tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015808855690752162024-03-13T20:14:22.594-07:00Carter Makes Fivebabydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-61482493677356551912015-04-30T12:57:00.000-07:002015-04-30T12:57:19.863-07:00Here's to the Girls<br />
As soon as they announced that my 20th high school reunion would be a "girls night out," I told Justin he was off the hook and made plans to travel all by my lonesome to Chattanooga. I knew it would be a great night because what happens when a bunch of pushing-forty-women get together without men or kids or any other distractions? We become girls again! We laughed and talked and cried and remembered all the years we spent racing head first and oh-so recklessly towards adulthood together.<br />
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<b>Fact: Everyone looked the same and none of us are getting old. </b><br />
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<i>"Remember when we...?"</i><br />
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<i>"Remember...?"</i><br />
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<i>"Did we really do that?!"</i><br />
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<i>"Did we really wear that? (Socks and Birkenstocks!?)"</i><br />
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I've worked very hard to dig deeper into God's grace over the last few years. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I've begun to see that God's love is not an abstract idea but a real, tangible, sweet and overwhelming thing - like oxygen and water and light and all the things we simply can't live without. I finally really get what Paul meant when he said, "In Him we live and move and have our being."<br />
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But that is now. What about then? Was God looking at me with the same love-filled gaze back then? God loves me now but did God love her, the girl I used to be? The awkward girl? The headstrong and stubborn girl? The girl with a long list of mistakes just waiting for her around the corner? The girl I tried to pretend I never was?<br />
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Every time I saw that girl looking back at me in yearbooks and photographs over the last twenty years my instinct has been to look away. But this weekend I decided to do something different and for once, I let myself just love her. No judgements, no embarrassment, no regrets. I saw her as the beloved girl she was and is. I saw the Grace. Grace that watched her to make bad choice after bad choice but still led her to a life with more beauty and love than she could have ever imagined. Grace that turned her broken heart into a heart overflowing with joy. Grace that took her weaknesses and grew strength.<br />
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I realized on my long drive to Tennessee this weekend that I can't accept God's love for me now if I don't believe God loved me then. I can't see my beauty today if I don't see the same beauty God saw in me then.<br />
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When we say God's love is eternal, it means it is without beginning and without ending, the same yesterday and today. That means God loved me when I was a mess. When I wore Birkenstocks and socks and thought true love could be expressed in a mixed tape, God smiled and kept loving. When I was that girl who felt painfully out of place, God offered an abundance of grace that I could not see then but is overwhelmingly clear to me now.<br />
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So here's to the girls- the girls we were and the girls we will aways be. Ladies, may you each discover what I believe to be true: all these years God has been gazing on us with a lot of love and maybe a little amusement, (because, well, Birkenstocks and socks.) Throughout all these years that steadfast gaze of love did not waver with our failed marriages, failed pregnancies, failed careers, or our failed attempts to outrun the past. Because, to quote Fr. Gregory Boyle, "God would seem to be too occupied in being unable to take Her eyes off of us to spend any time raising an eyebrow in disapproval." Thank you for helping me remember this truth. Let's not wait another twenty years to be those sweet, amazing girls again.<br />
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babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-49626989649575200752015-04-23T11:47:00.003-07:002015-04-23T18:17:44.527-07:00Pulled Pork and Holy Conversations<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I asked him if it was very hard to travel away from his
monastic community in France. “Do you
experience culture shock when you visit America?” Brother Emmanuel smiled and said, “I’ve
learned how to adjust but I stayed in <span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.taize.fr/en" target="_blank">Taizé</a> </span></span>for twenty-two years before I ever
traveled anywhere alone. The first time
I was asked to go on a trip by myself I refused. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to renew
my love relationship with God each day.
Every day I fall in love with God again and renew the commitment I’ve
made. How would I be able to do that
away from the order and silence of our community? I soon realized that one minute with God on a
subway and another minute with God in an elevator can add up to many minutes
with God throughout the day. This is how
I stay in love with God when I travel.” </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We were standing in line waiting for barbeque and I had asked a simple polite question to pass the time. I wasn't expecting to dive right into deep conversation because, well, we were waiting for barbeque. </div>
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<br /></div>
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You mean that every day you
fall in love with God all over again?
Every day you renew your vows?
Not once a year or once a week?
Every day? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I told him that it was hard for me to find time to be alone
with God. I try to get up early in the
morning before my husband and children start their days. I love those times when the house is quiet
and I drink my coffee, read scripture, and talk to God. But I don’t get up every morning. Sometimes I just press snooze. Falling in love with God every day just
doesn’t seem possible when you have three kids and a job and you know, all
those things to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“You can learn to love God well while you practice loving
your children and your husband and everyone else you meet each day. God is in them and God is in you and you
learn to love God by loving God’s beloved children. Loving God also helps you love your children. It goes both ways.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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That is what he said while we filled our plates with potato
salad and coleslaw. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Isn’t this how the Spirit works? You jump in line for barbeque and the next
thing you know God is pounding on your heart saying, “Did you hear that?! Love
them well and you love me well!!” </div>
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We
can’t separate the mundane from the holy.
