tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38419548304263852472024-03-19T03:18:28.092-07:00In the meantime...Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-63209956071371767532010-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:002010-06-24T07:00:57.327-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Please click on:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-73268138107857696862010-05-25T16:06:00.000-07:002010-08-16T10:18:04.813-07:00Birthing a Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvX-poeXniU_-h5RGHFAhagtt5SIHktZQhAFeNqKkmot73rwH09hIOuXDcG5ve8URmBIoIg7BXLJQBvEeYJtVOO2H29LC2pEifrKdOZEDDd8aSqNNEjXhVic_uBc5o0da1RpFXL_j6Fs/s1600/1775526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvX-poeXniU_-h5RGHFAhagtt5SIHktZQhAFeNqKkmot73rwH09hIOuXDcG5ve8URmBIoIg7BXLJQBvEeYJtVOO2H29LC2pEifrKdOZEDDd8aSqNNEjXhVic_uBc5o0da1RpFXL_j6Fs/s320/1775526.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Okay.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I’ve stalled long enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Tap-danced as long as I can.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">When a baby wants to be born, there’s not much you can do but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">push.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Deep breath. <i>(Many breaths.)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, everyone take a look at the little “welcome” blurb on the left. Remember…it says “this is not the final product…blah, blah, blah.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">“In the Meantime…”</span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> has been a holding ground while the baby’s been developing and growing. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Personally, I think it’s a bit premature. There are still plenty of imperfections and immaturities. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">But I’m feeling more than a little celestial pressure to push.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">I must warn you that this new baby is different from its predecessors.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My hopes are that it will be simultaneously more profound and more profane; both more poetic and more prosaic.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">More mundane and mystical…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">trivial and extraordinary.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><i>Because life is all of these things.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">For instance, we might discuss hemorrhoids one day, Marx’s Theory of Dialectical Materialism the next. Menopot on Monday, Tolstoy on Tuesday. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Weddings on Wednesday, Tillich on Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Freesia on Friday.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">Get it? Both more substance and more fluff. A greater range of topic matter. From <i>A</i><i>nthropologie</i> to theology and zoologie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">(Just kidding about the zoology part… ‘artistic license.’ You do know when I'm kidding, right?)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hopefully, this baby will be even more <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">I do not invite you to join me in this new adventure…at this new location… without some trepidation and much hesitation. <i>Who do I think I am?</i> Some cyberesque Pied Piper, forcing you to bounce all over the internet trying to keep up with me? “<i>Follo</i><i>w me</i>,” I beg, flitting from site to site…trying to make up my mind where to land.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hopefully, this will be it for a while. Moving’s not much fun, whether it’s actual or virtual. Change is uncomfortable. But I’m tired of hanging around the pool, dangling my legs over the side. Sometimes, you just have to take the plunge into the icy water. (It helps if Someone gives you a little shove from behind.)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Eventually, it’ll warm up. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll</i></b> warm up. And start to feel comfortable floating around in my new environment. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I hope (and pray) that you will too.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">So please (pretty please) “follow me” one last time, to meet my new baby.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">She's kind of a weird one, but I think you'll grow to like her eventually. Same mama as the previous two. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">***************</span></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">You are cordially invited to</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Meet Margery</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br />
</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;">Today, Tomorrow, Whenever...</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><a href="http://margeryraveson.com/">margeryraveson.com</a></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666;"><br />
</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>R.S.V.P.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>***************</i></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e06666; font-family: Georgia;"><br />
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</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">p.s. If anyone has ever questioned my sanity, this will give you a definitive answer. For many, many reasons. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">(I surely do hope that the lady who said she'd read about me picking my toes is still around.)</span><br />
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</span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-54403356245525567612010-05-19T08:27:00.000-07:002010-05-19T10:05:59.756-07:00Thwarted Plans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzAVNDji9CHC2kGbDR7aNn7igTpcBbKXeyv7n6pmM4mg8rEPYqKp4o-PlZifQENiTJcvmIAZQGDTa0sEeZcqDGoBOiQyrwV1X257NYNLpABCx5B-8yD0aSQB9PTW2zz0jv9P8qsCViRM/s1600/IMG_1778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzAVNDji9CHC2kGbDR7aNn7igTpcBbKXeyv7n6pmM4mg8rEPYqKp4o-PlZifQENiTJcvmIAZQGDTa0sEeZcqDGoBOiQyrwV1X257NYNLpABCx5B-8yD0aSQB9PTW2zz0jv9P8qsCViRM/s400/IMG_1778.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">6:00 a.m.</b> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m in a warm blanket cocoon, finishing up a dream.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Whack.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Someone’s hard little head crashes into mine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Wake up, Mimi!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My grandson has spent the night with me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(His parents went out last night.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He usually sleeps ‘til around 7:00. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a plan. I would get up early, sneak out into the living room, and do some writing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’re watching <i>"Robots"</i> now instead.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(He’s not thrilled that I’m typing.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It seems that every single time I try to make plans, they are thwarted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Excuse me. James just pushed the laptop out of my lap and yelled, “No witing!!!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay. The movie got interesting again. What was I saying? Oh yeah. I was talking about thwarted plans. So anyway, I’ll mentally make a list as I drift off to sleep. I tell myself, “Well, today was a wash, but I’ll accomplish something tomorrow. I’ll get up early, have my quiet time, finish writing that life-changing piece, feed, bathe, and dress James, put on my workout clothes, and go to the gym. Then I’ll come back and clean up the house and do some laundry. And then…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wow. The laptop almost hit the floor that time. I’m bribing him with some gummy treats now. Before breakfast. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was quick. Cheese toast on the way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where was I? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was telling you how annoying it is that my plans never work out. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Make ‘em and break ‘em</i>…that’s how I live these days. Sometimes it irks me that we never get to do what <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I</b> want to do. Couldn’t we watch the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Today Show</i> for once instead of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sesame Street?</i> I mean, would that be a huge deal?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oops. A shoe was just thrown my way. Confinement time. Belted into the booster seat. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Now be sweet and eat your cheese toast, please.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I want more tweats! More tweats, Mimi!!” </i>(Shoulda known that was a bad idea…sugar before breakfast. Never works.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, I realize that wanting <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my</b> own way…trying to stick to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my</b> plan…just leads to frustration and irritation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I don’t wike cheese toast!!! I want tweats!”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">BAM. Sippy cup hits the floor. Lid flies off. Milk everywhere.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I give up.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe we’ll just go to the park today.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And smell some more of these along the way:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQHmpjSZ7vtKScPqYHzAInWrtNmT2pzEZlFxj9skNek_Hha4kYTWeGckKCHCP016xF9p9NDc-f6fs-cEdQUleizU7oPwZ4t0MjZrX-gSDRFLD5qdPeQC5ZCfJiDRQpEwYWRfy1tMUfgA/s1600/IMG_1744_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQHmpjSZ7vtKScPqYHzAInWrtNmT2pzEZlFxj9skNek_Hha4kYTWeGckKCHCP016xF9p9NDc-f6fs-cEdQUleizU7oPwZ4t0MjZrX-gSDRFLD5qdPeQC5ZCfJiDRQpEwYWRfy1tMUfgA/s640/IMG_1744_2.jpg" width="491" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You can make many plans, but the Lord’s purpose will prevail.” (Proverbs 19:21 nlt)<o:p></o:p></i><br />
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</i></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-79187596667513474942010-05-17T09:08:00.000-07:002010-05-17T09:33:25.944-07:00Beautiful Books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WZAdu32AECXgynOo_4T7cvNCv_8QD5H4jZR6yubzz8jCZJ1wqg4wmuG40TJySeCwD8kSWd1HoV2sMMgeBZZWv2R8h5_9EFR2VOot1B-Th5kvCQQWvaxhWCIQ0ajWiITGePMXdHxQ-ZM/s1600/31OWPTak8-L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WZAdu32AECXgynOo_4T7cvNCv_8QD5H4jZR6yubzz8jCZJ1wqg4wmuG40TJySeCwD8kSWd1HoV2sMMgeBZZWv2R8h5_9EFR2VOot1B-Th5kvCQQWvaxhWCIQ0ajWiITGePMXdHxQ-ZM/s320/31OWPTak8-L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I have been asked multiple times about a reading list. Which books, devotionals, studies, etc., have helped to shape my world-view and inform my theology? <br />
<br />
Perhaps because I have so little time or energy to actually read these days, it was fun to compile this extremely partial list for a reader who asked me for some suggestions. When I say it is partial, I mean it is probably about 1% of what I'd like to recommend. I'm west coast now, without most of my books. The next time I'm in Georgia, I want to make a more complete formal "census."<br />
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(...which will appear on the new blog!)<br />
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Yes, it's still coming. It's almost ready.<br />
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But this week it has seemed as if all the evil forces in the universe are trying to prevent its completion.<br />
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Soooo...if anyone 'feels an urging' to pray for me, a tiny prayer request might be for the <b>gift of time</b>. And peace. And vision. And direction. And guidance. And peace. And....<br />
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Hey, I know you've got other things to do.<br />
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<b>In the meantime...</b><br />
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Here's a place to start, if you've never done much reading on faith or theology:<br />
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">*</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mere Christianity, </b>C.S. Lewis (or <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What Christians Believe</b>, a shorter version.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">*</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Great Divorce</b>, C.S. Lewis</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Business of Heaven, </b>C. S.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>Lewis<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>(or any compilation of his other works.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Actually, anything at all by C.S. Lewis)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Ragamuffin Gospel</b>, Brennan Manning</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Life of the Beloved,</b> Henri Nouwen</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Basic Christianity,</b> John Stott</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hind’s Feet in High Places,</b> Hannah Hurnard Smith (an allegory)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">In the Grip of Grace</b>, Max Lucado</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Breaking Free</b>, Beth Moore</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Where is God When It Hurts? </b>Philip Yancey</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Traveling Mercies</b>, Anne Lamott</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Girl Meets God</b>, Lauren Winner</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Devotionals</u>:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">*</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My Utmost for His Highest</b>, Oswald Chambers ( but not '101.')</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_488915012"><br />
</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">*</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_488915012">“Rekindling the Inner Fire”</a></b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=david+hazard&x=15&y=23"> series by David Hazard</a></div><div class="MsoNormal">(Excellent, short, accessible readings from the Christian classics, including St. Augustine, St. Theresa, Hannah W. Smith, Amy Carmichael, Julian of Norwich, Thomas a’ Kempis, St. John of the Cross, and more. Some still in print and available on Amazon.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Talking With God</b>, Francois Fenelon</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Practice of the Presence of God</b>, Brother Lawrence</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also, I like to read <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“JAR”</b> (the books of John, Acts, and Romans) straight through, almost as a novel or single narrative. Those 3 seem to represent the essence of the Christian message to me: What happened, the response of the witnesses, and the theology behind the events. Right now, I am really enjoying my NLT (New Living Translation) version of the Bible. It makes it seem fresh and new.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Studies:<o:p></o:p></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Experiencing God,</b> Henry Blackaby</div><div class="MsoNormal">Any of Beth Moore’s studies</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just ordered N.T. Wright’s study of Romans…will let you know how it is.</div><div class="MsoNormal">So many other good ones…I’ll have to look through stacks when I get back to GA.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> I'd love to hear YOUR suggestions....maybe you can help jog my old memory cells. Which readings have meant the most to you? Been responsible for the most spiritual growth?</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you for your faithfulness and prayers during yet another transitional time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Love,</div><div class="MsoNormal">kim</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-87952453866267706992010-05-11T08:36:00.000-07:002010-05-11T08:42:37.892-07:00Refreshing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gJ4poDK14vr6T1O5j32BBcHc-9_NvlMmvuVUZ_MBRDiGgY_lShOgk_Hq6LCa-Up4mc2aX92Hl-CJb21k0aqgf22CZyYPhqieAAq7Pf4OC2U6amZHPC_CVrsR2uKOjSoKPciTiP9Br3k/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gJ4poDK14vr6T1O5j32BBcHc-9_NvlMmvuVUZ_MBRDiGgY_lShOgk_Hq6LCa-Up4mc2aX92Hl-CJb21k0aqgf22CZyYPhqieAAq7Pf4OC2U6amZHPC_CVrsR2uKOjSoKPciTiP9Br3k/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve had a friend from home visiting this week.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whenever that happens (which is very rarely), I see this new life through their eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I see just how far from the shore of the old life I’ve drifted.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The most common comment: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I had no idea.”</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which is kind of weird.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because I feel like I’ve been fairly honest in my description of what things are like out here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">everyone</b>, friend or family member, says the same thing: “I never could have imagined what this is like. It’s just not possible for people to understand unless they’ve been here.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know why I need to share this. I guess it’s because I’m so tired and very achy and a little teary. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Even post-menopausal women still get all hormonal sometimes.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And because I have to stay so completely focused on what needs to happen in the next 15 minutes that I can’t allow myself the luxury/torment of projecting into the next day/week/month/year. I am so intent on just surviving…doing the next “right thing”… that I can’t reflect upon how difficult…impossible…this all is sometimes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unbelievable, unbearable. Unreal…yet very, very real.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So completely different from the way most of my friends are living that they don’t (can’t possibly) have a clue. If I try to explain, I might as well be speaking Russian. (Not complain…just <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">explain. </b>Like why I don’t always answer phone calls or emails: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">… I don’t always have time <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">to go to the bathroom</b></i>. Can you wrap your mind around this???)