUxf-pM2z_dbUeYMwBYq_MaBJDIV62iJw56z1eJD0yRsfYVBbRCXBtOMOWvohcnuNuHar2gvM6NJ0YeJhVOLQ3Qqm4L1ATNgliR3edDMkIU-kD0pyrzYf4C51pY/s400/Elf-Poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When all else fails....</td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-46693627717510756672018-08-01T13:04:00.000-07:002018-08-01T13:04:24.949-07:00All creatures great and smallHave you been reading about the<a href="https://www.npr.org/2018/07/31/634316124/grieving-mother-orca-carries-dead-calf-for-more-than-a-week-over-hundreds-of-mil" target="_blank"> Mama Whale</a> here in the Pacific Northwest?<br />
<br />
That sounds like the beginning of a setup to a punchline but the story is far from funny.<br />
<br />
I can't stop thinking about it.<br />
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As of yesterday, which is the latest news report I've found, she has been carrying her dead baby for over a week now. The sweet baby whale lived for a short time after birth and then passed away for reasons no one can determine at this point. Apparently it is common for mother whales to carry a stillborn whale for a day or so after birth, but this length of time has perplexed even those who study these magnificent creatures in depth and at close range.<br />
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In the article linked above, the executive director of The Whale Museum on San Juan Island asks this question: <i>"One of my questions to biologists is...'Does grief change once you've met the being that you've carried?"</i> She goes on to say, <i>"So she carried this for 17 months before it was born, and we know that it swam by her side, so there would have been <b>a bonding, a birthing experience...</b>So there's a part of me that believes the grief could be much deeper because they had bonded."</i><br />
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I'm not a biologist but I can most certainly answer that question.<br />
<br />
When I first read about this Mama Whale I immediately recalled a field trip with my oldest son when he was in about the 2nd grade. Along with other parents, I was chaperoning a trip to our IMAX theater which was showing some movie about elephants. <i>(Sidenote: Elephants and whales are two of my top five favorite mammals). </i><br />
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The movie chronicled an elephant family group having to travel a long distance to find water. As all elephant groups are, it was female led and there were so many touching examples of the ways they all look out for one another and care for another. At one point they come across another female elephant whose baby has died. They surround the grieving mother offering her support and comfort as she struggles to leave her calf.<br />
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They do finally move on because the baby in their own group is beginning to struggle with the long journey and lack of water. It starts to feel quite perilous and I felt myself growing nervous as to how emotional this movie might become for our little band of 2nd graders.<br />
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Although, truth be told, I was probably more nervous for myself.<br />
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I wasn't alone. As we reached peak drama in the film my sweet friend Molly, who scarcely ever utters a negative word or thought, leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "<i>I swear to God if that baby elephant dies, I am outta here." </i><br />
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It still makes me giggle thinking of it. But it's a laughter born of deep solidarity and understanding.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you have to laugh just so you don't cry.<br />
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Mama Whale, her baby, and their shared story have made me think about a lot of things. Part of me thought I wanted to write more about grief, and loss, and why it is that humans seem more able to extend deep empathy and support to a whale than to another human being, but...I don't really want to.<br />
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What I really want most is simply to find some way to communicate to her...<br />
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I see you, Mama Whale.<br />
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Oh, do I see you.<br />
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May you find healing and peace.<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/AVvXsEgx3BW0Oy24EixDMnqExZAteKnGeF2cM1aSaIXQVjIoS0oENxlYvwJ69IaCPbUHE3RKhDdutbzl9R1fL1tF6nXn0plM0ghAgbDWaHmDpZ5s8PdpekZ8rCygakaAYFv61Dcs65EPAgW6bFI/s1600/9461943481_7f52d7b171_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3BW0Oy24EixDMnqExZAteKnGeF2cM1aSaIXQVjIoS0oENxlYvwJ69IaCPbUHE3RKhDdutbzl9R1fL1tF6nXn0plM0ghAgbDWaHmDpZ5s8PdpekZ8rCygakaAYFv61Dcs65EPAgW6bFI/s400/9461943481_7f52d7b171_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As it should have been.<br /> I hope there is a Whale Heaven and this is what she will find waiting for her someday. </td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-72336825473448432432018-01-03T16:03:00.001-08:002018-01-03T16:03:16.637-08:00Dancing in the rainI have been fortunate to have a few friends in my life that go way, way, way back with me.<br />
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I have one friend who I have known since we were born. Well, since she was born...I arrived a month ahead of her. I have another friend who I have known since we were about three years old. And another friend who I have known since I was five or so.<br />
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It is without a doubt a blessing to have people in your life who have traveled that long and far with you.<br />
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It is also a curse since they remember every hairstyle, every boyfriend, every fashion incident, and no matter how much you think you've got it together, you always know there are a handful of people in the world who know beyond a shadow of a doubt that underneath it all you are really a great big weirdo.<br />
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I love that.<br />
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In beginning my quest for TRUST, I have been trying to conjure up times in my life where I remember feeling completely and utterly at peace. Times when I felt so completely safe that I wasn't giving a second thought as to whether what I was doing was right, or wrong, or acceptable, or enough. Times when the world's gifts and my intentions all aligned and together we glimpsed...paradise.<br />
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As unlikely as it might seem, one fuzzy memory that keeps popping up for me involves these two cherubs right here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xDbxHeJ9SmiZqGjqtBMH27jAxQDwyxl3B_T8V2tvVi_7tLtpisbj8sJLqERzyfLyDQpOujPIO3ufCZfgsmc3tP7gwgYEE-S_4z-bVfDxT_B8e6vgxAlBVS8UDGq18aAvpSekeez36YA/s1600/IMG_6118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xDbxHeJ9SmiZqGjqtBMH27jAxQDwyxl3B_T8V2tvVi_7tLtpisbj8sJLqERzyfLyDQpOujPIO3ufCZfgsmc3tP7gwgYEE-S_4z-bVfDxT_B8e6vgxAlBVS8UDGq18aAvpSekeez36YA/s400/IMG_6118.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My buddy Christie and me.</td></tr>
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Don't those two little nuggets look just chock full of sugar and spice?</div>
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Mother of Pearl...don't let them fool you. </div>
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One day, when we were about exactly the age of this picture here....(so, babies, basically) we had a sleepover at my friend Christie's house. I have no recollection as to why since it seems to me we were kind of young for sleepovers, but our moms did a lot of swapping of childcare and babysitting, so who knows what lead to such an exciting adventure for two little friends.</div>
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You would think the sleepover would have been adventure enough.</div>
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But, no, in the wee hours of the morning, long before anyone else in the house was stirring, Christie and I woke up and made our way to the family room. Looking out the big glass doors, we noticed it had rained in the night. In fact, it had rained <i>a lot</i> in the night.</div>
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As we peered outside we could see large puddles covering the ground and water pouring from gutters. </div>
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It was like the world had become a magical land of waterfalls and wading pools perfectly sized for two pint sized fairies.</div>
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So, what else were we to do but to go exploring?</div>
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We. Left. The. House.</div>
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I'm sure we started out in Christie's own front yard but at some point we ventured down the street to where it took a slight dip and a large amount of water had accumulated. It probably wasn't all that much water really, but to us it felt like a swimming pool.</div>
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A swimming pool that was in the middle of the street. </div>
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<i>In our pajamas</i> we waded in that oversized puddle, splashed in it, stomped and danced. </div>
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I don't remember feeling cold. I don't remember feeling afraid. I don't remember feeling at all that we were doing something naughty or dangerous. </div>
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We felt glorious.</div>
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Eventually, it probably <i>did</i> start to get cold so we made our way back to her house but we couldn't let the opportunity to shower in a waterfall pass us by, so we finished up by standing underneath the downspout "washing" our hair and making sure that not one square inch of our little bodies remained dry.</div>
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It was at this point we were finally discovered.</div>
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You can imagine that Christie's mother was not nearly so enchanted by our Wonderful World of Water. Or the fact that two tiny girls were wandering around in the street at dawn.</div>
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I clearly remember seeing her mouth moving and arms waving as she rushed us inside and thinking, <i>"What's wrong?!"</i></div>
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I know Christie thought the same thing because she and I have remembered and retold and regaled each other with this memory over and over for the past 40+ years. </div>
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As mothers now, we find it equal parts horrifying and hilarious, but in general the hilarity wins out.</div>
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But in all the times I have recalled this story, I've never thought about it in terms of TRUST before.</div>
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Without question though, that's what we felt.</div>
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We trusted the world was safe.</div>
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We trusted each other.</div>
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We trusted our intuition and our instincts.</div>
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We trusted ourselves.</div>
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We trusted that when we were ready to go back home, it would be there.</div>
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And maybe, there was a small part of us deep down that knew we might get in a <i>little bit </i>of trouble for this...but we also had complete trust that we would be loved anyway.</div>
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It's never a surprise to me that Jesus says if we really want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we have to become like children.</div>
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Dancing in the rain doesn't hurt either. </div>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-23731019654473265122017-12-31T18:26:00.001-08:002017-12-31T18:26:56.807-08:00Fly like an eagleIt's that time again!<br />
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I can't believe my year of HAPPY has already come to an end. For a word that arrived with more than a little skepticism on my part, I'll admit it served me well. I truly think about happiness differently now and know I will continue to carry my happy intentions into 2018 and beyond.<br />
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In fact, the thought of not having HAPPY as my guiding word anymore is kinda making me a little sad. :(<br />
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I mean, who doesn't want to be happy?<br />
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<i>(However, if you don't want to be happy, or find yourself avoiding happiness, it might be time to figure out why. I totally recommend a year of HAPPY.) </i><br />
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But the whole point of the Word of the Year isn't that we leave those guideposts behind at the start of a new year, but rather that we keep them as part of our ever-expanding toolbox of growth and learning.<br />
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So, stick around HAPPY and let's see who else is joining the party!<br />
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A few weeks ago, I would have told you that I had no idea where I was headed for 2018, but in the past few days one word has kept tugging on my sleeve and whispering in my ear.<br />
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I've learned to pay attention to overly persistent words.<br />
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Honestly, I don't really know what to say about this word because I'm not at all sure where it's leading me. I am also not really sure why my soul seems so gosh darn certain I need this word. But the number of ways this word has kept coming at me lately leads me to believe that Somebody is 100% positive I do need this word.<br />
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And interestingly enough, listening to that voice is giving me my first opportunity to practice my 2018 Word of the Year.<br />
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Drumroll please....<br />
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My 2018 Word of the Year is....<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">TRUST</span></b></i><br />
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At first when this word kept leaping in front of my face like a classroom full of Kindergartners who all want to tell you what they got for Christmas, I was sure I knew what my verse would be.<br />
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When I think of TRUST I immediately think of Proverbs 3: 5-6:<br />
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Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;</div>
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In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.</div>
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Solid verse for sure. </div>
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Totally TRUST-centered and useful. </div>
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Buuuut.....that same little inner voice kept telling me that wasn't the verse I was looking for.</div>
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Maybe it is because that for me, as of right now, I'm not sure TRUST is about looking for direction, or the right path. It certainly COULD be...life comes at ya fast. Who knows what could be around the corner?</div>
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I'm prepared that I may have some very unexpected lessons in TRUST ahead of me.</div>
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But as of now...no....for me....I feel like TRUST is about releasing the generalized anxiety that has settled in my chest of late. It's laying down the burden of feeling like I need to do everything <i>just right</i> for everyone else so that <i>their</i> lives can turn out okay. </div>
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It's about being free, and light, and confident that in the big picture, at all times, in all ways, we are held and loved and safe.</div>
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So, instead, I'm going with this verse:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEwk9Bt3MUMQhSKdlhVNRvpCTFyk4Vp5suxrGjiqvP2LHeYmQ5MFxbohNURwlbsec1gSqU92qEFfzsnvNNGrSVRiv4AdK703l9EtHBI4r40XzkIr71eIO4lbuldWKmFtKJWpucPzOXik/s1600/Trust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEwk9Bt3MUMQhSKdlhVNRvpCTFyk4Vp5suxrGjiqvP2LHeYmQ5MFxbohNURwlbsec1gSqU92qEFfzsnvNNGrSVRiv4AdK703l9EtHBI4r40XzkIr71eIO4lbuldWKmFtKJWpucPzOXik/s400/Trust.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I could use me some "new strength" and even though I really prefer to do more sitting than walking or running, I like the idea of <i>soaring.</i> </div>
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And....eagles make me think of my Dad. </div>
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Flying like an eagle also makes me think of the Steve Miller Band which I only share to let you know what God is working with when he deals with this scattered, easily distracted, musical brain of mine. </div>
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Have mercy, Lord. </div>
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God knows I need it. </div>
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But I TRUST that He can use even the most imperfect of vessels like this one to bring His light into the world. </div>
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I wanna fly like an eagle...</div>
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to the sea....</div>
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fly like an eagle...</div>
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let my spirit carry me...</div>
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Alrighty then...looks like we have a 2018 Theme Song, too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7DgOrfTrGzP2DkL5EvM9c-PeeoiXpxaEqC9QCdrEckEprPq_3ecCuAxfEcLXKrVu29iIpPwNd45jQ-agik-7dzncqnir_TF3PTk6qDP_TnsBGBepRH8iDgBlL0c8DEzNwW-wEutTMgk/s1600/tmp442130767070363648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1240" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7DgOrfTrGzP2DkL5EvM9c-PeeoiXpxaEqC9QCdrEckEprPq_3ecCuAxfEcLXKrVu29iIpPwNd45jQ-agik-7dzncqnir_TF3PTk6qDP_TnsBGBepRH8iDgBlL0c8DEzNwW-wEutTMgk/s400/tmp442130767070363648.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And a mascot.</div>
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I'm liking 2018 already. </div>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-38096628302095157402017-12-03T12:01:00.001-08:002017-12-03T12:17:59.184-08:00No day but todayThis morning, Facebook took it upon itself to remind me of a blog post I wrote two years ago today. It was a post about Advent, and Mary, and choosing to be still when the world swirls in chaos.<br />
<br />
In other words, still oddly appropriate for today. The more things change, the more they stay the same- as they say.<br />
<br />
More than that though, two other smaller details, unrelated to the words of the blog post itself, jumped out at me.<br />
<br />
First, my sweet friend Annie had left a comment on the post. Annie was also someone who loved to write and always expressed herself beautifully. Two years later, Annie is no longer physically with us in this world.<br />
<br />
Second, looking at the date of the post, I realized I wrote those words one week before my world would be upended in ways I could have never imagined. Talk about chaos and disruption and confusion and grief.<br />
<br />
Two years later and two of my favorite people in the world, two people who were the best of friends to one another and so many others, are gone. With us, but not with us.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
I know....I know...A bit gloomy for this first Sunday of Advent.<br />
<br />
I'm known for my love of Christmas music, the happy endings of Hallmark Christmas movies, my abiding love for Santa, and more often than not a childlike glee of Christmas that rivals Buddy the Elf.<br />
<br />
That's all true.<br />
<br />
But, like so, so many others (and everyone eventually), I've known some sad Christmas seasons. In fact, there is still a lot of heaviness to this one.<br />