Simple tasks like sharing meals with strangers can be the very thing
that brings us closer to God. You really never know when God might show up
and stop you in your tracks. I
thought I was just going to have dinner at a friend’s house with a few of the <span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;">Taizé</span> Brothers who were visiting Shenandoah this week. I didn’t know I was going to have big
important life altering things dropped into my heart while I waited for pulled
pork. And all the saints said, "Thank you, God, for barbeque." <br />
<br />
Oh, and Saturday I had the best conversation with Shane Claiborne at my kitchen table over pancakes and orange juice about the death penalty and Christians standing up for justice. I think that holy conversations often surprise us in their ordinary surroundings.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_aLRKbm1tYIO5KPqGuPX4Y2g_9hKdZPzYp72kfU6WYkeCLHLn7uqUOYH9qrQvEd-Qr8ham8XZJqk1MULz66mZTSi0gqwwr5gesFQn32KXXe_1xk_5o0ubU0z38avGZ8iAX3g3EAlYUxK/s1600/IMG_1021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_aLRKbm1tYIO5KPqGuPX4Y2g_9hKdZPzYp72kfU6WYkeCLHLn7uqUOYH9qrQvEd-Qr8ham8XZJqk1MULz66mZTSi0gqwwr5gesFQn32KXXe_1xk_5o0ubU0z38avGZ8iAX3g3EAlYUxK/s1600/IMG_1021.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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My crew with Brothers John, Emile, and Emmanuel</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-4669862557589561962015-04-12T16:48:00.002-07:002015-04-12T16:56:01.598-07:00A Praying Mama's Manifesto<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFQLU8yXs1jPYtUQfQYY7f5eWe11R1WB1qskaeelu9QYr_jKCSNwUOybZTQC-Ae2A0_GXFnSOh3Cm4KqTjgyWag22pmzOZ5lJtlyrz1SXk9i5mVG0nJF_YigaE2hirzLzEhCM3ZREIMsD/s1600/IMG_1421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFQLU8yXs1jPYtUQfQYY7f5eWe11R1WB1qskaeelu9QYr_jKCSNwUOybZTQC-Ae2A0_GXFnSOh3Cm4KqTjgyWag22pmzOZ5lJtlyrz1SXk9i5mVG0nJF_YigaE2hirzLzEhCM3ZREIMsD/s1600/IMG_1421.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;">Should I have let her watch that movie? What do I do when she wants to start going on dates or wearing makeup to school? </span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Are all these Johnny Cash songs he's obsessed with going to turn him into a whiskey drinking shoe shine boy who thinks its ok to shoot a man in Reno just to watch them die? </div>
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<br /></div>
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How will they handle the first offer to have a drink, take a puff, or God forbid, to try just one small hit off a needle?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
What will they say the first time they hear, "Church is just a place for judgmental hypocrites!" or better yet, what will they do when they realize that the church really is a place for hypocrites. When they figure out that hypocrites, thieves, and child molesters are all sitting near them in the pews. Will they walk away from her in disgust? Will they say, "What's the point? I'm done with church!" </div>
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<br /></div>
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What happens when they start to think that God is not listening? </div>
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Will they decide that the cosmos is too big for God? Will they believe the lie that it's either Darwin or Genesis, but not both?</div>
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<br /></div>
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What if they watch someone they love suffer and die?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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What if one of them suffers? or dies?</div>
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These are the questions I have asked God at least a million times. These are the worries that fight for a front row seat in my mind almost every day. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There is a story in the Hebrew Bible about a Shunammite woman who is faithful to God and shows kindness to the prophet Elisha. Elisha tells the woman that as a reward for her faithfulness, she will give birth to a son. One day, her God-given son becomes ill and dies suddenly. Instead of falling into a pit of despair, this woman gets on a donkey and goes to find Elisha. When Elisha offers to send his servant to try to heal her already dead son, the scripture says she "grabbed Elisha by the feet" and demanded he go to her son himself. So Elisha goes to her house, lays on top of her son's dead body "his mouth on the boy's mouth, eyes on his eyes, hands on his hands " and prays for God to raise the boy back to life. My favorite part of this story is that the Bible says "the boy sneezed seven times and then opened his eyes."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When the Shunammite woman grabbed hold of Elisha's feet, she was saying to God, "I will not let go until you deliver my child from death. You aren't getting rid of me without answering my prayer." I believe this woman is every mother who has ever prayed to God, "Deliver my child from..." (you fill in the blank). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She is me when I fall on my knees early in the morning before my little ones start their day and plead to Jesus, "Just watch over them today. Be with them wherever they go. Protect what they hear, what they see, and what they do." </div>
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<br /></div>
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She is my mother who certainly prayed me through my teen years and beyond. </div>
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She is my grandmother who could be found at any hour of the day or night calling loudly for God to deliver someone's child from some type of sickness, addiction, or sin. </div>
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She is you when you cry out to heaven for your own child to be healed, protected, or just brought home. </div>
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When mothers pray, we are grabbing hold of Jesus' feet and refusing to let go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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But this is a hard and painful truth-</div>
<div>
<b>If the only thing we do is pray God's protection over our children, we are falling short by a mile and then some. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i><span class="text Matt-28-8" id="en-CEV-22170" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">"The women were frightened and yet very happy, </span></i></span> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Matt-28-8" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">as they hurried from the tomb and ran to tell his disciples. </span></i> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="text Matt-28-9" id="en-CEV-22171" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Suddenly Jesus met them and greeted them. </span></i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i><span class="text Matt-28-9" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">They went near him, <b>held on to his feet</b>, and worshiped him.</span><span class="text Matt-28-10" id="en-CEV-22172" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">”</span></i> </i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i></i></i><br />
<div style="display: inline !important;">
<i><i><i><span class="text Matt-28-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">Matthew 28: 8-10</span></i></i></i></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="text Matt-28-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span>
