tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70526933185649091282024-03-12T21:00:36.730-05:00Mind MumblesNodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.comBlogger296125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-26719391717634552222015-04-17T15:09:00.000-05:002015-04-17T15:09:35.228-05:00I've Moved!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hey readers!!</div>
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You're soon going to find this site very, very quiet. That's because I've moved!! I took the plunge and moved to my own self-hosted website.</div>
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Come on over to <a href="http://www.mindmumbles.com/" target="_blank">my new website</a> and give it a look. Get familiar and make yourself comfortable, as that's where I'll be posting all of my content going forward.</div>
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I just want to thank you for being such a loyal member of my Mind Mumbles community and following me along each step of my journey.</div>
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Be blessed, and remember: www.mindmumbles.com. Bookmark it, join the email list, and we'll see you there!</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-77270271036971772712015-04-10T00:16:00.000-05:002015-04-10T10:37:20.735-05:00730 Days of Moments<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two years. Two years, Harlynn. April 9th, we learned you had already left us before we ever got to see your blue eyes, hear your cries....anything. 12:16 a.m. April 10th, you were delivered. And all was silent.</div>
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These last two years have become a collage of moments. There is no measurement of time anymore, outside of "before we lost Harlynn" or "after we lost Harlynn". Just a window where moments come and go - either waiting to be remembered, or forcing their way to the path of reliving. </div>
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I don't have lengthy memories of the sequence, or the exact events - just snippets of moments that tend to replay themselves in my mind since April made its appearance. Moments I can't forget, nor do I want to. Moments that haunt me, and moments that swell my heart with hope and anticipation of seeing you again.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">The moment the doctor said "I'm so sorry."</span><br />
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The moment my water broke.</div>
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The moment the doctor asked your daddy if he wanted to cut the cord, and the nurse asked if I wanted to hold you.</div>
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The moment I felt your weight upon my chest.</div>
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The moment your daddy held you, longing to startle life back into those lungs.</div>
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The moment I kissed your hand. Your forehead. Held your toes.</div>
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The moment my OB held me in her arms as I wept. The moment another held my face in her hands.</div>
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The moment we had people surrounding us in our hospital room, just to love us. </div>
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The moment your sister came to see you, and we had to tell her what happened.</div>
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The moment Granny held you in her arms, looking at you so lovingly and shaking her head in disbelief.</div>
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The moment I kissed your forehead for the last time.</div>
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The moment we had to choose your casket.</div>
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The moment my best friend came walking up my driveway, after driving 700 miles to be there for me.</div>
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The moment I met Michelle at your visitation.</div>
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The moment I placed my hand upon your closed casket lid, knowing you were inside, separated only by a lid of fabric - but we were already worlds apart.</div>
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The moment my boss came to the visitation and hugged me, with tears in his own eyes.</div>
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The moment your sister yelled at her cousins to be quiet, because you were "sleeping". </div>
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The moment the snow storm caused us to reschedule your funeral.</div>
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The moment we walked to the front of the church, and I had no idea how my legs were able to move. I didn't want to take that walk.</div>
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The moment right before we started down the aisle, and I saw Dana's face, and somehow knew how very loved we were, and how very supported we would be from that point forward.</div>
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The moment your namesake, Mr. Harlan, read scripture at your service.</div>
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The moment your daddy picked up your casket to carry outside, and released a heart wrenching wail. </div>
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The moment we placed your tiny casket in the huge hearse.</div>
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The moment we hugged person after person inside that church, and I couldn't believe so many had come, but I was so glad they were there.</div>
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The moment we carried you to the little cemetery riser.</div>
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The moment the sun peeked through the clouds.</div>
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The moment I had to turn and walk away from you, and I hated myself for not being able to crawl in the ground with you.</div>
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The moment we sang in church, and Beth put her hands on my back as I wept.</div>
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The first time I tried to go to the cemetery, but couldn't because of the flood preparation barriers. </div>
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The second time I tried to go to the cemetery, and it was the same story.</div>
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The third time, and the first time I got to sit by your grave.</div>
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The times your sister blew bubbles for you.</div>
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The time someone left a care package, from you to us, on your grave. The purple egg with the purple mini koosh ball inside sits inside my desk drawer, and I pull it out every time I need a little smile.</div>
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The moment your daddy went out in the cold to take pictures of the brightest moon I had ever seen, because it made us feel a tinge closer to you.</div>
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The moment Michelle told me "I think we should start <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HarlynnsHeart" target="_blank">Harlynn's Heart</a>."</div>
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The moment my friends sat in my living room, to give me a check to start your legacy, and everyone prayed together. </div>
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The moment we had a thank-you party, and sent balloons your way. </div>
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The first time I spoke to a group about stillbirth, and shared your story. I could hardly talk through the tears.</div>
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The first time I had a dream about you.</div>
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The first time I felt like I could pray again.</div>
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The moment I went with Michelle to help a family grieve the loss of baby Mauriana. </div>
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Every moment I've been with a bereaved family since.</div>
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The moment we met seven other amazing couples at Faith's Lodge, and the moment I saw my first tick.</div>
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The moments - and there are several - when your sister will tell me she misses you.</div>
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The moment we got the most beautiful gift, of a frame of four canvased pictures of you.</div>
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So many moments. So many memories. So much heartache. So much hope. So many ups, and so many downs. Two years. </div>
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Two years.</div>
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So tonight, I bought those mini chocolate donuts I constantly craved while I was pregnant with you. I'll have them for breakfast in your honor. Tomorrow, we'll take you a cupcake. I even found purple frosting. We'll sing happy birthday - if Mama can get through it. We'll send you more balloons.</div>
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And not just tomorrow, but forever and always, we'll be missing you. Loving you. Longing to be with you again.</div>
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In the mean time, take a peek down here and see how many people are supporting us. If God lets you scroll through Facebook, get a load of all the profile pictures that are all in your honor, baby girl. We are so loved. I don't understand it. I don't deserve it. But I am so beyond thankful for it. Because oh how I need it. </div>
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My heart hurts so very much. But it also hopes far more than it did in those first moments after we had to say goodbye to you. When it's my turn to walk through those pearly gates, I'll fall down in worship to the One who got me through each of these moments and then some. I'll praise Him and be completely awestruck by His love and power and then I'll say, <i>Lord....Where is my Harlynn?</i></div>
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Happy birthday, my love. Not one single day, not one single moment passes without you being thought of, missed, and desperately loved.</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-32511586321550599022015-03-24T14:19:00.000-05:002015-03-24T15:15:05.596-05:00Broken Together: My Husband Does Not Complete Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
Twelve years we've been married. Twelve years. Well, not yet, but in another couple of months. I was going to save this post for our anniversary, but I'm kind of an impatient person. </div>
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A lot of people lost bets after we made it past the five year mark. We struggled mightily through year six. And seven. <i>(and year one, and two, and...)</i> And here we are, year 12. We've been together (more or less) for the last 14 years. That's a long time when you're as young and care-free as I am. And I'm pretty young. Like...pretty young. In my heart. </div>
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I'm madly in love with my husband. He makes me laugh. He pretty much cracks me up. A lot. He holds me when I'm feeling down. He hugs me for no reason. He compliments my cooking. And my outfits. He gives me butterflies in my stomach. Either because he makes me giddy, or irate. We shuffle between those two reasons from time to time. He's super handsome, has a million dollar smile, and big strong arms. He was <b>the only person</b> I wanted by my side, every minute, after we lost Harlynn. I could not have survived life after losing her without him. My husband, in my eyes, is kind of a big deal. </div>
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I love my husband more than I thought I could love any man. Ever.</div>
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<b>But he does not complete me.</b></div>
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Wonderful as he is, my husband has flaws. He has shortcomings. He disappoints me from time to time. We argue. We disagree. We have bouts of intense fellowship. He screws up. He makes mistakes. He's even wrong once in a while. </div>
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If I, as a <b>greatly flawed individual</b> trust that another <b>greatly flawed individual</b> will complete me, my hopes in that "you complete me" junk will leave me nothing more than a sour taste of <b>brutal disappointment</b>. </div>
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Brent is a smart guy. Really smart. Sometimes he's so smart it makes me angry. Like when we're arguing about something and he's so busy making so much sense with his smartness, he doesn't understand that I just need a hug and some M&Ms. He's smart enough to know, though, that he cannot complete me. Nor does he want to even try. Can you imagine the burden of that responsibility? The overwhelming pressure and expectation of first, finding all my faults and flaws and then working overtime to compensate for those - all for me? Forget about fixing yourself or having any issues - you have to complete ME. My needs. My shortcomings. You have to make up the difference in whatever I lack.</div>
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No way. <b>No. Way.</b></div>
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Relationships aren't easy. They aren't even romantic. There are sometimes, romantic things that happen within a relationship, but the relationship itself is not romantic. It's messy. And confusing. And a lot of work to maintain. You can take a walk in the park, which might be romantic, but you can't expect your relationship to function as if it, as its own entity, were a walk in the park. Come back down to earth here for a minute.</div>
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Brent and I have been together for a long time. I know he isn't perfect (no matter how close he may come at times.) We all know I'm not perfect. Both Brent and I know, appreciate, and understand that neither of us could complete the other. Please tell me you understand the same regarding your relationship?</div>
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There is only One perfect being - that being Jesus Christ - who could complete us. Yet we struggle so often when others disappoint us. When others let us down. Because they should love us enough to know better. They should have known how their words or actions would affect us. They're supposed to be our other (or better) <b>half</b>. Without this person, I am only <b>half </b>the person I would have been before I realized I needed another <b>half a person </b>to spend my time with.</div>
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<i>Wait, what?</i></div>
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You've heard it said before that marriage isn't 50/50. It's 100/100. If two people each buy half a sandwich and mush them together, they don't have a whole sandwich. They still have two halves of sandwiches. If you're an incomplete person, mushing yourself together with another person isn't going to make a whole person. It's going to make your life complicated and insane and you're gonna have to understand a thing or two about communication, fighting fair, and what it means to commit. You can't just go mushing around with people expecting to be made whole. Stop the mushing.</div>
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There is going to be so much hurt, heartache, and suffering that you'll endure in life. Don't expect another person to complete you - in those times especially - but choose wisely who you'll allow to carry your heart for you in those moments when you can't. Choose who you'll want by your side when the only thing you see is pain. Choose who you'll allow to see you in your most vulnerable moments, and who will <b>help </b>you - not live for you, but <b>help </b>you - come out the other side of that tunnel. And if you have your person, stop expecting them to do the completing for you. Meet them in the middle. As much as you need support and understanding, they need twice as much. Well, Brent needs twice as much, because he's stuck with me. </div>
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I love my husband. I would fight, die, and haunt someone for him. He has some <strike>weird</strike> different habits, and he doesn't do everything the way I do. He raps in his sleep. (Okay, it was one time, but it was hilarious.) He knows too much about things other than how to not shrink my brand new shirts. But I love him. To the moon and back. To the ends of the earth. I would eat a mushroom for him. *<i>shudder*</i> But he does not complete me.</div>
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This song - this awesome, captivating, amazing song - makes me cry. Of course, a lot of things make me cry. But listen to this song. And keep a tissue nearby just in case.</div>
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Brent and I are both broken people. That's why we have Jesus. And because we have Jesus, we're able to hold on tighter to each other. Loving Jesus together completes our marriage. Our family. Not because of anything we do on our own. But because of everything we're able to do <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians+4%3A13&version=ESV" target="_blank">through Him</a>. </div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-39709129098345537282015-03-17T13:34:00.001-05:002015-03-17T13:34:37.977-05:00Taking Over The World One Science Lesson At A Time<div style="text-align: justify;">
An object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. The law of inertia. Even more amazing than the scientific law itself, is that I remember it at all. High school wasn't all lost on me. What's super cool is sometimes we don't even realize something is in motion until we look back and see all the ripples leading back to the very first step of action.</div>
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In this case, it was a shortcoming of mine. For whatever reason, I didn't make it in to the local United Way's women's leadership 35 Under 35 program the first time I applied. I was crushed, to say the least, and didn't even want to apply again the next year. I didn't have anything to offer more than what I had showcased the year prior. Buckling under the encouragement of my boss, however, I begrudgingly sent my application in again. I wound up getting the call I had been accepted. Class of 2012 counted me as a participant. </div>
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I met 34 other women who, with their unique and individual qualities and talents, propelled and inspired me to do, plan, and pursue goals I wouldn't have otherwise. When we lost Harlynn, they rallied around me and supported me in ways I still can't quite grasp, and will never be able to repay. So many awesome friendships came to be - and not even during the program. It was later when the buds of common interests started to bloom into the relationships they are today.</div>