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everyone asks very realistic, reasonable questions about the future. And I always answer in the same naïve/cliché<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">-</i>kind of way. “One day at a time…let each day’s trouble be sufficient for the day…” yada yada yada.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The reality is that we are often terrified, and if we look down, we’ll drown. Fall off the tightrope into the bottomless chasm of despair and doubt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So faith is not a virtue, it is a necessity. It is not something that has to be worked up; it is the air that we breathe in order to survive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am nothing, nothing, nothing at all without it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">do</b> nothing without it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know what fresh hell tomorrow holds.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I do know that if I don’t fling myself into the arms of my compassionate Father and beg for mercy, I might as well just lay down and die.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some days that would be a welcome relief from the pain of existence on this fatally flawed planet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I fix my eyes on what is unseen. I lie down for a minute when my sweet love/little tormentor takes his nap. And I ask for refreshing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p>“Times of refreshing come from the Lord.”*</o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>They really do</b>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I receive what I need in order to take the next step.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The pilgrimage is often hard and tiring. There are falls and bruises and hundreds of glasses of spilled milk and broken things along the way. Aching backs and heads. A deeper exhaustion than I’ve ever known.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But we can’t give up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We crawl on, limping and bleeding, to the finish line.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where there is true rest at last.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I debated whether or not to post this one. It just spilled out last night. I slept on it, and decided to go ahead and click this morning. Because I am trying to paint a realistic portrait of life after an earthquake. The portrait would be incomplete if I only included the happy/funny/”inspirational” moments.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I need to make it very, very clear that I do not in any way consider myself to be the primary victim here. The struggles I experience are not even worthy of comparing to what Katherine and Jay deal with each and every day. They are the heroes in this story. They are continuously bombarded with fresh and daunting challenges. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But, by its nature, an earthquake continues to send out tremors that affect whole families. When a tragedy occurs to one family member, the life of everyone in the family is changed. None of us have had an easy time. For instance, my husband supports a unique burden in that he has to be alone so much. It is easier to be here in the midst of the fray than to worry about everyone from a distance.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I reflect back on the stories that have been so graciously shared with me over the past few weeks. They have given me hope and a sense of solidarity. When my day is long and hard, I think of Cheri and what she’s living through. Or Peggy, who's living in circumstances similar to mine, helping with grandchildren apart from her husband. (Who is home caring for her elderly mother.) Everyone stretched thin. The friend who was visiting is living through her own earthquake. Hers was caused by human choice rather than by illness or accident. That is a special kind of hell.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It helps to know that there are others who truly understand what's it's like to have your world turned upside down.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thank you for that great gift.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>***************</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>(</i>* Acts 3:19)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-72432306979620832402010-05-07T07:47:00.000-07:002010-05-07T07:57:14.289-07:00Amy's Story<div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i><br />
<i>(This is long, but worth the read...)</i><br />
<br />
“…I was 20 years old and starting my Junior year of college. I had spent the previous summer in Panama City Beach, Florida on a Summer Beach Project. This was set up through a campus ministry known as Campus Outreach. We were in discipleship groups. We studied a particular book of the Bible. We were shown how to have a quiet time, how to share our faith, etc. It was a very intense time of learning and growing. At the beginning of the summer, a girl asked me if I wanted to meet with her. I knew that one-on-one time with her would be a blessing, so we sat down and talked. I cannot even remember what was said. By the end of our conversation, she confronted me. She was a recovered anorexic, and could see struggles within me that I, myself, had not yet identified.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I mulled over that confrontation throughout my summer. My denial was so deep and this 'thing' seemed too big to acknowledge. By the last night of the project, I went to L’s room and sat talking to her for a couple of hours. I was still wondering if her accusation could carry any weight (no pun intended:). She was very encouraging, offering hope, while stressing the severity of a struggle such as this.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was fearful of returning to school. I moved into the sorority house that year. I had a packed schedule. More and more I found myself tucked away in my bed just wanting to sleep. No one knew the turmoil inside of me and I desperately wanted to keep it that way. Normally quite the social butterfly, I became more and more withdrawn. The eating part was, in reality, eating me alive emotionally. I would go on long drives and cry. Since L. was the only person who knew about my struggle, I would call her on occasion, in tears. She gave me the names of some Christian counselors. I decided on a weekend when I felt I could slip away and go unnoticed in order to meet with one of the recommended therapists. I used money I had won in a pageant to pay for the session (irony?). I kept seeing this particular therapist, and after a few weeks, I thought it was necessary to bring my family into the light concerning my situation. I had put this off because I have a very supportive family and I knew that they would do any and everything to help me get better. I just wasn't sure if I was ready to acknowledge what was going on or start a process of recovery. Everything seemed so far out of reach.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just as I thought, my parents and sister had only words of love and encouragement when I sat down to speak with them. I told them on a Sunday afternoon. I will never forget watching them join hands and walk down to the altar to bow in prayer that night at our church. I also called my brother (I'm the youngest of three) and he was completely supportive and broken as well.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I continued with the counseling and things really started to spiral down. I specifically remember spending the night at my parents’ home one Sunday night. The next morning my mother found me dressed to go to class. I was sitting in my room on the floor, looking out the window and crying because I felt that I couldn't even leave my home. I felt completely engulfed in a darkness I'd never known. My mom lovingly tucked me into bed. In the following weeks I lost the ability to function in the routine of my normal life. My mom went to my college, withdrew me from my classes, and packed up my things to move me home.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I grew up in a very small town. Everyone knew my family. Many of our relationships overlapped among church, work, and community. It was as if I had disappeared. However, the Lord was so powerfully present during these dark times. I experienced a depth of worship that I had never known existed. On one particular occasion, He lovingly brought Lamentations 3:22-23 (“<i>Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness.”) </i>to mind the night before I was to recall some sexual abuse from my childhood. I didn't audibly hear His voice, but I knew without a doubt that He was speaking to my heart and saying, "Tomorrow is going to be a very hard day, but I love you."<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The therapist recommended that I look into in-patient treatment. God placed a wonderful doctor in my path who strongly encouraged me to seek in-patient treatment as well. I cannot recall every single detail as I write, but the Lord clearly showed Himself when it came to placing me in a treatment facility. I cannot remember the first time I heard about Remuda Ranch in Arizona. We were sent videos to watch and pamphlets to read concerning Remuda. My curiosity got the better of me one night and I watched the Remuda video after everyone had gone to bed. I don't recall making the decision to go. My statements just seem to change from "'if I go" to "when I go". Rather quickly, things 'fell into place.' (Insurance agreed to cover 40 out of 45 days.)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My mom and I left on October 31, 2000 to drive to Atlanta and catch a flight to Arizona. I don't know if it was my total denial or a working of the Spirit, but I went from not wanting to leave my house to having a spark of excitement when thinking of meeting other girls like myself 1600 miles away.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I mentioned earlier, I grew up in a small town. My Dad was (and is) the local veterinarian. I was known as "Dr. J’s'' daughter. It wasn't a bad thing, mind you. I just felt a certain level of expectation. I had actually thrived on such feelings in some ways. I found success in various avenues and activities. I really did seem to 'have it all.' Oh and we were a 'nice, christian' family. These things all came into play later. I mentioned this now to let you know that I coveted the anonymity that would come with being 'Amy J., just another patient.’ Later, I found that my own problems with recovering strangely had to do with whether or not I had been the ‘best anorexic.’ Since I went through waves with bulemia and anorexia, I was never at a point to where I was a walking skeleton. I had times of noticeable weight loss, but it seemed to be just enough to garner praises. I was just very unhealthy. Whether it was binging and purging or total restriction, I had some major issues that needed to be dealt with. Lyrics from a Jennifer Knapp song made so much sense to me. <i>"There are ghosts from my past who own more of my soul than I thought I had given away. They linger in closets and under my bed and in pictures less proudly displayed." </i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I hugged my family and told them goodbye, I did so thinking that I would arrive in Arizona and be told that I didn't belong there. I expected to return home. (Hello Denial, so nice of you to accompany us.) I arrived at Remuda Ranch on November 1, 2000. My mom was able to walk into the initial area with me and then I had to tell her goodbye. She had been my Rock in many ways, yet I didn't shed a tear as we embraced. I prayed for her (she's fearful when it comes to flying). God later orchestrated a meeting for my Mom. (I mean my Mama- I am from the South.) As she strolled through Wickenburg, AZ she met another couple from Arizona who had just left their daughter a day earlier. God showed Himself thoroughly throughout this <i>earthquake.</i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Remuda Ranch is a Christ-centered rehab facility for eating disorders that uses horses as a part of patients' therapy. (My last experience on a horse was nearly two years earlier when I was thrown from one.) My problem upon arrival was that I saw all of these pitiful girls whom I grew to love and adore. I wanted to 'fix' them. I thought my 'hurts' paled in comparison to the stories that I was hearing on a daily basis. I wasn't looking to expose what was underneath my surface. I felt spoiled and stupid. Certainly we had taken this 'getting help' thing way too far. I can remember my dietician (a recovered anorexic) sitting down with me and saying, "Why don't you just eat your meals and work the program. You can always go back to what you were doing." That clicked just a little bit for me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also, the fact that Remuda was Christ-centered did not mean that everyone was a Christian. This treatment center was sought after because of its success rate. (Any connection there?) So there were girls from various homes. It was literally a mission field. A lot of these women were truly down and out and quite accepting of the Gospel. One girl who entered treatment just after me, told me one day that she prayed to received Christ. Another girl was an atheist. We sat at the same table one night. After I prayed over our food, she told me, "You're good at that." I thought, "Wow. Please take note that we're in the same place. It's not about being 'good' at anything."<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a major realization on Thanksgiving. We had to write out our life story. This was an ongoing process for me and it caused a great deal of pain. I began 'cutting' on my arm as an outlet. Eventually one of the other girls urged me to tell someone. After that I wasn't allowed to be alone since I had harmed myself. I was also attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to deal with well, alcohol issues. All of this was leading up to Thanksgiving Day. I woke up that day and called my family. It was okay and I thought I could handle it. By that night, I was making my third call to my family. I broke down. I began to see that this 'thing,' this eating disorder, was costing me more than I was willing to pay. It was like being tricked by my best friend who, in all actuality, was no friend at all. Needless to say, this was an eye opener. I remember all of the other girls being so surprised to see me cry because up until that point, they had never seen anything but a smile on my face.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember how I mentioned earlier that my previous experience with a horse was being thrown from one? Well, another turning point for me was when I decided to ride (excuse me here) that <i>damn</i> horse. I cannot even tell you the difference in me as I rode on Brando. (If that horse could have fit in my suitcase, he'd be in Alabama as I type.)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">In December, I had my family week. My family (minus my brother) flew to Arizona. We were grouped with four other families. Each girl was given a time for their 'Truth in Love". This was when we sat in the middle of the room surrounded by the other families and told our loved ones how we had gotten to this point in our lives. We had a family therapist as well as our individual therapist that we had been working with up to this point. It was a time to accept responsibility where we needed to and also a time to hear as well as be heard. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was quite possibly dehydrated after my turn. It was like ripping a well-attached scab off and in my case, it was necessary. My family seemed to gain a lot by being surrounded with others who were facing similar struggles. There's so much to knowing that you aren't alone. The week ended on a high note as we were able to have our very own rodeo. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was blessed to return to Alabama and celebrate Christmas with my family. I even got my nose pierced before returning to Arizona. Craziness. I didn't return to the same facility. I had completed my stay in Wickenburg. I went to Remuda's transitional treatment facility. It was basically a cul-de-sac with five or so homes. I lived with other girls and we had much more freedom. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I returned to Alabama in mid-January. Since I was the ‘perfect patient,’ it only made sense that I would transition perfectly back home. Yeah, right. I cringe at the next 1 1/2 to 2 year period. I take full responsibility for my decisions and actions. The 'returning' part was by far the hardest. Remember how I had disappeared? Well, now I was reappearing. Only now I had cut 10 inches off of my long, dark hair and, oh yeah, the nose ring. Most people didn't even recognize me.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could not come to terms with the fact that the world didn't stop just because my life had taken a drastic detour. A lot of people (well meaning) didn't know what to do with me. Heck, I didn't know what to do with me. I neglected to have a plan in place upon my return to 'normal' life. It looked as though I was the biggest George Bush supporter as my college transcript was covered with a row of 'W's (for withdrawal). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So many 'wounds' had been uncovered and left that way. A born-again believer since 17, I was now not at all resembling my Savior. I drank heavily and even tried to overdose one time on my anti-depressants. My little recovery puppy, a chihuahua named Scarlet, was killed six months into my recovery. Seriously?!?!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I've struggled with 'my story'. I mourn over my actions and attitudes. I remember specifically asking the Lord to take me at the very beginning of my ordeal. I reasoned with Him that He could gain glory in my departure. So many times I wandered why He hadn't done just that. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seeing as how I am an'all or nothing' person, I couldn't come to terms with the fact that my road to recovery wasn't nice and pretty. I like for things to look well done. I just wanted my story to have clear transitions. I was sick. I got help. I lived happily ever after singing the praises of the Lord. Period.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Lord handled me in a way that I didn't see coming. I thought I would experience a Paul salvation moment. A bright light would shine. I would be given instructions about what to do. I would never be the same again. Well, here's what happened:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was December of 2002. I was at a piano bar in Dothan, Alabama. I saw this really good-looking guy. With a hint of liquid confidence I approached this guy and said, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Spiderman?" (He favored Toby Maguire.) He told me that his name was Ross and he got my number.