<span class="text Matt-28-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">The first people to witness the risen Christ were women. What did they do? They fell down and grabbed hold of his feet! They would not let go of Jesus until they had a chance to worship him. These were the women who had likely washed his feet every day as they waited on Jesus and the other disciples. His feet were as familiar to them as my children's feet are to me. I wonder if they were trying to make sure he was not an apparition but was truly alive again, flesh and blood, dusty feet and all. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="text Matt-28-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span class="text Matt-28-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">When we pray, we are also the women who first saw the resurrected Christ. We hold onto his feet as if to say, "I will not let you go until I have worshipped you. I will hold onto your dusty feet until I know that I know that I know that you are alive again." </span></div>
<div>
</div>
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<div>
Here is where my heart has been sitting these last few weeks. I wrestle with the instinct to shelter my children from every bad thing that's out there while at the same time knowing that the world will catch up to them eventually. What most parents don't realize is that their children need Jesus, not Christian values. They need to know God, not rules. When we focus all of our energy on teaching our children to "guard their hearts" are we sending them a message that says "don't wander too far, you might not make it back." Instead shouldn't we be telling them, "You are the lost sheep that God will always go find. There is no place you can go, no mistake you can make that is too much for God's grace."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If there is one thing I am sure of as a mother, it is this: all of creation is broken and marred by sin and no matter what I do and how hard I try, my children are also part of this broken messed up world. They will know sin and death and suffering and there is nothing I can do to stop it. They will doubt and question and will likely even turn away from God for a season. Most of us have and I don't expect my children to be a any different. This realization, that my mistakes are there just waiting to be made by them, is what sends me to my knees in prayer more often than not. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">How should I pray for them? Do I plead for my children or praise God for the hope that is theirs in Christ?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The cross, the tomb, the resurrection and the forgiveness of sins were for their sins, too. My children are part of God's redemption story, too. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Is my sheltering really just doubt in disguise? Doubt that God can redeem my children without my help? Doubt that God can do for them what was done for me?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The truth is that God will redeem them in spite of all my best efforts. </span></div>
</div>
<div>
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<div>
Mothers, this is what I believe: When we pray for our children, we have to use both hands. With one hand, like the Shunamitte woman, we must grab hold of Jesus' feet and plead deliverance for our children. But with the other hand we must hold onto the feet of our resurrected Lord, and rejoice that death, even our children's death, has been defeated. This is the already-but-not-yet thing we do for our children. We fall prostrate before the Lord, day in and day out. We lift our children up in prayer and praise God that their redemption story has already been written, even if we don't know the ending. We do all of this as we hold on tight to the feet of Jesus with both hands.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With both hands, we petition and we praise. We hold on tight and we know that there is no letting go until our daughters or our sons are sitting there beside us, holding fast to His feet, too. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-60622196465739861742015-03-28T20:14:00.001-07:002015-03-29T08:26:04.739-07:00For My Fellow Pharisees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyZUt86ldcS6JF1IfmMjqR6tPI2vRXI3cK_ZaGiVgRRiTsqvMJ3Ew4pmFWev838iS3fzQWYrWdkL41jhtGzXGw_NxxadxZ9ElS3sQ1OVLDloa7hD7HlHIyv_4K6D4tFJjoYvB5FLblHoo/s1600/IMG_0319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyZUt86ldcS6JF1IfmMjqR6tPI2vRXI3cK_ZaGiVgRRiTsqvMJ3Ew4pmFWev838iS3fzQWYrWdkL41jhtGzXGw_NxxadxZ9ElS3sQ1OVLDloa7hD7HlHIyv_4K6D4tFJjoYvB5FLblHoo/s1600/IMG_0319.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Jesus told this parable to certain people who had convinced themselves that they were righteous and who looked on everyone else with disgust:</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Two people went up to the temple to pray. One was a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed about himself with these words, ‘God, I thank you that I’m not like everyone else—crooks, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of everything I receive.’ But the tax collector stood at a distance. He wouldn’t even lift his eyes to look toward heaven. Rather, he struck his chest and said, ‘God, show mercy to me, a sinner.’ </i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> I tell you, this person went down to his home justified rather than the Pharisee. All who lift themselves up will be brought low, and those who make themselves low will be lifted up.” </i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>-Luke 18:9-14</i></blockquote>
<br />
This upcoming week we are going to celebrate some big days in the Christian calendar. On Friday, we will remember the day that God hung on a cross, when God suffered, and when God died. Two days later, we will sing songs of resurrection, songs of new life, and songs of triumph. Mixed within these narratives are stories of people who got it all wrong. The disciples thought Jesus was going to be a triumphant messiah, leading Israel into an era of political power. The Jewish leaders thought Jesus was a heretic, and that killing him would end his dangerous and subversive message of mercy. The Roman leaders thought Jesus was an unimportant nuisance, and why did it matter if an innocent man was crucified? <br />
<br />
Lots of people who knew Jesus got it wrong, not just a little wrong, they missed the mark by a mile. Even after Jesus was resurrected, his earliest followers thought he would return any day. “He’s coming soon!” and “Be ready for Christ’s return, it could happen at any time!” are messages scattered throughout the New Testament. In the beginning, Christians thought and lived their lives as if Jesus would be back any day, ready to bring about a new order to creation. <br />
<br />
I think we forget that this was the message of the early Christian church. We either forget, or we pretend it doesn’t matter that the primary belief of most of the first Christians, that Jesus was returning imminently, simply ended up being not true. <br />
<br />
We don’t want to think about the first Christians being wrong because that inevitably leads to the next question…what if we’re wrong, too? <br />
<br />
When it comes to our belief systems, there is a lot of room for error. Any Christian who tells you that their theology is 100% correct, is 100% wrong. Since the beginning of time, we have all been muddling our way through this complex Divine-Human relationship. We have all been getting it at least a little wrong. Abraham got it wrong when he believed he needed Hagar, not Sarah, to fulfill God’s promises. David got it wrong so many times it's hard to pick just one. Peter got it wrong on land and on sea. Mary got it wrong over something as silly as wine at a wedding…..do you see where I am going with this? We are humans and limited and flawed and we see dimly with eyes that are broken by sin. Yet God kept reaching. God kept using all of those imperfect people to speak words of truth. <br />