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One of my fellow classmates, Kristin, invited me to a painting party last July. Paint and sip parties are such a trendy phenomenon right now, and I had been wanting to do one for quite a while. I was so excited to be able to go, and quickly submitted my RSVP. </div>
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After I arrived, the first instruction given was to choose our paint colors. I almost had a panic attack. I am <b>super creative</b>... when I am given exact instructions to follow. This meant I had to come up with my own color scheme, and the mere thought gave me anxiety. After avoiding hyperventilating and taking my sweet time in arranging my colors just so, I was able to relax and enjoy myself as I painted the most morbid looking flower I've ever seen in my life. But oh my goodness, it was <b>so much fun</b>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MYe2kG34KGm49SVkDOUdfB90xrkc9otKhdcpBsibuYkOa4oduR7SuP071WOv1ztpTF0rIHZt45tjB7z42MjvdW6UIVsVYFsLOB0TI9ljyxD6q5SCAftiFp_Tr5OEM9v79RRf2h2_Mz8/s1600/10570553_10152587425493184_248924582024701237_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MYe2kG34KGm49SVkDOUdfB90xrkc9otKhdcpBsibuYkOa4oduR7SuP071WOv1ztpTF0rIHZt45tjB7z42MjvdW6UIVsVYFsLOB0TI9ljyxD6q5SCAftiFp_Tr5OEM9v79RRf2h2_Mz8/s1600/10570553_10152587425493184_248924582024701237_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Within a day or so, I contacted the woman who led the painting party, and asked if I could talk to her more about becoming a guide. I am no artist, but I am really good at following instructions - and all instructions for the paintings are provided. I would just have to tell people which brush to use for which part of the painting, and we would all create our own masterpieces. Along with getting me out of the house every now and again, it would give me the opportunity to do what I love most: be the center of attention. Obviously, I had to sign up. Thus birthed my hobby-career as an Independent Gallery Guide with <a href="http://www.galleryonthego.com/" target="_blank">Gallery on the Go</a>. (And I've gotten a lot better with a brush since then...)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0HTP9vpEahve1qI2ZJXFdM3H3Fsf62b0m_la3ON3rKDMqEAoHNXkJlMpKFV3xuCrf0jq5Nl_r5IbtjdisEg-JSKxm73i5btKG0E5voEvA-RrAn8ZdSjbs3KJ5kjQJ0Kf_Qix4AAyAPgk/s1600/2014-11-13+21.42.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0HTP9vpEahve1qI2ZJXFdM3H3Fsf62b0m_la3ON3rKDMqEAoHNXkJlMpKFV3xuCrf0jq5Nl_r5IbtjdisEg-JSKxm73i5btKG0E5voEvA-RrAn8ZdSjbs3KJ5kjQJ0Kf_Qix4AAyAPgk/s1600/2014-11-13+21.42.43.jpg" height="200" width="147" /></a></div>
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Not more than a month later, my job was waning. Eventually, I was set free and left wondering how I could provide for my family without having to leave them behind every day. We stressed and struggled for a brief while, though God so powerfully provided for us in so many ways, I'm almost ashamed for feeling stressed to begin with. He has never left us or abandoned us, yet I woke every day questioning how we were going to survive from one financial crisis to the next. We didn't hit one crisis during that time. Not one. People followed God's nudging in so many ways, and we were always taken care of. <i>Thank you, God. And sorry about that whole doubting thing...</i></div>
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Maria, founder of GOTG, gave me a call one afternoon to see how I was doing with my new-found painting business. I told her I had just lost my job, and painting parties were my only source of income. Not knowing anything about my work history, she offered up information on a business owned by a friend of hers. She told me if I looked into it, she would vouch for me. <i>Not knowing anything about my work history.</i> She just up and offered a resource and a reference. Seriously. She's nuts. (And I love her for it.)</div>
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I went to the website (<a href="http://priorityva.com/">priorityva.com</a>) and filled out the application, knowing it was probably a long shot. I was in Corporate America my entire career, and this virtual stuff was surely beyond me. It didn't hurt to apply though, and get my resume spruced up. It would be super cool, though, doing the things they built their business on...</div>
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I've been a Virtual Assistant through PVA since November. I have three clients and I earn my living doing things I'm passionate about and enjoy doing. I write. I make fun pictures. I scour the internet for words of wisdom and content ideas. I make friends. I learn something new every day. I work for people I truly adore, and can't imagine not having as part of my life. It's a job that's been waiting for me since that acceptance letter was received, stating I was a participant of the 2012 35 Under 35 program. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ja7jdskWbS0fdSF9_DC6l7j35FiSgkYRUM-OzyBnlfQAQgs_16xWkTQE1RcAm4KZH5pKz9tWTa0exqGozNodCVyjdWgLSgTH0aavEa9gX25Y11UsGSZt6oM-sTar14Ej0sNd1eia270/s1600/PVAVal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ja7jdskWbS0fdSF9_DC6l7j35FiSgkYRUM-OzyBnlfQAQgs_16xWkTQE1RcAm4KZH5pKz9tWTa0exqGozNodCVyjdWgLSgTH0aavEa9gX25Y11UsGSZt6oM-sTar14Ej0sNd1eia270/s1600/PVAVal.jpg" height="512" width="640" /></a></div>
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I met Kristin at the appointed time, we developed a friendship that blossomed when we both needed each other, and she invited me to a painting party. I signed up to be a guide. I spoke to Maria. She had a friend who owned a business. The business owner, Trivinia, not only called me, but showed such a display of confidence in my abilities, I now work for PVA. That single painting party shaped my entire career. <i><b>Are you understanding how out-of-this-world-awesome this is?</b></i></div>
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God's plan tends to stay in motion until He carries it through to completion. It's not so much the law of inertia as it is the substance of His love and mercy for us. There are no coincidences. There is no happenstance. When things don't happen for a reason (like me not being in the 2011 class), it's because things are going to happen for a different, more purposeful reason. When plans don't go our way, it doesn't mean they aren't going to work out HIS way. For He knows the plans He has for us. (Jer. 29:11)</div>
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The ripple effect. The law of inertia. Whatever it is, whatever you want to attribute it to, everything has a starting point and that point not only got you to where you are today, but will guide you to where you'll be tomorrow. That starting point is His love and care of each of us. For you. Even for me.</div>
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A rejection letter. A painting party. An entire livelihood. He makes no mistakes. <i>Dear God, help me remember <b>you make no mistakes</b>.</i></div>
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<i>If you know of anyone who is looking for help in their entrepreneurial venture, have them <a href="http://www.priorityva.com/?team=trivinia-barber" target="_blank">contact Trivinia</a>. She has a God-given gift of placing clients with the VA who will help them further develop their platform, and launch their success. </i></div>
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<i>And if you want to paint, even if you're a neurotic perfectionist like me, <a href="mailto:valerie@galleryonthego.com" target="_blank">let's chat</a>. </i></div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-124658912829386162015-03-14T10:35:00.002-05:002015-03-14T10:50:23.728-05:00Farewell 1005<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well.....it's done. The house is sold. We don't have to run over there for more of our belongings, or to make minor repairs or adjustments, or to clean, or to do anything. It's in the name of another owner and starting a new journey under new care. No more house.</div>
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As we stood in the kitchen one final time yesterday, I grabbed Brent and choked back tears saying, "I feel like we should pray. For the new owner, for the blessing this house has been to us, and for listening for God's leading in our next steps." So he prayed. And I cried as he prayed about the memories made within those walls. The kitties. The children. The laughter. The intense fellowship. The eight years of everything we had known, breathed, and woke for.</div>
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After his "Amen", I opened the door to the basement stairwell and pointed to the jamb that contained all the pencil ticks and dates marked for Little Miss' growth over the years. I said, "Please take a picture of that." and I turned and walked out of the house for the last time.</div>
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I headed to the front, my nose still red and splotchy from crying, and took one final snapshot. That word...final. No more.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueiTksYR09oGiuHbqW-b21oNrl-LC5Grc2NAmkjlNyM-3PiGA7OLIlR00ExBaoK3mXNXNe_6e-8PdSEQQnaHrs_tLduFS-MGcudtsgx-I55X80dYPo2w5pZ1AGCBVuB5fofdp6LhX-TY/s1600/2015-03-13+10.47.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueiTksYR09oGiuHbqW-b21oNrl-LC5Grc2NAmkjlNyM-3PiGA7OLIlR00ExBaoK3mXNXNe_6e-8PdSEQQnaHrs_tLduFS-MGcudtsgx-I55X80dYPo2w5pZ1AGCBVuB5fofdp6LhX-TY/s1600/2015-03-13+10.47.10.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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More memories came flooding in. Those hedges were my project each spring and summer. It was my job to keep the front landscape looking nice. I loved it. A lot of sweat equity went into those plants. That doorstep, that my Dad helped us repair to aesthetic glory, is where I sat - in that same sweatshirt - to snap this picture that encapsulated everything I felt and experienced after losing Harlynn.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDAT_UTajiS6e30aIwxlT7ljFrEiyJsO_vdbrtU9I2DMH9KymHIWbKHfH1ju-ct7yHOphLqVFSErWSYsyOB0TYgqCN4lZGVphp0Yx5Ak3bP6FZ3V6A8n9yjMv0regezi-qNBvcixshQw/s1600/2013-06-23+12.02.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDAT_UTajiS6e30aIwxlT7ljFrEiyJsO_vdbrtU9I2DMH9KymHIWbKHfH1ju-ct7yHOphLqVFSErWSYsyOB0TYgqCN4lZGVphp0Yx5Ak3bP6FZ3V6A8n9yjMv0regezi-qNBvcixshQw/s1600/2013-06-23+12.02.48.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a></div>
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Once the tears started, it was hard to get them to stop. Don't get me wrong, we were relieved to be moving and freed from debt and the responsibilities of homeownership. It was a prayer I had been praying for the last five years at least, as I felt we were busting at the seams with Little Miss's arrival. Even still, that was our first house. Our first steps to raising a family. Our first yard. Our first check to a mortgage company instead of a landlord. For eight years, which at this point is 3/4 of our married life, we ate, slept, and breathed within those walls. It was tough to just walk away from it. So final.</div>
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At the closing, we were in the room autographing legal-speak papers for all of 10 minutes. We were handed the check, and we were done. So final.</div>
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We made the rounds in town paying off our loans and debts. We are debt-free. It hasn't sunk in yet, and I feel like I'm still just waiting for the bills to come in. But they won't. They're done. Paid off. We owe nothing. We owe no one. (Except I owe you your $5 change, Joy! I haven't forgotten!) It's so surreal. All of it.</div>
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Yesterday was such an emotionally taxing day and we were so spent. I asked Brent if he would just pick us up something "lazy" for dinner. We had celebratory Chinese food. Nothing says "I'm so done for the day" quite like chicken lo mein and pork won tons. </div>
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We put the kids to bed, I picked up a few things around the apartment that don't quite have their place yet, and I got a text from my husband, sitting across the room.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4CfgTwFy8Pa3h0rNjeRUKpdvPQd87bALmRaJQ5qyh0xAMoooe5BuWlXcF14tHSBWGxxXxu1ZG_o19NIx26_Qm5xNY8uCm-Hm18jDipyeKXt14azyTnWjwQb8S6wYWEJIozM-LRyhaKI/s1600/BlueHeadphones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4CfgTwFy8Pa3h0rNjeRUKpdvPQd87bALmRaJQ5qyh0xAMoooe5BuWlXcF14tHSBWGxxXxu1ZG_o19NIx26_Qm5xNY8uCm-Hm18jDipyeKXt14azyTnWjwQb8S6wYWEJIozM-LRyhaKI/s1600/BlueHeadphones.jpg" height="400" width="337" /></a></div>
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Oh honey. The <b>door jamb</b>!! With Little Miss' growth marks! <b><i>NOT THE STAIRWELL</i></b>!! Spousal communication at its finest. This not only represents an era gone by, but it represents we still have a long way to go in being the perfect couple. Praise Jesus anyway.</div>
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*Sigh* At least we have this picture to remember our daughter's life in that house... It is a pretty spectacular stairwell. God bless it...</div>
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And now, we turn the page. A new chapter is being written. And we patiently wait to read along and see how the story ends.</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-29892673222016482672015-03-12T14:19:00.000-05:002015-03-12T19:54:02.153-05:00The Double Life<div style="text-align: justify;">
Most people would love to own more than one home, right? Vacation in this one, live in that one, rent out this one... While the appearance of owning multiple homes is attractive, I'm not so sure it's something I'd ever look into should I have the means to afford the endeavor.</div>
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Right now, we're between two places. Our home sold, so we've moved into an apartment. We've been moving, I should say. Closing is tomorrow, but it's been an intense few weeks of getting things moved, stored, and fixing whatever we needed to at the house. While we're focusing on that, we're also focusing on making this new place our home, getting it comfortable, settled, and functional. We're stressed, a little testy, and burdened by the chore of it all.</div>
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It's a lot of work to keep up with two places! Both my husband and I have shared with one another that we will be incredibly relieved - elated, even - to have the sale of the house behind us and be able to spend our focus and energies on only one dwelling. Tomorrow morning, good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, that will be our story. </div>
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These last several days, I've realized I'm kind of caught in this place - stuck between two places - in my own life. The house, being representative of Harlynn, and the apartment, representative of the present and future.</div>
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The house was what we had planned on having. Our hopes, dreams, and ways to make them all happen, were strategically planned out from within those walls. </div>
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The apartment is everything we have, after those plans didn't happen. Not a bad result, just one far different from what we anticipated, and after the only thing we kept holding on to was our faith, after letting go of our will.</div>
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I'm stuck between those two places.</div>
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We planned on having Harlynn, bringing her home, having her and her sister argue over princess dress up clothes and baby dolls. Her life did not go according to our plan.</div>
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We planned on buying another house. That also did not go according to our plan.</div>
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Here we are, in a three bedroom apartment, serenaded by sounds of hipster music (is that what the kids call it nowadays?) and backpacks. Lots of backpacks. And trucks. So many pick up trucks. Who knew apartment living was so attractive to the pick up types?</div>
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I'm muddling through. Truly muddling. Trying to find a new place for all of our old belongings. Unpacking box after box (after box, after box...) and questioning the significance of everything we've acquired over time. Having all of Harlynn's mementos here with us, but not having the faintest clue what to do with them. </div>
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I'm finding papers and files from years gone by that give me pause in remembering what I thought my life would be at that point, and beyond.</div>
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I'm finding things I thought were lost, and not finding things I know I intended to keep (I'm not pointing fingers, but... Hubs?). I'm finding phone chargers. Tons and heaps of phone chargers.</div>
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And I'm finding that it's so much easier to just be in one place. I've been spending these last 23 months incorporating my life into Harlynn's legacy, and likewise, incorporating her legacy into my life, but never living as if the two were a part of the same me. </div>
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Now I see, they are. It's far more fulfilling to have one life. One home. One place. </div>
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As I enter this season - this one that's always mixed for me - I'm trying to bring everything together in one me. Not the grieving me, or the mothering me, or the wife me, but just me.</div>
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March brings the birthday of our firstborn, who had her own dramatic entrance into this world and spent the first month of her life in the NICU. I always go back to that trauma we experienced, and seeing her today just blows my mind. What a little lady - a Little Miss - she has become. </div>
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April brings the anniversary of losing Harlynn, and the birthday of our Little Man. </div>
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It's quite the season for me. And there will be lots of tears. But I'm not going to separate the emotions out into compartments (or boxes, sticking with the moving theme). Everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen later on is all a part of one me. One life. </div>