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He tried calling me a few times, but I wouldn't answer his calls because I had met him in a bar. (Hypocrite.) So I returned to that same piano bar the following February. Guess who was there? Mr. Ross K. Granted it was only his 2nd or 3rd time ever being there. I, on the other hand, felt like Norm from <i>Cheers</i> when I walked through the door and everyone exclaimed, "Ammmmyyyy." (Only partially kidding.)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I explained my reason for not answering his calls. He said that he would call me again. We realized that he would be in Troy the following weekend at my apartment complex. (We discovered that we had mutual friends.) <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The meeting at the apartment led to a date. He picked me up and took me to the beach on a dinner cruise! Our conversation revolved around the fact that we each knew Christ, but we were not walking with Him. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So here's what the Lord did. He showed me that by choosing to stay in my sin, I would be missing out. My sin was costing me... <b>everything. </b> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ross and I dated two months and got engaged. We married five months later. The Lord lovingly drew us to Himself, both individually and, ultimately, as a couple.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We were married for three months and then we moved to Louisville, Kentucky where Ross began seminary. I did have continuing struggles with anxiety and depression, but the Lord bonded us through those times. My husband comforted me and loved me when I felt so unworthy of either response. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ross is now a full time pastor and I am a stay-at-home mommy to our two little ones. Ellie Kate is 3 1/2 yrs old and Emmett is 1 1/2 yrs old. I love, love, love what I do. My babies are so precious to me. Emmett's newest thing is to lay his head on my shoulder and hug me while saying, "Awwwww Weeee." I'm “gone eat him aw up,” as Ellie Kate would say.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am at a place now where I can give my testimony. I have shared with a small group of women, and I was quoted in the Alabama Baptist newspaper in an article about eating disorders. The Lord has brought me to a place where I can accept my story. I know that I made some terrible choices in the process, but it makes me all the more grateful for my Savior's love and mercy. After all, if my story only pointed people to me then it would indeed be a wasted story.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whatever challenges we face, I know that God is in control and I am blessed to walk with my Lord through today and each coming day.” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Amy, thank you so much for sharing your incredible earthquake story. I know that it will bring hope to many who are suffering in silence, feeling isolated and alone. All of us have our inner battles and demons to fight. But I believe that when we bring secrets out into the light, they lose their power over us. Your honesty, vulnerability, and humor are inspirational. Your voice is powerful and brave. Your story of redemption is a beautiful blessing for all who hear it. Keep speaking your truth, sister. It does set us free.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Amy’s family blog:<o:p></o:p></i></div><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="color: #395eab;"><a href="http://www.therosskilpatricks.blogspot.com/">www.therosskilpatricks.blogspot.com</a></span></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-2032860307480331062010-05-05T09:14:00.000-07:002010-05-05T09:28:06.410-07:00Time Bomb Ticking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5K2mfIaVNS0JyN8d1-3BwWDf0qYuyeTJOeZYyf6bLPCOtdLHZiGm29wps-7JPaztejK_xuxRyqzQhyphenhyphen78mGnrBWdwjcKt_Rsr-Ze5yE6fSYgB9stzWJGGHSgajLIIZHDOkHJX6uQ6fe8/s1600/bxp42035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5K2mfIaVNS0JyN8d1-3BwWDf0qYuyeTJOeZYyf6bLPCOtdLHZiGm29wps-7JPaztejK_xuxRyqzQhyphenhyphen78mGnrBWdwjcKt_Rsr-Ze5yE6fSYgB9stzWJGGHSgajLIIZHDOkHJX6uQ6fe8/s400/bxp42035.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It was a long, busy weekend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wonderful wedding of the baby of one of my kindergarten friends. Hosted the brunch for 60 the next morning, went home and packed, got 5 hours sleep, left for the airport in a storm. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back to LA in time to help <i>my</i> baby pack for a study-abroad trip to Europe. Took her to the airport, after rushing by Target for last-minute necessities. Errands, then back to babysit James while his parents went to their small-group gathering.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He’s always funny when he hasn’t seen me for a while. Plays tricks. Laughs a lot. Flirts up a storm with me. Makes me fall in love all over again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked down to the Farmer’s Market and picked up some fresh fruits and veggies, then came back to Munchkin Manor. Still on Georgia-time, I could hardly keep my eyes open. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will spare you the details of why a bath was necessitated, but there was just no other way to deal with a potty situation. While James splashed away and talked to himself and his bathtoys, I lay down on the bed in the next room. (Don’t worry: I’d hear him if he drowned.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He had a grand old time in there, splashing and laughing. I rested my eyes for a little bit. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until I decided he was probably turning into a prune. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But he wouldn’t get out. I’d pull the plug on the water, and he’d stop it back up. So I just sat there on the toilet for a while, too tired to argue. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He pulled the shower curtain closed and hid from me. Then he slowly peeked around it and gave me the most utterly adorable, delicious little grin before diving back into the water.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And a pang of déjà vu hit my heart so hard I almost fell off the toilet:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For a millisecond, he was his mother, 26 years ago. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now this is a little strange, because he looks pretty much (exactly) like his daddy. But every now and then, I’ll see an expression on that child’s face that came straight down the maternal line. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have a faded picture of his mommy in a bathtub with that very same delicious little grin on her face. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure why it hit me so hard. Maybe because I was tired and jet-lagged. Maybe because I’d been with kindergarten friends over the weekend. Maybe because I’d just put my baby on a plane to Europe. Maybe because we’ve gotten some bad news about a family member’s health. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe all of the above.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It just about did me in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was wonderful and sad at the same time. The inexorable passage of time, and all that. Sunrise, sunset. Violins.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But it had a twist to it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because at the moment I felt it, there was also a stab… of realization… of astonishment…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">that when his mother gave me that little grin 26 years ago…when I snapped that picture…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">all the while, behind those big aqua-blue eyes of hers, behind that mischievous smile,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">in the back of that precious little head,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">a silent, hidden monster grew.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And no one knew.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not writing this to make every young mother who’s reading become enveloped in a blanket of fear. I’m not trying to be melodramatic nor instill panic. My purpose is not to evoke a mental series of worst-case “what ifs.” The vast, vast majority of a mother's worst imaginings never come to pass.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But I wonder…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">if I had had even an <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">inkling </b>of the existence of such a beast…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">if I could have conceived that there was a time-bomb ticking away in that tiny blonde head…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">what would I have done differently?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Apart from the scenario of doing everything humanly possible to prevent its detonation.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How would I have lived differently?<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Would I have had more patience?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Would I have been softer, gentler?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lived more in the moment?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let the unimportant stuff go?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Spent less time on my house?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Would I have loved more, laughed more, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">lived</b> more?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Cherished more?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wonder…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I had been given a grim glimpse of foreknowledge into the future…if I had understood how precarious it all was…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Would it have made every second matter more? Made every day more precious?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wonder…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">because we’ve all got time bombs ticking away in these earthly tents of ours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And none of us know the day or hour when they’ll go off.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Francis Schaeffer asked, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“How, then, should we live?”<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">***************</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><i>"...What I mean, brothers, is that the time is short..." (I Corinthians 7:29)</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGkdVBjE80hTB8RIT_Sot-IQ9DdA-Q8lxfRouE6H_4I9L2ZSnXwFp_2_EJnVrfM3RRKD1t_KSjCBHIpM2ewCqx08UlLj5PltaEZ4v5Hz5F2JHeuppUnfLsx7A0HlsNGjTEvkeaQjtrI0/s1600/IMG_0930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGkdVBjE80hTB8RIT_Sot-IQ9DdA-Q8lxfRouE6H_4I9L2ZSnXwFp_2_EJnVrfM3RRKD1t_KSjCBHIpM2ewCqx08UlLj5PltaEZ4v5Hz5F2JHeuppUnfLsx7A0HlsNGjTEvkeaQjtrI0/s320/IMG_0930.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
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</b></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-19903569768613120152010-05-05T06:09:00.000-07:002010-05-05T06:09:50.924-07:00Sometimes I think Blogger exists just to drive me insane.<br />
<br />
For instance, I've been fiddling around with trying to make the font size and spacing consistent on the previous blog. I had to put it up "as is" yesterday because of time constraint.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the 'preview' will look normal , but then it will be screwed up again by the time I hit "publish."<br />
<br />
For my 50th birthday, a friend gave me a cute little book about what NOT to do after the half-century mark. One of them was something like "I will NOT allow gadgets to get the best of me!"<br />
<br />
We helped each other with that when I was home. I taught her how to do one new thing on her Mac, and she returned the favor. We were jubilant because, <b> a.)</b> We didn't have to pay the Geek Squad a hundred dollars for two measly questions, and <b> b.)</b> We didn't have to endure the eye-rolling and loud sighing of our college-age children.<br />
<br />
WE CAN BEAT THE SYSTEM!!!<br />
<br />
Old ladies of the Internet, UNITE!<br />
<br />
Any tips are welcome.<br />
<br />
Thanks, the ManagementKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-85896473147671290142010-05-04T08:27:00.000-07:002010-05-05T05:53:19.868-07:00Becky and Marielle<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><br />
</b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Becky's Story</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"...If you have capacity for another earthquake story, here is mine. </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I lost my younger brother Tom to suicide eleven years ago at the age of 34. He was a wonderful Christian man with a heart as big as Texas. He lived in Denver after college having fallen in love with the Rockies as a young boy and was a superb athlete, focusing on cycling, mountain climbing, and triathlons. He was well loved and respected by many, evidenced by having four children named after him before his untimely young death, including my younger son, Tommy. Unfortunately, he battled severe clinical depression, particularly in the last six years of his life. He never married, fearing he would pass on the gene. He was hospitalized twice with debilitating bouts that lasted for several months each. Approaching another, the disease took away his hope and he hung himself and went to heaven to be with Jesus. He left a tableau of items neatly arranged on his kitchen table: a note to his family telling us he loved us and asking for forgiveness from God, his Bible open to the passage in Matthew about Jesus driving the demons out of the swine, and family pictures. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Police came to my parents door in Kansas City to give them the worst news a parent could ever receive. Then my parents called me and my middle brother with the same tragic news and in the blink of an eye, the world we had all known had been shattered in a million pieces. I am struck by how it seems that very often it is the phone that delivers the news of sudden earthquakes in our lives. Somehow, my husband got me on a plane home to Kansas City a few hours later. I remember him helping me pack, and breaking down with the thought that I was packing to attend my little brother’s funeral who had died by his own hand. It was impossible to process at the time. Then I had the thought that the only thing I could imagine that would be worse than this would be if it were one of my own sons. And then it hit me – that’s what my parents were experiencing. They had just lost their baby. And our family would never be as it once was. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The plane was stalled at the gate at National after boarding. I was just staring out the window; numb, shocked and grieving. Then an image appeared in my window. It was an image of Jesus in burgundy robes sitting next to a seven year old blonde haired little boy with his fists up to his eyes, crying. It was exactly the face of my brother at that age. Jesus had one arm around him in the most reassuring way. The image stayed in the window until we took off about twenty minutes later. I knew it was significant and somehow found the presence of mind to write down a description of the image on the back of my office directory, the only piece of paper I had on me, so I would remember it. In the days and weeks and months and years of grieving that followed, I returned to this image again and again. It became Psalm 34:18 to me - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"God is close to the broken-hearted."</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> It became a message from God that my brother was safely in His arms. It became "mourning with hope". </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I did many years of what I call "bibliogrief." I read everything I could on depression and suicide. I interviewed Tom's friends, doctors, business colleagues, neighbors, anyone that would talk to me, to piece together pieces of his life and final days. I had to find a way to get my arms around what had happened. Suicide is such a unique grief, because it is accompanied by so much anger and guilt for the family, especially a Christian family. You ask yourself a thousand times over, "What didn't we see?" "if only . .", "what could we have done to prevent him from doing this?", “How could he have done this to us?”, “Is he in heaven?”, “Can God forgive this?” I got involved in suicide prevention and suicide survivors groups, and a group addressing the response of the faith community to suicide and its survivors. It was all helpful in my grief journey as I traversed from anger to understanding to peace. But I kept coming back to the image. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When my brother died, thank goodness we were in a small group Bible Study at our church, The Falls Church, as that group was a rock for us during those initial months. A woman we had met in the group was also a talented artist. Mary became a dear friend and I learned that she had also lost a sibling just a few years earlier. We talked a lot about sibling loss and that common connect to your childhood. A few years later, I told Mary about the vision and asked her if she would paint it for me, just so I would have a visual reminder of a time when God literally came down to touch me deeply in a time of need. Mary took the assignment on as a special spiritual project. It took many years to complete, but I knew Mary was the only one who could paint it with the reverence it deserved. And she captured it just as the way it was in my airplane window. We named the painting "The Comfort". </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I still miss my brother and, at times, I am still seized by grief for his loss – the waves still come unexpectedly and there is nothing to do but let them come. Ecclesiastes says “there is a time for weeping”. And when the loss is great the weeping is also great. But God has taken me on a healing journey and has enabled me to rest in the peace that he is with Jesus and without pain, and one day I will see him again in heaven... </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think prior to my own earthquake, my faith was real, but not really tested. And truth be told, I relied more on my own perceived abilities to get through life than on God. But I found one of the greatest lessons of an earthquake is understanding fully our complete and utter dependence on God for everything and that we are most definitely not in control. The other great lesson is compassion. I had never really been in a place where life was just so painful and hard to face that I didn’t even feel like I could get out of bed in the morning. So I think tragedy also serves to open our own clenched and prideful hearts to others’ pain in ways we couldn’t before, because we have been at the bottom of the well ourselves. And sometimes it just takes an earthquake to “get it”. It did for me." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Marielle's Story:</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> </b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">...My husband and I are about Katherine's age, and we are newlyweds (been married for a little over 2 years.) Our first year of marriage, I had a cancerous tumor taken out of my salivary gland. This was followed by radiation for 6 weeks. The experience was devastating. I had my surgery right around the time that Katherine had her stroke. I definitely hadn't expected my first year of marriage to look like this!</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Shortly after I finished radiation, I took on a very stressful job (I had just gotten my Master's degree right around the time of my surgery). This job stressed me to the point of giving me chronic digestive issues. I still have them, and have faith that the Lord will heal me of the daily pain and discomfort that I am facing. Thankfully, the cancer is in remission, praise the Lord! :) My prognosis looks good, and in the autumn, my husband and I plan on trying for children.</span></span></b></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Both yours and Katherine's blog has been the biggest godsend in my life. Always a pessimist by nature, I agonized over what had happened to me and had little hope for the future. As if my physical ailments weren't enough, my emotional issues really took a toll on my poor husband. He tries to be here for me, but he is human after all. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Reading Katherine's blog, and yours, has really helped me to increase my faith in God, taught me lessons about suffering in marriage, and how to be a mature Christian. It is a lot of hard work.... as I'm sure you know! Even on the mornings when it is hard to get up, I think, "maybe Katherine or her mom will post something today," and that helps to cheer me up. Really. Both your blogs have brought me to tears and inspired and encouraged me so much. So thank you, for being open and transparent with your lives and experiences.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">***************</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thank you so much, Becky and Marielle, for your willingness to honestly share your painful stories. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Both touch upon a topic that I feel is still greatly misunderstood. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Depression is a very serious and devastating condition that can affect anyone. Although there may be precipitating factors, clinical depression can rapidly become a biochemical issue which, if not treated, can be life-altering or, tragically, even life-destroying. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It is not a faith issue or a strength-of-character issue. I have known many very strong people of great faith who have succumbed to this complex condition. It is naive and simplistic to believe that people suffering from depression can just "pull themselves up by their bootstraps." That can be like telling someone with cancer to "get well" without undergoing treatment. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sometimes it is not possible to climb out of the slimy pit of depression without help.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I feel that anyone suffering from depression deserves great compassion, not judgment. People I know who have experienced both intense physical pain and severe emotional pain have told me that they would willingly choose the former over the latter.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Including me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">**************</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I waited patiently for the Lord;</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he turned to me and heard my cry.</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He lifted me out of the slimy pit,</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">out of the mud and mire:</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he set my feet on a rock</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and gave me a firm place to stand.</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He put a new song in my mouth,</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a hymn of praise to our God.</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Many will see and fear</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and put their trust in the Lord.</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Psalm 40:1-3)</span></i></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">If you are experiencing severe depression today, please know that there is </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hope.</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I promise.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></div></div></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-47964311086981498462010-04-29T10:22:00.000-07:002010-04-29T10:33:36.580-07:00More Sisters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gtBxlaE_AXAfNAI8s4GR-P35qQuk4oSaIoclI_PEv7h_LxgarJPaxfWJ4To3otL0-5-q_0-nEsHoUb7gx08T3_JGMtbck8KBvdU3hQIqP84mMum7_yuXtwm7DLVwKdoT578HOfH04rM/s1600/Girls_holding_hands-510x332-480x311.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gtBxlaE_AXAfNAI8s4GR-P35qQuk4oSaIoclI_PEv7h_LxgarJPaxfWJ4To3otL0-5-q_0-nEsHoUb7gx08T3_JGMtbck8KBvdU3hQIqP84mMum7_yuXtwm7DLVwKdoT578HOfH04rM/s400/Girls_holding_hands-510x332-480x311.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's a privilege to introduce you to two more of my new Survivor sisters...</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>From Cheri:</b></span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"...The first post I read of yours was about you Missing Katherine. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Missing</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> has become a great part of my life. I don’t think it was a word I had ever really thought about before. Missing always seemed so temporary.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That is until my earthquake...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My earthquake happened December 7, 2003. That’s when I was initiated into </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the sorority</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Of suffering.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> My 20-year-old son suffered a TBI as the result of a drug overdose. It still shocks me that I actually wrote that last sentence. A traumatic brain injury. My son. A drug overdose. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, what shocks me the most is that I can write it without the shame I felt for such a long time. Only God, through Jesus Christ, can take away that kind of shame.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes, an earthquake, that’s a good way to describe it. Unexpected. Devastating. You can’t stand. You don’t know when it will stop. You reach to hold on to someone else but they are falling, too. Is it real? Is it really happening or has something you saw on television found its way into your mind and into your dreams? But, as things start to crumble, you know it’s real. And you soon realize that, even though all you had, God created in the first place, when He puts things back together again, it will all be different. Good, as He can only do good, but different. Scars, cracks, brokenness, at least until we see Him face to face. We are still finding parts of ourselves in the rubble. Six years later, we still find broken dreams, crazy out of control emotions, memories that have been hidden under piles and piles of a former life. Most of the time, I would rather it all stayed buried. I get tired of dealing, of hurting, of remembering. But God calls us to go through it all. Finding the brokenness so it can be healed. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am reminded over and over again, especially hearing about Katherine’s faith before the AVM, of God’s grace. Only </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our God</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> could show the same grace to my son who messed up so badly, who made such a stupid choice, who was running away from God, (just like his mother) and your daughter who loved God and was sharing Him with others. Only </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our God </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">could love them both so completely. So perfectly. Only </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our God</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> could give two broken mothers the same strength, comfort and peace that trusting in His goodness brings. Only </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our God </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">could give us both the assurance that even though this isn’t what we wanted for our children and at times we absolutely hate it, we know. We know that as much as we love them, as much as our heart cries out to have our babies back, for their lives to be as if we dreamed and planned, we know. We know that His plans for them are better than ours. We know that they are much safer with Him than with us and we know that the part of them we miss, that He’s not missing it at all. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He knows right where it is.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> He’s holding it tighter than we ever could."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thank you for your precious words, Cheri. No one understands as well as someone who's walked in the same shoes...down the same long hospital hallway. You and your family will stay in our prayers.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Check out Cheri's wonderful blog at:</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #395eab;"><a href="http://www.hisbenefits.blogspot.com/"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">www.hisbenefits.blogspot.com</span></i></a></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"></span></i></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><i></i></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><i><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From L.:</span></b></i></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">"...It was very shortly after beginning my employment here that my "earthquake" hit... </span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">It was discovered that my husband of 20+ years had been involved in an on-going adulterous relationship with a co-worker. He eventually walked away from our family, including our then 15 and 19-year-old sons, the eldest was a freshman here at S. My life was turned upside down and inside out in an instant. But that was only the beginning. The eruptions and tremors continued to occur through the many more unbelieveable discoveries over time. </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> Even now, eight years later, they continue. He has refused any involvement with our sons - has not seen nor communicated with either son in that eight years. He completely walked out on his life, including all our friends, to start over with the other woman and her sons as if he had no other past. A man who had worked faithfully with one employer for 20 years, has now lost 3 jobs since leaving causing alimony to be intermittent at best and creating further economic disruptions, all while continuing to send hateful mail blaming me for the circumstances of his life.</span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">While those are the details of the disruption of the volcanic explosion, there is so much more. God surrounded me with wonderful godly support as only He can - family, friends, counsellor, attorney - all believers who walked me through every phase. And even though I'd rather not have to continue to deal with things of the past, God remains faithful! As you have testified in your circumstances, there is victory - praise Him!!! My eldest son graduated from S. and is working in his dream job - the place that as a young boy he knew he wanted to be - Associate Recreation Minister on staff at the church of his childhood. My youngest is a senior majoring in Engineering - which is what he has always wanted to do!! God is so good!! And I will walk here at S. on May 15 to receive my B.S. Life is truly good!!</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">However, there were times I thought that life would never hold meaning ever again. I had been involved in Women's Ministry through my church and those doors had closed. But God has opened new doors in another community of faith, and He has renewed His call on my life of ministry to women. It looks very different than before, but it is an amazing journey! He is the source of renewal and restoration!!</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Even as I share with great joy the victories, there are still great challenges. That's what I hear in your writing - they just don't ever seem to stop. Yet that's life here on planet earth. Not until we are in Paradise for all eternity will the suffering and sorrow cease. Until then, the heart of flesh that He continues to grow in me feels with great enormity all the pain around me. And it is precisely that heart of flesh that is actually a portion of God's heart given to me so that as I submit, becomes the avenue to minister to others. Oh how hard that is. Some days I simply want to withdraw into "my own little corner of my own little room". But then, my Jesus takes my chin and lifts it up to gaze into His loving eyes, and I feel His loving arms holding me securely. </span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Kim, the reason your words resonate with so many, is because we humans have or will at some point experience explosions, earthquakes, volcanoes and the accompanying pain and sorrow. We are held up by each other knowing we are not in this alone. And it's not the misery that comes our way that we gravitate toward, but rather the words of vulnerability from others sharing their angst over our very same struggles. But we don't stop and tarry there - we grow closer to those who share the victories in the midst of all the suffering - the HOPE that we all cling to! That's what your blog has done for each one of us - it continues to spread HOPE!!</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">And even as we are ministered to through your writings, we listen to your heart as if we are sitting across the table over a cup of tea bearing your burdens with you! You are not alone! We are here with you!!</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Thank you for sharing your life and your love with each one of us!! You remain in my prayers!"</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">As you remain in mine, L. during this next challenge. I agree... "We are held up by each other knowing we are not in this alone." What a gift that is! Thank you for your kind and encouraging words.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">***************</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">"Carry each others burdens..." (Galatians 6:2)</span></span></span></span></div></div></span></i></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #395eab; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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</span></span></span></div></span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-24220155685039927632010-04-27T10:00:00.000-07:002010-04-27T10:00:16.230-07:00Big Fat Pink Eraser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmkHxdqVuW-7C3Px9bkUiaMEAYWL2J_7GV6fcFo51vGHBYW4DIX33Wsz1LkzuvZEcWeRBvMPhXmZ5iXcJ3BTmXxBNdZUjtA9oWeMkbUyub0Cq5P434Wo-3EfZKkHiAHjFlBDCYwtTRPU/s1600/as5740.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmkHxdqVuW-7C3Px9bkUiaMEAYWL2J_7GV6fcFo51vGHBYW4DIX33Wsz1LkzuvZEcWeRBvMPhXmZ5iXcJ3BTmXxBNdZUjtA9oWeMkbUyub0Cq5P434Wo-3EfZKkHiAHjFlBDCYwtTRPU/s320/as5740.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Sometimes I wish I could get a big fat pink eraser and rub out certain things in my life.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Painful events…bad memories…<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mistakes and missteps I’ve made…<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thoughtless words I’ve said that hurt others…<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Relationships that have been more harm than good…<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Erase them and blow away the gritty residue.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Wipe them off my slate.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Scour them out of my toilet bowl.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Pretty up my life-line. White-out the smudges. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Delete whole chapters.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Make it all pink and green and pretty and happy. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I was a neurotic first-born child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was in elementary school, I’d be mortified to get a “B” on my report card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be in either Citizenship (“talks too much with other students”) or Math (brain doesn’t operate that way.) I would be humiliated by my “failure.” So I would get an eraser and try to smudge that big bright “B” right out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least fade it enough so I could make it look like an “A.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Failing at that, I’d apply a little spit to the tip of my finger and rub it like Lady MacBeth washing her hands. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Told you I was a neurotic child.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">But guess what…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Not only would I rub out the offending mark, I would rub a hole right through the paper. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">That</b> was even less pretty.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I’m not exactly sure what triggered these thoughts. I guess it’s the number of painful things I’ve experienced...or my children have experienced...in recent years. Sometimes I wish I could make them all go away like a bad dream. Erase them from my life. Or at least from my consciousness. Pretend this or that hadn’t happened to me; undo this or that I’ve done. Press rewind and edit out that hurtful remark coming from my mouth… that stumble…that fall. Trash the painful episodes; rewrite the script. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">But, remembering my old report cards, I realize that can’t be done without leaving a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">hole.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">And (please forgive me here) we can’t be <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">whole</b> with <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">holes.