<br />
The first time I went to seminary, I was terrified of learning the <i>wrong things</i>. I was literally afraid that I would be taught to believe something that would somehow move me further away from God. I had to think the right things about salvation, grace, creation, and sin or else I would not be in the group of God’s favored <i>right thinking</i> Christians. I seriously believed that thinking the wrong thing about God, having the wrong theology, would push me away from heaven.<br />
<br />
Then I became a doctor. I watched people die. I held their hands as they took their last breath. I saw brave warriors fight addiction. I heard women weep because they knew they were about to give birth to another child that they could not afford to raise. My heart broke as young girls told me stories about years of abuse and rape. I met a thirteen year-old girl who was incarcerated because she had figured out how to pimp out all the younger girls in her neighborhood. I watched an eleven year old boy whose body was ravaged by cancer tell his family, “You need to pray now, something is happening,” just seconds before he took his last breath. <br />
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A lot of doctors lose their faith. It is easy to think that God cannot exist when you are surrounded by nothing but suffering and death. People think that doctors lose their faith because they are intoxicated by their own power over life and death. If anything, the opposite is true. Our powerlessness to save lives leads to hopelessness and doubt that a good God could ever exist. Doctors live in the vortex of every theodicy question ever raised. <br />
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I think, though, that what saved my faith was realizing that I never had all the right answers in the first place and I never will. I accepted that I wasn’t going to get it all right. I embraced the God who dwells in mystery and chaos and is eternally unknowable. I learned the lessons of Job and heard God say, “Were you there, in the beginning, when the morning stars sang and the angels danced with joy?” The God of the Universe doesn’t need defending or explaining by anyone, least of all me. <br />
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I stopped being afraid of thinking the wrong things and decided to believe in a God who loves us anyways. I placed my faith in a God who suffers for us and with us and decided that everything, everything hinges on a cross and an empty tomb. <br />
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“But God demonstrated His love for us in this: while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8<br />
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<i>That is where my life begins and ends. Everything else can sort itself out. </i><br />
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Human beings are by nature crusaders for a cause. For millennia we have fought and died for ideas. Freedom, power, faith, …the list goes on and on. It is easy to get caught up in a movement for or against something. We like to define ourselves by the things we support and the things we oppose. `<br />
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Are you pro-life or pro-choice? <br />
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Pro-Israel or Pro-Palestine? <br />
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Pro-welfare or pro-go-out-and-get-a-job? <br />
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Pro-LGBT rights or pro-traditional-marriage? <br />
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Pro-vaccine or pro-babies-getting-deadly-diseases? <br />
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It is easy to jump onto a cause that we believe in and let it define who we are. We find people who agree with us and they become our tribe of believers while those who disagree with us become our enemies. Us against them. Always, us against them. The real inconvenient truth is that Jesus said we have to love our enemies. The only way to love your enemy is to admit that you may be wrong and they may be right. Otherwise you are just patronizing your enemy and condescendingly offering them your friendship. You are not really loving them.<br />
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I have to remind myself of this over and over again. It is easy to feel moral justification for the stands we take against all the wrong we see in the world. It is easy to think that our theology has to be correct in order to gain God’s approval and therefore I am going to heaven and they are not because I <i>think correctly about this and they do not</i>.<br />
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That is when you might as well tattoo a big sign on your forehead that says, “I’m a Pharisee.” <br />
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I looked into the mirror of my heart recently and saw that sign. I saw my pride and the judgment I place on those who are different, mostly those who <i>think</i> differently than me. I literally sat at the breakfast table in front of my kids and cried during our morning devotions when I realized, “I’m not the tax collector in this story. I’m the Pharisee.” The truth is, those of use who preach "mercy over sacrifice" are often the most unmerciful of all, looking down on those we deem too judgmental and close minded and priding ourselves in our own inclusivity.<br />
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Hello, my name is Alethea, and I am a Pharisee. <br />
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I struggled for a long time with the irony of it all, with realizing that I was back where I started years ago- placing moral value on <i>thinking the correct things</i>. Only this time, I wasn't thinking "What if I'm wrong?" I was thinking, "I'm glad I'm not wrong." The big question is, once you realize your own pharisee-ness, how do you stop? How does a pharisee become a tax collector? <br />
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Then I remembered the God of chaos. The God who hovered over the deep and spoke the world into existence. I stepped back into the place of uncertainty and realized that being unsure is not the same thing as lack of faith. We all miss the mark by a mile. We all have no idea what we are talking about. Even me with all my platitudes. <br />
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<i>Lord have mercy on me, a sinner, who just keeps getting things wrong.</i><br />
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Abraham was wrong about a lot of things, but he still believed that God’s promises are true. Moses was wrong many times, but he still followed God’s call into the wilderness. Mary missed the point sometimes, but she still said, “Here I am.” <br />
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This is the week where we, the Church, get to be all on the same side. This is the week when it doesn’t matter what side of “pro-“ you land on. This week, the Church gets to stand together as one and declare to the world, “Look at the cross! Look at the stone that was rolled away! Look and see what God’s love for you looks like!” We get to all be truth speakers.<i style="font-weight: bold;"> This week, as we celebrate a cross and an empty tomb, there is grace for us all, even the Pharisee in me. </i><br />
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<br />babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-7598915294699150852015-03-15T11:29:00.001-07:002015-03-15T12:42:06.986-07:00For Living Stones- both big and small<br />
“Do you want to go to Israel with me in the spring?” <br />