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No more making things harder on myself than they have to be. I'm settling in and finding out how to live here. Now. It's far easier living in one place.</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-59391412390288086862015-02-20T08:59:00.001-06:002015-02-20T08:59:28.280-06:00The Weight of Seasons<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's another season of feeling the intense weight of Harlynn's absence. As we pack up our home and decide what stays with us, stores until we buy another home, or parts with us altogether, I'm tangibly revisiting every stage of our lives from the last eight (and more) years. Anytime I happen to touch anything having to do with Harlynn, I linger on it a little longer. I hold it close. I don't want to pack it into a box, but rather, cuddle up with it on the sofa and douse it with a good cry.</div>
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It's been almost 23 months. Just shy of two years. Yet, often even still, I have trouble accepting this is my life.</div>
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I have trouble believing that night ever happened. I have trouble believing it's possible for babies to die. I have trouble believing an active baby, who apparently loved church music and chocolate donuts, isn't here to trample her toys. Isn't here to be Anna to Little Miss's Elsa. <i>Isn't here.</i></div>
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A couple of weeks ago, I was having a particularly difficult day with life in general. I was grumpy, I was tired, and I just wanted to take a nap. During lunch Little Miss hesitantly began speaking. "Mama..." I braced myself for a bargaining session on what treat she could have if she finished all her lunch, or for an inquiry on the possibility of skipping nap time that afternoon. Instead, after I curtly answered "What." her thoughts were brought to light. "I'm missing Harlynn today."</div>
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<i>Me too, sweetie. Me too.</i></div>
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I have a younger sister. I was so excited when I learned she would, too. The games of school, the imaginative tea parties, the car trips, the clothes sharing, the matching dresses and pigtails... It was going to be as precious as anyone could have hoped for.</div>
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Now Little Miss's younger sister rests in a cemetery across town. </div>
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Our middle child. Her younger sister. The sister Little Man will never have seen. </div>
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The picture taken that fateful day of Brent holding both his daughters is one that tears my heart to shreds. The beauty, for one, mixed with the evident sorrow - I can't quite handle it. So many dreams and hopes left unfulfilled. So many moments cut down to one. One moment. One picture. One.</div>
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Packing our home and moving is the beginning of a new chapter. A new adventure. That said, the story hasn't changed; it has only just continued. We don't turn this page and forget about all the pages previous. We don't leave her out of our story. We don't edit her out of our subsequent chapters. She shapes our story. She shapes our whole current purpose. Who we are as parents. As a family. As friends to fellow bereaved.</div>
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On what would have been Harlynn's first birthday, I was in the hospital, warding off premature labor with her younger brother. I didn't do any of the things I had planned in order to commemorate that day. This year, I hope to do those and then some. I hope to make a tradition for Little Miss and Little Man to remember Harlynn with us. There might even be cake. I find it important to celebrate her, and to remember the joy and anticipation she provided in our lives in the months leading up to her delivery. </div>
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I find it important to remember how Little Miss would sing to her each night at bedtime. How she would pick out stuffed animals and tell us which ones she would share with her baby sister. </div>
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I find it important to show that while we continue to grieve and venture this life without her, she isn't a source of pain for us. She never was. Her death has brought intense heartache and emotional turmoil, but her life was and is always a source of joy. Celebration. </div>
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It's important to celebrate her.</div>
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I suppose that's part of why I'm struggling putting these mementos in a box. Packing these items makes her not being here feel so much darker. I find solace in the fact the packing will only be temporary. Not near as lasting as her absence. I know they'll be among the first of the boxes I unpack once we're moved.</div>
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And just as I let the moments and memories linger with each touch of her belongings now, I'll tarry on in unpacking the same treasures after our move.</div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-62206620196006688582015-02-18T08:40:00.001-06:002015-02-18T15:52:16.752-06:00When Being Enough Isn't Enough<div style="text-align: justify;">
At least a dozen or more times a year, I see articles of varying phrases but similar points floating through my social media feed. The underlying theme is to not beat yourself up when you can't get it all done the way you wanted to, because "being Mom is enough."</div>
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The first few thousand times I read these articles I felt relief. <i>Finally! Someone understands!</i> Then I kept reading them, and the sense of understanding switched from giving myself a break once in a while, to just being okay with the mediocre. The kids are alive, and that's all anyone can expect of a stay-at-home-mom, right? Keep on keepin' on, and don't beat yourself up when you're all having Cheerios for dinner. Again.</div>
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Okay...but...really? The more I read these sentiments, the more bothered I became. Sometimes just being "enough" isn't enough. </div>
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Working from home definitely has it's perks and bonuses, but it's no walk in the park, either. Children, home, and my personal life are constantly beckoning for me, needing my immediate attention. My phone calls or video conference meetings rarely happen without me having to get up to change a diaper, calm a crying child, or refill the goldfish crackers. Multi-tasking takes on a whole new meaning when you're feeding a baby, taking notes, and trying to create a marketing plan while not tripping over the mounds of unfolded laundry. </div>
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I've said before that physical clutter gives me mental clutter. If my home is in disarray, so is my mind, which means I can't focus or function until the clutter is cleared. It's not because I'm anal about being clean, or I'm trying to impress others with any white-glove tendencies. It's because <b>my brain</b> <b>shuts down</b> if I don't pick up the toys or do the dishes. When those things can't get done, nothing else gets done, either. </div>
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Clean gives me calm, and calm gives me creativity, and creativity gets me cash. I have to have an orderly home. </div>
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Little Miss has a terrible time picking up by herself, but she loves to help if we're doing the same thing. I can unload the dishwasher with her, pick up toys from the floor with her, and even fold laundry with her. Not only are we being productive, but she's learning a lot about how to keep up after herself, and the importance of a clean, comfortable living space.</div>
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There are plenty of days where they only thing I accomplish is getting spit up on, stirring the cheese powder into the hot macaroni noodles, and praying for my husband to come home from work ten minutes earlier. Those are the days where I'm "enough". Sometimes no matter what I do, or how much I plan otherwise, <i><b>those days just happen</b></i>. And so long as it isn't every day, I can accept that. </div>
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There are weeks I've spent my entire Saturday working, in an effort to make up the hours I couldn't be productive in work during the week. Being only enough to keep the family fed and clothed cost me a day to spend care-free with all of them on the weekend. </div>
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There are times (only one time, I swear) when the laundry doesn't get washed, let alone folded, and the wife might have had to wear a pair of her husband's briefs because she had no clean underwear in the entire house. Only being "enough" doesn't get the underwear washed. That's something I don't want to have to experience again.</div>
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There are times we've made it through the entire day before I look up and realize I still have to feed everyone dinner, and I have nothing prepared and no brain cells left to think of something to cook. That's when the take out comes in, or the pizza gets ordered. Lately that's been happening more often than I'd care for, and my husband's and my waistlines are certainly paying the price. I lost so much weight after Little Man was born and felt so good about it - I don't want to gain it all back because I could only be "enough". </div>
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I can't make every day magic. I'm not under the illusion (see what I did there?) that every day will be awesome and I can be Mommy, Wifey, and Employee perfectly at every turn. There are crap days. There are days where the unexpected rips the world from right underneath you. There are days you have to wear your husband's underwear. But I don't want those days to be <b><i>the standard</i></b>. I don't want to look back and say, "<i>At least </i>I got up and fed everybody today." </div>
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I want to know I did everything in my power to be everything I wanted to be. I set out to get work done and gave that project my absolute all. I sat down to write the best article I could think of. I cooked a tasty meal for my family that will have positive bearing on our waistline and our overall health, for that matter. I washed and folded the daggum laundry, so we all had appropriate clothing to wear. I got up and read my Bible and said a prayer that was something other than, <i>"Please God, let them go to sleep...."</i> I want to close every day knowing I did <b><i>my best, on purpose, for a purpose</i></b>. </div>
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Sometimes being enough is all we can manage. But it shouldn't be all we strive for. </div>
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Now if you'll excuse me, I have a very important meeting with a Little Man who needs some pureed squash...</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-33172915061351349252015-02-11T12:40:00.001-06:002015-02-11T12:56:08.736-06:00Stranger Danger<div style="text-align: justify;">
I feel like I might have told this story before, but instead of admitting to having a poor memory, I'm just going to say this is what we, in the blogging world, refer to as <i>"repurposed content"</i>. Allow me to do some repurposing.</div>
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If you've been following this blog for any significant amount of time, you're aware I spent a majority of my working life in Wyoming as a server. My boss, <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2009/11/betty-bartender.html" target="_blank">Julie</a>, was a powerhouse mentor and taught me so much about life - and I guarantee you she has no idea I consider her such an influence. She was just the real deal. The kitchen staff taught me how to take myself a little less seriously and be confident in my abilities. Yes, the kitchen staff. They weren't teachers; most of them were on work-release. But they embraced life, and while we didn't share the same choices or passions, we shared an enthusiasm for actively pursuing all we held important. </div>
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When I wore that apron, I became not just a server, but a friend. When diners would come in, they weren't just hungry people. They were customers. Well, most of them. Let's be honest, there were some real doozies of tables, but there were some really special people who walked in those doors. There was one family who came each summer from Kentucky, and would request me by name to wait on them. I was their adopted family in their home-away-from-home. There were the regulars who shared jokes and trials throughout the week. There were friends who would come in for a burger and conversation. Few people were strangers by the time their meal was done.</div>
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The first year Brent and I were married, I called him from work one night to ask a very risky, out-there question. This is that story.</div>
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One Saturday evening, I was waiting on a table of three college guys. I remember one was named Pat, and one was named Eric. This was many moons ago, and I forget the name of the third guy. Jared? Alex? I suppose now I have to fess up to the poor memory thing. They were from somewhere in South Dakota (I think?) and on a poor-man's tour of the states, trying to take in the sights before heading back to school from break. It was either very late fall, or early winter, and it was <b>cold </b>outside. Not the most ideal time for travel, but they were having fun with their journey anyway. </div>
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At some point in serving their meal, I asked them where in town they were staying. To my shock and horror, they told me they had planned to sleep <b>in their car in the WalMart parking lot</b>. I've never been great at hiding how I feel, and when they saw the look on my face, Pat grew a little concerned and asked, "What....will someone hurt us if we sleep there?" Probably not. But it was cold. And they were <i>three </i>guys. Sleeping in a car was just wrong. In the cold. In a parking lot (where I had <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2009/10/good-samaritan-gone-sour.html" target="_blank">quite an experience</a>). I told them I had to make a phone call, and I would be right back.</div>
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I walked over to the cashier's counter and used the phone to call my husband. I started out with, "Please don't think I'm crazy." You know it's gonna be a good phone call when your wife leads off with those words. </div>
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Y'all, as those guys were telling me their plans to sleep in a parking lot, I was overcome with a physical burden. A literal weight rested upon my shoulders, and this inaudible voice told me, <i>"You know what to do."</i> I didn't. I didn't <i>want </i>to know. These were <b>strangers</b>. <b><i>Male strangers</i></b>. They outnumbered me, and even with my husband, we were still outnumbered. <i>"You know what to do."</i> </div>
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I told my husband I felt like the Lord was impressing upon me it was our responsibility to house these men for the night. In our two-bedroom apartment. With no way to defend ourselves should they turn out to be murdering psychopaths who were actually running from the law, and not on an innocent sight-seeing venture.</div>
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My husband, God bless him, said, "If you feel like this is what the Lord is telling you to do, I am in no position to stop you. I don't like it...at all...but I trust you."</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNd26TRx0k2KpiricDXIoEGq-vZJp9dnXri1iYhFFR7kp86K9eaKjI9wHkad1zQePdypceKa2GvMMmRXecFeATCdf_zKkXNndC2oBqWZrRgue4NwXyys7qfQNGFMEE9T16dq95Axj04WY/s1600/STRANGER.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNd26TRx0k2KpiricDXIoEGq-vZJp9dnXri1iYhFFR7kp86K9eaKjI9wHkad1zQePdypceKa2GvMMmRXecFeATCdf_zKkXNndC2oBqWZrRgue4NwXyys7qfQNGFMEE9T16dq95Axj04WY/s1600/STRANGER.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heart Mountain: One of my favorite landmarks in Wyoming...home.</td></tr>
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I walked back to the table and looking each of them in the eye, offered them the opportunity to stay with us that night. One of them responded with, "I don't know....are you like a murdering psychopath?" I took it as a positive sign we were both scared of that possibility of the other. That meant it wasn't likely anyone was going to die that night. I told them to talk it over, but that I had really felt like the Lord was prompting me to invite them. And we had heat. And they could spread out. And I would make pancakes for breakfast.</div>
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After work, those three guys piled in to their car and followed me home. They came in, we got them situated with bedding, and Pat called his dad. Brent overheard him saying, "I'm going to have to tell you the whole story later. But we're staying in a stranger's apartment right now. It's crazy. But it's good."</div>
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The next morning, all of us woke up (no one was murdered in the night), and I followed through on my promise of pancakes. We got ready for the day, and they followed us to church. I'm not sure how the invitation even came about, but they went with us to church. During church, the preacher invited us to turn to the book of Acts. Pat grabbed a Bible, started thumbing through, then turned to us and asked in a whisper, "Is this in alphabetical order or something?" I reached over and turned the pages to the appropriate place for him. </div>
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Afterwards, we all had lunch together (I'm pretty sure my parents treated us - yes, they even met my parents) and they were on their way. </div>
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I've never seen nor heard from them since. That said, I think of and pray for them often. Quite often. I pray Pat questioned why the Bible wasn't in alphabetical order enough to crack it open and read it for content rather than categorization. I pray they were touched by the church service that morning. I pray when they recount the events of their trip, they think "why would someone open their home to three complete strangers?" and the answer would lead them to Jesus. I pray they liked the pancakes. I pray, all these years later, that <i>one night</i> led them to a <i>new life</i> in forgiveness and freedom.</div>
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I pray, also, that I would continue to be open and trusting to the Lord's calling of hospitality. It is so important that we open our homes and our hearts to shower others with love and fellowship. Real fellowship. Not just coffee, or play dates, but intimate times of sharing and authentic community. <i>Hospitality</i>.</div>