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">We cannot eradicate certain fibers of our story’s parchment without negating the very fiber of our existence. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Our</b> fiber. All of the marks and splotches and spilled ink have made us who we are…are helping us to become who we need to be.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Like they always say about the Weaver…the dark threads are necessary for the fabric to have depth and richness and lustre.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">So it is with the story of our lives, written in indelible ink.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i>...more sister stories next time...</i></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-34678383653581439982010-04-25T16:10:00.000-07:002010-04-25T16:10:25.722-07:00Sisters<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Believe it or not, I am still continuing to receive deeply moving stories from fellow sisters of "SOS." The bravery and resiliency of these women challenges and inspires me. Their willingness to share their stories is generous beyond measure. The knowledge they share of treasures gleaned from darkness is an enlightening gift. Thank you, sisters, one and all, for your vulnerability and trust. </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b>An excerpt from Kelly's story:</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"...I was thrilled to learn that I was pregnant yet again - I always knew I needed three children. My oldest son turned 5 right after we found out we were expecting, and my youngest was 3. My husband and I were so excited, and my oldest son, Matthew, was thrilled!! Matthew was dying for a sister - I did not think that would be such a bad idea, either, seeing that I was one of three girls. He was so determined we were having a girl that I found myself continually, throughout my pregnancy, repeating this phrase - "Matthew, we are so lucky that God decides what baby is best for our family - that may be a girl or it may be a boy." Well, we like to keep things a surprise around here and chose, as we did with the other two, not to find out the sex of the baby. As my pregnancy moved on, Matthew began to call the "baby girl" Joy - and, if I'm honest, we all did - he had me convinced we were having a baby girl. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On March 30, 2009 our baby boy was born and I knew I was meant to have three sons!! Shortly after his birth, my OB came back in the room and asked to speak to Matt and I alone - I was so scared and had no idea what he was going to say. He informed Matt and I that he had a strong suspicion that our baby had Down Syndrome. I will never forget that moment for the rest of my life - not because of the "Earthquake" shock but because God's Holy Spirit was in that room with us and wrapped His arms around my husband and I. The first words spoken after Dr. Kouri's announcement came from my husband - "We are the absolute best parents for this!" There were no tears at that moment - just a celebration of the life God had blessed us with. After we had told the shocking news to our parents and everyone had gone home - we were finally able to hold our little bundle. I forgot to mention he was in a bit of oxygen distress after birth so he had been in the nursery. I sat there and held Vaughan and cried a mixture of tears. I grieved the baby Joy I thought I was having, I grieved for the baby boy that was going to struggle, but mostly I felt real fear as to what this would all mean for our family. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">News travels fast in our town and the next day we were inundated with precious friends at the hospital. They would all come in the room and not know what to say, and then they would see we were the same Kelly and Matt - just anxious about an awaiting Chromosome Karotype that was going to confirm the diagnosis. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But the strangest thing happened and I did not realize it until the end of that next day - almost EVERY person that came to visit us in the hospital said something about </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Joy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">!!! "What Joy that child will bring to you!" "I have a friend that has a cousin with Down Syndrome and she is the most Joyful child!" On and on it went - I finally looked at Matt and said, "Well, Matthew knew all along that God had picked out our special baby named Joy!" </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our Earthquake, like yours, has been one that has shown me the transforming love of God. I know that he has been with us through the sad and uncertain days- and there have been some - and He has shown me His love through my two older boys that have loved Vaughan in the most unconditional way possible. We were advised to not tell the boys about Vaughan's DS and I am so thankful for that advice because they have had the opportunity to teach all of us some pretty valuable lessons.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am so sorry for the long email - I just wanted you to know that your story helped me tremendously as a mother </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">before</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I experienced my Earthquake. Now that I have experienced an "Earthquake" of my own - I know from your experience to enjoy and make the most of the journey God has planned for my family.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thank you and many prayers to your family!</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b>f</b><b>rom D.:</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">...I wasn't going to write because I didn't want the emotions of "my earthquake" to get me shaking again. I don't even know when it started, which makes me sad. I was so trusting and maybe arrogant about my marriage. I truly believed that when I stood at the altar and said my vows in front of family, friends, and...most of all, God... that it would be forever. We went to couples bible study together, we had prayer together, we made a life together. Most importantly of all, we had three children together. Of course it was going to be forever.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When he walked out the door and I learned of the other women, I was shattered. My earthquake did not destroy any material things, although it would have been easier. It destroyed me and my children. I could not see past the rubble. There were days that I didn't think I could go on. My heart was broken into a million pieces</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. I then learned that this women was an agnostic and had been living in an open marriage. The pain that my children would be exposed to this type of life-style was more than I could bear. They moved in together. How could God not only destroy me but do this to my children? </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It has been five years since this earthquake occurred. God has done a miracle in my life. I am amazed at how He has healed my heart. He is a physician. He has allowed me to forgive. He is full of compassion. He has allowed me to laugh again. He is full of joy. He has become my bridegroom. The love of my life who will never let me down. When I look past all the destruction and ashes from this earthquake I see the greatest gift.....sharing my story of death and resurrection with others. This is my gift to Him!!!</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***************</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Serendipitously, I "happened" to run across the following teaching of Beth Moore this afternoon. I've been really sick this week...sick enough to be pretty much bed-ridden for the past couple of days. Irritable, ill, and impatient, I found myself listening to Beth speak on our current topic of earthquakes. She echoes some of what's been said, but also brings up some provocative new points to consider.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>If you are not familiar with Beth, not from the South, and not familiar with this type of speaking, perhaps a little forewarning may be in order: A Bible Study teacher from Texas, Beth is what we might refer to as a "large personality." Her style of teaching may be a bit different from what some of you are used to. But her honesty and passion are very genuine. She has lived through many major earthquakes, of which severe sexual abuse as a child was only the first. </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>These teachings were aired on the program of a pastor with whom I'm not familiar, and he adds commentary at the beginning and end. If you just want to hear Beth, fast forward.</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <i>If interested, go to:</i> </span> <a href="http://www.lifetoday.org/site/PageServer?pagename=bth_media">http://www.lifetoday.org/site/PageServer?pagename=bth_media</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>and scroll down to:</i></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">Life Quakes</span></strong><em>Part 1:</em> Video - <a class="style7" href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://lifetoday.tv/qt/2007/10/71024.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" target="_parent">Quicktime</a>, <a href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/swf/2007/10/71024.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Flash</a> Audio - <a href="http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/mp3/2007/10/71024.mp3" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">MP3</a> Text - <a href="http://www.lifetoday.org/site/DocServer/10-24e.doc?docID=1248" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Transcript</a><br />
<em>Part 2:</em> Video - <a class="style7" href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://lifetoday.tv/qt/2007/10/71031.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" target="_parent">Quicktime</a>, <a href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/swf/2007/10/71031.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Flash</a> Audio - <a href="http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/mp3/2007/10/71031.mp3" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">MP3</a> Text - <a href="http://www.lifetoday.org/site/DocServer/10-31.doc?docID=1263" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Transcript</a><br />
<em>Part 3:</em> Video - <a class="style7" href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://lifetoday.tv/qt/2007/11/71107.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" target="_parent">Quicktime</a>, <a href="javascript:;" onclick="MM_openBrWindow('http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/swf/2007/11/71107.htm','myWindow','resizable=yes,width=579,height=304')" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Flash</a> Audio - <a href="http://salemnet.vo.llnwd.net/o29/lifetoday/mp3/2007/11/71107.mp3" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">MP3</a> Text - <a href="http://www.lifetoday.org/site/DocServer/11-7.doc?docID=1283" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Transcript</a></span> </i></span><br />
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</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-28317856850229551152010-04-22T07:32:00.000-07:002010-04-22T08:33:02.490-07:00Fran's Story<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was July 24th 2000. I was in my kitchen preparing dinner for my husband and two daughters. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our oldest was home from college after just completing her freshmen year. Our youngest daughter, a rising 9th grader was out with friends. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I leaned over the sink to drain the pasta when the phone rang. In that mundane task, something I had done so many times my life was about to change forever.. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are no words on this earth strong enough to express the sadness we were about to endure.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My husband's sister and brother-in-law had been in a terrible accident.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> They were on their way to the beach for a family vacation. We were told on the phone to travel to the hospital an hour and a half away. We would be given the details on our arrival.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> We knew that they were traveling with all 6 of their children plus 2 young girls from Belarus that were staying with them for the summer. These girls were in the USA for medical treatment and dental work. The Chernobyl power plant disaster left the children with severe medical problems. Our sweet M.A. and T. were <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">dedicated to helping these girls get the care they needed. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When we arrived at the hospital we were greeted by the Highway patrol Chaplin. He gave us the news that there were </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4 survivors</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. Our 16 year old nephew, 8 year old niece, and one of our beautiful twin nieces 13 year old M.T. The other survivor was one of the 12 year old girls from Belarus. Our nephew was left with only a broken collarbone, what a miracle. Three days later our niece M.T. went to heaven to be with her twin sister and the rest of her family. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Highway patrol said that the truck that crossed the median took 2.8 seconds to take the lives of M.A. and T. along with four of their six children.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Although sweet Nastia from Belarus did not survive we were thrilled to find out from our nephew that she had become a Christian and been baptized while staying in their home. The driver of the truck was also killed instantly. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This was a family that loved the Lord. They had dedicated their lives to serving him. Everyone that knew them loved them. The day we told our nephew that they were gone his words were "They are with Jesus." What an amazing legacy they left in these two surviving children. Just one week after the accident we traveled that same rode home with our two new children. We were a family devastated and grief stricken. We knew that everyday God was going to pick us up and keep us moving because we could not have survived otherwise. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What a gift it is to feel God's hands so clearly knowing HE is there with you keeping your knees from buckling to the floor. We will always miss them so much and feel sad for the years we have spent without them. We really miss seeing the children grow up.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will soon have an empty nest! Our once wide eyed frightened little 8 year old niece is now 18 and about to leave for college in the fall. Our nephew married last year and is doing well. He is about to finish graduate school.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We are a family that was changed in 2.8 seconds.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> We can look back now and see the ways God cared for us over the past 10 years. At times it seemed way too hard but we are well and so blessed. We are a family.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thank you for letting me share. It has meant so much to me to see how God has given you your miracle in Katherine's beautiful story of healing. I pray for her almost everyday. Please keep blogging. I know there will be many more miracles to come.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fran</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Thank you so much, Fran, for taking the time to share your story. It is truly inspirational. God is able to make the </i><b><i>unbearable</i></b><i> bearable...if we let Him. </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>p.s. And thanks so much to <a href="http://www.ivyleagueinsecurities.com/2010/04/i-am-thoughtless-i-am-thoughtful/">Aidan</a> at Ivy League Insecurities for making my post on "Survivors" a "charm" on her blog today. It's an honor.</i></span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-73090823825635997222010-04-21T15:09:00.000-07:002010-04-21T15:09:45.721-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<div>Okay, technical people. Here's a puzzle for you:</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've just gotten several emails saying that Blogger will no longer allow them to post on the blog.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Blogger must have changed something.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Before, if you followed these instructions you could post:</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">1. Hit "comments" at the bottom of this post.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">2. Under "Choose an identity," enter your google account (gmail, etc.) if you have one. If you do not have a google account, hit "sign up here."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">3. Type in your existing email and password. (2x)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">4. Under "Display name" you can put your real name or a fake one...I don't care.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">5. Try to decipher the squiggly letters under "Word Verification" and type them in.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">6. Check "Terms of Service."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">7. Hit "continue."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div>Now, it doesn't seem to give you the option of commenting unless you have a blog account such as Google, Typepad, Wordpress, ETC.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">WHY DO THEY TRY TO FIX THINGS THAT AREN'T BROKEN???</span></b></div><div><br />
</div><div>I just set it to allow 'anonymous' comments, but the first inappropriate or mean comment I get, I'm outa here.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anybody know how to fix this?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Pretend you're talking to a first-grader. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Make that pre-schooler.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Thanks!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Love,</div><div>Kim</div><br />