<br />
That's when I am grateful for Advent and the real Christmas story. Because while it's a joyful story, it isn't really a happy one.<br />
<br />
It's pretty dark. It's a little scary. It contains more than a few confusing elements. And in the end what it asks most of you is simply faith.<br />
<br />
Or not so simply.<br />
<br />
There are many ways to live out one's faith. For me, continuing to love Christmas in the face of sadness is one of mine. It is my way of saying to death, <i>You cannot have this. You are not powerful enough to make me lose this, too. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Tracy and Annie were full of light. Literally bursting with it. To choose light is to choose them. If they are to be found, and felt, it will never be in darkness.<br />
<br />
Which is why even when darkness descends, which it does from time to time, I always know I can't stay there long. I might rest there for a moment. It can feel like a relief sometimes to just let the despair rise and take cover in the blackness. But it won't take long and their spark will start to flicker from somewhere, telling me it's time to come back.<br />
<br />
Come back into the light.<br />
<br />
Live.<br />
<br />
I saw<i> Rent</i> this past week, which was one of Tracy's favorite Broadway musicals. I hadn't seen it in years so seeing it now, on the other side of this loss, was a wildly different experience.<br />
<br />
When I had said I wanted to go to the show, it felt like maybe it was a strange choice to see during the Christmas season. Having just seen <i>Holiday Inn</i> the week prior, it was an odd juxtaposition.<br />
<br />
Really though, it was pretty much the perfect contrast.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Holiday Inn</i>-</b> the happy, giddy, bubbly side of Christmas. <b><i>Rent</i></b>- the dark, melancholy side of Christmas. Yet in both stories there is the reminder that what we have is each other. We are here to love each other, celebrate with each other, help each other, and hope that there is a happy ending somewhere down the line.<br />
<br />
I believe there will be.<br />
<br />
I believe in the Light.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwOM0AZawbmtyVj1V_LRBQD5iWGHU3zjEHb57MsiEmvf_XosuLsxaIJt1lUbzO2ah2iQKRIn_wjcXR0CPZm04HsURY_Soy3x-uSkEzFILMlfYWf4uNmJKLEmOCr3fedzB6hzFaF8TtQM/s1600/891F7C1F-69E2-4373-96E3-C50C613530A6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwOM0AZawbmtyVj1V_LRBQD5iWGHU3zjEHb57MsiEmvf_XosuLsxaIJt1lUbzO2ah2iQKRIn_wjcXR0CPZm04HsURY_Soy3x-uSkEzFILMlfYWf4uNmJKLEmOCr3fedzB6hzFaF8TtQM/s400/891F7C1F-69E2-4373-96E3-C50C613530A6.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?<br />
How about love?</td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-2088203780829165252017-08-10T21:24:00.000-07:002017-08-11T07:34:49.512-07:00Turn toward the sunTwo weeks ago, Annie went away to a week-long, sleep-away camp for the first time.<br />
<br />
I'd like to tell you that I spent those six nights eating out with my husband, sipping wine, and watching movies on Netflix. I'd like to tell you that I joyfully celebrated both her newfound independence and my own.<br />
<br />
I would like to tell you that.<br />
<br />
I <i>would.</i><br />
<br />
I can't.<br />
<br />
I. was. utterly. inexplicably. unjustifiably. disappointingly. DEPRESSED!<br />
<br />
Okay, I got better by about Wednesday. It did get better. Ben even canceled the intervention he had scheduled once he saw that I was out of bed and brushing my hair again. (<i>I'm kidding, people! It wasn't that bad. I mean, I still had to get out of bed to EAT. I don't think there is anything that will stop me from getting to the food</i>.)<br />
<br />
But I did have to come to terms with the fact that I might not be completely prepared for my youngest child to move from childhood to full-blown adolescence. It is <i>possible</i> I need to do some work when it comes to finding my identity outside of my role as 'mom'.<br />
<br />
It's funny, too, because I am really not the most sentimental mom. I didn't cry sending my kids to Kindergarten, or college, or any grade in between. For the most part, I'm always pretty on board with my kids hitting new milestones and spreading their wings and all that. So, what was different here?<br />
<br />
Truthfully, I just missed her.<br />
<br />
I knew she was having a blast. I knew she was safe. I knew she was going to come home with enough stories to last for DAYS. But Annie has been my sidekick for 12 years now in a way that has been different than it was with the boys.<br />
<br />
This isn't about "favorites" or anything as ridiculous as that. Anyone who knows me knows my boys have my whole heart from now until the end of time. I am literally nuts about them. But they came along as almost a package deal. Even at three years apart, I feel like they were mostly raised together, growing from babies, to little boys, to bigger boys, to teens, in fairly close proximity to one another. They shared bedrooms (often literally sharing a bed), friends, teachers, carpools...and were always, always..."the boys".<br />
<br />
When Annie was a toddler she would call them "my boys".<br />
<br />
"Where are my boys?"<br />
<br />
"My boys can be very loud."<br />
<br />
"My boys are so naughty."<br />
<br />
All true.<br />
<br />
They were and are "the boys" and the boys appropriately stopped needing to be attached to mom 24/7 a long, long time ago. There are wistful moments, and sweet memories, but I got used to it quite awhile ago.<br />
<br />
However, truth be told, I think part of what made that letting go easier, is the little sister who came along behind them to heal their mama's heart.<br />
<br />
It's hard to adequately put into words the confusing conundrum of good rising out of bad. But it's a paradox of life we see all the time. People speak of silver linings, or blessings, or karma, or sometimes even, maddeningly in my opinion, the idea of having received a reward for one's suffering. And even though sometimes those words and explanations frustrate me, because they don't fit with my faith, or experience, or simply my heart...I know they are there because the right words don't exist.<br />
<br />
We don't have the words to say, <i>"I hate what happened to me. I still hate it. I still wish it never happened. But I'm so grateful for the things that came into my life because of it."</i><br />
<br />
All I can think to say is that it is ultimately the language of healing. Because I don't think we begin to heal until we can open ourselves up to the possibility that light, and love, and joy, and new beginnings are possible. We open ourselves up knowing that it never means we have to say this loss, or experience, or journey isn't still painful. We never have to pretend it didn't happen. We just don't have to let it block out the light.<br />
<br />
When I went back to my amazing, wonderful, compassionate fertility doctor after the loss of our twins, he cleared his schedule and sat down with me for more than hour. He didn't want to just know what happened (he already knew all the medical details), he wanted to know my story. He wanted to know how I was doing. He wanted assurance that I was getting help, and support, and that I was being allowed to grieve.<br />
<br />
He knew I was there because I was considering trying for another baby. There was no other reason for me to be there and part of me was afraid he was going to look at this broken woman in front of him and say, no. No, you are not ready. No, you are not strong enough for this yet. No, I'm not willing to help you open yourself to that kind of pain again.<br />
<br />
All he asked me was, "<i>Are <b>you</b> sure you are ready?</i>"<br />
<br />
I gulped back tears and said quietly, <i>"I know it won't 'fix' anything. I know there will always be a part of me that will feel sad about this loss, and these babies. But..."</i><br />
<br />
I struggled to compose myself. I took several deep breaths and he waited quietly.<br />
<br />
"<i>But...I need to feel <b>hope </b>again. I don't want to be afraid to hope again."</i><br />
<br />
He nodded and gave me a small smile. He looked out the window and thought to himself for a few moments.<br />
<br />
Then he squeezed my hand across the table and said, "<i>Okay, then. Time to turn toward the sun.</i>"<br />
<br />
And I knew exactly what he meant.<br />
<br />
So, you will forgive me when I have some weak moments as my Annie girl marches forward into these years of greater independence, searching, separating, and struggle. Even so, I promise that at the end of the day she will have no more enthusiastic cheerleader than her mom. I am with her, for her, and I would <i>never </i>want to be the one to hold her back.<br />
<br />
Still...there is a reason I have always called her my Sunshine.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You make me happy when skies are gray. </td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-83891529344872742472017-05-05T10:31:00.001-07:002017-05-05T10:31:56.953-07:00LuckyThis week I lost someone close to me.<br />
<br />
And while she was in fact someone close to me, even more so she was someone very, very close to many other people close to me. So, even as I feel my own loss, my own shock over her absence in this world, I feel even more devastated for the people standing at the epicenter.<br />
<br />
Her very young son. Her husband. Her best friends. Her family.<br />
<br />
Along with the sorrow, there is concern, and worry, and then even more layers of sorrow.<br />
<br />
I've been reminded again this week how slow I can be in processing loss. It just doesn't penetrate to my heart and soul as quickly as it seems to for some people. I am not that person who can burst into tears immediately upon hearing bad news, and I kind of wish I were. I hold it in my gut. It feels like anxiety and stress before it feels like sadness. On the outside I can be very calm. I don't have many words to say, or I have too many words to say and it's all a rambling stream of nothing. But I hold it together. I'm that person who often appears very "strong" in a crisis.<br />
<br />
Inside, my heart hurts and my stomach is in knots.<br />
<br />
I feel nervous. Jittery. Anxious.<br />
<br />
I fear what comes next.<br />
<br />
Because what comes next...at some point...when my brain has done its work filtering through the confusion and dismay over the reality of that which is done and unchangeable...I feel sad. Really, really sad.<br />
<br />
I hate feeling sad.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I'm kind of tired of feeling sad.<br />
<br />
And I say that knowing full well that I am among the luckiest people in the world living a wonderful life full of so much happy.<br />
<br />
I <i>know</i> that, and I'm grateful. Truly, truly grateful.<br />
<br />
But sad is sad.<br />
<br />
You can't wish it away and you can't even 'gratitude journal' it away. No matter the enormity of the blessings in your life, when grief comes knocking there is no hedge of protection wide enough to shield you. You just have to feel it.<br />
<br />
Or, you don't, and then you get all the problems that come with that but I'll leave that to the professionals to explain why that's a bad idea. <i>(And it is a bad idea so if you are dealing with repressed grief, maybe go talk to someone?)</i><br />
<br />
So....this is really not a good blog post given my whole Word of the Year and all that. But when I picked the word "happy" it wasn't because I believed that would magically mean I would get 365 days of easy breezy sunshine days full of cookies and margaritas <i>(Yes, I think that sounds like a perfect combination. What?)</i> It was more about setting an intention to keep looking for happiness, and recognizing happiness, even in the midst of life's inevitable rough patches.<br />
<br />
I also chose the word "happy" (<i>or did it choose me???</i>) because I had started to recognize in myself a tendency to hold happiness at arm's length. Not because I don't enjoy feeling happy but because sometimes it can feel like too much happiness only puts you at more risk for eventually feeling sad.<br />
<br />
In the last 48 hours I've felt that inclination creeping in again. The desire to throw up some walls and see if maybe I can't just build a fortress of protection against future pain. Sure, it makes for a rather boring, lonely life but maybe it's worth it in the long run??<br />
<br />
I know. It's not.<br />
<br />
And the bright light who left us this week never would have done that. She lived utterly without walls and knew so much love and happiness because of it.<br />
<br />
She was like a field of clover.<br />
<br />
Beautiful. Wide open. Full of life. And you felt lucky to be around her.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends, for it is one of God's best gifts. It involves many things, but above all, the power of going out of one's self, and appreciating whatever is noble and loving in another." <span cwidth="0" eza="cwidth:0px;;cheight:0px;;wcalc_source:child;wcalc:46px;wocalc:46px;hcalc:28px;rend_px_area:0;" style="font-size: 12px; max-width: 640px; text-align: -webkit-left;">Thomas Hughes </span></i></span></td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-45882261319707648492017-02-28T16:02:00.001-08:002017-02-28T19:48:09.459-08:00The Happy List v.3.0: The Birthday Edition!HAPPY birthday to me!!<br />
<br />
😃<br />
<br />
Yes, today is my birthday.<br />
<br />
My 47th birthday. On a Tuesday. So..... not anything to get too revved up about.<br />
<br />
BUT the sun is shining which is a welcome change and we should always be grateful for another year to try and get this whole life thing right. God knows I'm still working on it.<br />
<br />
Exhibit A: Last night I had a terrible night's sleep in that "sleeping" was not what I was doing at all, and then the scale decided to gift me a number this morning that I was in no mood to see (<i>Do not even ask me why I opted to weigh in ON MY BIRTHDAY! I never claimed to be mentally stable</i>.), and then I found out that Snow Miser was going to foil my sweet husband's attempts to get home for my birthday, and then I decided that all of that meant I should eat some seriously crap food for lunch which really only served to make me feel gross (<i>WHEN WILL I LEARN??</i>)...<br />
<br />
....and so <i>then </i>I decided I better make a Happy List and quick!!!!<br />
<br />
1. <b>Birthday Memories</b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 40th Birthday with two of my best girls.<br />
Feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago.</td></tr>
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Any actual birthday celebration I have ever had as an adult- meaning celebrating with some sort of party and people other than my husband and kids- was because Tracy made me. She was the perpetual Birthday Girl who not only loved to celebrate her own birthday but everyone else's as well.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my most special happy/sad birthday memories that I've been thinking about a lot lately is the one I celebrated after we lost our babies. It had been four months and I was still mostly spending my days alone at home, but I think Tracy knew that with the right people, in a familiar environment, it would be good for me to be with friends. She gently floated the idea of a small dinner at her house with just a handful of close friends. I still have the picture we took that night and I can see in my eyes so clearly what that gathering meant to me. I look tired, and a little sad, but also hopeful. I was smiling and for one of the first times in those four months, the smile was real. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She was a big part of so many of my best birthday moments and while I miss her desperately, I'm trying to cherish the memories and keep smiling- just as she would want me to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. <b>Sweet friends & family</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
I have gotten so many nice messages today that it's impossible to remain in a funk for too long. I especially appreciate everyone who has encouraged me to partake in as many sweet things as possible without guilt or regret. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My people get me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my favorite birthday messages came from one of my oldest and dearest friends (<i>We have literally known each other since birth. Well, her birth since I was born a month earlier than her.</i>). This friend has always rivaled Tracy in her ability to NEVER forget an occasion and to always send a card on time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(<i>Sigh...she really puts her postally challenged lifelong friend to serious shame. But not really because she's the nicest person ever so therefore has never shamed anyone in her life.)</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Anywhooooo.... Lucky for me in addition to being incredibly nice she also has a just-the-right-amount-of-spicy sense of humor and totally gets me.</div>
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This card made me laugh and laugh...</div>
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Oh, I do love a good purse.</div>
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3. <b>Sunshine</b></div>
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Did I mention the sun is shining today?</div>
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Cold. Still snow on the ground. We will take what we can get.</div>
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4. <b>Messages for the Moment</b></div>
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I don't know about you but sometimes it's just plain WEIRD how certain messages can come through at just the right time. </div>
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One of my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Savor-Living-Abundantly-Where-You/dp/0310344972/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488321067&sr=8-1&keywords=savor" target="_blank">favorite books of daily readings</a> had this thought for my birthday (why it doesn't actually say "Lori's Birthday" I do not know.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo4JmczW25Aem6LwxiM5Fdi6iEzs5fPLm-5d74JXOfowNUlIcaRmS8Bioei99s0Bi4r3J4RHd7nDwkdUbhS-mXG5qy_Pdkyb7JMynjjmc-lWU6gdvqlJ5uRIgKDcaAx0HLfLIscjQmmA/s1600/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo4JmczW25Aem6LwxiM5Fdi6iEzs5fPLm-5d74JXOfowNUlIcaRmS8Bioei99s0Bi4r3J4RHd7nDwkdUbhS-mXG5qy_Pdkyb7JMynjjmc-lWU6gdvqlJ5uRIgKDcaAx0HLfLIscjQmmA/s640/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" width="504" /></a></div>
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<i>"I want that spirit or force of happiness that is so much deeper than happy- peace that comes from you toes..."</i></div>
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Love that. </div>
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5. <b>After School Snacks</b></div>
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Annie has the best after school snack ideas. </div>
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When I wondered if we really should have ice cream at 3:00, Annie wisely said, "Mom. Treat yo' self!"</div>
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And so we did.</div>
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Happy Fat Tuesday, Friends! </div>
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Tomorrow...we fast. </div>
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For sure.</div>
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😳<br />
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-17769613276323046892017-01-28T09:17:00.001-08:002017-01-28T09:21:03.307-08:00Mind over matter<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Folks are usually about as happy as they make up their mind to be.</span></i></div>
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~attributed to Abraham Lincoln</div>
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I have a loooong memory. </div>
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I'm one of those people who has bizarrely early memories of their childhood and a particularly uncanny ability to remember the seemingly unimportant and insignificant details of life. In fact, I tend to specialize in childhood memories that would appear to have no memorable qualities at all. </div>
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Random things we ate in places that don't matter. What someone was wearing. The book I was reading at the time. Snippets of conversations that served no purpose beyond the moment in which they existed. </div>