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I don't recommend just inviting anyone and everyone into your home and putting yourself at risk of harm. I am suggesting, however, you trust God and His plans for who He places in your path and upon your heart. Those three strangers have no idea the lasting impact they left on this lady. </div>
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<i>And seriously, let's give a hand for <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-big-question.html" target="_blank">my husband</a>, who trusts the Lord leads his wife to do crazy things, and supports me in those wild ventures...</i></div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-10372121088905832472015-02-07T20:09:00.003-06:002015-02-07T20:09:59.769-06:00Ten Things I Almost Stopped Hoping For<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh boy. Here goes. I'm doing a study in Malachi right now. One of the previous assignments was to make a list of 10 things you've "almost stopped hoping for." Almost stopped? <b><i>Almost</i></b>. The kind of hope that hurts when you admit you have it, but you don't want to give it up completely because you desire it with every fiber of your being. The kind of hope you <i>just can't let go of</i>, because it would diminish that dream and cause you to question why you ever hoped for it to begin with. The kind of hope that remains a flicker for those "just in case" possibilities. Ten things I almost stopped hoping for. <b><i>Almost</i></b>.</div>
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The assignment went on to suggest sharing that list with a few close Christian friends. <i>No way,</i> I thought. <i>How embarrassing to let anyone in to the inner-most depths of my personal dreams.</i></div>
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Why embarrassing? Because someone else probably dreams better. Bigger. More relevant. More spiritual. More obtainable. More significant. Because someone else dreams different, and <b>that makes me completely insecure</b>.</div>
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So I'm blogging about it. For all. the. world. to. see. It's terrifying. And liberating. And out there. And making me a little bit nauseous. </div>
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I wrote this list just over two weeks ago. Three days later, items one (a different house) and two (being debt free) became a stark reality, when our house sold without us even listing it. Two items - <b>boom</b>, <b>boom </b>- fulfilled. Please tell me that excites you a little bit, and you can sense the incredible significance? Items one and two, marked off my list, within days of putting down in writing I had almost lost hope for them completely.</div>
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Number three, <b>a reliable vehicle for Brent</b>. Our entire relationship, he has driven some doozies. I just want him to have a car or a truck or a tank or a bus that will keep him safe, that won't nickel and dime us, and that he can haul our most precious cargo - our children - in, without wondering if he'll make it across town.</div>
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Four. <b>A book deal</b>. I have no idea how to go about pursuing one. I don't have a book written. Or started. But I want to write one, and I want someone else to want me to write one. I want to tell God's story in a way that He has shown us His existence and presence. I want to put it in black and white. I want people to look past my author picture and see His bigger picture of love and life for them. </div>
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Five. <b>Being <i>invited </i>to speak</b>. I speak at several events and gatherings, but because I volunteer, excitedly, and say, "I'll do it! I'll speak!" Some day, somewhere, someone will say, "You know who would deliver that message well? Val. Let's ask her."</div>
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Six. <b>A sense of style</b>. Lord help me. I don't know how to dress, accessorize, or shop. I text pictures of my outfits to friends and say, "Can I wear this?" and then they text back and say, "No. No, you cannot." and I try again. I just want to look as put together as the mannequins in the window, but that seems so much harder than it looks.</div>
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Seven. <b>A trip to Ireland</b>. One of the only countries I've ever wanted to visit enough to motivate me to get a passport. I still don't have a passport. But if I did, I would want the first stamp to be my trip to Ireland. Something about the green grass and the sheep and Riverdance. I don't know, I just want to go.</div>
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Eight. <b>Taking a cruise</b>. <i>Wait, do I need a passport?</i> The cruise I most want to take, and won't require a passport, is to Alaska. I just can't imagine. The beauty, the Bering Sea, the bears. Cruise me to Alaska.</div>
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Nine. <b>Meeting <a href="http://angiesmithonline.com/audreys-story/about-audrey/" target="_blank">Angie Smith</a> and <a href="http://marybethchapman.com/feb-20-2008-one-year-ago-today-i-wanna-be-sure-im-going/" target="_blank">Mary Beth Chapman</a></b>. Both married to men who I've always wanted to sing with (which I've totally lost all hope for; I just don't see it will ever happen.) and both mothers knowing the inexplicable pain of losing a daughter so loved and cherished, and finding a way to cling to God through the journey of life without her. I want to meet them. I want to hug them. I want to sit in Nashville, at the Pancake Pantry, and laugh and cry, and dribble my syrup in front of them. I want to take a picture of us, the three amigas, with our cute little scarves (that my friend texted approval of and said I could wear). I want to pray with, for, and beside them. I want to soak up their encouragement. They have helped me in ways they'll never realize, but their lives have been a completely palpable well of strength to draw from in my own journey.</div>
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Ten. <b>A routine at home that always works</b>. There won't be an <i>always</i>, because there is an exception to every rule. But I want a routine that actually stays a routine. I want to wake up in the morning by my alarm, and crack open my Bible before I crack open my Facebook feed. I want to have time to pray over and prepare for my day before getting breakfast ready. I want to shower and get dressed and have my hair dry before my 9:00 a.m. meetings. I want to play with my kids and read them stories. I want to be productive. With work. With laundry. With meals. With dusting. Lord, the dust... I want to have slotted time for snacks and Candy Land and baths. I want to not chase my tail and wonder, at the end of every day, why I'm so tired. </div>
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So I was excited when the first two were seemingly knocked off my list! Maybe there is hope for the rest! <i>Right</i>?</div>
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<b>Confession time</b>. We hit a bump in our road. Since I'm an independent contractor (self-employed), we can't count my income toward a mortgage until I've been at it for two years. I've been at it for two months. The homes we were considering, we don't qualify to purchase. We'll be renting for a while. Perhaps a long while. This was a sucker punch. A blow to the ego. A deflating feeling. How could we have just sold our home and now not be able to buy one we need? I was frustrated. I was doubtful. I shook my figurative fist to the heavens and questioned how He could let this happen. The plan was to spread out! Give ourselves some elbow room! Now we may have to rent for more than six months? We may have to downsize even further and for longer? And all for information I would have loved to have known before we accepted an offer on our home!</div>
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I stopped. Right in my tracks, I stopped. <i>I am the one</i> who has been verbalizing messages of encouragement. To keep trusting. To keep hoping. To know God's got this. Got all of us. <i>I am the one</i> who was boasting of being enveloped in the peace of God, and trusting His mighty plan. And then <i>I am the one</i> not walking that walk. </div>
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I had lost hope. <i>Almost</i>. All over again. I prayed. I repented. I'm trusting again. <b>Hoping</b>. The truth of the matter is: God is bigger than any amount of hope I lose. For that matter, <b><i>He is bigger than any amount of hope I hold</i></b>. There are no obstacles for Him. There are no bumps in the road. There is only the outcome. No matter what that may be, it's perfect. Whether in my time or His, it's <b>perfect</b>. </div>
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I may have almost stopped hoping <i>for </i>things, but I will not stop hoping <i>in </i>Him. </div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-28422449219140499162015-02-05T14:26:00.002-06:002015-02-05T14:26:54.938-06:00The Big Question<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our whole household is sick, which is a real bummer. We had several plans made for the remainder of the week that have since been cancelled so we can hunker down and concentrate on getting well. We've got multiple boxes of tissue open and strategically placed around the house. We're loading up on vitamins and snuggles, and hope for this to soon be but a distant memory. All the down time, though, has given me a lot of time to think. And question. And wonder. <i>Uh oh</i>.</div>
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The other night as Brent and I were headed to look at the first home in our search for a new dwelling, it struck me how life just happens - mostly without our consent or permission. So much of what has transpired in my own life is not at all what I imagined or anticipated. It's not all bad. It's not all good. It is what it is. It struck me, nonetheless.</div>
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I reflected on these truths as we were headed to a potential new home for us, wondering what stories the walls of our next dwelling would collect. I turned to Brent as he was driving and asked, "Did you ever think you'd be married to me and end up with kids one day?" It may have seemed an obvious answer, but I was asking in all sincerity. His answer, sweet as can be and without hesitation was, "Uh, yeah. Pretty much from the first time I met you."</div>
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And yes, I swooned.</div>
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But then I thought even more about it. I suppose upon more honest introspection I would have rephrased my question to ask him, <i>"Is your life with me living up to all you anticipated or expected it to be? Am I living up to your hopes and dreams of spending the rest of your life with me?"</i> Without hesitation he answered <b><i>yes</i></b>. It wasn't about the trials we have been through as a couple. As parents. It wasn't about the moves we've made, the choices we've been faced with. It wasn't about the fights we've had or the compromises we've made. His answer was all about the big picture for him.</div>
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He knew he wanted to marry me and be the father of my children. He didn't have to know more than that. He didn't know what that road would look like. He didn't know the obstacles he would face in that journey. He didn't know we would uproot and move to another state. He didn't know his wife would get lost in fits of rage, suffering from PMDD. He didn't know our firstborn would come two months prematurely. He didn't know we would lose our second daughter, Harlynn. He didn't know his journey to fatherhood would be such a treacherous one. He didn't know he'd have a son with a hearing loss. He didn't know any of it. He couldn't have known a single piece of it. But <i>he chose it anyway</i>. From the first time he met me. </div>
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It doesn't matter what we've hurdled over, waded through, or found ourselves stuck in. What matters is the bigger picture: we're together, and that by the grace and mercy of God. We stayed together when either of us could have turned foot and walked away. When times got tough, we fought our way through. Together.</div>
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I was more than a little humbled by Brent's unrehearsed (and super romantic) answer. It was a special moment I'll forever tuck away in the folds of my heart. I asked a big question, and I got a big answer. </div>
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I don't deserve him. I don't. I'm far from perfect. And yes, so is he. I sometimes cringe when I see the Facebook posts or other social media shares of ideas and ideals that encourage women to wait for <i>the perfect guy</i>, and here are several fantasy-laden, unrealistic traits you'll be able to identify him by... I am baffled there are people who buy in to the fact a soul-mate, who will never insult, hurt, or befuddle them, actually exists. We're people. We're imperfect. We'll always screw up. Every last one of us. </div>
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Brent and I don't have the perfect marriage, or the perfect relationship, but we've got it pretty good. We both have a faith in which our relationship is grounded. We both are, and have been, continually surrounded and lifted up in prayer by others. We respect one another. We admire one another. We don't always enjoy the other's company. We don't always see eye-to-eye. We don't always <i>like </i>each other. But by golly, we made a vow. And when it comes down to it, we're crazy about one another. <i>Because </i>of the other, sure, but mostly crazy <i>about </i>one another. Our relationship is not always easy, but <b>it's always worth it</b>.</div>
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In the big picture, I struck gold with Brent. No doubt his reward is in heaven for sticking life out with me. Say what he will, he never could have imagined life would have him settled down with a mess like me. And for that lack of creative imagination within him, I'll be forever thankful. Well, for that, and for his spider-killing skills.</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-20862199127220969212015-02-01T07:00:00.000-06:002015-02-01T07:00:01.684-06:00Peek-A-Boo: I See You!<div style="text-align: justify;">
To say it's been a crazy week would be a bit of an understatement.</div>
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About 3:00 on Sunday, my husband and I randomly came to the conclusion we were going to get our home ready to list by the end of the week. Through more random (though, obviously divinely appointed) events, we ended up showing the house and accepting an offer by Wednesday of this week, without ever having listed. Now, we're up against a six-week timeline to find somewhere to live while we bide our time in scoping out a new home to purchase.</div>
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Yes. In a matter of 72 hours, we went from staying put to sold.</div>
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I "vlogged" (can there be a better word for this, please?) about it. </div>
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We hustled this week in so many ways, going so many different directions, and all while trying to figure out what in the world was going on. But it was awesome. Then I couldn't sleep. For three nights in a row. Then I kept forgetting to eat until I was ravenously hungry, grabbing the quickest things I could shove in my mouth. It was starting to get a little trying.</div>
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By Friday, Little Man started to act not at all like himself, and developed a fever. Now he's been crabby, clingy, and crying. We're not sure if he's ill or teething, but he's a pitiful little dude for sure, and it's heartbreaking to see him so miserable.</div>
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Brent was gone for a while Saturday morning and again in the afternoon. After the events of the week, and the emotional toll of everything taking place in such short order, I was spent. Absolutely spent. At one point just before dinner, I had finished feeding Little Man, sat at the table, put my head in my hands and cried. Sometimes you just have to cry a little bit. It was only a minute or less, and when I pulled my hands away from my face, Little Man was staring right at me and began to smile his big, toothless grin. He thought I was playing peek-a-boo. I had covered my face, after all, so naturally it was time to play.</div>
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I giggled. Oh child. Peek-a-boo.</div>
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The truth of the matter is, I can only harbor so much excitement or disappointment before I just start to <b>lose it</b>. I love what has transpired this week, I love that we get to start a new chapter in our lives, and I love that we'll be selling this house and hopefully finding one that will be even more awesome and special to us than this one has been. But it all happened so fast, so unexpectedly, and by dinner time Saturday, I was feeling worn out by it all. </div>
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Then! Then, by feeling worn out by it all, I felt guilty. Like I somehow couldn't handle being blessed. So I should just stick my head in the sand and <b><i>not </i></b>deal with it, because obviously I <b><i>can't </i></b>deal with it, and I don't deserve to even <b><i>have </i></b>it to <i><b>deal with</b></i>!</div>
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Do you see what's happening here? There is one who will never be happy with your successes. Never be happy with your accomplishments. Your blessings. Your miracles. Your answered prayers. And when there's even a hint of opportunity to destroy you, he runs with it. He ran with it for me.</div>
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Don't let him steal your joy. Your momentum. Your faith. Give him an inch, and he'll take your whole life. <b>Take it back.</b></div>
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I am completely bewildered by the fact that we have to find a place to live, pack up, and move there, in six weeks time. (By the way, if you'd pray for us in this regard specifically, we would be so appreciative.) But I'm not hopeless. I'm not scared. I'm not fearful or worried about any of the details. It's a lot, but it's fantastic. It's stressful, but for such a greater outcome. This is an incredible answer to a prayer we've prayed a long time.</div>
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I might cry again before this is all said and done. I'd put money on it. I'm a crier, after all. Regardless, I'm not going to hide behind my tears. Not in this. There will be tears of joy and anticipation mixed in with any of sorrow or nostalgia. Moving, from a home we've experienced so much of life in, will be a big event for us. I plan to face it head-on, and watch to see what's next. No, I'm not going to hide behind my tears.</div>