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I looked at my mom like she was crazy. I couldn’t go to Israel in the spring. We were getting ready to bring home Carter. I had spent the last year walking in the direction of that little boy in China. How could I plan to just go off on a trip to another country just ten months after we brought him home? Besides, if I went anywhere it would be back to Brazil and the people of the Amazon. My last trip there had changed my heart so much and I really wanted to be on this year’s boat with the Shenandoah nursing students. <br />
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Fast-forward several months. We were home with Carter and he is amazing and our life with him is blessed more than we ever expected. I decided things were going well enough to do something completely extravagant and selfish and take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity to travel with my mother in the Holy Land. I thought it would be a fun, relaxing chance to have quality time with my mom, the woman I admire most in the world. <br />
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Boy was I wrong. This trip was fun but it was anything but relaxing. I did not know that I was essentially tagging along on a trip planned by Lynne Hybels and Shauna Niequist for women much more important and accomplished than myself. Women who are <i>real</i> writers and <i>real</i> bloggers and have <i>ministries</i> and <i>fans</i> and literally <i>hundreds of thousands</i> of Instagram followers. I suppose it is a good thing I didn’t know, or I would have never gotten on the plane. <br />
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So there I was, on a bus traveling around Israel with amazing women learning about a land whose stories and problems are heartbreaking and unsolvable. All day, every day, our fearless leader, Todd Deatherage from the <a href="http://www.telosgroup.org/" target="_blank">Telos Group</a> took us to meet people with unbelievable stories to tell. Stories about displacement, conflict, hurt, loss, and grief. Stories about forgiveness, friendship, hope, and reconciliation. We met Israelis. We met Palestinians. We met Jews. We met Muslims. We met Christians. Each person we met has lost something or someone in the wars that have ravaged their land over the years. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzCok0pZXIDVWQjwsB4M3hpmbBuwUmC_AZTWSd2GprDRLODfPr4oLrCliqwOITwAD7oBe16hSxlb9UBotB3s2QMLOYAsTBOwO1KZRNtL4rKgMZf2YPc6dOQICIdm4XYl8UjrXs2TGJIko/s1600/10984492_10204709941641400_3754420928299730306_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzCok0pZXIDVWQjwsB4M3hpmbBuwUmC_AZTWSd2GprDRLODfPr4oLrCliqwOITwAD7oBe16hSxlb9UBotB3s2QMLOYAsTBOwO1KZRNtL4rKgMZf2YPc6dOQICIdm4XYl8UjrXs2TGJIko/s1600/10984492_10204709941641400_3754420928299730306_o.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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"<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">We Refuse To Be Enemies" sign at entrance to the <a href="http://www.tentofnations.org/" target="_blank">Tent of Nations</a></span></i></div>
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I began to feel small. Tiny and cosmically inconsequential. What do I, a mom and a small town doctor, have to offer this issue? I have no political clout. I have no cultural influence. My Instagram followers are mostly a bunch of Camdyn’s middle school friends. I wondered why I was even on the trip in the first place. Why wasn’t I getting on that boat in the Amazon? At least there I would have a role that mattered and there would be a purpose to my presence. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bethlehem where we met with the amazing <a href="http://www.holylandtrust.org/" target="_blank">Sami Awad</a></span></i></div>
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Here is the entry point of grace in this story: it just so happened that while I was waiting to board my plane for Israel, I read this scripture from the Lenten lectionary:<br />
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<i>Jesus said to them, “Have you never read in the scriptures:</i></div>
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<i>‘The stone that the builders rejected </i></div>
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<i> has become the most important one;</i></div>
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<i>this is what the Lord has done, </i></div>
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<i>and it is amazing in our eyes’?”</i></div>
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<i>Matthew 21:42</i></div>
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We like to call Jesus a carpenter, but the Greek word used to describe him, <i>tekton</i>, really translates as craftsman. He built things. Most of what was built during the first century was made from stone. Walls made from ancient, well-hued stones that were expertly selected and put together by master craftsmen are still standing today. I saw many of them on this trip. I placed my hands on the remnants of the Temple, what some call the “Wailing Wall,” and thought about those stones. Perfect. Strong. Huge. Used for something Important. Jesus himself would have chosen such stones for the cornerstone of the buildings he built. He would have inspected them for cracks, looked closely for flaws, and cast aside the stones unfit for building. He knew the value of symmetry and power. <br />
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Jesus also knew that he, himself, would be measured and would be declared unworthy by his own people. Jesus, the craftsman, knew he would be the rejected stone. The perfect stone would be cast aside and proclaimed weak, flawed,….unimportant. Yet Jesus chose to become one of us, one of the broken and rejected stones. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Looking out to the Sea of Galilee from the ruins of the ancient synagogue in Capernaum</i></span></div>
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This verse went round and round in my head during our trip. Over and over again it would come to mind. I think God was showing me that in many ways peace has already arrived among the <i>living stones</i> of the Holy Land. It’s like he was whispering to my heart, “Look! Look at what I am doing here. Grace is abundant in the land.” I began to see that it’s the women who are slowly but surely changing things. The women who are tired of fighting, tired of burying their children, and tired of waiting for someone else to find the path to peace. The women are there building bridges, cooking jam, sharing their grief, bearing the burdens of their enemies, and speaking peace. Step by step, Israeli and Palestinian women are marching together towards an end to the conflict. <br />
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Among the world’s living stones, the women of the Middle East are “the stones that the builders have rejected.” If not rejected, they have been dismissed as unimportant and irrelevant by outside observers. Women are many times the forgotten ones in the realm of international politics. On a geo-political perspective, they are often powerless and their voices go unheard. They live unseen behind veils and burkas and in hidden places like kitchens and gardens. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Making jam with women from the <a href="http://www.theparentscircle.com/" target="_blank">Parents Circle Families Forum</a></span></i></div>
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What I came to see on my trip is that of all the living stones in the Holy Land, these women have become the most important stones of all. The Lord is using them to bring about a “peace that surpasses all understanding.” They are Kingdom Builders. Every act of forgiveness, every gesture of kindness, and every hand reached out in friendship is building God’s kingdom here on Earth. The women I met in Israel are strong and courageous. They are fierce and tenacious. When peace comes to their land, it will be because they have stood hand in hand, Israeli and Palestinian together, and spoken love against a fire-wall of hate. While the rest of the world isn’t watching, the women of Israel and Palestine are indeed becoming living stones, building bridges between enemies. <i>This is the Lord’s doing and it is amazing! </i><br />