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I can hardly tell you any of the names of the cities or historic places my cousin Tracy and I visited on our trip to Germany with our grandparents, but I can sure tell you about the 99 different things we laughed about during those 10 days. If she were here and I suddenly barked out, "PURE VASSAR!" she would collapse in a fit of laughter, I guarantee it.</div>
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One such small moment has been bubbling up in my memory bank these past weeks. Ever since choosing my <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2017/01/clap-your-hands.html" target="_blank">Word of the Year,</a> I've been replaying a scene from <i><b>Lori: The Early Years</b></i> over and over.</div>
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I was about 9 or 10 years old.</div>
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(<i>If my sister is reading this she is laughing right now because I almost <b>always</b> think I was about 9 or 10 years old when recalling memories from childhood. Must have been a big year for me.</i> 😉 )</div>
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My dad had just come home from work and I could hear the door from the garage to the house slam shut. </div>
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<i>(For years and years after he died, I still associated that sound with him coming home. It took a long time for the disappointment to fade, hearing that door close and having it still not be him.)</i></div>
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His heavy steps went from the mud room, to the TV room, to the front hallway. I came running up from the basement to say hello to him.</div>
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I was probably in the basement because after around the age of 10 (!) that's where my bedroom was to be found. And I would have been running because there was a space between my bedroom door and the bottom of the stairs where it was still possible for the basement monsters to grab me if I didn't move fast enough. </div>
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Oh, you don't believe me?</div>
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Ha. Well, I'd have liked to see you try casually walking from my childhood bedroom to the stairs. I'm 100% certain we would have never seen you again. </div>
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I, myself, was taking no chances and always, <i>always</i> made a mad dash from the threshold of my bedroom to that first bottom stair. Once you hit the staircase you were safe but I always ran up the rest of them as well, because you can never be too careful when dealing with basement monsters. </div>
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As I careened up those final stairs and made the hairpin turn into the front hallway my dad stopped his trek from the garage-to-mud-room-to-tv-room-to-hallway-to-kitchen, his final destination, and smiled at me. </div>
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Most likely, he said something like, "<i>Well, Lorinda! </i>(One of his many nicknames for me.) <i>How ya doin'?</i>"</div>
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And I must have said, "<i>Great!</i>" Or, "<i>Good!</i>" Or, "<i>Super Duper!</i>" Because the part I remember most is what he said next.</div>
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He gave me a squeeze and issued what became a prophecy over my life. </div>
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Oh, I don't think he knew that's what he was doing for one second. I think he was just saying what came to mind in that moment. But sometimes the things we say without thinking too hard about them are the very truest things that we really mean the most.</div>
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At least, that's the way I took it.</div>
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He gave me one of his famous hugs, squeezing my face into that barrel chest and said, "<i>That's what I love about you. You're always happy. You're a happy person, Lorinda. That's a good thing to be</i>."</div>
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And off he went to sort through the mail he had carried in, and to talk to my mom about his day and what was for dinner, and to probably lie down on his bed and read one of the 18 magazines he subscribed to.</div>
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And I went slowly back downstairs-until I got to the bottom and then had to sprint to my bedroom- thinking to myself all the way.... "<i>I am? I'm a happy person?"</i></div>
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I wasn't always a happy kid. I could be brooding, and emotional, and WAY too dramatic at times. No one is always a happy person. My dad knew that. This wasn't about setting up some expectation for my life that I could never attain. This was about a general quality he saw in me, or maybe it's just what he saw in me in that moment.</div>
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But it stuck with me. </div>
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And whether it was something that was always there and he just gave it life, or it was something that grew out of his words, but from that day forward I strived to be the person my father saw in me. I believed myself to be at my core...a happy person. </div>
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Which is why I'm still here believing in the pursuit of happiness. Even in my moments of deepest sorrow, there has always been a part of me deep down that believed I would feel happy again. And when those happy moments come, however fleeting, I try to grab them. I try to remember to close my eyes and add them to my stockpile of memories so they can be used as band-aids when the wounds of life break open again. </div>
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I'm a happy person.</div>
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I always have been.</div>
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My Dad told me so.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4XmCWpFurImtHYhMcK5Sw0QyTZwREGNu4fsqxBaD5CqsUu8_Bfnxm2lbXkdWvjVUr3zPRkZJDaj0Zq4e49aAKoiQc6TqOpOnkBH6GbJQeE6G8aPgNV6__94w9kK2ETGj-FUhWv7YS3E/s1600/kuney+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4XmCWpFurImtHYhMcK5Sw0QyTZwREGNu4fsqxBaD5CqsUu8_Bfnxm2lbXkdWvjVUr3zPRkZJDaj0Zq4e49aAKoiQc6TqOpOnkBH6GbJQeE6G8aPgNV6__94w9kK2ETGj-FUhWv7YS3E/s400/kuney+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Children will not remember you for the material things you provided,<br />
but for the feeling that you cherished them."<br />
~Gail Grenier Sweet</td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-19336535949438680122017-01-20T14:05:00.000-08:002017-01-20T14:05:41.999-08:00The Happy List v.2- The GLAD GAME Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well, friends, this was one of those weeks when my <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2017/01/clap-your-hands.html" target="_blank">word of the year</a> felt a wee bit cumbersome. Like an ill-fitting coat with a collar that's too high, and sleeves too long, and puffiness that's just too darn puffy... <i>Happy</i> was hard this week. </div>
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Now when talking about the majors and minors of life, this week's frowny faces have all been the result of minor inconveniences, disappointments and stressors. Believe me, I know major. I am HAPPY to say that nothing this week qualified as major. </div>
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But still...there were some bumps.</div>
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Here is where I am learning to be <i>glad </i>for my word of the year though. Like Pollyanna, it's becoming an intentional daily exercise for me to try and take the rough patches, smooth them out and put a little shine on them. </div>
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Remember The Glad Game? If you don't then it probably means you didn't have a childhood and someone failed to introduce you to the Wonderful World of Hayley Mills. I'm so sorry about that. I hope this youtube clip will restore just a smidge of your childlike wonder.</div>
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<i>(Please follow this up with an immediate viewing of the original <b>Parent Trap </b>and then look for <b>In Search of the Castaways. </b>Then try to stop singing "Let's get together, ya, ya, ya...")</i></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1Ihxyf7A1hg/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1Ihxyf7A1hg?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Oh, Pollyanna...you happy little scamp. Count me in for The Glad Game!<br />
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Here we go...let's turn that frown upside down!!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1. Winter is....COZY!</span></b><br />
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I'm a little over winter. At least the freezing-temperature-ice-and-snow-everywhere winter. But who has two thumbs and really enjoys any excuse to stay indoors under piles of blankets reading and/or watching TV?! This gal right here, that's who! (<i>I'm pointing at myself with my two thumbs- FYI)</i>.<br />
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It's cold but our house is cozy and time spent with my favorite pups and people is always a good thing. Plus, it's pretty.<br />
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But just so we're clear... Spring, you are totally welcome to arrive early. Just sayin'.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2. Reading is Fun!</span></b></div>
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Sigh...thank heaven that when all else fails, there are always books. </div>
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I'm reading a great one right now and I SO wanted to be finished with it before I put it on The Happy List but it's too good to leave it off. I'm 80% finished so I feel confident I'm going to like it all the way to the end, but I don't know the end yet, so I'm taking a leap of faith here.</div>
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It's unusual how long it is taking me to read this book. It's fairly big but I've been known to read entire books in a day so the fact that I've been working on this one for a week says something. Sometimes that would say something bad, like I'm bored with it and having a hard time sticking with it. But in this case, it's a good thing. I'm savoring it and letting the story unfold slowly which is something I almost never let a story do. I'm known for racing headlong through a book with nary a thought toward words like savoring and slow.</div>
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The title is <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00HP3Q572/ref=oh_aui_d_detailpage_o00_?ie=UTF8&psc=1" target="_blank">The Sleepwalker's Guide to Dancing </a></i>by Mira Jacob.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuLBjyXJCJlpLqS9C2VH828NOMNuk13A3qqmUGWVH97TQySY_JBdI_3-RXZHXowBVY8bhgtPpv2wgh0nSbInXFrDRI4ELLtAXDpFWDHNHz9sbdu_MVxw_AMiooGx19N_tT4UMsHCEP_8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.04.01+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuLBjyXJCJlpLqS9C2VH828NOMNuk13A3qqmUGWVH97TQySY_JBdI_3-RXZHXowBVY8bhgtPpv2wgh0nSbInXFrDRI4ELLtAXDpFWDHNHz9sbdu_MVxw_AMiooGx19N_tT4UMsHCEP_8/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.04.01+PM.png" width="214" /></a></div>
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It's culturally interesting centering on an Indian family, with the storyline traveling from 1970's India to the 1980's in New Mexico and Seattle. In some ways it's an immigrant story, but also just a story of a family with all of their quirks, past mistakes, and struggles to love one another. I'm enthralled.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3. Comfort food is GOOD!</b></span></div>
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I made this on Monday night and it continued to make me HAPPY for two more days. </div>
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Make this when you want something warm, and familiar, and comforting but also want to convince yourself you are still making good choices. Broccoli is also one of the vegetables Annie actually likes and asks for, so any dish with broccoli in it is going to make it into my rotation.</div>
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Not gonna lie...you still need to watch your portion size with this. But if you keep it under control you can enjoy this cheesy indulgence guilt free. </div>
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<a href="http://www.skinnytaste.com/skinny-baked-broccoli-macaroni-and/" target="_blank">Skinnytaste Baked Broccoli Macaroni and Cheese</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyVxzvPjqeWu9cnkEcZsjvIr65yT4WwlNOhyxt1HdnB7BDDpyiPZ-4PuBh2iOx1UuI_lzz8ieMCFf4jC2IDlVL_2Dskp1n-aE-EfO2ZUsB2VxUXLEvOVURjRgJ9vAorLogfVQJWyfkr0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.06.02+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyVxzvPjqeWu9cnkEcZsjvIr65yT4WwlNOhyxt1HdnB7BDDpyiPZ-4PuBh2iOx1UuI_lzz8ieMCFf4jC2IDlVL_2Dskp1n-aE-EfO2ZUsB2VxUXLEvOVURjRgJ9vAorLogfVQJWyfkr0/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.06.02+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Soooooooo.....good.</div>
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I'm actually mad right now the leftovers are gone. But that puts a damper on The Glad Game so I'll move on.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4. Music is a GIFT!</b></span></div>
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If I'm not sleeping, reading, or watching TV (which I really don't very often) then I'm listening to music. </div>
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Music is one of my guaranteed, go-to mood boosters and this <a href="http://store.benrectormusic.com/collections/featured/products/bundle-1" target="_blank">album</a> by Ben Rector is currently one of my favorites. It's not new and the song <i>Brand New</i> has gotten quite a lot of airtime so you may be familiar with it. But honestly, I don't think that is the best song on the album by a long shot. </div>
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Here is my favorite that has become sort of an anthem for me: </div>
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I used to think I needed all the answers</div>
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I used to need to know that I was right</div>
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I used to be afraid of things I couldn't cover up in black and white</div>
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But I just wanna look more like love</div>
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I just wanna look more like love</div>
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This whole world is spinning crazy</div>
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And I can't quite keep up</div>
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It's the one thing around here</div>
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That we don't have quite enough of</div>
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So I just wanna look a little more...</div>
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like love.</div>
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I hear a lot about love these days and how it "wins" and conquers all and is the answer. And I don't disagree. But sometimes it feels as though those phrases are still being wielded like a weapon. That the love that wins is really only reserved for the chosen ones who belong to the right crowd. </div>
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Our crowd.</div>
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I'm challenging myself to practice a more radical love that includes those who I disagree with and who disagree with me. People who don't like me or my ideas and, if I'm honest, people I'm not so crazy about either. </div>
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Is it really hard to love people who already agree with everything you think and do? Is that much of a stretch?</div>
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I can only speak for myself and I know that I need to work on loving and listening beyond my own intellectual, emotional and spiritual walls.</div>
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I just wanna look more like love. </div>
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To everyone.</div>
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That would make me HAPPY! 😍</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5. Because sometimes we just want pretty eyelashes</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGuj2sRHZe6_yICrsmTJCA2uyBrhjD6N6IktC3j76kkfcqOgvzKqbnQoEMsebYvmv6MKjJYciNzMqtrN_aUx3KG7AePVKaQ42d6YRJzUqgKlJyjvnRboC2oijeA19HLyN0R2cKe0mDGc/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.39.03+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHGuj2sRHZe6_yICrsmTJCA2uyBrhjD6N6IktC3j76kkfcqOgvzKqbnQoEMsebYvmv6MKjJYciNzMqtrN_aUx3KG7AePVKaQ42d6YRJzUqgKlJyjvnRboC2oijeA19HLyN0R2cKe0mDGc/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-01-20+at+1.39.03+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, I was given this as a sample at <a href="http://www.sephora.com/diorshow-maximizer-3d-triple-volume-plumping-lash-primer-P408966?skuId=1812387&icid2=products%20grid:p408966" target="_blank">Sephora</a> and my first thought was:</div>
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<i>Seriously? Eyelash Primer? Now that is a gimmick if I've ever heard one. The cosmetic industry will do anything to steal our money!</i></div>
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And my second thought was:</div>
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<i><b>Give it to me. </b></i></div>
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I never said I wasn't a sucker for a good makeup gimmick.</div>
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But I have since eaten my words twenty times over! This stuff works!! </div>
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I have been blessed with dark eyelashes but they are incredibly thick and straight. I mostly use mascara to give them a little more oomph, definition, and shape. But no matter what I used I found I always ended up with either flaking, or smudging under the eye over the course of the day or evening. </div>
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NO MORE!!</div>
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First of all whatever is in this magical tube of white goodness (yes, it's white) it helps to give my lashes more natural curl than any mascara ever has. I'm almost worried it's Elmer's glue, but if it is <i>do not tell me</i>. I don't want to know. Leave me to my innocence.</div>
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Once I put this on and let it set then it's off to the races with my usual mascara. Right now I'm just using a Neutrogena mascara and it seems to be working dandy with my heavenly eyelash primer of goodness. (<i>Too much? I really do like it.</i>) </div>
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I don't even wear mascara everyday but when I do...this is now my secret weapon.</div>
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So, there you go- this week's Happy List! Proof positive that even on a bad week there are still things you can find to make you smile.</div>
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Pollyanna is so proud of me.</div>
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Come on, play along! The Glad Game is just good clean fun for everyone.</div>
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Be HAPPY, friends!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCZwrzowbg1MKGsIMkE-P0rRZjnZlBP9fRQEd3b4Oc3gc84zpmpXmhavreCw_YVu7lIApaRMb_XAUvguE6D_yJ2NHz20PYIPXO9m_osw6KQNLNLxYGVsvkm-T-xmtiOdXH-Sf6webFWI/s1600/430f2454b878be8e4a8cfed929d1144f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCZwrzowbg1MKGsIMkE-P0rRZjnZlBP9fRQEd3b4Oc3gc84zpmpXmhavreCw_YVu7lIApaRMb_XAUvguE6D_yJ2NHz20PYIPXO9m_osw6KQNLNLxYGVsvkm-T-xmtiOdXH-Sf6webFWI/s400/430f2454b878be8e4a8cfed929d1144f.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-12600459233048133632017-01-13T11:30:00.000-08:002017-01-15T13:51:07.296-08:00The Happy List v.1It's cold here.<br />
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Really, really cold.<br />
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That means I'm spending a lot of time indoors which gives me <strike>too much</strike> lots of time to think, surf the internet, read, shop online, and apparently, blog about it all.<br />