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I may hide behind my hands....but only because that's how one goes about playing peek-a-boo. And I see you, friend. Whatever you're up against, whatever kind of week you had, <b>I see you</b>. And I get it. And we're gonna go through this next one together, without giving the father-of-lies any room to wiggle in our psyche. </div>
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Peek-a-boo!</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-25252660836487003452015-01-23T08:47:00.003-06:002015-01-23T08:47:45.131-06:00Creating Balance: Part II<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you read <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2015/01/creating-balance-part-i.html" target="_blank">Part I</a>, then you've been sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for me to get around to posting the sequel. I'm sorry it's taken until now. </div>
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I'm going to introduce - or, most likely, reintroduce - you to a woman who lived out the Greatest Command, and by doing so, balanced life like a champ. Readers, meet the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+31%3A10-31&version=NIV" target="_blank">Proverbs 31 Woman</a>. </div>
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I know, I know, no one likes her, we'll never live up to her, she did it all but we can't - give this friendship a chance here. Learn from her.</div>
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She loved God with all her <b>heart </b>(passions). Her marriage, her family, and her career, constantly drove her as motivation to be and give her best. <i>(vs. 11, 12, 18, 24, 27)</i></div>
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She loved God with all her <b>soul</b>. She was building her eternal legacy. <i>(vs. 28 - 30)</i></div>
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She loved God with all her <b>mind</b>. In verse 16, she "considers" (weighs pros and cons, thinks it through). Verse 21, she displays forward thinking and preparedness. Verse 26 uses the word wisdom!</div>
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She loved God with all her <b>strength</b>. I'm just guessing, she probably could have taken me if we went toe to toe. (vs. 17, 25)</div>
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She <b>loved her neighbors</b>. In verse 15, it mentions her taking care of her servant girls. I would like to point out here, that <b><u>even the Proverbs 31 woman had help</u></b>!! She cared for the poor. Her husband was well respected in the community because she was no gossip. She loved her neighbors in immeasurable ways. She didn't know any other way.</div>
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Here's what I need for you to take away from this: </div>
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1. <b>Love the Lord your God.</b> Stop applying God's word to your life. <i>(WHAT did I just say?!)</i> Yes. Stop. Instead, <b><i>start aligning your life to God's word</i></b>. Don't look to see if what's important to you can be justified by scripture. Take scripture, and make it important to you.</div>
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2. <b>With all your heart.</b> Quit making to-do lists. Make lists of your goals that align with your God-given passions, then work toward those. Instead of those to-do lists, document <i>how</i> you spend your time. Identify where you can, or need to, make changes.</div>
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3. <b>With all your soul.</b> Make use of the <b>"ME" </b>in <b>"TIME"</b>. Recharge and refresh your soul. It is the core of who you are. Feed it.</div>
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4. <b>With all your mind.</b> Don't let your obligations overrule your priorities. Use <b><u>wisdom</u> </b>and <b><u>discernment</u> </b>with your "yesses". Consider the benefits and consequences of the activities you have the opportunity to participate in.</div>
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5. <b>With all your strength.</b> Take your health seriously. Your body is a gift, and His dwelling place. What can you do to care for it? Implement incremental changes. Don't try to start every new habit all at once.</div>
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6. <b>Love your neighbor as yourself.</b> Be accountable in your relationships. Your spouse, kids, friends, family, colleagues, everyone! Be authentic and genuine and allow your relationships with others to mirror your relationship with God. Transparent. Honest. Committed. Invested.</div>
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The overall gist is this: In order to achieve and maintain balance, love God, then live out that love.<span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -1.5in;"> </span></div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-57514434433145472182015-01-17T10:57:00.001-06:002015-01-17T10:57:41.386-06:00Creating Balance: Part I<div style="text-align: justify;">
What areas in your life require balance? Typically, that question is met with answers like, "work/life", "mom/wife/friend/daughter", or other various roles we feel the need to separate from one circumstance to another. It could be things like schoolwork, time management, or our diet. Regardless of what you'd fill the blank in with, we all crave the "secrets" in creating balance. Great news - I can tell you how.</div>
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I'm going to introduce a breakdown of scripture to you in this post, and then in another post, I'm going to tie it all together by introducing you to a woman who balances life like a champ by implementing these principles and living these truths. Here we go.</div>
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Balance, defined by Mr. Webster, is <i><b>"a condition in which different elements are equal or in the correct proportions."</b></i> In our lives, that translates to about two seconds of our day. The other 23 hours, 59 minutes and 58 seconds are spent juggling everything we have, live, do, say, want, need, and like, trying to get them <b><i>into </i></b>those equal or correct proportions. Balance in life - by our definitions and on our terms - is not maintainable.</div>
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It is, however, <b>possible </b>when we redefine, and realign with the appropriate terms and definition. Balance isn't something we achieve, it's something we acquire. With effort. With careful thought. With purpose. It doesn't just happen when we wake up 15 minutes earlier each day, or designate one night a week to four hours of exercise or eat shredded wheat bran for breakfast. It's a process, not a product.</div>
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In Mark 12, beginning in verse 29 Jesus is answering a question on the most important command.</div>
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<i style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."</b></i></div>
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So what does that mean, and most especially, what does that have to do with balance?</div>
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<b>1. Love the Lord your God. </b>Everything in our lives begins and ends with Him. He is the foundation of everything in life. He's not going anywhere. He has sent His Word (the Bible) to us, and many refer to it as "His love letter". To Love the Lord our God, we are to be in the Word, and speak to Him in prayer. (without ceasing) When you love someone, you crave time with them. You marvel at the little things they do. You desire to be your best self around them. <i>Love the Lord your God.</i></div>
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<b>2. With all your heart. </b>Your passions. What are your passions? How are you fostering them? Or are you still trying to determine those answers? Maybe, you don't know what your passion is. There was a time I didn't, and I felt like my peers all knew what they wanted to do and fight for and support in life, and I was wandering aimlessly around, dabbling here and there with help for good causes. I felt like a loser. Like I was missing out, or even lazy, because I couldn't determine what my passion or my purpose was. Thankfully, after hopeless searching, my passions (and you can have more than one) <b><i>found me</i></b>. God will fuel your passions according to the gifting He has given you. If you're still searching for what lights your fire, consider what Jesus says in Matthew 6:33 -</div>
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<i><span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>"<u>Seek ye first</u> the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you."</b></span></i> (underline mine)</div>
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<b>3. With all your soul. </b>Your soul is the very core of who, and what, you are. It is your life's fuel. It is eternal, and the direct link to your eternal home. How are you feeding your soul? Several times in scripture you read about the soul finding or needing rest. Let your soul recharge. Let it fill, so it can then fuel you. Nurture your soul and do not take the responsibility lightly. It works tirelessly to keep you connected to your eternal Father. Nurture it. Be in His word. Spend time with Him. Do what He has gifted you with in bringing joy to your life. Do you like to knit? Read? Paint? </div>
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<b>4. With all your mind.</b> Don't use up precious space in your mind by over-thinking things. When you over-think, you lose sight of the purpose and start to focus on doubts, false perceptions, and feed fears. But how can you really <i>love </i>with your <i>mind</i>? Romans 12:2 talks about being <i><b>transformed</b></i> by the renewing of your mind. Seek wisdom. Engage your intellect. Challenge your mind to stretch in knowledge, increase capacity, and grow boundaries in wisdom. Most importantly, to love the Lord your God with all your mind, exercise discernment and sound judgment. <b>Make the right choices.</b></div>
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<b>5. With all your strength.</b> Proverbs 24:5 says <i><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"A wise man has great power, and a man of knowledge increases strength."</span></b></i> Wow. Repeatedly in the OT, you read "the Lord is my strength" or "my strength comes from Him." This represents and important cycle. God gives you strength, and you - in turn - love him by utilizing all of it. Keep going. He'll give you more. 1 Corinthians 6:19, 20 reads <span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body."</i></b></span> Get/Be/Stay healthy. You are of minimal use, and certainly not able to balance anything in life, when you can't care for yourself. Do what you need to do to keep your strength. Move more. Eat less. Eat right. Take your vitamins. Get rest. Get sleep. Gain strength.</div>
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<b>6. Love your neighbor as yourself.</b> Plainly stated, this command is two-fold. First, foster and nurture meaningful relationships. Be mindful of the company you keep, and give your relationships your best. Do unto others - be genuine. Be authentic. Second, take care of one another. Serve with your time, talents, and tithes. Clothe the poor. Feed the hungry. Care for the widows and the orphans. (Which, by the way, the Bible partially defines <b>religion </b>as caring for the widows and the orphans. Read James 1:27!) Hebrews 13:2 says by showing hospitality to strangers, some have entertained angels! <i>Love your neighbor as yourself.</i></div>
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Chew on this for a while, and stay tuned. I'll introduce you to a woman you've probably grown up knowing, and may not be very fond of. If you'll let me, though, I'll show you how she applied her life in each of these principles, and was able to essentially "do it all". She balanced life in ways most of us only dream of. Stick around...</div>
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<i>(and sign up over here </i><b>{---</b><i> for my email list so you never miss a post.)</i></div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-34800775504742480682015-01-06T15:02:00.001-06:002015-01-06T15:02:26.770-06:00Big<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have big hair. Naturally. Not by choice, not by accident, I was born with it, and I've carried it atop my head my entire life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicl6sSfZPxNlSd_AqD_4ZDZAUnUy4uHuhkWY7bwOG-fEl0X1GZ97Ab28Qo_HCykGywamDu0b9-Cyef6XNKy16KOqClcAuQYnlITMRMlij9dgmFy-4yFv7ZivLNBybOxR60EXhcbepw-XU/s1600/Go+Big+(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicl6sSfZPxNlSd_AqD_4ZDZAUnUy4uHuhkWY7bwOG-fEl0X1GZ97Ab28Qo_HCykGywamDu0b9-Cyef6XNKy16KOqClcAuQYnlITMRMlij9dgmFy-4yFv7ZivLNBybOxR60EXhcbepw-XU/s1600/Go+Big+(1).png" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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I wear gel, mostly, to tame the frizz. The curls look better with goop on them, and I feel better that my head is not tickling the noses of the nearest eight people. Sometimes, I'll even straighten my hair. This proves to have its own challenges, but I generally prefer sleek, controlled, near-to-my-head hair. This morning, I chose to go the straightened route, and Little Miss asked me if I could keep my hair "like this forever and ever?" No, kiddo, I can't. My hair doesn't always cooperate, nor do my mornings, so....thanks, though. I like hair that hugs my head. I don't like poof. I don't like big. </div>
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I've noticed, however, not everyone shares this sentiment. I'm not saying it's wrong, or right. I'm just pointing out it's different from my personal preference.</div>
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I've known people who do their hair big on purpose. By choice. Who don't feel comfortable unless their hair is considerably apart from their head. I remember back in my previous life, two friends and I went downtown for a night out. This was before smartphones, and disposable cameras were still a thing. I pretty much always carried one with me, because I was cool like that. There was one gal we tried to take a picture of discreetly (it didn't work, however), who we soon dubbed "Shark Fin". It looked like she had one sticking straight out the back of her head. Upon closer inspection, I realized she had styled her hair to look that way. On purpose. She could have knocked people over by turning to the side, but seemed not to care. It was big. It was pointy. It was incredibly unnatural. And it was her hairstyle of choice.</div>
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I don't get it. As someone who has big hair, and who could make it bigger at the drop of a hat (see what I did there?) I don't understand the comfort or solace others take in styling their hair big. There are some ponytails that are half the length they could be, because they adopt a bump-it-on-steroids styling approach.</div>
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Call me old-fashioned, out-of-touch, whatever you will. I find such an interesting dichotomy in style choices. I have big hair, but by choice, I reign it in. Others have tame hair, but by choice, they make it big. Isn't it funny? </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2PWaU_17ZbLK69RK1MGFTEsHGNesYOkrWmxZkoDn5eq1aHWQqXVsU9aD26_hjmWRHbHM1FKlyvzkt3-EFQtLaOuKABfEpYxev6i3t2F4MbmeqylfEldPN2J50hFtkbK-sUFqJw9nd4w/s1600/2015-01-06+12.31.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2PWaU_17ZbLK69RK1MGFTEsHGNesYOkrWmxZkoDn5eq1aHWQqXVsU9aD26_hjmWRHbHM1FKlyvzkt3-EFQtLaOuKABfEpYxev6i3t2F4MbmeqylfEldPN2J50hFtkbK-sUFqJw9nd4w/s1600/2015-01-06+12.31.08.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Does big hair make people more studious?}</td></tr>
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I remember being a kid and people telling me, "People pay to have hair like yours," and I always thought, <i>"Why on earth would people spend money on this?"</i> It tangles. It mats. It will never be featured in a shampoo commercial. Of course, I did grow up in the 80's where the unwritten 11th commandment pertained to having big hair. I assume to compensate for the shoulder pads that were in every blouse and blazer, though I have no research to back that up.</div>
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If you're a big-hair-kind-of-gal, good on you. I don't understand you, but I admire you for finding your style and embracing it. I do what I can to keep things "tied down" with my hair. Letting it go <i>au naturale</i> drives me batty. It's in my face, and the faces of those around me. It gets in the way. It puts on a show. It tries to inhabit its own zip code. I can't handle it.</div>
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I'll go big with my dreams. I'll go big with my television screens. I'll go big with my pinochle bid. (Actually, that's a lie, I'm usually scared to bid high...) I just can't bring myself to go big with my hair. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVHxrG5TDOBvLGdMznNx8uvhVgYGPt_105rkrE5h1nQcv0U88f3oYPKle-IKm-RNgq0WoOsRuu0_rA_6Migp6GGKhsH8Uj6T4UiI3_Yn6CYcBHXj39nmCcouVrGvwgNS6pwUgyk_PRaI/s1600/2015-01-06+14.09.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVHxrG5TDOBvLGdMznNx8uvhVgYGPt_105rkrE5h1nQcv0U88f3oYPKle-IKm-RNgq0WoOsRuu0_rA_6Migp6GGKhsH8Uj6T4UiI3_Yn6CYcBHXj39nmCcouVrGvwgNS6pwUgyk_PRaI/s1600/2015-01-06+14.09.22.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{I just can't do it!}</td></tr>
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I'm not a big fan of big hair....but if you are, I'd love for you to chime in and share your big hair stories!</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-32260637401982002052015-01-02T11:28:00.000-06:002015-01-02T18:16:39.304-06:0099 Questions<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hopefully you know how much I adore my friend, tracyfixen.com. Her name is Tracy, obviously, but in our home, her site name translates to her real life name, and we call her tracyfixen.com. Just roll with it. </div>
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Anyway, she posted <a href="http://www.tracyfixen.com/blog/2015/1/2/99-things" target="_blank">this fun little ditty</a>, and I thought I would follow suit. For one, it will get me thinking about how my life aligns with <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-greatest-command.html" target="_blank">my one resolution</a> for the year. What about my life can I use to live out Mark 12:30? For two, it will get me typing. And I do love to type. I remember in the myspace days how these things were always being posted and answered by everyone. It's been quite a while since I've posted total random, and mostly meaningless answers to questions of the same stature, so why not?</div>
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I do quickly want to mention, however, if you haven't heard of the <b>#documentyourdays</b> project on Instagram, go give it a looksie. No prompts, just a call to document your days by snapping a photo. Easy-peasy, and gets you to look at your life through the lens of wanting to savor every moment. Check it out, participate, and get to documenting.</div>