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<i>My mom with Robi Damelin of The Parents Circle- you can read her incredible story <a href="http://www.theparentscircle.com/Story.aspx?ID=201#.VQXC-6Wej5k" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div>
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I’ve always loved this beautiful prayer that Lynne Hybels once wrote called <b><a href="http://www.lynnehybels.com/dangerous-women-creed/" target="_blank">"A Creed for Dangerous Women"</a>:</b><br />
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<b>Dear God, please make us dangerous women.</b><br />
<b>May we be women who acknowledge our power to change, and grow,</b><br />
<b>and be radically alive for God.</b><br />
<b>May we be healers of wounds and righters of wrongs.</b><br />
<b>May we weep with those who weep and speak for those who cannot</b><br />
<b>speak for themselves.</b><br />
<b>May we cherish children, embrace the elderly, and empower the poor.</b><br />
<b>May we pray deeply and teach wisely.</b><br />
<b>May we be strong and gentle leaders.</b><br />
<b>May we sing songs of joy and talk down fear.</b><br />
<b>May we never hesitate to let passion push us, conviction compel us,</b><br />
<b>and righteous anger energize us.</b><br />
<b>May we strike fear into all that is unjust and evil in the world.</b><br />
<b>May we dismantle abusive systems and silence lies with truth.</b><br />
<b>May we shine like stars in a darkened generation.</b><br />
<b>May we overflow with goodness in the name of God and by the power of Jesus.</b><br />
<b>And in that name and by that power, may we change the world.</b><br />
<b>Dear God, please make us dangerous women. Amen.</b><br />
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These are the women I met in Israel. They shine like stars and overflow with goodness. They are the dangerous women that will change the world. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The <a href="http://www.tsameret.net/Projects.html" target="_blank">Path to Peace</a> Mosaic on the Gaza border wall</span></i></div>
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I left home for Israel facing equally unsolvable problems here in my small corner of the earth:<br />
a heroin epidemic that is ravaging the people of my community…<br />
babies born addicted to drugs….<br />
children with unexplained bruises….<br />
mothers with a complete lack of hope for their child's future…. <br />
grandparents, aunts, and uncles who are overwhelmed by the burden of raising children whose parents are in jail or lost to the abyss of addiction. <br />
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Every day I feel powerless to fix my patients’ real problems. Many of them need so much more than what I have to offer and the scope of my ability to make things better for them seems like never enough. So many times I ask God what can be done to fix things. What can anyone do to make all this poverty and addiction better? What can I do when I am just a small piece of a big messy puzzle? But while I sat on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, I realized a beautiful, God-whispered thing-<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Amazing grace is this- God reaches into the pile of rejected stones, the rubble of forgotten and unimportant ones and chooses us. He holds us up to the light of His love and in spite of our flaws, our weaknesses, our smallness, He declares us perfect. </i>We are all chosen by Him to be Kingdom builders, to be one of his precious, beautiful, “living stones.” God delights in his ability to use the broken ones, the forgotten ones, …the irrelevant ones. This is what the Apostle Paul meant when he said that in our weakness, Christ is made perfect. In my weakness, Christ is made perfect. <br />
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I am just beginning to believe that it may be true, even of me. In my weakness, in my smallness, and in my flaws, Christ is made perfect and Kingdom building can happen. If God can use the women of Israel and Palestine to do amazing things, then certainly in ways unseen to me the Lord can use me- my smallness, my flaws, my imperfections, and even my weakness to build his Kingdom here in this place he has called me to labor. A place mixed with so much beauty and sadness. <br />
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After this trip I have begun to think that maybe, God is making me a dangerous woman. <br />
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<i>This is what the Lord is doing, and it is amazing to me. </i><br />
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<i>Sea of Galilee</i></div>
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<br />babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-25588960208017954012015-02-05T08:43:00.000-08:002015-02-05T10:44:25.759-08:00Dear Pastors: Three Reasons You Need to Talk About Vaccines<br />
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Dear Pastor,<br />
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I know you went to seminary so you could preach amazing sermons about grace and redemption. Perhaps you imagined becoming another Billy Graham where every sermon brought hundreds of people to Christ. Maybe you preach by working your way through the lectionary, Sunday by Sunday. You want to be original but profound. You want a message that will be remembered by someone after they walk out the door. Maybe you have your sermon series planned through Easter. You have a theme and a trendy title and a catchy logo and the songs for each Sunday are already planned. And you can’t change the music once it is planned, because let’s face it- everyone knows the cardinal rule of pastoring is not to upset the music minister.<br />
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I also know you didn’t learn about medicine in seminary. I sat through all those theology classes, too. You can talk for hours about atonement theories, inerrancy, and the filioque clause. If you were lucky, you may have had the opportunity to take a bioethics class. You might have read something from one of the Neibuhr brothers or Stanley Hauerwas. You probably talked about just war theory, stem cell research, abortion, and ecotheology. I doubt you talked much about vaccines. <br />
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You don’t have to be a doctor to know that we have reached a crisis point in our country over vaccines, or rather, over people choosing not to vaccinate their children from almost eradicated and highly contagious diseases. Most recently, an outbreak of measles originating from a single infected person visiting Disney Land has led to over one hundred cases around the country. I am not going to go through all the details of this event, nor am I going to expound on the danger of diseases like measles. There are plenty of conversations about this taking place all over cyberspace. What I would like to share are the reasons why I believe this has become a crisis about which faith leaders and pastors need to begin speaking to their congregations. <br />
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Here are three reasons why I believe you, dear pastor, need to preach about vaccines.<br />
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<b>1. This is not a matter of scientific debate. It’s about faith.</b> <br />