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</span></span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-68441837968037182222010-04-21T07:57:00.000-07:002010-04-21T08:06:07.711-07:00Survivors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUzF1VSY_agkd6DZJg21kh8uOISvSO85RX2Re0QQCN7em2hhfweOzcXBXiC520ce4DTgYNylXXKKVdeCsI9JOUHKcBgHJoxo2BiwfKDpBFgzjSJQHljyoH7BNDGdHAkpKebWYHJoqzgY/s1600/P4090276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUzF1VSY_agkd6DZJg21kh8uOISvSO85RX2Re0QQCN7em2hhfweOzcXBXiC520ce4DTgYNylXXKKVdeCsI9JOUHKcBgHJoxo2BiwfKDpBFgzjSJQHljyoH7BNDGdHAkpKebWYHJoqzgY/s320/P4090276.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(The week before the earthquake.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">For my generation, it was, “Do you remember where you were when Kennedy died?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course we remember. They’d wheeled these giant old black and white TV’s on stilts into our elementary classrooms so we could watch history unfold. Walter Cronkite told us that our handsome young President was dead. The grown-ups were crying, so some of us did, too. Nothing like it had ever happened in our happy little post-war lifetimes. The President was like God. He didn’t <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">die. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But he did.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Later, we saw shocking images in vivid color. Our elegant, patrician First Lady climbing on the back of a convertible, her pretty pink Chanel suit splattered in crimson blood. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nothing would ever be the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">It was striking how many of my sister-survivors wrote about the moment they first knew the house was coming down. They recall the exact moment when the mundane and commonplace was invaded by the surreal and unthinkable. Fran wrote, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It was July 24th 2000. I was in my kitchen preparing dinner for my husband and two daughters...<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> I leaned over the sink to drain the pasta when the phone rang. In that mundane task, something I had done so many times, my life was about to change forever</b>. There are no words on this earth strong enough to express the sadness we were about to endure.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Our new friend <a href="http://jodyrlanders.com/">Jody</a> returned from an intense mission trip to Africa, only to discover that there was an earthquake at home: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I stepped off the plane yesterday and quickly learned that my life as I knew it was crumbling. My husband made a full confession of past unfaithfulness, resigned from his job, and was waiting to tell me upon walking in the door.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Another friend shared, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In September of 2009 we were told that we would never get pregnant on our own. The Earth shook and has yet to stop.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Exactly two years ago on this day, April 21, 2008, our family experienced a 10 on the Richter scale. We thought we’d weathered major earthquakes before, but understand now that they were only tremors. I remember exactly where I was when I answered the phone that day. (On my bed.) I can still sense myself sliding off the left side and beginning to walk around to the end of the bed when <a href="http://katherineawolf.blogspot.com/2008/05/talitha-cumi.html">words</a> formed in my head. Then I went into the closet and started packing for would turn out to be a never-ending journey.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">One minute</b>: life as it’s been. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The next:</b> life as it will be from this point on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Utterly, totally, incomprehensibly changed forever.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the space of a breath. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>A breath. <o:p></o:p></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Inhale. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now exhale.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That quick.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Fran wrote, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We are a family that was changed in 2.8 seconds.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve heard from brave survivors of many different kinds of earthquakes. With one exception, none of us could have even begun to imagine what lay ahead. If you’d told us, we probably wouldn’t have believed you.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But suddenly, the world is upside-down.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And you’re just trying not to fall off.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve learned that these sudden earthquakes come in many shapes and forms. I’ve been graciously entrusted with stories of infidelity and infertility. Tragic and fatal car wrecks. Drug overdose resulting in permanent brain injury. Children born with Down’s syndrome. Cerebral palsy resulting from negligence. Divorce and abandonment. Aneurysms and brain tumors. Cancer. Death.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">S. bravely shared her story of sexual abuse. M. wrote of the seismic waves that occurred in her family with the discovery that her two siblings are gay. <a href="http://frommyfrontporchinthemountains.blogspot.com/2009/09/frances.html">Misha</a> lost everything in a hurricane. Elizabeth shared her struggle with life-altering panic attacks. T. wrote of her horrible experience with carbon monoxide poisoning that resulted in coma. My friend <a href="http://theretardedmother.blogspot.com/">Marianne</a> has lived through more than one earthquake: a child born with Down’s, and another baby stillborn. Evidently, sometimes lightning does strike twice.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Just ask Job.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In several cases, the earthquake came immediately on the heels of times of celebration and joy… as if the Cosmic Forces were playing a cruel joke. Sandra Bullock found out her husband was a sex addict the week after winning an Academy Award. Marielle developed cancer shortly after her wedding. Rachel was diagnosed with lymphoma two days after giving birth.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Reading these stories over the past two weeks has been emotional and sobering. Because these things didn’t happen in a movie. They happened to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">people like us.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">People like you.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">me.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Elizabeth wrote, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We are all broken and experiencing earthquakes of all kinds. Katherine's brokenness may be more obvious on the outside, but it is no different than the pain and suffering we </i><i><b>all</b></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> must face in this broken world.”</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">L. concurred: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“We humans have or will at some point experience explosions, earthquakes, volcanoes and the accompanying pain and sorrow. We are held up by each other knowing we are not in this alone. And it's not the misery that comes our way that we gravitate toward, but rather the words of vulnerability from others sharing their angst over our very same struggles. But we don't stop and tarry there - we grow closer to those who share the victories in the midst of all the suffering - the HOPE that we all cling to!”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I believe that’s the bottom line. None of the stories I received was devoid of hope. In spite of the tragedies, there have been great blessings and many dark treasures. New lives and second chances. Maybe even <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">because of</b> the tragedies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We earthquake survivors want and need to share the hope we’ve been given. When we hear a faint cry for help coming from underneath a pile of rubble, we want to get a shovel and dig. “To comfort with the comfort we’ve received.” To offer a cup of water.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having read these stories during this anniversary week, I’ve been trying to live a bit differently. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">More aware of how fragile life is/we are.</i> As I’ve gone about my errands, I’ve been a little more patient with people. As soon as an irritable or judgmental thought starts up, I’ve tried to nip it in the bud. Even at the gym yesterday, when the college kids were getting on my nerves. I almost ran into one, a petulant tiny blonde with a disdainful “I-smell-dog-mess” look on her face. But I just felt this rush of softness and compassion instead of annoyance. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Because only God knows what that child may go through tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">None of us know what any of us will go through tomorrow. Or even this afternoon.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We need to treat each other more gently.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">“For the Son of Man in his day will be like the lightning, which flashes and lights up the sky from one end to the other. But first he must suffer many things and be rejected by this generation. Just as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating, drinking, marrying and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the flood came and destroyed them all.” (Luke 17: 24-27)</span><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
The week after the earthquake:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PwDLXeyJPDtRxfpUwo1ERFHEZwkeqCfdMua57f1EIE35o-7ns5NWdXb5GoEZLnsUSRWm0CL7n1lTGIRefkA4esPd-3WlxTlhRbnAq2tBzx_rbRZBURPRg1Em9XPS0WKzNbV5RCf56OU/s1600/P4230308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PwDLXeyJPDtRxfpUwo1ERFHEZwkeqCfdMua57f1EIE35o-7ns5NWdXb5GoEZLnsUSRWm0CL7n1lTGIRefkA4esPd-3WlxTlhRbnAq2tBzx_rbRZBURPRg1Em9XPS0WKzNbV5RCf56OU/s200/P4230308.JPG" width="151" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlF_yNMotU0BOerXU4Mvh3iZbBErGR1GkYvuz7v5CUbdPf_FgEP8UVHj-84a9r2xk8NhVYeGL0vDOHMTeMA5NdmdprmmmLStPFB2OWIp3a62wXACjqkzKG8CLNrZg3SeF8k01pMpocHY/s1600/P4220299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlF_yNMotU0BOerXU4Mvh3iZbBErGR1GkYvuz7v5CUbdPf_FgEP8UVHj-84a9r2xk8NhVYeGL0vDOHMTeMA5NdmdprmmmLStPFB2OWIp3a62wXACjqkzKG8CLNrZg3SeF8k01pMpocHY/s200/P4220299.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlF_yNMotU0BOerXU4Mvh3iZbBErGR1GkYvuz7v5CUbdPf_FgEP8UVHj-84a9r2xk8NhVYeGL0vDOHMTeMA5NdmdprmmmLStPFB2OWIp3a62wXACjqkzKG8CLNrZg3SeF8k01pMpocHY/s1600/P4220299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ys8T6IRsDwNjEQcLedphsLwm41Fm626ptV5fw7unhYh-q3dltGOShAO62jnqjJYjWarzWNtr2aEDOtJEoLvE54GnDlktZiE_LxCt2Bg6qqan2opOdJc3T4jaCrsvwHePQ2FniN4IqkQ/s1600/P4270363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ys8T6IRsDwNjEQcLedphsLwm41Fm626ptV5fw7unhYh-q3dltGOShAO62jnqjJYjWarzWNtr2aEDOtJEoLvE54GnDlktZiE_LxCt2Bg6qqan2opOdJc3T4jaCrsvwHePQ2FniN4IqkQ/s200/P4270363.JPG" width="151" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*Next time, I will be sharing Fran's story. It's unbelievable.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-14382119275934811842010-04-19T06:35:00.000-07:002010-04-19T08:14:06.362-07:00S.O.S.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxQGaNA5fn9llQvW8RDxitKNTZDwGyai7f44rfQrAmGKOaj05-OQVtdRKrrGlZe_TzFaarNml8Lhr16ntdDrUnXN2vGmzvUwbjylAAeHjb6eiAbCRE1Hi11We6HRO5YBfyzj14o3VF34/s1600/61917-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-A-3d-Green-Grass-Sprouting-In-Dry-Dirt-And-Spelling-SOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxQGaNA5fn9llQvW8RDxitKNTZDwGyai7f44rfQrAmGKOaj05-OQVtdRKrrGlZe_TzFaarNml8Lhr16ntdDrUnXN2vGmzvUwbjylAAeHjb6eiAbCRE1Hi11We6HRO5YBfyzj14o3VF34/s320/61917-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-A-3d-Green-Grass-Sprouting-In-Dry-Dirt-And-Spelling-SOS.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">There is a secret Sorority of Suffering.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The pledgeship is hard.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The initiation rituals are terrifying and heartbreaking.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once you’ve joined, your life will never be the same. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unlike the case with most sororities, you are not given the privilege of choice in the matter. But once you’re IN, there’s a choice to be made. Actually, many, many choices.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have met some wonderful new pledge sisters and alumnae in the past two weeks. Earthquake survivors, one and all. That’s not to say that they haven’t been injured or even maimed. But they have chosen to survive and thrive, in spite of the devastation wrought by their respective earthquakes and their forced entry into SOS. (Sigma Omega Sigma?) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We speak the same language, know the secret handshake.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We have all made the choice to chant the letters of our sorority (SOS!) at those times when we can’t go on. And we’ve received the help for which we’ve cried out.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There have been secrets learned in the dark.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">“And I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness—secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, the one who calls you by name.” (Isaiah 45:3)</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> Our worlds have been rocked.</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s like this:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You’re going along your merry way, thinking the way it <b>is</b> is the way it always <b>will be</b>…with only minor variations in circumstances. You’ve got a plan. It’s all mapped out. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then the floor drops out from under you.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The walls crumble.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The chandelier comes crashing down on top of your head.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You are covered in rubble and dust and ashes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Life changes forever.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With no warning.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the blink of an eye.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As you begin to dig your way out into the daylight, you discover than life as you knew it is gone. All of your assumptions, predictions, projections, and ambitions are scattered around you like shards of glass. The New Normal is not normal at all. It is hard to find your feet again. The world is spinning out of control, and you want to get off. But you can’t. So you stay low to the ground at first, just trying not to be sick. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I remember falling to the floor in the ICU. The fact that it was hard made it better.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As the vertigo subsides, you have to face your first choice: Will you follow the advice of Job’s wife, and “curse God and die?” Or will you choose Life? Will you ask for help in learning how to live again? Will you become bitter, or get better? Or will you just cram your system full of every anesthesia known to man in an attempt to dull the pain?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We have the gift of choice.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve recently met some amazing survivors…new sisters…who have chosen Life, with all of its pain and imperfections. Some are naturally brave; others, like me, have been given the courage that doesn’t come naturally to them. Although the stories are all different, there are many similarities. It doesn’t matter how it measures on the Richter scale: an earthquake is an earthquake. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As my new friend Abby writes, <i>“There is clearly a pocket of believers who are searching for communion in their suffering.”</i> In the next few days, I will be sharing some of these stories. We can learn from each other. Cry with each other. Pray for each other. Help each other. <b>Be</b> with each other.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’re all in this Life thing together.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even if you haven’t gone through an earthquake yet, it’s always good to be prepared. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As much as you can be.<o:p></o:p><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-91347264070395081732010-04-15T09:59:00.000-07:002010-04-18T07:21:36.928-07:00youtubesPosted this on "KMB" this morning:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVH-qBUufg6m7FKQAyh2Y8pKPXzFM-TscIy0HCsg4ptWwPNvmUppU6km98fLceODhweHkWkrHnT8e3eSTVdWk3xrvuDcOxSnMBgFnmzswGZw99Y8i5tDLjCMH8MGAS7xZW2c15wHNReU/s1600/n3403147_37552222_7588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVH-qBUufg6m7FKQAyh2Y8pKPXzFM-TscIy0HCsg4ptWwPNvmUppU6km98fLceODhweHkWkrHnT8e3eSTVdWk3xrvuDcOxSnMBgFnmzswGZw99Y8i5tDLjCMH8MGAS7xZW2c15wHNReU/s320/n3403147_37552222_7588.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IBL8puMKtkxB6hLXeelDPOkN-34Srh3irf4w-fDJwIuo6xvaXTaXlVhy5849xAywGrvyy_lqQ3zwFbrVu4Vz3GmqK0h2JY_BGCyhbuDYtH5oY_DnFRa6MsDx6JQWdNSZ1nWq0DKlso0/s1600/2496774636_bed95be9df.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IBL8puMKtkxB6hLXeelDPOkN-34Srh3irf4w-fDJwIuo6xvaXTaXlVhy5849xAywGrvyy_lqQ3zwFbrVu4Vz3GmqK0h2JY_BGCyhbuDYtH5oY_DnFRa6MsDx6JQWdNSZ1nWq0DKlso0/s320/2496774636_bed95be9df.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">I'm sure most of you visiting this site have seen these before, but in case anyone hasn't, I'm posting them all together. Seeing the <i>before</i> and <i>after</i> in close juxtaposition does seem to illustrate the impact of Katherine's AVM rupture more vividly.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b>*Katherine and Jay's Wedding:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEYed9Foins&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEYed9Foins&feature=related</a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b>*Clips from "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?"</b>:</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ9c_K4Dkm4&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ9c_K4Dkm4&feature=related </a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwWPxzOEAS8&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwWPxzOEAS8&feature=related</a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b>* First Baptist, Pomona, CA:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k00BFb-yPK8&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k00BFb-yPK8&feature=related</a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b>*Testimony at First Baptist, Florence, MS:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59YMj7fFxfQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59YMj7fFxfQ</a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b>*Testimony at First Baptist, Montgomery:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SC7e4kKxz-4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SC7e4kKxz-4</a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">Katherine and Jay will be speaking at Bel Air Presbyterian in Los Angeles this coming Sunday.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-25283779255775013002010-04-14T09:26:00.000-07:002010-04-14T09:26:16.738-07:00Quick note...<br />