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On to the questions!<br />
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99 Questions:<br />
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<b>1. Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? </b>Closed. Securely.<br />
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<b>2. Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels? </b>Often.<br />
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<b>3. Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?</b> Tucked in. Then hubs comes and does sleep-moshing in the nighttime, pulling them all out.<br />
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<b>4. Have you ever stolen a street sign before? </b>No. Dad is the Streets Super in my hometown, and I would never dream of stealing a street sign because I know how much of a pain it is to replace them.<br />
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<b>5. Do you like to use post-it notes? </b>Only for everything.<br />
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<b>6. Do you cut out coupons but then never use them? </b>I am guilty of saving them and not using them before they expire. I tear and don't cut, though.<br />
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<b>7. Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of bees? </b>Ugh. A grizzly bear. Yes, I'm being specific as to which kind of bear. #FormerGame&FishEmployee<br />
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<b>8. Do you have freckles? </b>A few.<br />
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<b>9. Do you always smile for pictures? </b>Only the ones I'm in. Ha.<br />
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<b>10. What is your biggest pet peeve? </b>The sad thing is I have so many pet peeves, I don't know which one is my biggest. #PrayForMe<br />
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<b>11. Do you ever count your steps when you walk? </b>I do count stairs. #ocd<br />
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<b>12. Have you ever peed in the woods? </b>Yes. And it was winter. Elk hunting was a trip.<br />
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<b>13. What about pooped in the woods? </b>No, but I love telling a good poop story. (That was tracyfixen.com's answer, but I'm keeping it.)<br />
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<b>14. Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing? </b>Yes.<br />
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<b>15. Do you chew your pens and pencils? </b>No, and if you do, I would encourage you to not.<br />
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<b>16. How many cups of coffee do you drink a day? </b>Usually two.<br />
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<b>17. What size is your bed? </b>Queen.<br />
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<b>18. What is your Song of the Week? </b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtlDVleJBtA" target="_blank">He Knows My Name</a><br />
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<b>19. Is it okay for guys to wear pink? </b>Sure.<br />
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<b>20. Do you still watch cartoons? </b>I have a 4 yr old. Of course.<br />
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<b>21. What's your least favorite movie? </b>I'm not at all a fan of vulgarity in the verbal or physical sense.<br />
Also, may I prompt you to read <a href="http://melissajenna.com/tag/50-shades-of-grey/" target="_blank"><b>this</b></a>, and tuck it away in your heart?<br />
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<b>22. Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some? </b>Wherever it would end up, I'd forget where it was.<br />
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<b>23. What do you drink with dinner? </b>Water<br />
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<b>24. What do you dip a chicken nugget in? </b>Honey<br />
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<b>25. What is your favorite food? </b>Homemade cheeseburger<br />
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<b>26. What movies could you watch over and over and still love? </b>Elf, Tombstone, and Hercules (the Disney version)<br />
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<b>27. Last person you kissed/kissed you? </b>My son<br />
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<b>28. Were you ever a boy/girl scout? </b>Nope.<br />
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<b>29. Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? </b>No way, Jose.<br />
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<b>30. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? </b>Just mailed a card today!<br />
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<b>31. Can you change the oil on a car? </b>Not without forgetting a thing or two.<br />
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<b>32. Ever gotten a speeding ticket? </b>No.<br />
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<b>33. Ever run out of gas? </b>More times than I care to admit. Some of it I can blame on the gas gauge, however.<br />
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<b>34. Favorite kind of sandwich? </b>Grilled turkey and swiss with bacon from the SSH in Cody, WY.<br />
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<b>35. Best thing to eat for breakfast? </b>bacon and cheese omelette<br />
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<b>36. What is your usual bedtime? </b>I need to get one. I've been staying up way too late.<br />
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<b>37. Are you lazy? </b>I have my moments.<br />
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<b>38. When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween? </b>Rainbow Brite's horse.<br />
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<b>39. What is your Chinese astrological sign? </b>Monkey<br />
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<b>40. How many languages can you speak? </b>Two. English and Whine-ese.<br />
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<b>41. Do you have any magazine subscriptions? </b>No.<br />
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<b>42. Which are better: legos or lincoln logs? </b>Legos<br />
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<b>43. Are you stubborn? </b>Who have you been talking to?<br />
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<b>44. Who is better...Fallon or Letterman? </b>I really miss Jay Leno...<br />
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<b>45. Ever watch soap operas? </b>Nope. I used to watch Days as a teen/young adult. But soaps are so ridiculous, I had to stop watching.<br />
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<b>46. Are you afraid of heights? </b>Not afraid of heights so much as I'm afraid of falling off of them.<br />
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<b>47. Do you sing in the car? </b>Yes.<br />
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<b>48. Do you sing in the shower? </b>Yes.<br />
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<b>49. Do you dance in the car? </b>Yes, but only if the people in my car are the only ones who can see me dancing.<br />
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<b>50. Ever used a gun? </b>Several.<br />
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<b>51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? </b>October! I highly recommend you go check out my friend and entrepreneurial partner, <a href="http://www.michelle-warren-photography.com/" target="_blank">MWP</a>.<br />
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<b>52. Do you think musicals are cheesy? </b>No.<br />
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<b>53. Is Christmas stressful? </b>It certainly has its moments.<br />
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<b>54. Ever eat a pierogi? </b>I think Brent's aunt made some with cheese. Is this what they're called? It was many years ago.<br />
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<b>55. Favorite type of fruit pie? </b>Apple. But only the way I make it.<br />
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<b>56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? </b>Singer. Teacher. Talk show host.<br />
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<b>57. Do you believe in ghosts? </b>The Holy One.<br />
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<b>58. Ever have a de-ja-vu feeling? </b>All the time.<br />
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<b>59. Take a <a href="http://fixen.myshaklee.com/us/en/shop/healthyfoundations/essentials/product-_p_vitalizer_p_" target="_blank">vitamin </a>daily? </b>Yes. And that is tracyfixen.com's link, but I'm leaving it, and encouraging you to check out the vitamins.<br />
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<b>60. Wear slippers? </b>Wearing some right now!<br />
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<b>61. Wear a bath robe? </b>No.<br />
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<b>62. What do you wear to bed? </b>Comfy pants and a t-shirt.<br />
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<b>63. First concert? </b>John Anderson. He was at the mid-state fair, and I was somewhere around the age of six?<br />
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<b>64. Wal-Mart, Target, or Kmart? </b>Target is close and convenient.<br />
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<b>65. Nike or Adidas? </b>I have a cute little story about my first pair of name-brand shoes that my husband <strike>forced</strike> encouraged me to buy on our honeymoon. They were Adidas.<br />
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<b>66. Cheetos or Fritos? </b>Depends on what I'm eating with them.<br />
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<b>67. Peanuts or sunflower seeds? </b>Sunflower seeds.<br />
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<b>68. Ever hear of the group Tres Bien? </b>No.<br />
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<b>69. Ever take dance lessons? </b>Yes! Jazz class as a kid.<br />
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<b>70. Is there a profession you picture your spouse doing? </b>I can't quite put my finger on it, but I believe he has some big changes coming up before he is in the profession he's meant to be in.<br />
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<b>71. Can you curl your tongue? </b>Yes<br />
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<b>72. Ever won a spelling bee? </b>Nope.<br />
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<b>73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy? </b>I cry all. the. time.<br />
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<b>74. Own any record albums? </b>Mom and Dad have them all.<br />
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<b>75. Own a record player? </b>See above.<br />
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<b>76. Regularly burn incense? </b>I have a Scentsy burner, but I don't turn it on often.<br />
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<b>77. Ever been in love? </b>Of course.<br />
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<b>78. Who would you like to see in concert? </b>I'm not so much a concert person as I am a "hey, let me sing for you in this quiet little coffee shop" person.<br />
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<b>79. What was the last concert you saw? </b>Oh gosh. Third Day? Clint Black? I don't remember which was the most recent.<br />
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<b>80. Hot tea or cold tea? </b>Hot with some honey.<br />
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<b>81. Tea or coffee? </b>Coffee. Specifically a vanilla latte.<br />
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<b>82. Sugar cookie or snicker doodle? </b>Snicker doodle<br />
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<b>83. Can you swim well? </b>No.<br />
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<b>84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? </b>Yes<br />
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<b>85. Are you patient? </b>Not really. This is definitely an area to work on!<br />
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<b>86. DJ or band, at a wedding? </b>I like both for different reasons.<br />
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<b>87. Ever won a contest? </b>If costume counts, then yes.<br />
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<b>88. Ever have plastic surgery? </b>No.<br />
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<b>89. Which are better? Black or green olives? </b>Black<br />
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<b>90. Can you knit or crochet? </b>Both! I love to do both!<br />
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<b>91. Best room for a fireplace? </b>Living room<br />
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<b>92. Do you want to get married? </b>It will be 12 years this year, and I want there to be a bazillion more. Love my hubs.<br />
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<b>93. If married, how long have you been married? </b>Well I got ahead of myself.<br />
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<b>94. Who was your HS crush? </b>Keith Urban<br />
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<b>95. Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way? </b>No. But I deal with this behavior on a daily basis.<br />
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<b>96. Do you have kids? </b>Yes. Hence the answer above.<br />
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<b>97. Do you want kids? </b>Most of the time. (wink wink, nudge nudge) I love my kids. All three of them.<br />
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<b>98. What's your favorite color? </b>Red.<br />
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<b>99. Do you miss anyone right now? </b>Yes. <a href="http://whispersintheworld.blogspot.com/2013/04/if-i-could-save-time-in-bottle.html" target="_blank">Every moment of every day</a>.<br />
<br />NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-73113752143582396812014-12-31T11:53:00.001-06:002014-12-31T12:46:35.613-06:00The Greatest Command<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today is the last day of 2014. I never anticipate how intensely a "new chapter" affects me. This year was another roller coaster, with different peaks and valleys. We welcomed Little Man into the world at the end of April. Earlier that month on Harlynn's first heavenversary, I was heavily sedated under the influence of magnesium, in an effort to stop pre-term labor. I missed everything I had wanted to do that day. This year, I left my job of five years. I left a job of eight months. I started new adventures. I wrote. A lot. And here we are, the last day of the year.</div>
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This morning's sunrise was spectacular. The deep red sky boasted a certain authority, as the sunlight bounced off the sweeping clouds. I slept horribly last night, but being up to witness the sunrise this morning was well worth foregoing the warmth of my covers.</div>
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Last night, I was wrestling with far too many thoughts, and the consequences of eating far too many sweets. I was awake for hours. In my incessant swarm of ideas, I decided the new year was not going to be full of resolutions I wouldn't keep. I'm not going to resolve to lose weight, or exercise, or read every day, or do things I otherwise will forget or not make time for. I, instead, resolve to live toward one goal: to live out the greatest command. </div>
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There are a lot of rules in life, most of them unwritten. There are a lot of policies and procedures we're expected to follow. There are certain ways to do certain things, and certain people who are called to walk certain paths with certain steps. But really, there is only One certainty, and He has given me the greatest command.</div>
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This coming year, I will strive to love God with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, and all my strength. I will be purposeful in my thoughts, actions, and words. I will do everything with the intention of bringing Him glory. And when I fail (for <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+3%3A22-24&version=NIV" target="_blank">we all fall short</a>), I will try again.</div>
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This coming year, I resolve to be all in. Heart. Soul. Mind. Strength. I will be present. I will be purposeful. I will be prayerful. I will persevere.</div>
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Obviously, I don't know - or have any control over - what the next year has in store for me. I do know, however, that I can approach it with a spirit of tenacity and confidence. </div>
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What does 2015 have in store for you?</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-36239707999124624582014-12-27T21:27:00.000-06:002014-12-27T21:27:10.146-06:00Christmas Thanks<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last year, Christmas wasn't my favorite. I was distraught, angry, overwhelmed with grief, and overcome by mountains of "stuff". Christmas day marked 37 weeks we had been without Harlynn, who lost her life at 37 weeks. There were a lot of tears. I holed myself up with my husband and my daughter, and the three of us made our own memories, with our own schedule, and our own agenda. That in itself was wonderful, but it wasn't the kind of Christmas I typically would have looked forward to. Afterward, I shared some pointed thoughts on Christmases of the future, and got some pointed feedback in return. I was glad to close the books on last Christmas. I didn't care to repeat any of last year. Christmas, or otherwise.</div>
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This year was different. Dare I say, this year was wonderful.</div>
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My in-laws, God bless them, sent some amazingly creative gifts. When we put pizza boxes under our tree, we were wondering what on earth could be inside, and why pizza boxes? Brent's family opens gifts on Christmas Eve, and since we couldn't be with them this year, we did the next best thing by opening their presents Christmas Eve. The pizza boxes contained dough. Money dough. I had a moneyroni pizza. It was awesome, and adorable, and we got a good chuckle out of it. Little Miss and Little Man were given the perfect toys, and Brent and I were each given very thoughtful, meaningful gifts. (Thank you, G & P!) It was a great way to kick off the Christmas holiday.</div>