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Scientists don’t agree on many things. In fact, they agree on almost nothing. The medical community is still debating whether or not lowering your cholesterol will prevent a heart attack and if routine mammograms are actually of any benefit in saving lives. We love to form opinions and then change our opinions. The fact that vaccines are not only safe but essential to public health is one of the few things we all agree about. In the medical community, vaccine safety is considered a non-issue. Vaccines have been tested, tested again, and then tested one more time- every study has shown that the risk associated with vaccinating children is negligent compared to the risk of a child driving in a car, taking a bath, or eating a hot dog (things which kill children every day.) <i><b>Let me say this again, vaccines do not cause autism and the risks associated with vaccines do not outweigh their overwhelming importance.</b></i> <br />
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The truth is, doctors, scientists, and public health officials can talk until we are blue in the face about the importance of vaccinating children, but it will make little difference to many people opposed to vaccines. Why? Because this isn’t about logic, or scientific evidence. It goes much deeper than that. People don’t vaccinate their children because they have lost faith in science and medicine. We are no longer considered an authority, but are just one voice in a cacophony of voices that bombard parents daily. Thanks to the internet, parents live in a world of conflicting messages about everything from how to feed your child to how to discipline them. Anyone with a Facebook or Twitter account can become a self-declared child health expert. All they need is an audience. <br />
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<i><b>Here is where you, dear pastor, are important- faith and trust is what you do best.</b> </i> You wouldn’t be doing the work you do if you didn’t understand how to reach the hearts of those in your faith community. I’m sure you are aware that there are a few, possibly many, families who come to your church each week that don’t vaccinate their children. Think about that for a second. These parents have no faith in their doctors, or in well established medical facts, but they still have faith in God and they still trust you. Their hearts are still open to the wisdom you have to share week after week, day after day. Your voice is still heard and because of that, we need you to speak out.<br />
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<b>2. The current vaccine debate speaks to the heart of our faith.</b><br />
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We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, to care for the vulnerable in our midst, to protect the innocent, and to care for the sick- just as Jesus did. <br />
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“He taught in their meeting places and preached the good news about God’s kingdom. Jesus also healed every kind of disease and sickness.” -Matthew 9:35<br />
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Loving your neighbor as yourself means caring for their needs AS MUCH AS your own. It means seeing the vulnerable in our midst and thinking that it is each of our responsibility to protect them. It means saying, I would never want to be responsible for this child with cancer, this mother with lupus, or this grandfather with leukemia contracting a deadly disease from me, or my child, because we chose not to vaccinate. All of these people are vulnerable because they can't be vaccinated for medical reasons or because their immune systems are compromised. Infants under the age of 1 year can't receive the measles or chicken pox vaccines, either. That's every baby in your church nursery.<br />
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The world is describing those who don’t vaccinate as being selfish and there is a growing outcry against the stance that many anti-vaxxers take which says, “I don’t care if my child puts your child at risk. It’s my right.” Beyond that, they are also sending the message that while they don’t believe vaccines are safe, they are willing to let everyone else take the risk of vaccinating their children, while they hide behind the shield of herd immunity. They are saying to the world, “I believe vaccines are dangerous and I won’t give them to my child, but that’s ok because I’m expecting you to give these dangerous vaccines to your child, therefore providing herd immunity to keep my child safe.” There is no other word for this other than selfish and selfishness is not a characteristic that Christians are allowed to have. Don’t we believe in a God who emptied Himself of all His glory, took on human flesh, and willingly chose death so that the world may know eternal life? <br />
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<i>“Jesus and his disciples crossed the lake and came to shore near the town of Gennesaret. The people found out that he was there, and they sent word to everyone who lived in that part of the country. So they brought all the sick people to Jesus. They begged him just to let them touch his clothes, and everyone who did was healed.”</i></div>
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<i>Matthew 14:34-36</i></div>
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Imagine if Jesus had said, “I can’t risk being exposed to all of your diseases. I have important work to do. If you touch me, I might get sick and that would not be God’s will.” How absurd! No, Jesus allowed himself to be touched by them. He carried their diseases, he bore their burdens, and became their healing. So, too, is the church called to stand beside those who are sick and be touched by them. We are called to be a refuge for the sick and hurting. The church can only do this if we are not simultaneously becoming a harbor of deadly diseases. <b>Know this, if your church fosters a culture that opposes vaccinating, you will become an entry point of illness for someone.</b> It is only a matter of time before a baby contracts measles in your church nursery or a mother battling breast cancer comes to pray for healing and inadvertently sits next to a child in the beginning stages of chicken pox whose parents so proudly declared, “My child is going to get chicken pox the old fashioned way!” Chicken pox is not a benign disease and is deadly to those whose immune systems are weakened. And don't forget that the measles virus is airborne and is so contagious that you don't even have to be in the same room with someone who has it. You just have to enter that room up two hours later. That translates into a single infected person coming to your 8:30 am worship service being able to infect a baby who comes to be baptized at your 10 am service! <br />
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Let me put this another way: <i>You cannot be a refuge for those who need healing if you are allowing the very things that could kill them to spread inside your walls.</i> If we are to bear one another’s burdens, we must bear the burden of vaccinating all of our children who can be vaccinated. There is no other way around it.<br />
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3. <b> “Perfect love casts out fear.”</b><br />
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It is easy to parent out of fear these days. There are so many dangers lurking around every corner! Parents are supposed to worry about plastics, GMO’s, non-educational television, and whether or not their car seat has been recalled. Baby blankets aren’t even considered safe anymore!<br />
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I believe that parents who don’t vaccinate their children are forming decisions out of love but they are also making decisions out of fear. Their love and their fear have blended together and become paranoia. As a pediatrician, I can answer their medical questions and calm their worries about many things. In many ways I am a professional provider of reassurance. Calming the fears of anxious parents is my job, but they need so much more than what their doctor has to offer. They need to hear their pastor remind them of God’s love. The love that casts out fear. The love that is perfect and immeasurable. The love that empowers us to live as people of the resurrection. The love that speaks peace. <i>When we stand as witnesses of the Gospel, we must assume a posture of confident love, not cower in fear. </i> <br />