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Some of the blogs I read do a regular "Friday Favorites" feature which I always enjoy. I'm a fan of reading a hodgepodge of mostly useless but sometimes helpful ideas, products, and activities from people I don't know in real life but kinda like to think I do. Sitting here this morning, after having braved a freezing cold trip to Trader Joes and deciding I was never leaving my house again, I thought to myself, "<i>Self, why don't you just have a little fun (remember, I'm having <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2017/01/clap-your-hands.html" target="_blank">FUN</a> these days) and write your own little list of what is making you HAPPY this week.</i>" I thought Self had a good idea, so here we go- for better or for worse.<br />
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<i>Just so we are clear, I'm not promising this is a new regular feature. I'd loooove to say it would be, but there's that whole <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-gift-of-trying-again.html" target="_blank">issue of mine</a> with sustaining new ideas...sometimes yes, sometimes no. It's really hit or miss and there's no way of predicting the outcome at this early juncture. Stay tuned. </i><br />
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1. <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/fearless-flyer/article/2744" target="_blank">Trader Joe's Ultra Moisturizing Hand Cream</a><br />
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<img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIshMD8PMYlTQCaKJv48kClEYBEhZo93ZqEzlRLi5b6TqUDZPRUpL8a0Nw31qHDsWIycVzF-IL7Anw-z-7FwzHsiBazq877VDW-W42htgSt7JKwsj0DbMFaqpuamj8YJkg8l7kdVrEgY/s320/54571-ultra-moisturizing-hand-cream.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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I'm starting with this because 1) It's right in front of me, and 2) I don't want to set the bar too high and have your interest pique right at the outset, but I also don't want to kick this off with a total loser. Hand cream seemed a safe bet.</div>
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I actually literally picked this up this morning and the nice TJ checkout gal and I had an extended conversation about it. She was really curious to know what I thought of it and I promised I'd report back. This is what people living in freezing temperatures talk about. </div>
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Here's what I think after one use thus far: I like it. Helpful? No? Okay, I like how it goes on feeling really thick and moisturizing but it soaks in quickly and before you know it you are typing away on a keyboard with no greasy, slippery feeling in your fingertips (<i>slippery is not a benefit when typing</i>). For you smell-sensitive people, there is definitely a scent, but I find it a pleasant one. Not floral-y. I do not do floral scents. Shudder. But it's not a citrus-y scent either. I will do citrus scents. I am smelling my hands right now and I can't put my finger on how to describe it. Maybe a combination of baby powder and coconut? (<i>Somewhere there is a perfume chemist fainting dead on the floor at my inability to describe a scent accurately). </i></div>
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Anywhoooo.... For the one hour I have been using this hand cream, I am downright pleased. I will be keeping it in my desk drawer so I can have nicely moisturized but not slippery hands on these dry, bitterly cold days. (<i>Have I mentioned it's cold?)</i><br />
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2. <a href="https://plantoeat.com/" target="_blank">Plan To Eat</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFstP1DKFAS_kyNeXYbM461miHretk4Tx3hyphenhyphenKHRFO2RLuEhh_cXWocImoJhWLZhZeTfmjUt_yvnu77-Qr0KU1CuduDi5Lpngpmps_X9TFURM5TD4Nj4DVM0LSQ5aY4WxIaAtwMFBTK2wk/s1600/plan-to-eat-400x200.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFstP1DKFAS_kyNeXYbM461miHretk4Tx3hyphenhyphenKHRFO2RLuEhh_cXWocImoJhWLZhZeTfmjUt_yvnu77-Qr0KU1CuduDi5Lpngpmps_X9TFURM5TD4Nj4DVM0LSQ5aY4WxIaAtwMFBTK2wk/s320/plan-to-eat-400x200.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Okay, so I wasn't going to put this out there until I had been using it a little longer because of my very public struggles with meal planning and sticking with any plan relating to meal planning...<i>but.</i>...this really is one of my <i>favorite </i>finds of the past couple weeks.</div>
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Here is what I can tell you, in the past 10 days I have only gone to the grocery store 3 times (<i>That is record setting for me. I have been known to go to the grocery store 3 times in a single day.</i>) I have had an advance plan for dinner every night aaaand- here's the kicker- have gone into the dinner hour knowing not only that I had a plan but that I had the ingredients on hand!</div>
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Whoop! Whoop!!<br />
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Here's where this site is making a difference for me. I don't necessarily hate to cook. I have many recipes I like and that my family likes. In fact, what I don't like are any meal planning services that tell me what to prepare. I KNOW WHAT WE LIKE, and I like finding new recipes for myself. What I HATE (<i>yes, all caps</i>) is making a grocery list for multiple meals, from multiple recipes, spread across several days. All the flipping back and forth to lists, the writing down, the cross-checking of ingredients...bleccch. Just put me back to bed. </div>
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Enter....PLAN TO EAT!!</div>
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I get to import all of my favorite recipes (<i>and it's super easy to do</i>), drag and drop them into a calendar, and voila!! They produce my shopping list!! I can easily edit the shopping list based on ingredients I already know I have on hand, or items I want to add, or substitutions etc... and the list will be right there on my phone when I'm ready to hit the dang store. (<i>Sorry for the colorful language</i>.) </div>
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I cannot over-emphasize all of the versatility of this site. I'm only still learning it all myself. It will adjust recipes based on quantity for you, you can create separate store lists if you shop different places for different things, you can add friends and then you have access to your friend's recipes as well (<i>hello, Sister!!</i>), you can easily shuffle meals around on your plan....I'm just agog, <i>AGOG,</i> I tell you, how user friendly and adaptable this site is! I. Am. Loving. It.</div>
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It is also very affordable. You can do a 30 day free trial and if you decide you want to stick with it you can either pay $4.95 a month, or $39 a year. </div>
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I mean, come on! How much is your time worth? I'm quite sure I saved nearly one billion dollars in quality of life currency over the past 10 days by not going to the grocery store, pushing my cart through snowy, icy parking lots, every. single. day. (<i>Which would normally be what I would have done.)</i></div>
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Plan To Eat. Friday Fave for sure.</div>
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3. <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Secret-Wife-Gill-Paul/dp/0008102147/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484331393&sr=8-1&keywords=the+secret+wife" target="_blank">The Secret Wife </a>by Gill Paul</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6ubrMjMNZvyvzSnq1xaqhtTh2c6PzguNhp-x6jN9n-y0Mjh8k6Uqdr7MiXRtOFBQNK0XHIVk1vNfKXAITDpnlS-HpC-1uMEsRhtuzTZBbVdZhfo08PwjM1B496UhQVctGbiehkADib0/s1600/51IgF-RRCgL._SX319_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6ubrMjMNZvyvzSnq1xaqhtTh2c6PzguNhp-x6jN9n-y0Mjh8k6Uqdr7MiXRtOFBQNK0XHIVk1vNfKXAITDpnlS-HpC-1uMEsRhtuzTZBbVdZhfo08PwjM1B496UhQVctGbiehkADib0/s320/51IgF-RRCgL._SX319_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
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So, one of my "happy goals" of 2017 is to read more fiction. I always enjoy fiction but when I'm in a more introspective, ponderish, broody place I start reading more non-fiction in the areas of theology, spirtuality, self-helpish sort of stuff. The former Psychology/Religious Studies major in me eats it up, and it does me good in a way that fiction doesn't. However, reading fiction and escaping into other places, time periods, and imaginary people's lives also does me good in a way that all of the deep-dive intellectual stuff can't. </div>
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I started one book at the beginning of the month but I wasn't liking it. I used to <i>never </i>abandon books. I can count on one hand the number of books that I've started and not finished in my lifetime. But using my <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2017/01/clap-your-hands.html" target="_blank">One Word </a>as my guide, I decided that to continue reading a book that wasn't making me "happy" was silly. I moved on.</div>
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Luckily, my second try was a winner. This is not great literature (<i>please look to someone else's recommendations if that's what you are looking for)</i>, but for me this book did what I wanted it to do. It sucked me right in and kept me turning pages and interested right until the very end. </div>
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Now, I can't tell you how much I dislike the cover art for this book. If you read the book you get where this image ties into the story, but it really gives the wrong impression for the overall nature of the book. The book is historical fiction but it jumps back and forth between past and present, ultimately tying the two together. I'm a fan of that literary technique (<i>or whatever you want to call it</i>). The historical part centers on the Royal Romanovs of Russia just before they are overthrown by the Bolsheviks, and then following their not so friendly removal from power. It was entertaining and interesting and is one of those that finds you going to Google to remind yourself of all that history that you once learned but have since forgotten.</div>
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4. <a href="http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/caslon-long-sleeve-scoop-neck-cotton-tee-regular-petite/3918768?origin=keywordsearch-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=IVORY%20EGRET" target="_blank">Nordstrom Caslon Long Sleeve Tee</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXtZnox6fJZppAmHOvdqdxBeVvSb8NaII2oPWgTKsIA3nuKaPxNsxh5Dmxb69Th8ny7m1gWkmR-OinOCVzbMU4o8tk4I0vxBZ0ajBzkrZM3Z_zCWrHs64U2R63q5hNu5MgxhC-_8mkOM/s1600/_12799846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCXtZnox6fJZppAmHOvdqdxBeVvSb8NaII2oPWgTKsIA3nuKaPxNsxh5Dmxb69Th8ny7m1gWkmR-OinOCVzbMU4o8tk4I0vxBZ0ajBzkrZM3Z_zCWrHs64U2R63q5hNu5MgxhC-_8mkOM/s320/_12799846.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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Okay- just a long sleeve tee... I know. But, I have been shouting from the rooftops for months now, "MY KINGDOM FOR A NOT BOXY, NOT TUNIC LENGTH, NOT SLUB FABRIC, SLIGHTLY FITTED LONG-SLEEVE TEE!!!"</div>
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The neighbors are so thrilled I have finally found one.</div>
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I think Nordstrom has probably had this basic for an eternity but I was always happy with my long sleeve GAP tees so that is what I went with for years. UNTIL THEY CHANGED THEM. (<i>She crumbles into a heap unable to function for days</i>.)</div>
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And now I've been on a long-sleeve tee quest and it has been harder than it should be because it seems we are never going to leave this fashion cycle of everything fitting big, and "slouchy" (<i>which is just a new euphemism for tent-like</i>), and tunic-y, and otherwise TOTALLY WRONG for someone who is only 5'1" with curves. </div>
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All you tall, willowy people look positively lovely in your flowing fabrics and ponchos. I promise you do and I even envy you. But that is the wrong direction to go when you are short with curves. Without at least a semi-defined waistline, you are headed straight to Oompa-LoompaVille. You can take that to the bank and cross-stitch it on a pillow, my friends.</div>
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So, this tee is saving me from that fate. </div>
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FYI: In case you are looking to purchase one yourself and not sure about sizing: Based on reviews and the sizing recommendation that says it runs a little small, I went with a Petite Medium. (<i>That was my other excitement with this tee. It comes in Petites sizing</i>!). The PM was right for me. It's still fitted enough to be great as a layering piece but loose enough to be worn out its own. (<i>If you know me in real life, that might help you with sizing. If you don't then that will be zero help at all. You're welcome.</i>)</div>
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Thanks, Nordys. I've found my will to live again.</div>
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5. <a href="http://www.un-fancy.com/" target="_blank">Un-Fancy</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4eT9lBabsA1zHsjFiSJDA3mOA4ve1nN5ZD5mil4MQqnzWoOQelxuT4GELaluZeGWkJ7c-PxgQaqZ90TMrijeh1-fYIDB-M2opR4Kkpq8NmfkHq9uRxXxbswY70gGNzud8LiN21cscCA/s1600/slider2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4eT9lBabsA1zHsjFiSJDA3mOA4ve1nN5ZD5mil4MQqnzWoOQelxuT4GELaluZeGWkJ7c-PxgQaqZ90TMrijeh1-fYIDB-M2opR4Kkpq8NmfkHq9uRxXxbswY70gGNzud8LiN21cscCA/s320/slider2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I enjoy following a few real bloggers out there. (<i>I say 'real bloggers' as in people who are clearly trying to cultivate a following and make some money out of their hobby- and actually blog on a regular basis- unlike, ahem, fake bloggers like myself.</i>)<br />
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Anywhoooo... I had a handful I followed and kept up to date with but hadn't added anyone new in awhile. I don't like getting too many on my list because then it starts to feel like it's just something that clogs up my email and reading all of them becomes another 'to do'.<br />
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However, somehow this week, and I honestly can't remember where or how, I stumbled on this gal and after reading through a few of her posts I decided to subscribe. I'm really drawn to her more minimalist, capsule wardrobe approach but she does it in a way that still looks fun and not like you are just wearing a "uniform" all the time. (<i>Although truth be told, I'm a big fan of a uniform. I lean toward finding combos I like and sticking with it</i>. <i>Like a good long-sleeve, semi-fitted tee! Just sayin'</i>.)<br />
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Now this gal is young, and tall, and willowy, and no kids, so we pretty much have everything in the world in common but I like her anyway. I also like her emphasis on responsible shopping and hunting down ethically made products.<br />
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She's doing a 10 x 10 day challenge right now with her friend and fellow blogger, <a href="http://www.stylebee.ca/" target="_blank">Style Bee,</a> so now I'm getting hooked on her too. My blog list may have just increased by two...<br />
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Check her out! She's fun!<br />
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Hope you enjoyed this first-ever-possibly-not-last-I'm-not-making-any-promises Friday Finds, Fun and Favorites!<br />
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Have a great Friday, a restful weekend, and don't forget to BE HAPPY!!<br />
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XO<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqJ-CeLls1jPhYDxKb91NFLm3oqZebp1NUnfBL38aUUvCT3rcSzo7mOLC-xcUZTc7hUb9maYWVkkMpZOqLWkSYR3QHPbw86N5CsJM3mI2y37w-HZOJ5JelhZ2wKEUAlMg7ysoUA5XE8g/s1600/430f2454b878be8e4a8cfed929d1144f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqJ-CeLls1jPhYDxKb91NFLm3oqZebp1NUnfBL38aUUvCT3rcSzo7mOLC-xcUZTc7hUb9maYWVkkMpZOqLWkSYR3QHPbw86N5CsJM3mI2y37w-HZOJ5JelhZ2wKEUAlMg7ysoUA5XE8g/s400/430f2454b878be8e4a8cfed929d1144f.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-8025504513036446222017-01-06T10:10:00.000-08:002017-01-06T10:10:41.571-08:00Seek and findThe following is a sermon I gave in January, 2013 on Epiphany Sunday at Magnolia Presbyterian Church. I am choosing to post it here mostly for posterity but also because Epiphany has become very special to me over the years and even more so in the past year.<br />
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Permit me one more memory from December, 2015. When we were meeting with Father W and Deacon S to plan Tracy's service we spent a great deal of time just talking about Tracy. Father W encouraged us to tell stories, share memories, and to offer up our own feelings about who Tracy was and what she meant to us.<br />
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Because Tracy and I spent so much time together as part of her parish women's group, I had a lot of insight into her faith and her spiritual journey. I was trying, but struggling, to put into words what my heart desperately wanted to communicate to Father W about Tracy's heart for God.<br />
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I eventually stammered out something very close to this (while going through multiple tissues), <i>"</i><i>She might not have been traditionally religious in the sense that she didn't read the Bible much, she wouldn't have been able to quote scripture to you, and she didn't necessarily go to church every Sunday. But from the time she was a teenager, she was on a journey. She <b>felt</b> God in her heart. She didn't always know what the "right" answers should be when it came to doctrine or theology, but she was....a seeker."</i><br />
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Father W nodded and smiled the whole time I was speaking. He then said simply this,<br />
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<i>"To seek God is to find God."</i><br />
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In those words, he brought me enormous comfort.<br />
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Since then, I have looked up those words and found they originated with Gregory of Nyssa and the quote is actually completed this way,<br />
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<i>"To seek God is to find God. To find God is to seek God."</i><br />
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I like the wholeness and the circular nature of the longer quote. Faith can so often feel like an endless of journey of seeking and finding and then losing your way again.<br />
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To me, Epiphany reminds us that the journey is worth it.<br />
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And that if we continue to seek...we will find.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Please note: This was written to be spoken, which is always a bit different than if it were written only to be read.)</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We Have Seen His Star</span><br />
January, 2013<br />
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Years ago, I remember reading a Bible story to my oldest
son, Jack. Jack is now a pretty big kid, almost 18 years old, but at the time
he was maybe about six years old. Close to the age of some of you kids sitting
here today. I don't remember exactly which Bible story we were reading
but I remember that when we got to the end of the story Jack looked at me and asked
me very seriously, <i>"Did that really happen?"</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Now I don't know about you but sometimes I get to this point
in the church year- 12 days out from Christmas- Epiphany Sunday- after all
of the traveling, family gatherings, eating, gift giving and receiving- and
finally having returned home to mounds of laundry and a startling return to school
and the daily routine- sometimes I feel just like my little Jack did when he
asked me that question so long ago. I can't help but look around at times and ask
myself, <i>"Did that really happen?"</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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This amazing, miraculous piece of our Christian story. God
choosing to be with us in the most humble, surprising way. A little baby, born
in a manger. Angels greeting shepherds with the incredible words, "Do not
be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.