<br />
People are still emailing me their earthquake stories. I've been crying all week.<br />
<br />
If I haven't responded to you yet, please know that I am <b>so very grateful</b> for your generosity in sharing your stories with me. I've been traveling this week, so I'm behind in my correspondence. But it has been such a blessing to hear from you. It helps me to know my online friends better. Every story has been of great value. I hope to share some insights soon.<br />
<br />
If anyone else feels like responding, it's kta2754@gmail.com. A few people have said that it was cathartic to write it all out...hard, but worth it. I will, of course, honor your privacy.<br />
<br />
One more thing...once in a blue moon, I'll go back and re-read your comments on previous posts for a little encouragement. Sometimes I discover that someone's left a recent comment on an older post. <b>These comments are very precious to me, and I don't ever want to miss any.</b> SO... please feel free to continue commenting on older posts....sometimes the ones that I hope will resonate the most with people receive the fewest responses. It's nice to think that maybe somebody went back and re-read one and thought about it some more. <b>But,</b> it would be great if you could send me a note on the most recent post to tell me that you commented on "X, Y, or Z" so I'll be sure and see it. It kind of feels like getting mail at camp. Exciting! I love, love, love hearing from my readers.<br />
<br />
I love you <b>all</b>, whether you ever respond or not. It is such an honor that you take time out of your busy lives to read my words. Thank you, again, for being a part of our story. We are honored by your presence.<br />
<br />
Love, Kim<br />
<br />
p.s. Change is in the wind...Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-71258911438658487262010-04-13T12:20:00.000-07:002010-04-13T12:20:32.509-07:00Needing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQg1y8cxU8TDL5KhHxUjmnGl6-Anc3DL9aRpR8dWqTy_nojHpYF6Sq8hI-s-4oSscv8YPjGTyI-jN46yMzHy8znu3cG0B1KxAXgKduNmFLeQnXy-xx-bzO4KVLrJqp-bNbrp4gi99uVo/s1600/IMG_1712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghQg1y8cxU8TDL5KhHxUjmnGl6-Anc3DL9aRpR8dWqTy_nojHpYF6Sq8hI-s-4oSscv8YPjGTyI-jN46yMzHy8znu3cG0B1KxAXgKduNmFLeQnXy-xx-bzO4KVLrJqp-bNbrp4gi99uVo/s400/IMG_1712.jpg" width="300" /></a></div> <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is fascinating to observe the development of language in a child. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At 2 1/2, my grandson is at the stage where he is coming up with a new word or phrase almost every day. We must be careful how we speak. Cautious in the choice of words. Because we will hear them mimicked back to us in ways and at times we least expect. James is a little sponge, soaking up every slip of the tongue, every misspoken word.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">An interesting dilemma is faced at this point: If a child misunderstands the nuance of language used around him, how do you straighten it out for him? Since the development of vocabulary is in its infancy, which other words do you use in your explanation? It seems a little like looking up a word in the dictionary, only to find it defined by other words you don’t know.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For instance, one of James’ favorite phrases these days is, “I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i></b> it.” (He likes “<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">MINE!</b>” a lot, too.) The problem is that he uses it on occasions when, “I want…” or “I would like…” would be more appropriate. Our efforts at making the distinction have been fruitless so far. Think about it. How do you explain the difference between “want” and “need” to a two-year-old?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He might be sitting at the table, eating a p.b. and j. sandwich, when he calls me: “Mimi, I need some berries! I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i></b> them.” Or, more likely, “I need candy!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He could be watching Mickey Mouse on his little DVD player, when he calls me back into the room: “Mimi! Mimi! Come here, Mimi! I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i></b> Pinochi(n)o!” (Or “Stoystory.”)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The most urgent needs, however, have to do with the amazing collection of STUFF that James now carries around with him like a ball-and-chain of toddler materialism.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we’re just going from his house back to mine (10 feet apart from each other), he has to go through this frantic amassing of items to take on the trip. It’s like he’s being deported. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It started with a little lunchbox full of toy cars and trains. Then other items found their way in. Say the prize from a Happy Meal, a petrified French fry, and a dirty toothbrush. The lunchbox was soon outgrown. Next, he took over an old diaper bag. Larger items, such as stuffed animals, a blankie, and a flashlight were added. Then he advanced to a laundry hamper. You might find a ball, an Etch-A-Sketch, and one of your own long-missing shoes in that piece of luggage.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We took away the laundry basket and the diaper bag. Now it’s back to the over-packed (and extremely heavy) lunchbox in one hand; Cat in the Hat, blankie, Elmo, and a DVD or two in the other. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remember: This is just to go next door.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You should see us on a car trip.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course we try to deal with it. “No, James, you can’t take all of this stuff with you. You don’t need it.” But “I need it! I need it!” he cries, as I try to wrest Elmo away. We usually come to some sort of a compromise. But it takes time and energy. Sometimes it’s quicker and easier just to let him cart all of his baggage around with him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hmmmm.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that I think about it, that’s kind of the way I am, hauling junk back and forth from coast to coast. It’s as hard for me to distinguish <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">want</b> from <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">need</b> as it is for James. To save the time and energy involved in discriminating selection, I just throw it all in the suitcase in a haphazard way. ‘Cause I might <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">need</b> it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So many things I think I need.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear myself saying…hear others say…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I need to get a manicure.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need a new dress for the wedding.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need a vacation.” “I need some space.” “I need somebody.” “I need a new laptop…phone…Ipod…camera… whatever-gadget-I-bought-9-months-ago-that’s already-obsolete…” “I need a change.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need a raise.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need to raise some hell.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need a new house, car, T.V….body, face.” “I need a break!” “I need more, more, more.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like my grandson, I think many of us have seriously misunderstood the difference between <b>need</b> and <b>want</b>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And we want many things that are not good for us. Not God's best for us. Once we attain them, they can become heavy burdens to carry...like a 30-pound lunchbox.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do YOU need?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do any of us really <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">need</b>?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the end, it boils down to just one thing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” (</i><b><i>Philippians 4:11-13</i></b><b><i>)</i></b><b><i> </i></b><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
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</i></b></div><!--EndFragment-->Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-12792602790181528102010-04-10T08:23:00.000-07:002010-04-10T08:25:02.153-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thank you so much for sharing your 'earthquake' stories with me. They moved me to tears. I want to respond to each of you individually, but the next 4 days are action-packed...so it may be next week.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are so many un-sung heroes in the world. Your courage inspires me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A few said things like, "My earthquake isn't as big as yours." It doesn't matter. An earthquake is an earthquake. I've experienced tremors throughout my life. Whatever your earthquake is, the same principles apply.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We are united in our suffering, regardless of what form it takes. We cannot measure our circumstances against another's. Pain is pain.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am so grateful for the honor of being trusted with your stories.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will keep you all in my prayers. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">love, kim</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">p.s. If anyone else wants to share, the line's still open. Your words mean more to me than you could know. I hope to write about these stories soon. (I promise to keep everyone's confidentiality.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-85033510072531148342010-04-08T17:09:00.000-07:002010-04-08T17:09:53.895-07:00every day easter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-33336326676482949012010-04-06T17:06:00.000-07:002010-04-06T17:06:54.787-07:00Earthquake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Kristos voskres. Voistinu voskres.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It* was, shall we say, an eventful day. (*Sunday)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the morning, we packed a yummy brunch and headed to the Hollywood Bowl for Bel Air Presbyterian’s Easter service. It is…quite literally…an awesome experience. Awe-inspiring. Gives me chills. Thousands of voices raised in songs of praise. Out-of-this world music from gifted musicians. Symbolically, soft green hills rise above the scene. Bright balloons and flowers dance in the breeze, joining in the celebration of the joy of new life. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">…”</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Families and friends share scrumptious picnics. Little girls flit by like butterflies in their Easter finery. Elegant ladies dressed to the nines and debonair gentlemen in suits sit next to tattooed and leather-clad brothers and sisters. Old, young, rich, poor…every race and tribe. “Come one, come all…”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To hear the words.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Love. Joy. Celebration. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Reverence. Relief. Restoration. Rescue.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Gratitude.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My grandson James didn’t know what to think about it all. At first, he was overwhelmed. He covered his ears when the loud music was played, and whimpered, “I wanna go back (to) Mimi’s house.” After a little blood sugar boost from some Easter candy, he became a more “lively worshiper,” as we say about some denominations back South.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Luckily, we were high up in the bleachers with a wide aisle. He rolled down it, around it, and climbed up anything worth climbing. His Daddy and his cousin-crush took turns playing with him/chasing him while the rest of us tried to concentrate on the service.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Covered in strawberry stains, candy, and dirt; hair greasy from the container of Vaseline he’d applied to himself and his room… James joined the jubilation.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He konked out on the long ride home, so we snuck him into his bed as we prepared the next part of the feast. It was supposed to be a moveable one between the two houses, but Jay had made the main house so gorgeous and inviting that we stayed there for all three courses. There were eight of us at the round table, including Amie’s friend Gloria and Jay’s cousin Johnny. First, we celebrated Russian Easter with borscht and caviar. Then, we ate the main course, which is based loosely upon the Seder meal with a Southern twist. (Leg of lamb, asparagus with horseradish sauce, curried fruit, roasted new potatoes with parsley, deviled eggs, iced tea, a little wine…)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the stunned afterglow of an ‘ample plenty,’ everyone sat at the table laughing and talking. I went to get James out of bed to see his Easter basket and go on an egg hunt. Re-entering the main room, I stood yacking in the opening into the dining room. Suddenly, I felt a little funny…almost woosy. I stopped talking mid-sentence when I noticed the chandelier swinging from side to side. Matter-of-factly, native Californian Gloria stated, “</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Earthquake.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jay came back in from the kitchen. We were all frozen; not in fear, but in wonderment. Faces registered bemused amazement. We were on a ride together. Undulating waves ebbed and flowed underneath us. In a strange way, it reminded me a little of the sensation of a baby moving around inside of me. That organic and gentle. But then the chandelier started going a little crazy. Candles in sconces on the wall flickered. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I got seasick. So did several others. (One, who shall remain nameless, said she “felt drunk, but not in a good way.”) James buried his head in an armchair and started crying. I took him outside to get some fresh air. It helped with the spinning.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The egg hunt was a bit anti-climatic after the earthquake. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">THE EARTHQUAKE. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’ve finally been through an earthquake! </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I’ve felt the earth move under my feet…”</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I guess this makes me an official (part-time) California resident.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The afternoon was lazy and gentle. We had dessert (bunny cake and cookies) out in the yard and let James play. (Played </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">with</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> James.) We chilled. Slugged around. Hung out. Lay in the yard.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was nice.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But, still, there was a sense of stillness and wonder that we had experienced an Act of Nature totally outside the realm of our control. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There was no way to press pause or get off the ride. Once again…a reminder that we’re not in charge. We live and breathe under mercy.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“An </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">earthquake</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (also known as a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">quake</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">tremor</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, or </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">temblor</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">) is the result of a sudden release of energy in the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth"><span style="color: #1231b2; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Earth's</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crust_(geology)"><span style="color: #1231b2; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">crust</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> that creates </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seismic_wave"><span style="color: #1231b2; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">seismic waves</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.” </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #0020f6; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">seismic </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><b><span style="color: #9b1a13; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">adj </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> relating to or caused by earthquakes or artificially produced earth tremors. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">2</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">2. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">of enormous proportions or having highly significant consequences. </span></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Actually, our family has lived through more than one seismic shift in reality. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Of enormous proportions. Having highly significant consequences</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. I’ve experienced the ground disappear from under my feet…been shaken to the core…knocked down to my knees. Felt everything come tumbling down in an instant. Crumble. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I imagine some of you have, too. You’ve experienced instances when you realize that life as you’ve known it is gone forever. The house is falling down on top of you. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes there has to be destruction of existing structures before there can be reconstruction. Cracks in the foundation cannot always be repaired. Giant fissures separate and divide. But from the ashes and rubble come beauty and resurrection.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">***************</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In re-reading the Easter story this week, these passages jumped out:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</span></i></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus' resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people. When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the earthquake</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, "Surely he was the Son</span></i><i><u><span style="color: #001ee6;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span></u></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">of God!" (Matt 27:51-54)</span></i></span></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.</span></span></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There was a violent earthquake</span></i></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow.” (Matt. 28: )</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was an earthquake that broke open the grave on the first Easter. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“…a sudden release of energy.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All of the pent-up love energy from the core of the universe suddenly broke out. The pre-existent Energy, which caused form and substance to spring forth from void, exploded out into the visible world as a palpable Life Force. Resurrection power shook Death down to its knees. Turned it into debris.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That seismic activity produced the most "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">highly significant consequences" </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the course of world history.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because of it, there is hope for rebirth, rebuilding, and restoration from the messiest piles of rubble in our lives. There is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">resurrection power</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> available to us in the midst of destruction and devastation of every kind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because He lives...</span></b></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><i><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande';"><i>***************</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm sorry this is being posted a bit after the fact. People move on to the next event quickly. Easter is last week's news. But I've been bitten by either a bad bug or an earthquake hangover, so I couldn't finish 'til now. (The room's been spinning. )</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anyway, in re-reading what I started on Monday, I realize that I need to celebrate Easter every day, not just once a year.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm planning on posting more pictures of the day when I feel a little better.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the meantime...if anyone feels like sharing any "earthquake" stories...times when the ground has given way beneath you...I'd love to hear them. If you're not comfortable posting, you can email me at kta2754@gmail.com.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">thanks!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">kim</span></span><br />