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After gift-opening, we went to Christmas Eve service with my parents. It was a wonderful service, as usual, and I love our church family. Love, <i>love</i>, <b><i>love</i></b>. I thank God every week and then some for leading us to these people and this community. When church was over, my sister, her husband, and their boys had arrived and met us back at our house. I had cooked a turkey dinner with all the fixings and we had a wonderful time together. Papa got to read <i>The Night Before Christmas</i> to all the grandkids. It's one of my favorite traditions. My Grandpa Fox read it to us, from that very book my dad is holding, whenever he was at our house for Christmas.</div>
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That night, I wrote my letter to Harlynn to place in her stocking. The tears stung my eyes as I wrote, but the pen wasn't as heavy as last year. The words came a little easier. The tone carried a little more hope. I love my little girl so much, and I'm so thankful to have found a way to include her every Christmas. Her stocking may hold only paper notes, but it also carries the full-on weight of a mother's love. </div>
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Christmas morning, I was the first one up. I started making cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Our gift to my family this year was my cooking. With the job situation and our financial calamity, it was the most thoughtful, practical gift we could come up with. They were pretty surprised when I had gifts for them to open Christmas morning, but I didn't stray from my word of my gift being my cooking. Mom & Dad got an Italian themed kit. Spaghetti noodles (Dakota Wheat, of course), tomato sauce, Parmesan cheese - and homemade Italian seasoning. Sis & Bro got a Mexican themed kit. Taco shells, refried beans, salsa - and homemade taco seasoning. </div>
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Before gift opening, though, we did our second reading tradition. Brent read Luke chapter two, the story of Christ's birth. My favorite verse from all of that is verse 19. Any mother, I think, notices that verse in the Christmas story. I ponder so many things, and I can only imagine how her heart was filled, watching her infant son being worshiped and praised, knowing he would one day, somehow, save mankind. </div>
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We got some of the coolest, most thoughtful, meaningful, loving gifts this year. Truly. It was wonderful. This morning, Brent and I enjoyed free Starbucks courtesy of my aunt and uncle. I wore a purple scarf all day today (and yesterday), courtesy of another aunt. Dad made - <i>M A D E</i> - everyone gorgeous candles. And on, and on, and on I could go. </div>
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We laughed (hard), and joked and made new memories with new inside jokes. I cooked more in two days than I've cooked probably this entire year. The kiddos had a blast playing with one another. And though it was a lot of work to cook and host and keep Little Man out of the fallen pine needles from the tree, it was a little sad to have it all come to an end.</div>
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Today, our company left. We took down the tree and put away the Christmas decorations. We organized our holiday storage, and made room for a fresh start to a new year. I did a little shopping, a little work, and a lot of cleaning. </div>
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Tomorrow, we'll go to church. We'll come home and prepare for the week ahead. We'll enjoy having Daddy home an extra day this coming week. And we'll look back on 2014 with a sigh and a smile. </div>
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It was a good Christmas. It was a good holiday. And it was a better year than last. Thank you, to all of you, who held us tenderly this year as we went along. Thank you for loving us, for listening to us, and for standing by us even when we (mostly, me) didn't make a shred of sense to you. Thank you for making this year gentler on our mending hearts. </div>
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And thank you for the lattes. </div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-78180344640068050892014-12-22T11:32:00.000-06:002014-12-22T15:49:58.476-06:00Tug Of War<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's December 22nd. There isn't a flake of snow left on the ground, it's 38*, and <b>raining </b>outside. In North Dakota. It's amazing. The snow is on its way, but for now, I'm soaking in the glorious view of my (dead) grass in the yard, and the visible pavement. All too soon, and for all too long, we'll be covered in a thick blanket of white. The sun will shine, the chill will be stark, and this warmth and wet will long be forgotten.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No snow. But lots of coffee.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">It's also a Monday. Three days before Christmas. My family will be on their way to see us tomorrow. There are presents under the tree, meals waiting to be made, and goodies waiting to be consumed. In fact, my groceries just arrived via delivery. Hang on, I need to get the door.</span><br />
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Have I ever mentioned I love grocery delivery? Back to blogging.</div>
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This morning when I woke up, I still sounded ridiculous. I've got (another) some kind of sickness that has taken my normal voice hostage, and has me sounding like a pubescent Barry White. I drug myself to the kitchen (because I am not a morning person) and got some milk warming for Little Man. I sat and stared at the lights on the tree, because that's the only light I can handle first thing in the morning. I like dark and quiet. </div>
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After Little Man ate his fill, I snuggled him despite his wriggling, and headed downstairs to get to work. Yes, I get to work in my home, in my pajamas, while simultaneously wrestling Mr. Muscles for some affection, I have a pretty sweet deal.</div>
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And that's where the tug-of-war rests. It's almost Christmas. There is a sense of holiday cheer in the air I haven't felt for a while. Anticipation. Excitement. On top of that, there's joy and gratitude for my job. The people I get to interact with and work for every week. These, then, are tangled with that old familiar ache. <i>Harlynn is missing.</i> </div>
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It's exhausting, while my feelings and emotions battle it out for which will be felt most dominantly. Taking turns, they stand atop my heart and echo their victory cry above the canyons my life has carved through its veins. Every pulse, every beat, adds to the weight of the story it carries. One second, elated. The next, distraught. Though I'm sitting completely still, I feel utterly worn out. It is an internal tug-of-war.</div>
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This is Little Man's first Christmas. I'm excited to keep him from eating the ribbon and wrapping paper, as I know those will interest him more than any gift. I'm excited to see how he interacts with his cousins. His Papa and Gramma. His Auntie and Uncle. I'm excited for them to see how he drags himself from point A to point B, pausing intermittently to prop himself up on all fours and rock. </div>
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Last night, as I rocked him to sleep, I prayed a prayer over him (and Little Miss) that would cover all of my shortcomings as their mother. I also prayed that Harlynn would forever be a part of their lives. No matter the hustle and bustle and crazy that fill our days, I don't ever want her to be an after-thought. It makes me so proud when Little Miss brings up her sister, and strikes me so solemnly at the same time.</div>
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The other day when I went to the cemetery, the fog was covering the entire city. It was the most peaceful, perfect, and pristine visit to Harlynn I had experienced to date. The deer and turkeys were in numbers I had never seen before, no doubt feeling protected by the thick blanket of gray. They moved without a sound, sojourning to find apples and corn left out for them by the groundskeepers. While I loathe the fact I have to go to a cemetery to spend time with my middle child, I rejoice I get to have moments no one else does. Another tug-of-war. I hate to love it there.</div>
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Now as I wait for Christmas to arrive, and as I'll be a willing prisoner of my kitchen, gifting my family with food and fun, my heart beats a little harder on the back-and-forth pulls of emotion. </div>
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I pray for a gentle Christmas. I pray for many moments of merry. I pray though she won't unwrap any gifts from the tree, or wrestle with her siblings or cousins, she is still a very present part of our Christmas. Of our lives.</div>
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Merry Christmas, Harlynn.</div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-16864722396316927752014-12-15T11:08:00.000-06:002014-12-15T14:20:30.102-06:00A Christmas Letter From a Bereaved Believer<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's the time of year when cards keep the USPS in business, and families are left with the decision of whether or not to include a letter. With social media, almost everyone knows everything about us as it is. Yet, one time a year, we have a chance to share our highlights, dreams, and well wishes on a piece of festive paper, complete with our picture of smiling faces, coordinating outfits, and Christmas catch phrases.</div>
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For some of us, however, the "Merry" in our Christmas may seem a little out of reach. Some of us have been through hell-on-earth. Some of us are bereaved, broken, and bewildered. So what do we say? What do we compose for a letter no one wants to read? </div>
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I, myself, didn't do a letter this year. What would people read that they didn't know already? We had our son, who brings light and life to our lives along with Little Miss. We miss our daughter, Harlynn, every moment of every day. That sums up our year. Our days. Every day. </div>
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<a href="http://www.salemefc.org/sermons/sermon/sea/" target="_blank">Yesterday's sermon</a>, however, gave me pause. (Again. It's like God speaks through His Word or something. Weird.) Christmas letters are so much more than a highlight reel. They're a testimony. I could have written a letter this year...and it might have gone something like this:</div>
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Season's greetings from our family to yours.</div>
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This year was full of heartache and hope, as was the year before. There is not a season, or a month, or a week, or a day, we do not miss our baby girl. Our aching and longing for her is a permanent fixture, as if it has now joined our family as a physical member. We feel her presence, yet her void, every moment. </div>
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Little Miss had her Christmas program at church, and while it was cute and adorable, I was struck by the fact we'll never see Harlynn perform. I'll never pick out her Christmas dress. Fix her hair in pigtails. We'll skip right over the years of her involvement and prepare Little Man for his performance debuts. The holidays especially, amid their cheer and joy, are an ever-present reminder of the moments we'll never have.</div>
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There are days when the heartache overcomes me. Days when I crumble beneath the weight of my grief. Days when the lack of understanding from others only adds to the burden of my suffering. There are days that are incredibly dark and heavy, and the feeling of missing Harlynn wraps itself around me and rests upon my shoulders. I still feel incomplete. I still feel broken. I still feel amiss.</div>
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However...there is hope. I look back on this year and I see the many blessings we received. The many ways in which we were provided for. The many comforts heaped upon us in our hours of need. Little Man arrived safely, and has been an immeasurable joy. His addition to our family has brought more love (and less sleep) than we could have predicted. Our jobs, our home, our time together as a family, our time with loved ones, the friends who have been rock-solid for us - we can't give enough thanks or praise to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine. </div>
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God gave us clarity. Direction. Purpose. He gave us freedom to mourn. To rejoice. He gave us health. He gave us light and life. He gave us comfort. Understanding. He gave us forgiveness. Hope. Future.</div>
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He gave us the ability to see, and to recognize, His light in the midst of our tunnels. </div>
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As this year draws to a close and we once again surge ahead to the "new" and the unknown, we will trust. We will cling. We will believe no matter what lies ahead, He holds us. In our brokenness, in our joy, and in our journey, we lean on Him with every step. </div>
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May your Christmas be gentle, and may your hearts feel full.</div>
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Praying for and with you,</div>
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The Kleppens</div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-8922544638802270262014-12-12T19:07:00.003-06:002014-12-12T19:07:45.120-06:00When the Time is Right<div style="text-align: justify;">
Brent and I used to host gatherings in our home all the time. Actually, I should say Brent was gracious enough to tolerate my need for hosting gatherings. He was also great at last-minute-panic-cleaning, which is usually how I tended to operate. We had a 90s themed party, white elephant gift parties, birthday parties, movie nights - all sorts of gatherings. They were a riot, usually, and hosting filled my tank. It was one of my favorite things to do.</div>
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Then Harlynn died.</div>
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My love for gathering with friends was replaced by my love of personal reflection, needing space, quiet, and refuge. The thought of hosting other people made me physically uncomfortable; this was something I had never experienced before. I had a few friends ask me when I was going to host parties again. There was a time I would have thought, "never". Yet I would answer with, "When I'm ready." or "When the time is right."</div>
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I decided this year, this month, the time was right. Kind of. A little bit. Using my passive-aggressive tendencies as my shield, I decided to have a white elephant gift exchange. I knew if I hosted it during the week, beyond the first week of December, I probably wouldn't have a big turn out. Everyone is busy this time of year, and with so much else going on, it would be difficult to get people to come. I could ease my way back into this hostess persona.</div>
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How does that saying go? <b><i>"If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans."</i></b></div>
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We have a history of having anywhere from six to eight people show for our white elephant parties. They're usually the smallest gatherings. Or at least they were. We had 16 people last night. Six. Teen. <b>Sixteen</b>. Our home is big enough to comfortably accommodate 10, maximum. We were very cozy in my living room.</div>
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Being a little rusty at hostessing, I felt the need to get the party underway as soon as possible. We drew numbers and were off selecting gifts. I have to tell you, I haven't laughed so hard in such a long time. My face was sore before the night was up, The next morning, my cheeks still ached. </div>
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My biggest disappointment of the night was the fact our guests had to leave. We put Little Miss and Little Man to bed, and I sat in our living room, feet propped up, telling my husband repeatedly how much fun it was. He agreed. </div>
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Our home may be small, but when it's full of friends, laughter, and hilarious treasures of gifts, I'm okay with being cozy. Especially since it allowed me the opportunity to see this up close and personal...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufpmvxFMi1CgMVexL8WG6kCuxLHk534CNsR_vqRR0XOK317AaXF9KTCXKzzx4mATr02wIXOKh8ztGgVicvWHse_AAgmx6TH8E84EOQTC0qX_n9jRZNn06ugm-ZMAEdVz-6ioWZ9fDNFg/s1600/2014-12-11+19.20.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufpmvxFMi1CgMVexL8WG6kCuxLHk534CNsR_vqRR0XOK317AaXF9KTCXKzzx4mATr02wIXOKh8ztGgVicvWHse_AAgmx6TH8E84EOQTC0qX_n9jRZNn06ugm-ZMAEdVz-6ioWZ9fDNFg/s1600/2014-12-11+19.20.02.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></div>
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The time was right. I was able to talk about Harlynn with our friends. Her stocking hung with the rest of ours. Her special ornaments were displayed prominently on our tree. Harlynn bear was sitting in the living room with the rest of us. We had her blessing to host the party.</div>
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It took 20 months before I was ready to open my home, my heart, up to hosting again. It was the time table that was right for me.</div>
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I just want to encourage you: whatever you're going through, whatever you're facing, and whatever you struggle with, you can return to glimpses of yourself, of what you're comfortable with, <b>when the time is right</b>. It doesn't have to be today. It doesn't have to be this month. This year. This decade. The Lord will prompt you when the time is right. And when it is, you'll be ready. And if you're only "kind of" ready, as I was, power through. It just might surpass your expectations.</div>
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I can't wait to host another party...</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #741b47;">"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens." </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #741b47;">~ Ecclesiastes 3:1</span></i></b></div>
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<br />NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-26561622376758432092014-12-04T22:45:00.003-06:002014-12-06T14:00:34.599-06:00A Christmas LetterHi Harlynn,<br />