Today in the city of David a savior has been born to you; he is Christ the
Lord."<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we gather together on Christmas Eve and light candles
and sing familiar carols, it's so much easier for it all to feel just that
close. But now...almost two weeks after...Christmas Eve is already feeling like
a memory. I'm sure it is for the kids among us. School is starting back up and
I'm sure that some of you even already have reading to finish, projects to
complete or you know that all of those things will be coming soon. Grown ups
are back to full work-weeks and anxious to get all of the clutter of Christmas
put back in the boxes and put away for another year. Soon, all of the tangible
evidence of Christmas will be gone. No more decorated trees, wreaths on doors,
lights on houses... <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Did that really happen?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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And that's what I love about Epiphany. Just when we are all
tempted to put the Christmas story behind us and start pushing forward toward
Easter- we pause to revisit the Nativity one more time. We take time to hear
again one of the more puzzling parts of this familiar story and consider what
it means for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When we read Bible stories downstairs in BLAST one of the
things we sometimes do is to identify together 'what does this Bible story tell
us?'- and 'what does this Bible story not tell us?' This can be useful when we
are learning some of the more familiar Bible stories because it is interesting
for the children to see how sometimes we remember stories based more on
tradition than what is written in scripture. I remember when we did this a year
ago with the story of the wise men the kids were particularly fascinated to
realize how much of our retellings of the birth Christ are rooted more in our
own imagination than in the words of the Bible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For example: the kids were surprised to learn that nowhere
in the words of Matthew does it tell us that there were only three wise men. We
don't know where the wise men came from other than it was east of Jerusalem. We
don't know the names of the wise men or even how they came to recognize the
importance of the star they saw and why they would know that meant a new king
had been born. We don't know how long they traveled or how old the baby Jesus
was when they finally arrived. And even though we often refer to them as Kings,
we don't know that they were kings at all since the Bible doesn't tell us so.
And finally, other than knowing they took a different route home to avoid that
evil King Herod, we don't know how their lives might have been different after
having seen and worshiped the son of God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, that was a pretty long list of things this Bible story
doesn't tell us. But anytime we go through this process in BLAST of figuring
out what we know and what we don't know we always finish by asking one
question. In fact, you would find this question printed out in big letters on
our bulletin board down in the BLAST room. The question we ask then is,
"What's the Big Idea?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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The reality is that the stories in the Bible often have some
big holes. And that's why allowing some degree of imagination to fill in the
gaps is completely understandable and even useful. Using our imagination to
consider there might have been a fourth wise man named Hank, or whether the
Innkeeper might have been a bit cranky about all the interruptions that big
night helps us remember that these are real stories about real people. People
who lived and breathed and had good days and bad days, but were all part of
God's story. But even when we use our imagination to try and give some color to
these stories we have heard so many times, there is still information missing
that we might wish we could have. But if we look carefully, usually we can find
a bigger message, beyond the details of the story, that we can take with us and
apply to our lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, What's the Big Idea in this unusual story about some
unidentified wise men who followed a star to find the Baby Jesus?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Bible scholars far more knowledgeable than myself have come
up with some pretty interesting answers to some of the questions as to the
details of the story. There are educated guesses as to where the wise men came
from, how many there were, who they were and why they were interested in the
possibility of an infant king. But I want to keep it simpler than that today. I
want to look at this in much the same way we would if we were downstairs in our
BLAST class.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, what's the Big Idea?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Well, the first thing we can say is that this story
emphasizes yet again how incredibly important the birth of Jesus was. Important
enough that men in a foreign land, not of the Jewish faith, decided to spend
considerable money and time to witness this newborn king. We don't know how far
they traveled or how long it took them to get to Bethlehem but it is easy to
imagine that it couldn't have been a simple journey and yet the wise men
clearly refused to give up on their quest to follow the star. We should be just
as determined and courageous in our own decision to follow Jesus.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Second, the fact that these wise men came from somewhere
other than Jerusalem and were not Jewish reminds us again of the angel's words
from the gospel of Luke that he "will be for all the people." Jesus
didn't come only to save the people of Israel, but to save all people. He didn't
come to show God's love only to the Jews, but to everyone. The wise men are one
of our first examples of just how far God's love can and does reach.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Third, one thing the scriptures do tell us very clearly is
that when the wise men did find the Baby Jesus the very first thing they did
was to fall down and worship him. We have no idea what sort of faith or
understanding of God these men had and yet once they were in the presence of
the Son of God they could nothing else but worship him. Somehow they knew this
child was more than just special, he was holy. The wise men then are an example
to us all of what our response should be to the presence of Jesus in our lives.
Our response should be to worship him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, as I read and re-read this passage of scripture
over the past week, the words that kept jumping out at me are the ones I then
chose as my sermon title, "we have seen his star". Those words spoke
to me for two reasons. The first, is this is another one of the clear and
indisputable details of this story. The wise men saw a star that was in some
manner so unusual and remarkable they knew it meant something extraordinary was
happening. In fact they go so far as to call the star "his star"
meaning the new king's star- demonstrating that they absolutely believed the
star and this baby were unquestionably connected. Certainly other people must
have seen this star if it was so noticeable, but as far as we know, only the
wise men saw the star and followed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But perhaps more importantly for us today, the other thing
those words kept bringing to mind for me is the thought that WE have seen his
star, too. You, me, kids, teenagers, grown ups... we have all seen his star. We
have heard the story, we have sung the songs, we have celebrated his birth. We
too have seen his star. What will that mean for us? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will it quickly fade to nothing as we become busy again with
daily routines and obligations? Will the star become a distant memory until
sometime in February we find ourselves wondering, "did that really
happen?" <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or, can we find in ourselves the determination of the wise
men and keep following that star throughout the year, however long it takes,
wherever the journey may take us, until we find ourselves in the presence of
Jesus?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have seen his star. We don't know how the wise men's
lives might have been changed after having seen and worshiped the son of God,
but I can't help but believe that their lives were changed. And my prayer for
myself and for all of us this Epiphany is that having seen his star, our lives
will also be changed. I pray we will all be moved with greater urgency and
passion to follow the star, to fall down and worship the son of God, and to
share our gifts with the world that God created and loves so much that he gave
his only son.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have seen his star- may it continue to shine in you and
in me so that the love of God might be known to all people, everywhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> <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/AVvXsEi_zmvfE6ca-itLcLwJOsYgh6DmU_BuVg1Cfk3zuseQeI1AzkWc-KvW0olvi9vHGhlm1lFywcrtpg6TZpzGQPDiKh7666kQsLvv-ZlsegqzZT47by9uC-cvctfmFWHXss-EojlLGe03uTw/s1600/011-wise-men.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zmvfE6ca-itLcLwJOsYgh6DmU_BuVg1Cfk3zuseQeI1AzkWc-KvW0olvi9vHGhlm1lFywcrtpg6TZpzGQPDiKh7666kQsLvv-ZlsegqzZT47by9uC-cvctfmFWHXss-EojlLGe03uTw/s400/011-wise-men.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"For we have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him."<br />Matthew 2:2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p></div>
Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-22415139713039884142017-01-05T06:43:00.001-08:002017-01-05T06:43:40.270-08:00Clap your handsHere we are again. January. <div>
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Fresh start. New calendar (<i>unless you are like me and use a 17 month calendar and therefore are still using the same calendar you were 6 days ago</i>). Goals. Dreams. Resolutions. All that January jazz.</div>
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A few thoughtful and possibly bored friends have asked about my One Word for 2017. Even Annie asked me last night if I had made my One Word choice. I can't tell you how much it pleases me that I have become known for such consistency. That is <strike>never</strike> not often the case with my grand and bold ideas. But here I am- five years into my One Word approach to the New Year and I'm still hanging in there! </div>
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Can I get a WOOHOO?!</div>
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Of course, probably the reason choosing One Word for the New Year works for me is its simplicity. </div>
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Note to self: keep things simple.</div>
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(<i>If you want to read about my past One Word selections you can go <a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/search/label/One%20Word" target="_blank">here</a> and find all of my previous posts relating to my One Word.</i>)</div>
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Having now done this a few times, I'm finding that arriving at my One Word looks different every year. One year I made lots of lists and charts and Venn diagrams to finally settle on a word, and another year the word came to me in December and I never looked back. There have also been words I struggled against only to realize that the struggle was indicative of how much the word was needed. </div>
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This year has been another fight to the death battle between myself and my One Word.</div>
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Okay, maybe not fight to the death....more like icy stares across the room while lobbing passive aggressive phrases like, "<i>Bless your heart</i>", and "<i>No, really, I <b>wanted</b> you to have the last cookie. It's fine.</i>" </div>
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I like the word just fine. It's perfectly useful in conversation, writing, and for naming one of seven very small men who live in a cottage in the woods. It just makes me nervous when I think about carrying it around for an entire year. </div>
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First the word...and then an explanation.</div>
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In the words of Matthew McConaughey, <i>Alright Alright Alright.</i>..</div>
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...my 2017 One Word of the Year is....</div>
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<b>HAPPY</b>!!</div>
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Huh. Really? Happy? As in, the superficial second cousin to Joy and Gratitude and Generosity and Contentment?</div>
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Yes, Happy.</div>
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Believe me, I tried to go with one of those A-List words. I worked SUPER hard to get Joy to apply for the job. But Happy kept finding her way to the front of the line, resumé in hand, ready to get to work. </div>
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I wasn't sure what my DEAL was with Happy until I read this:</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>We are highly suspicious of happiness. We really <b>do</b> want to be happy - secretly of course - but we'll tell everyone else it's joy we want. Because isn't joy the holier aim? Isn't happiness against the rules?</i></blockquote>
And then on the next page, this:<br />
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<i>But this happiness we seek is not a wimpy emotion. Happiness has been advertised as some kittenish, fluffy feeling. In reality, happiness can make your heart race with excitement- and sometimes with a bit of fear. Because on our happiest days, <b>we are worried it won't last. </b>(emphasis mine) ~Jennifer Dukes Lee from The Happiness Dare</i></blockquote>
And there it is.<br />
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Happiness can leave us feeling vulnerable, especially when we know what it feels like to go from feeling so very happy to so very sad. Opening ourselves up to happiness again can be a risky endeavor.<br />
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Last night when Annie asked me what I had chosen as my One Word this year, I very hesitantly told her I was <i>leaning</i> toward Happy.<br />
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With all the wisdom and innocence of childhood she smiled and said without reservation, "<i>That's a really good word, Mom."</i><br />
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I was beginning to think she was right...but I just. still. wasn't. sure.<br />
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And then I found myself up at 3am unable to sleep.<br />
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<i>Sidebar: I'm here to tell you that the whole middle-age-mom-insomnia thing is no joke. Thank you to my darling children for giving me so many sleepless nights for the past two decades that my body now believes waking up in the middle of the night is normal and FUN and necessary. Bless your hearts.</i><br />
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I tried and tried every trick in the book to get back to sleep but they were all to no avail so finally at around 4:30am I got up and pulled out a little book of blessings I often read before bed at night. (<i>Maybe if I had remembered to read this before going to sleep I would not have needed it in the hours before dawn, but that's neither here nor there now.</i>) </div>
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I never look ahead in this book so I had no idea what the blessing for this day would be...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vkj3v3HwpLjqgAeTKhO23O0LfqqIP8aNOODG3L5x32KdwTHukrNNGFyAFb9LSo___R12SmbPSNj9biIgJC4ahpbFbUMY0oy56HeowApvCIy_gYVzsJXQK0f8qgmu9zZzT3s3y-ab7ro/s1600/IMG_0074.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1vkj3v3HwpLjqgAeTKhO23O0LfqqIP8aNOODG3L5x32KdwTHukrNNGFyAFb9LSo___R12SmbPSNj9biIgJC4ahpbFbUMY0oy56HeowApvCIy_gYVzsJXQK0f8qgmu9zZzT3s3y-ab7ro/s640/IMG_0074.PNG" width="480" /></a></div>
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It was one of those moments I found myself both laughing and crying. Quietly, that is. (<i>It was 4:30 in the morning, mind you, so a full LOL would not have been okay</i>). </div>
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I got so tickled by the words, "<i>I recommend having fun</i>...". I looked it up and of course there are other translations with loftier words like mirth and joy and merry, but I felt this translation (NLT) was chosen just for me. It's actually quite rare to find Bible translations that utilize the exact words 'happy' or 'happiness' much (<i>again, JOY is a bit of a scripture hog</i>) but even more rare to find the word 'fun'. I'm loving it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, you only have to throw so many bricks at my head before I figure out to duck, and you only have to give me three or four obvious signs before I finally say, "<i>Ohhhh...you want me to go this way..." </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm quick.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now that I've gotten my head around Happy, I'm pretty excited about it. Because the thing is, true happiness really flows out of all of those other good words. You can't be happy without being grateful. You can't be happy without a balance between work and rest. You can't be happy without contentment. You can't be happy without being attentive to your health. (<i>Although God did tell me to eat, drink and enjoy life so....)</i>. You can't be happy without giving to others. And you can't be happy without choosing joy. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now that I think about it, maybe Happy isn't the superficial second cousin after all? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Maybe Happy is the wise grandma who has experienced a whole bunch of life with all of its ups and downs and yet still bakes cookies, and sings songs, and takes time to lean down and whisper in your ear...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Now, you know, dear, I recommend having a little fun.</i>...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Have a blessed 2017, friends! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