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</span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-5152669753651545662010-04-01T09:02:00.000-07:002010-11-18T17:50:15.324-08:00Rejoicing With Those Who Rejoice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSNxxvWBVIwXgLLIuu6xAK1dU23XhsFOQB43X5wZ6rQP1mlDWcKPJpMhAtb8nowicpyq0577JWcpHMv1wwx6Bvvyfm1SjxAzTObeMoPPUUsIPI75Q9U90wtl1QWUmnfE6sLCOQUgZHhI/s1600/IMG_1640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCSNxxvWBVIwXgLLIuu6xAK1dU23XhsFOQB43X5wZ6rQP1mlDWcKPJpMhAtb8nowicpyq0577JWcpHMv1wwx6Bvvyfm1SjxAzTObeMoPPUUsIPI75Q9U90wtl1QWUmnfE6sLCOQUgZHhI/s320/IMG_1640.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve got to brag on my kid a little.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know it’s tacky. But I’m not taking credit for her virtues. She just came this way. (And she’s not perfect. Sometimes she bugs the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you-know-what</i> out of me.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She has a trait that is very rare in this world, however.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She truly knows what it means to “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rejoice with those who rejoice.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She lives it now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know many people who, when denied a dream, become bitter and vindictive toward those lucky ones who have their dreams realized. The attitude is: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“If I can’t have it, then neither should you. It’s not fair!” </i>I confess to having had pangs like that myself, so I’m not totally unsympathetic. But I have seen that envy turn into pure poison that spreads throughout a person until they are pickled in it. And then they poison everyone with whom they come in contact. I’m sure you know people like this, too. A particularly vicious strain comes out in competitive mothers who live vicariously through their children. I’ve seen instances where women grow to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">hate</b> other women whose children win more accolades than their own. Sadly, I’ve witnessed that spirit of jealousy destroy long-standing friendships. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately, a negative response to the good fortune of others is more prevalent than we care to admit. Often, it is thinly veiled by surface niceties. But I think there’s a knee-jerk sandbox reaction that can easily spring up from deep inside: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You got the toy, and I didn’t. The teacher picked you to erase the board, and not me.</i>” As if the other person took something that was rightfully ours. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I’m in a bad, dark place, it is hard for me to really <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">rejoice</b> with those who are ecstatically happy. It just doesn’t come naturally. I have to work my way around to it. Have a little attitude readjustment time. Remind myself of my blessings. Repent of my self-absorption. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is why I am so in awe of my child’s ability to feel joy for others in spite of her own situation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Her circumstances are fairly bleak these days. Accustomed to the limelight, she sits quietly on the sidelines now…witnessing others inherit her dreams. But instead of becoming bitter, she is blessed to see them prospering. She rejoices in the success of those she loves. She uses whatever influence she has to promote the achievement of their aspirations. From a place of weakness, she still manages to give others an upward boost.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At this point, Katherine realizes that many of her own long-cherished dreams will not come true on planet earth. That chapter is over. But she doesn’t sit around crying about it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think I might.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last weekend, Jay’s cousin Johnny invited us to attend the premiere of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1226232/">The Greatest</a></i>, a soon-to-be-released movie starring Pierce Brosnan, Susan Sarandon, Carrie Mulligan, and Johnny! (Simmons). Jay and Johnny’s grandmother, Muggie, flew out from Mississippi, and Johnny’s parents, Cindy and Ben, came from Texas. Johnny made the limo driver come from Hollywood all the way to Culver City to pick us up, and then back to Hollywood in early evening traffic to the theatre. We felt pretty darn cool.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The actors did the red carpet thing, and then we were escorted into the theatre for the movie. The Simmons contingent had the best seats in the house. Pierce’s family was two rows behind us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Johnny’s performance* was stellar. For the first time, he finally got to show the range of his talent. He made me cry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Katherine was so proud of him. We all were.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the movie, everyone rushed out to the reception. Katherine plodded along with her cane and Jay. It was crowded by the time they got there. We found a table in the furthest corner and set up base. I went to get drinks. Waiting at the bar, I realized that I was standing next to Carrie Mulligan. For those who don’t watch the Entertainment channel, she is a young British actor who was up for an Academy Award for Best Actress just a couple of weeks ago. (Sandra Bullock beat her out.) Fearless after my recent conversation with the Famous Movie Star, I told her that I enjoyed her performance. She was gracious and friendly. Jay came up just as I was leaving to take the drinks back to the table. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next thing I know, he’s bringing her back to our corner in outer Siberia. Where she stayed and stayed until we said the equivalent of: “Well, we don’t want to hog you. We know you need to mingle.” But she was in no hurry to leave. She was enjoying her talk with Katherine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we got back in the limo, Carrie and entourage were getting into the car behind us. “We’ll have to barbeque sometime,” she called out to Jay in her adorable accent.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In spite of everything, I still think my kid’s a star. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what she lives by:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>"The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by</i><sup><i> </i></sup><i>one Spirit into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink…</i><i><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be…</i><i><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. </i><b><i>If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it." </i></b><i>(from 1 Cor. 12</i>)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">***************</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> (*One reviewer wrote: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“<i>Johnny Simmons is the real reason to see this movie. He gives a star turn.”)</i></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">(p.s. Since I've been such a shameless name-dropper here...and since <b>s</b><b>o many</b> have asked...I might as well go ahead and tell you that the Famous Person mentioned in <a href="http://kimarnoldblog.blogspot.com/2010/02/shutters.html">"Shutters"</a> was Jennifer Garner. I suppose I felt originally that I shouldn't invade her privacy like everyone else. But, in retrospect, why shouldn't I give her acknowledgement for being such a sweet person? Go see her movies.)</div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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</span></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-88022385297940452962010-03-30T08:12:00.000-07:002010-03-30T08:28:28.746-07:00Faithful friends...Thank you all for your prayers yesterday. The surgeon feels that the surgery was a "success" although Katherine's double vision is not totally corrected yet. The two images are much closer, and the hope and prayer is that they will eventually merge into one as the healing continues and the brain re-wires. She is such an uncomplaining good sport that it amazes me. She is experiencing a good deal of pain right now. Jay has written a more detailed account on <a href="https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/katherinewolf">caringbridge</a>.<br />
<br />
We decided that it would be best if James and I did not go to the hospital since he is in such an "active" stage. One of Katherine's most faithful friends, Kelli Powers, sat with Jay in the waiting room. Kelli is a special gal. I can't begin to tell you everything she has done for us throughout this ordeal...organizing help, spending nights on the cot in Katherine's hospital room, interceding, and on and on and on. Amazing. Kelli and her husband Matt just adopted a 14-year-old boy <b>last week</b>. And she is expecting her first baby any day now. It is an extremely busy and transitional time in her life.<br />
<br />
Still, she came and sat with Jay for the whole surgery. That is sacrificial love.<br />
<br />
On top of everything else, she wrote a beautiful piece on her blog yesterday about Katherine: <a href="http://www.successisrelative.com/shifting">http://www.successisrelative.com/shifting</a><br />
<br />
I am so grateful for all of the faithful friends who have not abandoned us on this hard journey.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><b>Thank you...</b><br />
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</b>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3841954830426385247.post-32432709935724005332010-03-29T08:12:00.000-07:002010-03-29T10:27:12.623-07:00Katherine's EyesThis was originally posted on <i><a href="http://katherineawolf.blogspot.com/2009/08/katherines-eyes.html">Katherine's Mom's Blog</a></i> on August 22, 2009. As I type this, Katherine is undergoing a second complicated surgery in an attempt to correct her terrible double vision. Please join us in praying for complete restoration of her sight. There is risk involved to the "good" eye.<br />
<br />
As always, we are so very grateful for your support and prayers.<br />
<br />
Bless you!<br />
Kim<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-b3Fblyf4w7XB7LgBZD-l2NrsqZd0yIEW1NyezhtLj2M9lPjBIM7mXMbIzBrHFYuc7WD4brqTXUV49VADNosZ0TUmsU-OVthIyH8b4fql9Wu9kodSghWwtD7_g-HVF0wexnNFXiMbHg/s1600/scan00012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-b3Fblyf4w7XB7LgBZD-l2NrsqZd0yIEW1NyezhtLj2M9lPjBIM7mXMbIzBrHFYuc7WD4brqTXUV49VADNosZ0TUmsU-OVthIyH8b4fql9Wu9kodSghWwtD7_g-HVF0wexnNFXiMbHg/s320/scan00012.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #339999;"><em>“But it is her eyes that make me want to wail like those women whose “weeping was heard in Ramah.” Those big beautiful aqua eyes, clear as a pristine sea, are out of Katherine’s control. Eyes that could pierce straight through you, eyes that focused in on you as if you’re the only one that matters, now roll around the sockets like big blue-green glass marbles. The right one is infected, red, and suppurating. The pupil hides in the inner corner for the most part, like it’s afraid of what it will see if it comes out. The left is constantly jumping around, but I know she can see out of it. A tear rolled down her cheek when I showed her a picture of James. (But, tough chick that she is, she let me know she wanted to see more.) Most of the time a black patch covers one eye (alternating sides), so she looks like a battered little pirate.” </em>(“<a href="http://katherineawolf.blogspot.com/2008/04/bruised-reed.html"><i>A Bruised Reed</i></a>,” April 29, 2008)</span><br />
<br />
I couldn’t sleep last night, so I snuck out to the living room for some early-morning quiet time. We have a full house in the aftermath of Katherine’s most recent surgery, so time alone is a gift.<br />
<br />
With a click and a scroll, I time-traveled back to where we were 16 months ago.<br />
<br />
<strong>Perspective is everything</strong>, we keep telling ourselves. I needed some perspective after yesterday.<br />
<br />
***************<br />
<br />
Several months back, my mother said something like, “Well, I’m just glad I didn’t know how my family was going to turn out. We used to be so happy!” Of course, I took it the wrong way at the time. But now I understand what she meant.<br />
<br />
I am so very, very grateful that the future is hidden from us. People that consult mediums and psychics must be masochists. (Among other things.)<br />
<br />
I am filled with gratitude that I couldn’t comprehend how severe and utterly life-changing Katherine’s brain rupture was at the time. The revelation came slowly, an onion unpeeling layer by layer. The mind possesses an amazing resiliency in protecting itself. I simply could not have wrapped mine around the devastating reality all at once. Each day’s trouble WAS enough. <em>Dear Lord, please let Katherine live through the night. Dear Lord, please heal the pneumonia. Dear Lord, please don’t let the brain swell anymore... bleed anymore... Please help her to stop shaking... hurting... freezing... burning. Please let her move... speak... walk... eat... </em><br />
<em><br />
see.</em></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><em><br />
</em>As I said in April, 2008, it was her eyes that got to me the most.<br />
<br />
Katherine’s eyes were the very first thing I noticed about her. She gave me a good, long stare just as soon as she popped out, as my mother says I did to her the first time we saw each other. (Babies aren’t supposed to be able to see at that point, but we don’t believe it.)<br />
<br />
Katherine’s eyes took up half her face.<br />
<br />
They were always her defining feature.<br />
<br />
Katherine’s eyes were the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Katherine’s eyes...</strong> </em></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i><br />
</i> <em>...sparkled with the joy of life </em></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i><br />
</i> <em>...flashed with anger at injustice </em></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i><br />
</i> <em>...narrowed at hypocrisy </em><br />
<br />
<em>...moistened with compassion </em><br />
<em><br />
...crinkled with laughter<br />
<br />
...widened with wonder<br />
<br />
...saw deep beneath the surface into the very heart. </em></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><em><br />
</em> We blithely escorted Katherine to surgery on Thursday, naively expecting a presto-chango quick-fix restoration of her eyes. I was more excited than nervous about the surgery. I imagined that the surgeon would remove her bandages the next day, and her eyes would be miraculously back to normal, both aesthetically and functionally.<br />
<br />
But that was not the case.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>"What fresh hell is this?”</strong> Dorothy Parker once wondered sardonically.<br />
<br />
Katherine’s ‘fresh hell’ is that, for now, the double vision is worse, not better.<br />
<br />
Her world is grayer, not rosier.<br />
<br />
It is hard for all of us to bear.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I know that many times, things have to get worse before they get better.<br />
<br />
And most times, prayers are answered in stages, so that faith has an opportunity to stretch and grow.<br />
<br />
I thought of this story:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #339999;"><em>“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man's eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, "Do you see anything?"<br />
<br />
He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around."<br />
Once more Jesus put his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly."</em> (Mark 8:22-25)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
I’m praying for some Celestial Spit.<br />
<br />
***************<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #339999;"><em>“I will not drive them (enemies) out from before you in one year, lest the land become desolate and the wild beasts multiply against you. <strong>Little by little</strong> I will drive them out from before you, until you have increased and possess the land.”</em> (Exodus 23:29-30) </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #339999; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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</span></span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10202745403355887348noreply@blogger.com5