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It's the holiday season again. I've been playing Christmas music, putting up decorations, and anticipating the marathon cooking I'll be doing once your Papa, Gramma, Auntie, Uncle, and cousins arrive for Christmas. I don't love the cold, but I do love this time of year. </div>
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I hung your stocking a few days ago. The letter I wrote last Christmas is still inside. I haven't had the courage to take it out and read where my heart was a year ago. I'll add another one this Christmas Eve as I place little love gifts in the other stockings as well. I love that I can do that for you, that it can be <b><i>my </i></b>gift to you. A tradition all my own. </div>
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I've found my mind start wandering in thinking about this holiday season were you here with us. What Christmas dress you would wear. How many gifts you would try to open before Christmas morning. What you would be interested in. Your big sister wants "decorations for my room" for Christmas. Isn't she the sweetest? Your little brother, I'm sure, just wants food. That kid can eat. And eat. And then eat some more. And the drool. Oh Harlynn, you should see the mass amounts of drool he produces. It makes your mama shudder.</div>
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Tuesday, I was stopped at a stoplight, and a mommy was walking across the street with her little girl. She was adorable, all bundled up in her winter coat, her showy snow boots, hat, and mittens. She would have been about your age, and she struggled to keep up with her mommy as she crossed in front of me. I never know what will trigger it. I never know when or why the tears will fall. Watching her hold her mommy's hand, and skip hurriedly through the crosswalk, did me in. I hope her mommy hugs her extra tight tonight.</div>
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This Christmas is different from last year. Rather than being angry for all the things I'll never experience with you, I've found I'm far more hopeful. Far more appreciative. I'm so thankful I get to remember you, memorialize you, honor you, so publicly. I'm so grateful as we head into the Christmas holiday, I get to hang a stocking for you. Special ornaments on the tree. I'm so thankful you'll always be a part of our family - at Christmas, and always. </div>
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You would love our tree. It's beautiful, and it smells so good. When it was frozen, and in our van from the lot, I thought it smelled....not great. Now that it has warmed up and it's been watered, it smells like the Christmas trees I remember as a kid. If you find yourself next to a scotch pine, give it a big whiff. I'm sure the scents in heaven are far more lovely than in our living room.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U6jtheqqnU5WtJkszFh-i2OKS2j0ixS4AiFUITZoU-Zktu0jg2v5bEWo9T4kcei1y5L-ULydUzhss2orAq3WKVUKzassVTVB8y-xRWyDtqJHP1PClpDh0WhOIbfTdsF52UXLEr0u3MM/s1600/2014-11-30+22.11.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U6jtheqqnU5WtJkszFh-i2OKS2j0ixS4AiFUITZoU-Zktu0jg2v5bEWo9T4kcei1y5L-ULydUzhss2orAq3WKVUKzassVTVB8y-xRWyDtqJHP1PClpDh0WhOIbfTdsF52UXLEr0u3MM/s1600/2014-11-30+22.11.21.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></div>
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I just wanted to you to know that I miss you. Still. Always. I think of you, I speak your name, every day. This Christmas is no different. It's hard not having you here. It's hard. If the lump in my throat could do any bit of good in bringing you back, it would have happened long ago. I long for the day we can all be reunited. I long for the gift of finally being able to look into your eyes. </div>
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Until then, I'll be down here, loving you. I'm trying to take good care of your daddy, sister, and brother. Some days are better than others. They would tell you as much. Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Tell Jesus your mama says "happy birthday". </div>
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All my love and then some,</div>
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Mama</div>
NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-7608726158833175362014-11-26T12:36:00.000-06:002014-11-26T12:36:21.844-06:00Thankful Anyway<div style="text-align: justify;">
Holidays are tough. I forever think of our daughter who will never be at our table. Never be underfoot in the kitchen as I make the holiday meal. Never be arguing with me over how often to baste the turkey or question why I make stuffing from a box. (Because Stove Top is amazing. Just saying.) As I feed her baby brother pureed foods, I wonder what morsels she would favor this year. Would she like sweet potatoes as much as I do? Would she like mashed potatoes with or without gravy? Would she sit and chew forever on a single piece of turkey like her big sister does? Every holiday, and this Thanksgiving is no exception, I find myself thinking of her incessantly. Oh, Harlynn, how I wish you were here with us.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r7AVzusLpuUKGfqsSYF4c4OsYLjV0RkWt7gJIf5Q1GEj8dr7iX6F7FEg-PXZ8JCBuWxTPYEgsiAV8PkDFoGz1lmU6qKVakdq8oXkD_XwLKGv7jIdlt0vKUX79JFQVrxuM0vIK9qZtWk/s1600/Thankful.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r7AVzusLpuUKGfqsSYF4c4OsYLjV0RkWt7gJIf5Q1GEj8dr7iX6F7FEg-PXZ8JCBuWxTPYEgsiAV8PkDFoGz1lmU6qKVakdq8oXkD_XwLKGv7jIdlt0vKUX79JFQVrxuM0vIK9qZtWk/s1600/Thankful.png" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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In that despair of not having her here, I'm able to still find myself in the spirit of Thanksgiving. I'm still grateful for all we have, all we've learned, and all we've gained.</div>
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I drove to the cemetery the other day to spend some time sharing with Harlynn. I often take the long way home so I can visit with her about whatever comes to mind. I brushed the snow off her headstone and looked around. I saw a gorgeous, big, buck muley. He was quite handsome, and he was a sight to behold. A nice six pointer, he stared my direction and our eyes met. I saw his breath slowly rising up from his nostrils as he measured my potential threat level. I stood still, holding my breath in my throat, wondering if he was the least bit impressed with my stature, as I was with his. Soon enough, he grew tired of our stand-off, and continued on his way. <i>Did you see that, Harlynn?!</i> Eventually, I loaded myself back into the car and drove around to the gate, where I was greeted by a flock of tom turkeys. They patrolled the grounds searching for morsels and purpose. They strutted confidently by as I slowly drove past. I'm thankful when I go to the place that represents the worst time of my life, there is still beauty. There is still a majestic peace. There is still always something to appreciate.</div>
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Last year, I made an executive decision regarding our holidays. I decided we would spend them without company. Thanksgiving, Christmas - we were by ourselves in our little home. And I loved it. I needed it. This year, I'm opening myself up again. We're going to be with others. I'm tentative, I'm hesitant, and I'm unsure. But I'm also ready. We'll be with people who love us, and if I get choked up or despondent, they'll understand. If I have to check out for a bit, they won't hold it against me. I'm thankful for their understanding.</div>
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And in those moments where I miss my baby girl, I have moments still that pull my heart in the other direction. Moments that fill me even as I am reminded of what I ache for. Being able to spend every morning at home with my littles has given me experiences I will cherish forever. I've been so sick so much recently - the latest bout having me on the sofa with the flu. My home is in shambles all around me because I was too weak to get up, let alone clean or put anything away. Little Miss wanted to entertain herself with music. <i>The Lion King</i> soundtrack, to be exact. I sat, perched in my sofa spot, and witnessed the following. I cannot tell you the joy it brought to me. Sick as I was, my heart swelled as I watched her full of life, completely embracing her moment. </div>
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Our holiday table, and every meal we have, will forever have one person missing. But I'm thankful she is not forgotten. I'm thankful she has two siblings here who give me more joy than I'm worthy of receiving. I'm thankful I got to hold her precious body in my arms for those fleeting moments after her birth. I'm thankful I'm Harlynn's mom. I'm thankful we get to be the family to love her forever.</div>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-63737912124039423082014-11-21T10:27:00.002-06:002014-11-21T10:32:24.337-06:001,000 Words Worth<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have this thing about becoming overwhelmed. I'm not sure how the expectations or pressures seem to stack up, but they do, I feel like I'm failing somehow, and then I just shut down. Then, something happens to knock me out of my slump, I kick some productivity butt, and then the downward slope starts again. Maddening.</div>
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Lately, though, I've been able to counter the feelings of failure and shortcoming by focusing on the blessings I have. I "pause and reflect" (that's for you, Tiff) and really try to soak in the moments going on right then, so I can be present and appreciative of what's happening <i>now</i>, rather than fretting about what may or may not be in the future. As such, I take a lot of pictures. So, as "a picture is worth 1,000 words", allow me to post the longest blog in history - using the stories of pictures.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmVUzS6rK1S7aEhjUlHcZ17v5k4SGML7i5JaaWfHtw5KMAPiNss2KO22kEBRBP0Cle_1qroDhZ6NCAEl16Mm2x3C_HRWctl7byhHday58wbXA6SdWd_CGC5hNmYDtk9YFXnIJX7SiMXw/s1600/2014-11-13+16.04.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmVUzS6rK1S7aEhjUlHcZ17v5k4SGML7i5JaaWfHtw5KMAPiNss2KO22kEBRBP0Cle_1qroDhZ6NCAEl16Mm2x3C_HRWctl7byhHday58wbXA6SdWd_CGC5hNmYDtk9YFXnIJX7SiMXw/s1600/2014-11-13+16.04.20.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Elsa and her ice gloves, watching some Veggie Tales</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9Guvb5YvDr_IwKwEoXpSSLXUtVjWGoGjbNFvsoNs5tG21oK3kpHG55sKEx1mt34T-jn0v-pMytI0SNlt-KnAA0_JYAIHOM2QxhY9qw559XImglmXxv2Go3POwuFimt6NtdO4x8LQ6Mc/s1600/2014-11-13+18.33.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9Guvb5YvDr_IwKwEoXpSSLXUtVjWGoGjbNFvsoNs5tG21oK3kpHG55sKEx1mt34T-jn0v-pMytI0SNlt-KnAA0_JYAIHOM2QxhY9qw559XImglmXxv2Go3POwuFimt6NtdO4x8LQ6Mc/s1600/2014-11-13+18.33.46.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Elsa, holding on to her coronation items, with her ice gloves</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB9ECMY4hPgcJqpEBp0732ULTUL3cQFVbvFTQw0LfoxAnEQzoBYYGXyrZxn4ZwKYAhhHXLiLUQjlHwPgnuBSc5zQnNtOjnO1B96Q5emrLuld_giT1hzWwrlalmveV-sguZK8-jS2kKEU/s1600/2014-11-16+10.47.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB9ECMY4hPgcJqpEBp0732ULTUL3cQFVbvFTQw0LfoxAnEQzoBYYGXyrZxn4ZwKYAhhHXLiLUQjlHwPgnuBSc5zQnNtOjnO1B96Q5emrLuld_giT1hzWwrlalmveV-sguZK8-jS2kKEU/s1600/2014-11-16+10.47.34.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Heston's dedication, he reached his hand to my face, I kissed it, and our friend snapped this photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyP-8X0VfvzOGP6fZ3vtZWOFoJXwlBMINNzIM-evKPrhSnl1ALoCUvdATagpV64Kxa8-q02-TMbNzt0dYgIYFoCq8lLOGVHSnbZSH77c3rxRaniJu1YxOVfy7G6yn8fBsOft2m7xtoZ4/s1600/2014-11-18+11.06.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyP-8X0VfvzOGP6fZ3vtZWOFoJXwlBMINNzIM-evKPrhSnl1ALoCUvdATagpV64Kxa8-q02-TMbNzt0dYgIYFoCq8lLOGVHSnbZSH77c3rxRaniJu1YxOVfy7G6yn8fBsOft2m7xtoZ4/s1600/2014-11-18+11.06.03.jpg" height="400" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">She's wearing her "Instruction Thing" so she can give instructions.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSegxUQGJg6iYvsOJ3_815sfzyljQYVA0HA3QtDkLn8dKDbBzAN8gm5e8Pp5oPO-oOWAEaOF3_9c6xgXr1EOc_9-ca8hm3jl2Q35DIMIyfChVAOBtaaSDnCY8ohqWvo0DOMIEvAVDqbJE/s1600/2014-11-18+11.52.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSegxUQGJg6iYvsOJ3_815sfzyljQYVA0HA3QtDkLn8dKDbBzAN8gm5e8Pp5oPO-oOWAEaOF3_9c6xgXr1EOc_9-ca8hm3jl2Q35DIMIyfChVAOBtaaSDnCY8ohqWvo0DOMIEvAVDqbJE/s1600/2014-11-18+11.52.01.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">At lunch she asked, "Want to take a picture of me praying?" Duh!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiXSOsiwj-cncPM_gr8DsIOMZg5qMc1_IWpgbpoWkEjVdLYmltjtO2vKnMzy8G6pnNlabreNK3Iec52joZgTD2HGNaJi-FGvBe34KiFn_zAiMD0CoopdAKwh5EjJSZ6eS1_1vmujpI_Y/s1600/2014-11-18+13.11.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiXSOsiwj-cncPM_gr8DsIOMZg5qMc1_IWpgbpoWkEjVdLYmltjtO2vKnMzy8G6pnNlabreNK3Iec52joZgTD2HGNaJi-FGvBe34KiFn_zAiMD0CoopdAKwh5EjJSZ6eS1_1vmujpI_Y/s1600/2014-11-18+13.11.30.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">He does this thing when he's mad, where he tries to eat his right arm. Always his right arm, never his left.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9B93jADzG4QyIj2nljFKc3XBVyW2snAwEehQ3m_-PDV-rexSwSsVquJ6tuWwaA6zUvGJqWhggUl5NuHDavUJR9T-qmMvzh0HxtrfChSyfD4xndi1_C6LgNyeYQANGOmKIRDItxRp1Ec/s1600/2014-11-20+08.53.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9B93jADzG4QyIj2nljFKc3XBVyW2snAwEehQ3m_-PDV-rexSwSsVquJ6tuWwaA6zUvGJqWhggUl5NuHDavUJR9T-qmMvzh0HxtrfChSyfD4xndi1_C6LgNyeYQANGOmKIRDItxRp1Ec/s1600/2014-11-20+08.53.18.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Snuggling with me, so I went to take a picture, and she resorted to posing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpBl5T0D3Orxshb1eAcFOymdddbQU1p7upbZdlBV7RDytVc_qH0zQjq-Ra8RXNAwpXK6RnnVmV_mPmeK_8jKDAKDPHfCNkWbGi1FWylzF5o1_8CtLQA4BVGgUhUqz_8vELnJiIq-qiH0/s1600/2014-11-20+11.58.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpBl5T0D3Orxshb1eAcFOymdddbQU1p7upbZdlBV7RDytVc_qH0zQjq-Ra8RXNAwpXK6RnnVmV_mPmeK_8jKDAKDPHfCNkWbGi1FWylzF5o1_8CtLQA4BVGgUhUqz_8vELnJiIq-qiH0/s1600/2014-11-20+11.58.11.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Gymnastics wore her out.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJ3GV3mWMB3K-CGLmX_z_5zI3_KGo_FAsMQqPaO4RmDQiy1YNFoobtGgybIwLet7wbC4-__h3hgxIB1AHfV2KMTgVJhHhpe1FyG6lwuLi1E9t8RKhE5TVmIkwNYKFxm9MTlGRiQLdJkU/s1600/2014-11-20+12.03.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJ3GV3mWMB3K-CGLmX_z_5zI3_KGo_FAsMQqPaO4RmDQiy1YNFoobtGgybIwLet7wbC4-__h3hgxIB1AHfV2KMTgVJhHhpe1FyG6lwuLi1E9t8RKhE5TVmIkwNYKFxm9MTlGRiQLdJkU/s1600/2014-11-20+12.03.44.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Gymnastics wore brother out, too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo_1VYiyyuoOfabASCSs3VP_FQdc2wpH9aghIfkf3gFM016OlEsvFdzhONUEdNOzfiwyROT6bjPK-najNpaE-cqVJTK0130TDmNpZBIRMN8tXkmaoPmbfggYdSsKMKOVjxqcMkoGQbvA/s1600/2014-11-21+08.30.33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo_1VYiyyuoOfabASCSs3VP_FQdc2wpH9aghIfkf3gFM016OlEsvFdzhONUEdNOzfiwyROT6bjPK-najNpaE-cqVJTK0130TDmNpZBIRMN8tXkmaoPmbfggYdSsKMKOVjxqcMkoGQbvA/s1600/2014-11-21+08.30.33.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">He is not a snuggler, so this was extra special morning time!</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_bM1-Sd7POb0OAVgPzfVNl9E08bQ1OqAQbRXPHSUZBlXzL3I5k4SMLfwBKj3usdo76t9FnFJLMjK6dKELcogMCrnBbUsDX9Hbd_MJyEwhyujHP7xhvLuM29PkJhJpugUMUhsjC0VDPs/s1600/2014-11-21+08.42.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_bM1-Sd7POb0OAVgPzfVNl9E08bQ1OqAQbRXPHSUZBlXzL3I5k4SMLfwBKj3usdo76t9FnFJLMjK6dKELcogMCrnBbUsDX9Hbd_MJyEwhyujHP7xhvLuM29PkJhJpugUMUhsjC0VDPs/s1600/2014-11-21+08.42.53.jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">My two favorite goofballs. Every time she hugged him, he would turn and look at me like, "Are you seeing this?"</td></tr>
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NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7052693318564909128.post-85911867663884749392014-11-11T18:56:00.000-06:002014-11-11T18:57:54.335-06:00~*Heavy Sigh*~<br />
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This morning I woke up with a sore throat and achy ears. No warning, no gradual decline of health; I just opened my eyes and realized I was down for the count. The burning in my throat felt as if I could have produced fire when opening my mouth. I suppose there are worse things than being a dragon... I was supposed to be on nursery duty at church, but since I'd never forgive myself if I got one of those littles sick, I stayed home. </div>
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I wish I could say I was able to relax and rest, but that was not the case. It was no different from any other day at home with both children, save for the fact that I felt like doo, and was not necessarily up to life-per-usual. Little Miss wanted to play out very scripted scenarios, (<i>"Mama, how about you are the Queen Mother, and I am the princess and you tell me.... how about you tell me that... tell me that you're going to plan a royal ball, and then I have to buy a new dress and shoes, and then when the....when the....um....when the um.... when the prince....when he.....um....when the pri - when he comes, then you tell him to....."</i>) Little Man fussed and rolled, and pivoted, and rolled, and fussed, and whined, and ate, and fussed, and wanted to be held. Not entertained, just held. Upright, facing forward, and able to reach something with which to put his slobbery hands all over. So I treated myself to some Airborne.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ty8eGzepUQ4QZx7ujwz54HvVEbER6usK-_w8RuBZf7VxdFWtm9y2NdhgQEuD1sld5EEzQPlpxuFyjjreBBKX2t42rLs4aGug__K7dPbsZoN00GxHdTnjIl6_zq-CBJqqySn2rgbZWnw/s1600/2014-11-11+08.26.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ty8eGzepUQ4QZx7ujwz54HvVEbER6usK-_w8RuBZf7VxdFWtm9y2NdhgQEuD1sld5EEzQPlpxuFyjjreBBKX2t42rLs4aGug__K7dPbsZoN00GxHdTnjIl6_zq-CBJqqySn2rgbZWnw/s1600/2014-11-11+08.26.44.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Airborne cocktail. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ5Qh0Zdo4ILdE4pfzhwoaXMO3vZgeXduCqIMl67BirgYEofOCRJv_IXC4qGf3dWdRfn4yxL_s74iMFWNRmxOM-RMlJU5NBnqJD-s5a-5BGDZCGyGdw2Wn3z5ERNu76OXBQLkIDV2xsw/s1600/2014-11-11+17.58.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ5Qh0Zdo4ILdE4pfzhwoaXMO3vZgeXduCqIMl67BirgYEofOCRJv_IXC4qGf3dWdRfn4yxL_s74iMFWNRmxOM-RMlJU5NBnqJD-s5a-5BGDZCGyGdw2Wn3z5ERNu76OXBQLkIDV2xsw/s1600/2014-11-11+17.58.40.jpg" height="295" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone has not slept all. day. long. </td></tr>
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Even though I was worn totally ragged, Little Miss was being adorable. And this happened. And it makes me giggle, even though giggling hurts my throat. It's hilarious, even if it is the 2348702938740298374th video we have that ends with, "Can we watch it now?"<br />
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~*Heavy Sigh*~ Even when I'm feeling overwhelmed by life, these moments are just too precious to not appreciate. Thank you for the giggles, Little Miss. Mama loves you.NodakValhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13212914336988501583noreply@blogger.com2