May we all be happy. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<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/AVvXsEh5_TDPw9KBWwd2oI3yl-4iMsbGR5Gz5CVdPb8JK6b_I02-t0YGpMk6KpJRflhf1ieYRrj4ecK7rR3x_XRtT71OFi40osqmZ8oQd5-Rw-qPv7WwbMEWZYJp-Xy7gysX5L4GHqOA5y7Ca0w/s1600/DSC_0104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_TDPw9KBWwd2oI3yl-4iMsbGR5Gz5CVdPb8JK6b_I02-t0YGpMk6KpJRflhf1ieYRrj4ecK7rR3x_XRtT71OFi40osqmZ8oQd5-Rw-qPv7WwbMEWZYJp-Xy7gysX5L4GHqOA5y7Ca0w/s400/DSC_0104.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These people and pups bring me a whole lot of happy.<br />More of this, 2017. More of this.<br />XO</td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-50737926568497725322016-12-04T12:27:00.001-08:002016-12-04T13:34:17.134-08:00Keeping watch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When my brothers and sister and I were growing up, Christmastime meant cousins. Oh sure, grandparents, aunts and uncles, too...but truth be told, the cousins were the highlight. I'm not sure when and where it all began but at some point my mom and her sister must have made the decision that neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of night would keep them from celebrating Christmas together. So even as they settled into different states, a day's drive apart, we never missed a Christmas with one another. </div>
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For the most part we alternated houses each year, so the only thing we ever needed to know was if it was a "Portland year" or a "Spokane year" because everything else was just details. We never questioned this arrangement, or balked during the years when it was our turn to cram ourselves into the car and make the long winter drive over-the-mountains-and-through-the-gorge-to-our-cousin's-house-we-go. <span style="text-align: center;">It was just the way Christmas was. And we loved it.</span></div>
<br />
I think sometimes it was almost more torturous to be the ones doing the waiting rather than the traveling. At least when you were on the road you had some sense of forward progress. You knew how much longer it would be (<i>because you asked every 10 minutes</i>), and you had the thrill of feeling yourself inching ever closer with each passing mile sign (<i>and you shouted out every single one).</i><br />
<br />
To be the ones waiting at home was <i>agonizing</i>.<br />
<br />
This was long before cell phones and the ability to stay in constant contact with loved ones on the road. While we were waiting for our Portland family to arrive, we might get a single call all day updating us on their travel schedule IF we were lucky. And that was only if <i>they</i> were lucky enough to find a stop with a pay phone and Uncle Dave was willing to spring for the call. <i>(Not always a sure thing. His kids still love to talk about having to share a small fry growing up.)</i> But other than that, all we could do was wait. And wait. And wait. And asking mom how much longer it would be was useless because she didn't know either.<br />
<br />
So, she'd do what she always did when all other attempts at distraction failed. She told us to go watch out the window.<br />
<br />
And we did...for what felt like <i>hours</i>. It might have been minutes though. I'll be the first to admit that childhood recollections of time are seldom accurate. But it felt like we hung over the back of that living room couch staring down at the highway for close to a lifetime.<br />
<br />
My childhood home, the home in which my mother still lives and where we all still spend Christmas every year, sits atop a small, pastoral hill. When we were kids, all of the trees surrounding the house were not nearly so tall and full as they are now and we could see all the way from our big living room windows down to the sleepy highway that lead to our gravel country road. Back in the day, the number of cars that came down that highway was not substantial, so great excitement would ensue each time one appeared. Inevitably though, my older brother would quickly tell us why that couldn't be their car because it was the wrong color, or too big, or had the wrong shaped headlights.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(Okay, I'm not really sure he commented on the headlights, but he was always much wiser than either my sister or I about which cars were actual prospects and which ones didn't deserve a second glance. We were foolish enough to get excited about delivery trucks.) </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But just when we would start to fear that they really never would arrive, a set of properly shaped headlights, belonging to a car of the right color and size, would turn onto our gravel road.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Pan-de-monium. </i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
We would fly off the couch and race to the front hallway screaming, <i><b>"THEY'RE COMING!! THEY'RE COMING!!"</b></i><br />
<br />
And at long last, when that same set of appropriate headlights would finally make its way up our long, sometimes icy, snowy road and swing into our carefully shoveled driveway, the hysteria would give way to...<br />
<br />
<b><i>THEY'RE HERE!! THEY'RE HERE!!!</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
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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/AVvXsEgCjYL7aOYNycZhMrDQ-0dnMJFnFCm057BbhTNvO02bXi_KtUMC8kNJcZzrNzyKY_r1G_ZiKQMLJ6Kwm20I_-H0Yt7CFXM8o8Z_td40ovBOe-BD1RzOOoCYZl7bIgCtG3tQUeiCT-Feyyw/s1600/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCjYL7aOYNycZhMrDQ-0dnMJFnFCm057BbhTNvO02bXi_KtUMC8kNJcZzrNzyKY_r1G_ZiKQMLJ6Kwm20I_-H0Yt7CFXM8o8Z_td40ovBOe-BD1RzOOoCYZl7bIgCtG3tQUeiCT-Feyyw/s400/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let the festivities begin!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJB5AVn0NglC5Bb7p7qV-A2g0p5HFMxjya_1-YPFfvkQGtGyiYbCPLiBcYH4l6bQUOekUNiQde-CqNxUF66PzXpmxlXpMWB8Y9gewX-IWjMqacKtGBSrCmrKdyOkOTJmYDqpSaJQWa-4/s1600/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidJB5AVn0NglC5Bb7p7qV-A2g0p5HFMxjya_1-YPFfvkQGtGyiYbCPLiBcYH4l6bQUOekUNiQde-CqNxUF66PzXpmxlXpMWB8Y9gewX-IWjMqacKtGBSrCmrKdyOkOTJmYDqpSaJQWa-4/s400/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" width="372" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think maybe I see Santa?</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhXEFg1vfEsjk1RDZLJZrEj2VRI0YxFOUFhsroc4ML2Ygzx1V77baTTbWIW4KWoKdBPrGdQUDWFLCoXCUzOR9BvPTg7APXBMTANULjrk7LyJ2Fo5ENoUybwCz_6TmshdLbE1-pcS87ELWM/s1600/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEFg1vfEsjk1RDZLJZrEj2VRI0YxFOUFhsroc4ML2Ygzx1V77baTTbWIW4KWoKdBPrGdQUDWFLCoXCUzOR9BvPTg7APXBMTANULjrk7LyJ2Fo5ENoUybwCz_6TmshdLbE1-pcS87ELWM/s400/FullSizeRender+3.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Singing "Up On the Housetop".<br />
We were practically The Osmonds.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33RCEEZTehSXFh5YwddR2a5WYbbh27K6ljxxH7_hI-PiIqMIUP3LWDoIPWLrxxF3McwHoKG7Ps7g3QIstc6S8LVmwvFjKjgWHadKOQu2iMr-FNBP1ztZCviVblxCQKux8gicSwAy9RvQ/s1600/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33RCEEZTehSXFh5YwddR2a5WYbbh27K6ljxxH7_hI-PiIqMIUP3LWDoIPWLrxxF3McwHoKG7Ps7g3QIstc6S8LVmwvFjKjgWHadKOQu2iMr-FNBP1ztZCviVblxCQKux8gicSwAy9RvQ/s400/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" width="380" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I feel like Valerie is about to go all "Junkyard Dog" on someone here.<br />
Don't Tracy and I look a little frightened?<br />
P.S. We LOVED The Sunshine Family!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdhaLKqgentPM8H51afL3sHQlr4hT3wAi_Htz8lxlIrNi7_fvcBYJ14_q43kjdUv8nxyANTgJ8OhaiqgqqMuC9_JfC3S_xe_YofnSAxm5NNbfQVnKqWXeejaM8b2DmsBB1S37Mjx-KEM/s1600/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdhaLKqgentPM8H51afL3sHQlr4hT3wAi_Htz8lxlIrNi7_fvcBYJ14_q43kjdUv8nxyANTgJ8OhaiqgqqMuC9_JfC3S_xe_YofnSAxm5NNbfQVnKqWXeejaM8b2DmsBB1S37Mjx-KEM/s400/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inevitably someone (me) ended up mortally wounded/deathly ill and in need of medical attention.<br />
Christmas can be a dangerous time.<br />
Thankfully, I had a doctor with a terrific bedside manner. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGf3lvN94RWpwvm_Gt-V-8wZ2Rlkle-cXa9r54ebPkgVPOwm73OXm-NWpd7EJvshVkZD9dXZG6NUZpSxJ4rQmso3DAoQUUcRQggAM_tf6yN_oEla8lMOj_9TAVtzFcl_XiBOsMsOjbbI4/s400/IMG_5536.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, that's a turtleneck with a Fa La La La sweatshirt.<br />
I've always been festive.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa8e3nkmwmOFPe1W4xFeeQsoRpPTpoqe0-tB6IDCJUp2Moe8iIub5hyyQ8bE9M60rJui06lg99jFFCEnhWGL5dj5ztJ7aEXKjHELkt0EGZxMQ39apjiY0uS302F_obrSAxJbWQVh77Nw/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSa8e3nkmwmOFPe1W4xFeeQsoRpPTpoqe0-tB6IDCJUp2Moe8iIub5hyyQ8bE9M60rJui06lg99jFFCEnhWGL5dj5ztJ7aEXKjHELkt0EGZxMQ39apjiY0uS302F_obrSAxJbWQVh77Nw/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="306" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGf3lvN94RWpwvm_Gt-V-8wZ2Rlkle-cXa9r54ebPkgVPOwm73OXm-NWpd7EJvshVkZD9dXZG6NUZpSxJ4rQmso3DAoQUUcRQggAM_tf6yN_oEla8lMOj_9TAVtzFcl_XiBOsMsOjbbI4/s1600/IMG_5536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGf3lvN94RWpwvm_Gt-V-8wZ2Rlkle-cXa9r54ebPkgVPOwm73OXm-NWpd7EJvshVkZD9dXZG6NUZpSxJ4rQmso3DAoQUUcRQggAM_tf6yN_oEla8lMOj_9TAVtzFcl_XiBOsMsOjbbI4/s1600/IMG_5536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvecY-p7FsPXB-1sRIdft4CFLsFnX9lcsuNOx915BJcLPALBf6YKfVEAYNDnIFSUBe8A5NlR4R7W9tKq1ts0HODoSc7-APlnkyA6FUljKr2lSPcMLbLUDFdIcYQGOuO6T9e49IV5q06w/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvecY-p7FsPXB-1sRIdft4CFLsFnX9lcsuNOx915BJcLPALBf6YKfVEAYNDnIFSUBe8A5NlR4R7W9tKq1ts0HODoSc7-APlnkyA6FUljKr2lSPcMLbLUDFdIcYQGOuO6T9e49IV5q06w/s400/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matching footed pajamas?<br />
I think we were drunk on eggnog.<br />
I kid.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSKL8VdVc-pd-u7I7CCGnU1ybK6sj4RHIXDPI730HYrlhLgHXrZhfTgdNdFnfczKfVc86gGbtm2nVDz81PG89OFFXPW0Qckv_kuNO6IlOocsw9D35LoD9nIuO12QptXp3nvx-ZhKdxcU/s1600/IMG_4500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSKL8VdVc-pd-u7I7CCGnU1ybK6sj4RHIXDPI730HYrlhLgHXrZhfTgdNdFnfczKfVc86gGbtm2nVDz81PG89OFFXPW0Qckv_kuNO6IlOocsw9D35LoD9nIuO12QptXp3nvx-ZhKdxcU/s400/IMG_4500.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, so maybe that matching jammies thing wasn't a one time deal.<br />
Or ended in childhood.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD8YFU4vRFE5K8oCP-m6_gsmxrjHf9dUhmM-Fsz9veemNwodQ6xikkSplcCXyxrAih7dS1BxxNcE_F_2HhanQB_CgBX1mm8s2siv88hRriUC5yFu6t9P2FJqNpvKNsaeCSglHWtJMG7M/s1600/IMG_4503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD8YFU4vRFE5K8oCP-m6_gsmxrjHf9dUhmM-Fsz9veemNwodQ6xikkSplcCXyxrAih7dS1BxxNcE_F_2HhanQB_CgBX1mm8s2siv88hRriUC5yFu6t9P2FJqNpvKNsaeCSglHWtJMG7M/s400/IMG_4503.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And that cousin Christmas only grew....<br />
How did we get so lucky?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mQIQTnJQLh0PuGG6HcM55IJDkQTlqKd-x4d2E1TPIZT1GJ2TJPOr_TzfbV5D4iIrsduK5FtgOCejkKIENEvhWmkj0VMvcmREk362Qof7OoMf3xurXQl04hXUsCmRDeiAQehdJogNr2Y/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mQIQTnJQLh0PuGG6HcM55IJDkQTlqKd-x4d2E1TPIZT1GJ2TJPOr_TzfbV5D4iIrsduK5FtgOCejkKIENEvhWmkj0VMvcmREk362Qof7OoMf3xurXQl04hXUsCmRDeiAQehdJogNr2Y/s400/Image-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The next generation.<br />
Pure love.</td></tr>
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<br />
This year, as we string lights, decorate trees, sing Christmas songs, and wrap presents... sometimes I find myself asking, "<i>How do we do this? How?</i>"<br />
<br />
What do we do with an absence so great?<br />
<br />
And the only answer I can come up with is this...<br />
<br />
We celebrate all that she loved. We remember that there is a Light no darkness can overcome. We share memories and make new ones. We carry the past into the present, and have faith in the future.<br />
<br />
On the days it feels hard to celebrate and carry on with the traditions she loved so much, I picture her keeping watch.<br />
<br />
I think of her giddy with excitement, anxious to share with us the incredible gift of perfect joy that she now knows. Always the hostess, I imagine her waiting with happy anticipation to usher us in and give us the grand tour.<br />
<br />
And I believe that, for her, the waiting will be but a minute. It isn't agonizing or endless because she now lives in that beautiful space outside of time. She is both happy in the now, and in all that is to come.<br />
<br />
For us, the waiting is longer. And I'd be lying if I didn't say that as much as the distance stings, I do hope for the wait to be very long. I feel okay saying that because I know she hopes that, too.<br />
<br />
But when that day does come, I take comfort in knowing that one of the first voices I will hear will be hers. She will throw her head back and laugh in that way that only she can, and then proclaim for all to hear....<br />
<br />
<i><b>She's here!! She's here!!</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx01rK2bIDOLyFJbKSojY3FkIFoEv_EblJUukiau07ORUS5mrNSkNoM23VoI0IrLmpaLl7oJVpZGaigJzkgmFWihB-VKNZPWfSWtdBKyIZDvh7wFlcql8mBcOlMNUREdHQTZ0iQqz0uwY/s1600/IMG_4475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx01rK2bIDOLyFJbKSojY3FkIFoEv_EblJUukiau07ORUS5mrNSkNoM23VoI0IrLmpaLl7oJVpZGaigJzkgmFWihB-VKNZPWfSWtdBKyIZDvh7wFlcql8mBcOlMNUREdHQTZ0iQqz0uwY/s400/IMG_4475.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forever and for always.</td></tr>
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<i><b><br /></b></i>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-81142321087085257402016-10-23T08:28:00.000-07:002016-10-23T10:54:04.122-07:00Jumpin' InLet me just start by saying, this is not a sad post.<br />
<br />
At least it's not intended to be.<br />
<br />
I feel like I need to start with that disclaimer since I will be mentioning loss, and sorrow, and grief, and falling into pits and stuff.<br />
<br />
But I swear, it's not sad.<br />
<br />
It's more of an explanation. And maybe a bit of an encouragement. If nothing else, it's something to read on Sunday afternoon instead of doing laundry and I can promise it is at least as good as that. Maybe.<br />
<br />
You see, this week will be the 13th birthday of our two little ones who never came home.<br />
<br />
Thirteen years is both long and short. Say, if you were talking about how long it has been since you had a really good homemade chocolate chip cookie, thirteen years would be a loooong time. (<i>A criminally long amount of time, if you ask me.</i>) But if you were talking about how long you'd like to spend with someone you love, we'd all agree that thirteen years is but a blink.<br />
<br />
In terms of loss, thirteen years might seem on the outer edge of how long it is socially acceptable to speak of such things. I mean, at least out loud. Or in writing. <i>Ahem.</i><br />
<br />
And in truth, I do get that. I don't enjoy dwelling on despair or feeling as though I'm dragging anyone into a well of sad feelings they really didn't ask for. And it's a conundrum because while I might have melancholy feelings, and wistful feelings, and, yes, sometimes even weepy moments every now and then, I'm really okay. I choose to remember because I'm not really sure how I couldn't and because that's how we continue to love those whom we have lost.<br />
<br />
<i>We remember them.</i><br />
<br />
But I could do all of that without putting it into words and making my story public. I could opt to remember privately. There is nothing wrong with that and many, many days that is what I choose to do. In fact, that might suit me better given my reclusive tendencies.<br />
<br />
However, there is a reason that over the years I became more and more open about my experience with infertility and loss, and I can tell you why in two stories.<br />
<br />
<i>(If Tracy were reading this over my shoulder, and she might be, she would break in at this point and say, "Tom, I can name that song in two notes." Because she just would.)</i><br />
<br />
The first involves my cousin Tracy and her legendary ability to make a friend of anyone. Waaaaay back when we were both in our 20's and early years of marriage, she became pregnant and had a baby. At the same time, I tried to become pregnant and couldn't. She was having trouble with some aches and pains related to pregnancy so she started seeing a massage therapist. I, on the other hand, was seeing a fertility doctor because of that whole not getting pregnant thing.<br />
<br />
As was Tracy's way, she became quite friendly with her massage therapist, learning all about her life. The therapist had twin toddlers who were the happy end result of a difficult run with infertility. This lead Tracy to tepidly open up to her about my struggles and her concerns with how to offer any support. The therapist asked her lots of questions about my doctor and my treatment, none of which Tracy had good answers to since she didn't really have all of those minute details. But her massage therapist friend would not be so easily dissuaded. See, she'd <i>been there</i> and she'd be damned if she was going to let someone else flail around on their own.<br />
<br />
Finally, she said to Tracy, "<i>Do you think I could just call her</i>?"<br />
<br />
A total stranger to me, connected only through another friendly acquaintance, refused to stay in her own happy bubble world of a successful pregnancy and birth and motherhood because she knew there were people on the other side. She not only wanted to help, she <i>had</i> to help.<br />
<br />
She did call me. We talked for an hour that one time. She gave me information I had never gotten from any doctor. She gave me encouragement to make changes I didn't know I needed to make. More than anything, she gave me hope and she made me brave. I never spoke to her again other than through Tracy who would report back to her my own happy success. But because of her, I changed doctors and was pregnant two months later. I'm not exaggerating when I say I believe she changed my life.<br />
<br />
<i>(And by extension, of course, Tracy also changed my life with her fantastically friendly ways. But the list of ways in which Tracy changed my life is long and deep and will require a lifetime of blog posts to capture.)</i><br />
<br />
The second story is not my own and not at all original. It's a modern day parable of sorts and I'm sure you've heard it before. But it bears repeating because it speaks to my larger point of being vulnerable enough to share our stories, to the extent that we are able, for the good of those who might be standing on the outside.<br />
<br />
<i>A man was walking along one day when he suddenly tumbled headlong into a pit. He hadn't seen it coming. It was dark. It was lonely. And he had no idea how to get out.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He started calling up from the pit, yelling for help.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>First a doctor walked by. He peered down into the pit, tossed in a prescription, and kept walking.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Then, a priest walked by. He looked down at the poor man, offered him a prayer, and then he too kept walking.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Finally, a friend happens by and hears the man's cries for help. He thinks for a moment and then without hesitation jumps into the pit with him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The man looks at him astonished and says, "What are you doing?! Now we are both stuck down here in the pit!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>His friend answers, "I know. <b>But I've been here before and I know the way out."</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And I would add that sometimes we may not even be able to show someone the way out of the pit. But a friend jumps in and says, "<i>This is awful. I'm so sorry. But I'll stay here with you until you can find <b>your </b>way out."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
So, that's really it. That's the answer.<br />
<br />
I keep telling my story and being honest about who I am and where I've been, because you never know who might be in a pit needing someone to jump in with them.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful to every single person, whether they be close friends, family, or momentary acquaintances, who ever jumped in with me.<br />
<br />
And because I'm always ready for a little Christmas, I'll leave you with this thought:<br />
<br />
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Happy Sunday, friends! </div>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-59927930517061320852016-10-05T12:17:00.001-07:002016-10-05T12:22:37.088-07:00How's it going?Over the summer, I had many kind-hearted friends who wanted to know how I was feeling about our upcoming move. You'd think after answering the same question so many times I would have come up with a simple, rote answer.<br />
<br />
I never did.<br />
<br />
I was never entirely sure what to say and it often depended on the day, or even the moment. Sometimes excited, sometimes nervous, sometimes weary, sometimes I just wanted to scrap the whole crazy plan.<br />
<br />
In the past month that question has been replaced with a new inquiry, "<i>Soooo...how is it going??</i>"<br />
<br />
Again, I don't have a perfect elevator speech that can sum it all up in 10 sentences or less.<br />
<br />
But the answer I most often come back to, even if only in my own mind, is simply that it has been exactly what I expected it to be. Meaning, it has been a little bit sad, a little bit fun, a little bit exciting, a little bit scary, a little bit lonely, a little bit easy, and even a little bit surprising.<br />
<br />
It's been a mixed bag which is exactly what I knew it would be. You don't uproot your whole life and think you can just snap your fingers and instantly have the same continuity, routines, and normalcy you had in the place you lived for almost 25 years.<br />
<br />
(<i>A quarter of a century, people.</i>)<br />
<br />
So, the thing I just keep telling my thoughtful friends is that it's <i>good</i>, and we are <i>happy,</i> but it will take <i>time</i>.<br />
<br />
I'm a great believer in the magic of time because I've seen it work miracles over and over again in my own life and in the lives of others. Things you thought would never be resolved, never heal, never change, never improve, and never grow- suddenly do.<br />
<br />
But it's never 'suddenly', really. It might feel that way. Or it might look that way from the outside. But usually that miraculous turn of events is really the long awaited reward that comes from days, weeks, months, or years of waiting, praying, and never giving up hope.<br />
<br />
<i>He has made everything beautiful in its time</i>... ~Ecclesiastes 3:11<br />
<br />
If you know me, you know that the fall, and especially October, can make me a little melancholy so forgive me for a second for conjuring up a rather unhappy memory to make a point. I'll try to swing it around at the end and give it a happy flourish to close it out.<br />
<br />
(<i>That's kind of my signature move)</i>.<br />
<br />
Anyway, when I was in grief counseling after the loss of our babies, I remember saying to my counselor, "<i>I know I'm going to find my way through this somehow. I know I won't always be this sad. I really do feel confident of that. I just want to know <b>when</b>. How long? Give me a date and then I can circle that day in red on my calendar and just hold on until then</i>."<br />
<br />
As good as my counselor was, she never could give me that date.<br />
<br />
And, of course, it wasn't a specific day, or moment, it was just a slow, quiet unfolding until you realize you are no longer clenching your fists trying to fight your way back to life. You look down to find your hands are open again, ready to receive whatever bounty the day has to bring you. Whether it be joy, or laughter, or even possibly pain again, you are no longer afraid.<br />
<br />
So, the point is, I know what it is to wait.<br />
<br />
What I'm getting better at is what to <i>do</i> in the waiting.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I took a leap I didn't think I would make quite this soon. I met with the principal of a small, Christian preschool/primary school about becoming one of their regular substitute teachers. I've always made it clear that I really only like "pretend subbing" and by that I mean I am only interested in substitute teaching at one small school where I can actually get to know the kids and teachers. That was the blessing I had in subbing at my daughter's school in our old neighborhood, and I knew I'd need to find a similar arrangement if I were ever going to venture into subbing in our new home.<br />
<br />
And even though the sloth in me wonders why on earth I am not going to continue to just bask in my long, quiet days at home, the voice in my soul is telling me that level of isolation is not ultimately doing me any favors.<br />
<br />
I mean, <i>preschoolers</i>, my friends! A tiny school full of babies with no one older than the fourth grade! It's like a dream come true. And the lovely thing is, it's a blessing for them, too. A small school like that has difficulty attracting substitute teachers and yet their teachers get sick and need vacations, too. They were all so delighted I was really interested in coming on board. I swear they all kept looking at me like I might be a mirage.<br />
<br />
Sometimes waiting means taking time to rest and heal and be quiet. But other times of waiting require us to be patiently active. We start moving toward those things that allow us to use our gifts and talents, knowing that you never know where and when you might find what it is you are looking for.<br />
<br />
So, I look forward to meeting my new young friends and in the meantime will continue to relish the luxury of my quiet days at home.<br />
<br />
I've always been a big believer that the "sacred is in the ordinary" which is why I tend to be pretty content with a life that borders on some reality TV version of <i>Groundhog Day. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Sidebar: (Oh my stars. My life would be the most boring reality TV show EVER. Wouldn't you love to have watched me type this blog post for the past hour? Riveting.) </i><br />
<br />
But given my inordinate love for the ordinary and everyday, I was pretty happy to come across this quote by Henry Ward Beecher to back me up:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">The art of being happy lies in the power</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">of extracting happiness from common things.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">~Henry Ward Beecher</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thank you, Reverend Beecher. I will continue to do just that. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfiHx7BeJPReEd8bi98Q9eF538NsGrnDPuGJHmEKa_derC-_0Z3EGqXKn_rwd9ONMsKQ4KQFMLWBtSTcuA4-P6E8YDZIi-rCJr9V369vRDjQCKVykZgs185AX9vsg-pZ1GUCdehkYEJQ/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfiHx7BeJPReEd8bi98Q9eF538NsGrnDPuGJHmEKa_derC-_0Z3EGqXKn_rwd9ONMsKQ4KQFMLWBtSTcuA4-P6E8YDZIi-rCJr9V369vRDjQCKVykZgs185AX9vsg-pZ1GUCdehkYEJQ/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a picture I snapped after leaving Annie's horseback riding lessons.<br />
The fog had settled in on the hills and all you could see was pasture land, trees,<br />
hills and sky.<br />
I suddenly felt very grateful to live in a place where horses and open spaces are<br />
a part of our everyday.<br />
..."extracting happiness from common things."<br />
Amen</td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-82854799451326704362016-07-22T17:39:00.000-07:002016-07-22T20:18:49.027-07:00Planting seedsToday I had lunch with one of my oldest and best friends. I'm not exactly sure how old we were when we met, but it was before grade school. It was our older brothers who became friends first and being a mom myself now I can totally imagine how that played out when our respective mothers were drawn together by their young son's growing friendship.<br />
<br />
<i>How wonderful that our boys like each other so much! Wait. You have a little girl, too? Exactly the same age as my little girl? And you live just over the hill from us? Well, welcome to my life New Best Friend! </i><br />
<br />
Because that's what you do when your whole life is about keeping little people alive and entertained. You find fellow travelers with similar age munchkins and say, giddy up, let's do this together!<br />
<br />
There's safety in numbers after all.<br />
<br />
So, perhaps we were destined to be buddies or maybe it was really just our good fortune (and our mother's). Either way, she's been one of my best friends ever since.<br />
<br />
While we were at lunch sorting out major life issues like why I would like Nordstrom sales people to stop talking to me, and the unexpected delight of being served a "baguette" that was really like a half a loaf of bread- we got to talking about our daughters, and girls in general, and the unpredictable roller coaster ride of girl friendships.<br />
<br />
At some point as we were chronicling the good, the bad, the funny, and the ugly of it all, I looked at my friend and said quietly, <i>"What I pray most for in our move, is that at some point in all of this change and new schools and new places, Annie will find a best friend. She's had a few lovely, sweet little friends along the way, but she hasn't had that go-to, consistent, loyal best friend. She hasn't had...us."</i><br />
<br />
My friend nodded seriously and shared that her daughter hadn't found that friend yet either.<br />
<br />
I thought about that for a minute and said, "<i>I don't know. Maybe you don't have to have a <b>best</b> friend.</i>"<br />
<br />
My friend agreed, but then smiled wistfully and said, "<i>But it's kinda nice</i>."<br />
<br />
Yes. Yes it is.<br />
<br />
Recently I had a thought that came to me and I haven't been able to get it out of my head.<br />
<br />
I was thinking about other times when I had made big transitions and what had been helpful in those times. I thought a lot about when we had to make a change with the boy's school and moved them from a school right in our neighborhood, to a school in an entirely different area with a community that was full of strangers for all of us. Everything and everyone was an unknown for us except for one big, shiny gold ticket we carried with us into that place. Our cousins. Family. And not just family, my cousin Tracy who was pretty much the Queen of that school (in the best way) and friends with EVERYONE (that is not an exaggeration).<br />
<br />
And I got to thinking about how when you are already walking around with an overflowing dance card it can be really easy to decide your life is full enough. You have your people and there are no seats left at the table. But that wasn't how Tracy was and she certainly wasn't going to allow me to skulk in corners and slip in and out without making eye contact with anyone.<br />
<br />
<i>(I'm not sure I really skulk. But I can be pretty skilled at avoiding conversation when needed.)</i><br />
<br />
So, she did what she what she was so good at. She brought me to the table. She encouraged me to join her groups and she introduced me to everyone she knew. And those who knew Tracy know that an introduction with her was never as simple as exchanging names. No, she would introduce you AND tell you exactly why you were going to LOVE that person and that she just KNEW you would become the very best of friends. And you believed her.<br />
<br />
I often told Tracy she really needed to tone it down when singing my praises to other people because her view of me without question <i><b>far</b></i> exceeded anything I actually had to deliver.<br />
<br />
And in thinking back on all of that and her particular set of skills, it occurred to me that Tracy was not only inclusive, she was <i>radically inclusive. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Wait, what? What does it mean to be radically inclusive, you ask? I shall tell you.<br />
<br />
I can tell you because I made it up myself. When it ends up in the Urban Dictionary my name better be next to it.<br />
<br />
Inclusive is being very intentional when making plans or deciding on invitations to make sure that all of the people in your respective circle are made to feel welcome. (As the situation warrants. Obviously there is a time and place for smaller groups and solo activities as well.)<br />
<br />
Radically inclusive is looking <i>beyond </i>your circle and asking yourself, who else do I know who might enjoy this? Is there someone new in my life who might jump at the chance to meet some new people? Do I have any friends who don't know each other but really should because I think they would have so much in common?<br />
<br />
To be radically inclusive is to decide that your dance card is never full and there is always more room at the table. It's like hanging a sign on the door of your life that says WELCOME.<br />
<br />
So, in the spirit of my 2016 word of the year (<a href="http://launchcountdown.blogspot.com/2016/01/all-things-new.html" target="_blank">"new"</a> in case you haven't been following along), this is going to be one of my <b>new</b> goals moving forward into this next adventure. I am going to seek to be not only inclusive in my interactions but to be <i>radically</i> inclusive.<br />
<br />
For an introvert like myself, this will be a challenge. I'm not always a great initiator. I like other people to take the lead and I'll just happily follow along. But as part of this new radically inclusive lifestyle I will be living, that will also include me being open and accepting toward the invitations and opportunities that come my way as well. (No skulking).<br />
<br />
I've already been touched by ways people in my world (<i>cough... cough... my sister)</i> have gone out of their way to start helping us put down roots. And the thing about inclusiveness is that it's wonderfully catching. Twice now my sister has extended to me invitations to activities organized by <i>her </i>friends, whom I either don't know or barely know, because they simply insisted, <i>"Bring your sister! We are so excited she's moving here! Tell her she has to come!" </i><br />
<br />
And the hermit in me just marvels and thinks to myself, "W<i>ho does that?"</i><br />
<br />
I'll tell you who does. Radically inclusive people do, that's who.<br />
<br />
I won't lie, some of my determination to be more radically inclusive is self-serving. I do believe that in some measure in this life we reap what we sow. And much more so than even for myself I am praying mightily that my daughter is going to encounter some radically inclusive 6th grade girls in the coming months.<br />
<br />
These are some uncertain times ahead.<br />
<br />
But we plant the seeds we want to see grow, so I'm going to be planting a whole bunch of friendly, smiling, "yes, I'd love to!", "so nice to meet you!' kinds of seeds and maybe some of them will sprout in her garden, too.<br />
<br />
I'm also hoping we have a heavenly matchmaker who will be working overtime to help us find our people as well.<br />
<br />
In fact, I'm sure we do.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4mDnlVQ90f6VgC4MGvDKrtWky7bPS-N7EzgN_euWRbUODZd7dftu-9qo3jbZjihWIrc3ZZUJL_1NyyG_DwTSXzXytRf0PrqKX_c4pWCP0jMiVldIg0ZYJOEO4NtXvDKMxVAu-H3AcRQ/s1600/IMG_4455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4mDnlVQ90f6VgC4MGvDKrtWky7bPS-N7EzgN_euWRbUODZd7dftu-9qo3jbZjihWIrc3ZZUJL_1NyyG_DwTSXzXytRf0PrqKX_c4pWCP0jMiVldIg0ZYJOEO4NtXvDKMxVAu-H3AcRQ/s320/IMG_4455.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Friendship....is born at the moment one person says to another, "What? You too?!"<br />
~ C. S. Lewis</td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-65935637616799216212016-06-30T10:22:00.000-07:002016-06-30T14:29:19.443-07:00The long goodbyeSo, here we are.<br />
<br />
Summer.<br />
<br />
A year ago, Ben and I started kicking around the idea of moving east of the mountains while at the same time being certain we would abandon that idea as soon as the leaves turned. But we didn't. We kept talking about it. And wondering. And dreaming.<br />
<br />
When winter arrived we agreed it was time to drag ourselves out of the land of indecision and either turn right or left, east or west. Which would it be? Stay, and enjoy all of the comfort and security of that familiarity and routine. Or, go, and take a leap toward something that is both familiar and yet also utterly new.<br />
<br />
We chose to go. Even now I can't completely explain why except that's what we were both feeling in our gut. We aren't people who feel called to change, or adventure, or upheaval very often (or never), so it felt like there had to be a reason that two committed homebodies who always thought they'd live in the same house, on the same street, in the same neighborhood, in the same city for the entirety of their lives together, suddenly both had a yearning to pick up and leave. We felt like God was throwing pebbles at us trying to get our attention and if we didn't sit up and listen he'd start throwing bricks soon.<br />
<br />
The verse I kept hearing in my head was, "<i>You have circled this mountain long enough. Now turn north."</i> -<i>Deuteronomy 2:3 </i>(Except I was hearing east. God is allowed to tinker with scripture when he's the one talking. It's his book after all.)<br />
<br />
But that was over 6 months ago. Summer seemed ages away and life has changed in so many big and small ways since then. Now it's here. That elusive, far-off "summer" thing we talked about. And even at that we still aren't moving quite yet. It's here, but not.<br />
<br />
So now this is turning into the summer of the long goodbye. And I cannot begin to tell you how much I hate goodbyes. There are few things I do worse or like less. And I think it's all the looming goodbyes that have lodged this sailor's knot of fear, excitement, regret and anticipation permanently into the center of my chest. More than the stress of actually packing boxes and moving (though that is no small stress point), it's the 3am moments of, WHAT HAVE WE DONE, that are are prompting my google searches on "<b>How to relieve anxiety naturally</b>". (I keep hoping the answer is cookie dough, but so far webmd is letting me down).<br />
<br />
Ben asked me the other night if I was having second thoughts? And I knew immediately the answer was no. I'm not having second thoughts, I'm just nervous. And scared. And also excited and happy. And sometimes full level JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL freaking out. But at this point I'm doing a pretty great job of bottling it all up and shoving a cork in the top, so don't be scared to run into me. I'm cool as a cucumber. (But God knows how long that cork can hold).<br />
<br />
And on top of all this, one of the top three people I would have normally hashed all of this out with is gone. And I never even got a chance to tell her about any of it.<br />
<br />
<i>Regrets, I have a few</i>... (Thanks, Frank).<br />
<br />
But I really do believe we go with her blessing and love, and even more importantly we go with God's. The other night I shared a verse with my daughter. It was one of those stumble-on-felt-meant-for-me moments and I knew it was meant for her as well. Believe me when I say I do not forget for <i>one moment </i>how much is changing for her, too. Uprooting my child and putting her in a brand new school where she knows no one but her cousins is a whole other sailor's knot of anxiety and concern that likes to wake me in the wee hours of the night.<br />
<br />
We happened to be lying on my bed hanging out, watching tv, when this verse was given to me. I immediately turned to Annie and shared it with her.<br />
<br />
<i>The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.</i> ~ <i>Deuteronomy 31:8 </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
(Who would have guessed Deuteronomy would end up being the theme song to our move? Not usually my go-to... But that God...he likes to throw curve balls.)<br />
<br />
Anywhooo... Annie and I agreed right there that would be our guiding verse for the move.<br />
<br />
Overwhelmed by the thought of packing and unpacking? <i>The Lord himself goes before you...</i><br />
<br />
Scared to walk into a new school and make new friends? <i>The Lord himself goes before you...</i><br />
<br />
Unsure about what our lives and routine will look like now? <i>The Lord himself goes before you...</i><br />
<br />
Something about picturing the Lord himself leading the way into this unknown future is infinitely comforting.<br />
<br />
Could someone please remind me of this at 3am?<br />
<br />
Seriously, text me.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8QmdQwZ_NNdcSkNlmVs2_MoMeCxCX_wQtZynoe6QOB36FlOfcdnBj8c8aww3Y0uZp91iAhF0jY74WsI3RhyMNdSDjCQZ9WXEg31-ACL0zv6GDePK4JTcCczkw4rcwTdxrYS4Alp5dcU/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8QmdQwZ_NNdcSkNlmVs2_MoMeCxCX_wQtZynoe6QOB36FlOfcdnBj8c8aww3Y0uZp91iAhF0jY74WsI3RhyMNdSDjCQZ9WXEg31-ACL0zv6GDePK4JTcCczkw4rcwTdxrYS4Alp5dcU/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Lord himself goes before you....</i></td></tr>
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-82751017098719694592016-04-28T09:49:00.000-07:002016-04-29T11:55:24.217-07:00HeartbeatsThe other day I found myself in search of something I should have been able to put my finger on instantly.<br />
<br />
<i>I always put it in the same place. I KNOW that's where I put it last! What could have happened to it?! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
As it turned out, someone who shall remain nameless but recently had a birthday and will be graduating soon, decided keeping this item in his top dresser drawer was a good plan. He was swiftly informed that was not a good plan. In fact, that is no longer the plan.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
Anywhooo...In his defense, perhaps this was all meant to be because in my search I stumbled across something I wasn't expecting.<br />
<br />
You see, I'm not really one to hang onto every birthday/anniversary/special occasion card. I appreciate every card I have ever received and the time someone took to send it to me (especially since I am woefully card-challenged for the most part). But after enjoying the card and allowing it to spend a respectable amount of time in my designated "card basket" most cards usually find their way to the recycling bin.<br />
<br />
(<i>Please don't stop sending me cards, friends. I truly love and appreciate them! I am just not willing to drown in them!)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Like every good rule there is always an exception though and the exception to this card rule are the cards we received following the loss of our twins and the loss of my father. I saved every single one.<br />
<br />
My sister gave me a beautiful basket after our babies died with a plaque on the top that reads, "Our Forever Babies" with their names and date of their birth. In it holds every card we received following their birth and death, and every card I received in the years after.<br />
<br />
<i>Sidenote: If you are ever on the fence as to whether to send a sympathy card because you aren't sure whether it will be appropriate/welcome/needed/helpful? Send the card. </i><br />
<br />
We received many, many cards in the month after our babies were born. Fewer after that month passed. And, of course, as is expected, even fewer on that date in the years that followed. This is not to make anyone feel guilty or shamed. I would have been the same way if the roles were reversed. Life goes on and those outside the immediate circle of loss shouldn't be expected to remember dates forever.<br />
<br />
After the first couple of years, it was mostly just our family and closest friends who remembered.<br />
<br />
And, of course, ever the Queen of Cards and Remembering and Marking Special Days and Moments, Tracy was one who never forgot.<br />
<br />
Every year without fail, I would receive a note from her on their day, and often more than that. We refer to our babies as our "Twin Stars" so she would send me little star ornaments she found, or candles with a star on them, or any little thing she had stumbled across that brought them to mind. Of course all of those notes and cards went straight into the basket to be treasured always.<br />
<br />
Except this one...somehow this one never made its way there. Somehow this one was in a spot it shouldn't have been, just waiting for me to find it when I needed....something.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It took me back to a moment I've never forgotten but hadn't revisited in my mind in a long time.<br />
<br />
For several years, Tracy and I were part of a mom's group connected to the Catholic school our children attended. Actually, as with so many things, Tracy was the reason I became a part of the group. It was a lovely group of women and something we both enjoyed for many years.<br />
<br />
Each year, we would go on an overnight retreat to Sleeping Lady in Leavenworth, WA. It was an amazing setting and it was always a time mixed with both deep conversations and uncontrollable laughter-my favorite combination.<br />
<br />
During a time when we were talking more deeply and personally, the subject of our twins came up. By this point, I spoke of them easily and was happy to share about our experience both during and after our loss.<br />
<br />
But then someone asked a question I wasn't prepared for. It was asked gently and innocently, not at all intended to cause harm. But it was the question that always caught me off guard.<br />
<br />
<i>How long did they live?</i><br />
<br />
I'm sure I hesitated. I probably started to stammer something about how I didn't really know, and it was hard to say, and they were so still and quiet because they were so tiny... And I can't even really explain why that question made me feel so uncomfortable. Perhaps because my own fear was that somehow the length of their lives was tied to the depth of their worth?<br />
<br />
I think at some point my voice trailed off.<br />
<br />
And then Tracy stepped in to rescue me, offering the words that I couldn't.<br />
<br />
Her eyes were misty but she didn't cry, which for those of you who knew her you know she must have been digging deep.<br />
<br />
Her voice was tender but strong.<br />
<br />
<i>We held them so close. We held them right up to our chests and so...as we held them, it was like our heartbeats were their heartbeats. I don't know how long they were physically with us, but as we all took turns holding them, it sure felt like they were with us that whole day.</i><br />
<br />
I can't remember if I ever told her how grateful I was for that.<br />
<br />
I hope she knew.<br />
<br />
I think she knew.<br />
<br />
And now I carry this image of her holding those babies, and I like to think that is somehow a part of all the joy she is experiencing now. Oh, how she loved babies.<br />
<br />
Tracy was a lot of things. She could be big, and loud, and funny, and the center of attention. But she could also be soft, and quiet, and incredibly generous with her heart.<br />
<br />
I'm just trying to make sure I remember it all and this memory felt like it needed to be written down.<br />
<br />
Tracy, consider this my thank you card. I know how you love a good thank you card.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghKMwQSJvmQ-ww8-MqdPVcBi3GpB8XVLz-1-UQnEsfT8w5Y_6qOs7hpUh9pyitLx-uuCutvPjCkKyT8p9Sb9VuummzR4XrzqqyIu3F2seJdxPY9B6S3KBV6bpIjNQxWSPsg_NJ2d1L-Y/s1600/sc0a2730e8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghKMwQSJvmQ-ww8-MqdPVcBi3GpB8XVLz-1-UQnEsfT8w5Y_6qOs7hpUh9pyitLx-uuCutvPjCkKyT8p9Sb9VuummzR4XrzqqyIu3F2seJdxPY9B6S3KBV6bpIjNQxWSPsg_NJ2d1L-Y/s400/sc0a2730e8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Promise you won't forget me, ever.<br />
Not even when I'm a hundred.<br />
~A. A. Milne</td></tr>
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<br />
I promise.<br />
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-90480280750092782032016-02-22T09:56:00.000-08:002016-02-22T11:24:38.314-08:00Two handsThis morning I started my day with a green smoothie and BBQ Popchips.<br />
<br />
Let me try to explain.<br />
<br />
I think we all know that Monday mornings are like New Years Day except there are fifty-two of them instead of just one. It's the day of good intentions and starting fresh and getting back on the wagon and drinking green smoothies.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I love my green smoothie. I make a darn good green smoothie- although it actually looks more like a grayish-purple smoothie because of the berries I put in there. But I still call it a green smoothie because that sounds healthier than saying I made myself a grayish-purple smoothie. Also, I'm not sure the word 'gray' belongs anywhere near any food related item? It sort of has an immediate effect of robbing it of any appetizing qualities whatsoever.<br />
<br />
BUT....(<i>You knew there was some sort of digression coming, right? I mean, how do we get to the POPCHIPS?! I know you are dying to know.)</i><br />
<br />
The problem is, as much as I loooove my green (grayish-purple) smoothie, most mornings I just can't leave breakfast behind until I have chewed or crunched something. As tasty as it is, sipping my breakfast through a straw only leaves me 80% satisfied. My teeth feel totally left out and start clamoring for a job to do.<br />
<br />
I don't need much. Just a little something. You know...like something that almost resembles air...except crunchy...with a little zing?<br />
<br />
TA DA!!!<br />
<br />
<i><b>BBQ Popchips</b></i>.<br />
<br />
Was there really any other alternative? If there was, obviously I couldn't think of it.<br />
<br />
Luckily, today I'm not in an either/or kind of mood.<br />
<br />
This morning I shared with someone close to me the one thought that has helped me most when rebounding from loss.<br />
<br />
<i><b>We have two hands.</b></i><br />
<br />
We can hold more than one thing, one experience, one emotion, one hope...all at the same time.<br />
<br />
We can be both happy and sad.<br />
<br />
We can be both angry and grateful.<br />
<br />
We can wish things were different and still accept things as they are.<br />
<br />
We can look forward and backward.<br />
<br />
We can hold doubt and faith.<br />
<br />
We can carry the past in our hearts while still looking to the future with hope.<br />
<br />
We don't have to choose. We <i>never </i>have to choose.<br />
<br />
We can hold both.<br />
<br />
This weekend I took Annie on a special mother-daughter birthday shopping trip. As we were driving downtown I was heaping love on my birthday girl and told her, <i>"I'm the luckiest mom in the world. I had my two wonderful boys and then I was given this beautiful little girl. I don't know how I got soooo lucky, but I am thankful every single day."</i><br />
<br />
I meant every word, but there was a little voice in my head that piped up even as I was speaking. "<i>Now that's an odd thing to say, given what you lost? The luckiest mom in the world? Really?!"</i><br />
<br />
But I looked down at my two hands and let those words float away.<br />
<br />
It's not all or nothing. I can hold both. I can quietly wish for the two little ones who slipped away, and still feel whole-hearted gratitude for the three who got to stay.<br />
<br />
Don't ever let anyone tell you that you have to choose.<br />
<br />
You have two hands. You can hold <i><b>so</b></i> much. But only what you want to hold.<br />
<br />
Drink the green smoothie. Eat the BBQ Popchips.<br />
<br />
Hold what you need to hold and let go of what needs to go.<br />
<br />
That's what I'm doing today. I'm holding it all. The tears and the laughter. The joy and regrets. The yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows.<br />
<br />
It's all right here in these two hands.<br />
<br />
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<br />Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3887024544809345835.post-15839388927882196832016-01-24T16:41:00.001-08:002016-01-24T16:41:33.062-08:00In the laughterMy sister in law, Sarah, has got me hooked on the show <i>Call the Midwife</i>. I've been binge watching my way through the seasons and am up through the middle of Season 3. If I could, I would watch in all of my spare moments but I can only watch when I'm by myself because no one else in my family is quite as interested as I am in the lives of midwives and nuns in a poor neighborhood in London in the 1950's. They also seem to be a bit squeamish over highly realistic childbirth scenes.<br />
<br />
Go figure. Cowards.<br />
<br />
I've started having recurring dreams where I am either pregnant or have just given birth, and when I'm struggling with productivity and sloth (<i>as I often do)</i>, I imagine Sister Evangeline giving me a stern and entirely necessary scolding, which usually gets me up off the couch. (<i>Usually. Unless I'm in the middle of an episode in which case Sister Evangeline will have to wait.</i>)<br />
<br />
It's safe to say <i>Call the Midwife</i> has infiltrated every aspect of my life.<br />
<br />
I'd go so far as to say the show has become my own personal Life Coach and that I follow its guidance as close to the letter as I can. Except for the bicycling. I'm too scared of Seattle traffic to start bicycling everywhere.<br />
<br />
The other day I watched an episode where one of the main characters suffers a heartbreaking loss (<i>no spoilers, I won't say who)</i>. She is struggling to find her footing in a world that no longer makes sense, when she receives some wisdom from an older woman who has fought her own battles with heartache.<br />
<br />
In answer to what she is supposed to do now, how does she go on, what does she do next? The older woman says to her simply, <i>"You just keep on living. You keep living...everyday...until you feel alive again."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Last night a bunch of us gathered together again. My CTMW-enabling sister in law and younger brother came into town to visit, which was as good a reason as any to pull together an evening of food and drink and conversation and hugging. (<i>There is a lot of hugging these days. I'm not typically much of a hugger, but I'm coming around. I have to. It seems I can't stop these people.)</i><br />
<br />
There was also laughter. Lots of laughter.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like I don't know how to explain the laughter. That if someone were looking from the outside in we would look more like a bunch of silly, party clowns than the bruised and battered tribe that we are.<br />
<br />
And then I saw this quote today:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>There are three things which are real: </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>God, human folly, and laughter. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The first two are beyond our comprehension, </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>so we must do what we can with the third.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~Adapted from a Hindu poem </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We laugh because it's part of who we are, who we have always been, and who she was. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To stop laughing would be to stop living. It would mean that we not only lost her, but that we turned our backs on her. The laughter is how we honor her and everything she gave us. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every time we have been together- noisy, full of food and wine, crammed shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen while the rest of the house stands empty- at some point someone has whispered to me, <i>I swear I hear her. I swear I can hear her laugh.</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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Every time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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And I say, <i>I know. Me too.</i> </div>
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I don't know how she did it, but she brought all of these people together. And what a raggedy, eclectic bunch we are. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But we know how to laugh. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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She taught us so very well. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The CTMW enabler and Tracy going to battle in our annual $10 gift exchange.<br />I think they worked it out in the end. ;-)<br /></td></tr>
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Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05528541804521203406noreply@blogger.com2