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<i>“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son and whoever believes in him will not perish but will have everlasting life.”</i></div>
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<i>John 3:16</i></div>
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Everlasting life is life lived in the fullness of God’s grace. Everlasting life is not lived in fear. We do not clasp our hands around any gift, especially our children, and say- ‘They are mine and only I will choose what is best for them!” Instead, we hold them out before God with open hands and pray that God will bathe them in grace. We trust each day that when they walk out the door, get on the school bus, or jump into a swimming pool they are held in the hands of the unseen Spirit. We tuck them in at night and pray for angels to stand watch while they sleep. Like Hannah, we give our children over to God day after day, time and time again. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">"My mother had heard the story of Hannah and Samuel, so she prayed that if God would give her a son, she would give that son to God. That was a perfectly appropriate thing for her to do, but as I observe, she did not have to tell me she had made such a promise. In particular, she did not have to tell me when I was six."</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">-Stanley Hauerwas</span></i></span></div>
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So, dear pastor, while you are planning your sermon this week, please think about the parents who are sitting in your pews. Think about the ones who are afraid to vaccinate. Think about the ones who are terrified their child, unable to be vaccinated, will not be safe when they leave them in the nursery. Think about the doctors and nurses who are trying to mask their own fears of an impending measles outbreak. We are scared, too. Really and truly scared. We are all afraid and we need you to be brave. Be brave and speak out in truth and in love. Please don’t think that because you went to seminary and not medical school that you have nothing to offer. You may be the very one who can save us all.<br />
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<i>"Life is a battle between faith and reason in which each feeds upon the other, </i></div>
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<i>drawing sustenance from it and destroying it."</i></div>
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<i>-Reinhold Niebuhr</i></div>
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<br />babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-24501538459302174102014-12-28T09:53:00.000-08:002014-12-28T09:58:12.000-08:00Dear Baby Jesus<br />
What they did really sucked. It was a shitty thing to do. It hurt so deep that you don’t think you will ever recover from the breathtaking pain of it all. Even now, when you remember it , you have to stop whatever you are doing for just a second and catch your breath. <br />
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The worst part is that they want to pretend like nothing happened at all. They want to move on and just get back to normal as soon as possible. They want you to pretend with them that everything is fine and your heart was never broken. They expect you to just play along. They want forgiveness without having to acknowledge their crime. <br />
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They want a free pass. <br />
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Isn’t that what Jesus tells us to do? To hand out forgiveness like candy? Seventy times seven. Like we have an endless supply and can dispense it with glee like Oprah gives away new cars? “You’re forgiven! You’re forgiven! You’re forgiven!”<br />
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If there is anything I know about Christmas it is this- the message of Christmas is that forgiveness isn’t cheep and reconciliation isn’t easy. <br />
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Forgiveness is forged out of the pain and mess of a baby birthed on a dark, cold night, surrounded by filth and muck. Forgiveness sent a young couple down a path of uncertainty and fear into a strange land as refugees without a home. The narrative of forgiveness begins with the slaughter of innocent baby boys whose only crime was being born at the same time as God’s own son. The narrative of forgiveness ends with that son’s agony and death, too. <br />
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So, you see? Forgiveness is more than a free pass. Grace is costly. When Jesus prayed, “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sinned against us,” I think he knew what that prayer would eventually cost him, what it had already cost him. He knew the price of forgiveness was great, but he prayed it anyway. <br />
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Maybe you will never get the apology you need. Maybe they will never acknowledge what they have done. But God sees your hurt. God knows how much you want to forgive. God knows the cost of reconciliation and that is exactly why the whole messy Christmas story began in the first place. <br />
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The truth is, like Mary and Joseph, we are refugees, too, right now. We’ve been a little lost and wandering ourselves lately. We want to forgive, but we don’t know how. Surely God knows our sorrow. Surely God see our tears. Surely God will walk with us on our own Bethlehem journey from darkness into light.<br />
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So, in the Spirit of Christmas, this is my prayer for you and for me:<br />
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<i>Dear Emmanuel, </i><br />
<i> God With Us, </i><br />
<i> Beautiful six-pound tiny baby Jesus with a perfect newborn cry-</i><br />
<i>Be here with us in our messy hurting hearts.</i><br />
<i>Bring us out of the muck and mire.</i><br />
<i>Bring us home to that place of healing.</i><br />
<i>Where forgiveness does flow freely.</i><br />
<i>Where grace abounds. </i><br />
<i>Where love is given and then given again. </i><br />
<i>Help us to say, “Just as I am forgiven, so are you.”</i><br />
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<i>You are forgiven. You are forgiven. You are forgiven.</i><br />
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<br />babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-12210200554791560782014-12-14T12:14:00.003-08:002014-12-14T12:14:51.205-08:00"I have called you by name..."<br />
Sometimes he would wake up cranky. Sometimes he would get mad at us for refusing to let him have some toy or treat that he really wanted. He would cry and whenever we said his name, he would declare, “I not Carter!” If we asked, “What is your name?” He would answer, “No! Not Carter!” We would ask him if he was “Guo-Ran,” (his Chinese name) and he would say, “No!” This would go on for however long it took us to turn his mood around and the only thing to do was hold him and say, “I’m your mommy. You are my baby.” Inevitably, he would find something funny that made him laugh and would then say, “Hi, Mommy! I Carter!”<br />
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These moments of toddler identity crisis were gut wrenching for me. They spoke of the ongoing battle that must have been raging in his little heart, just beneath the surface of his normally joyful personality. His inner struggle to put the pieces of himself back together; to understand his own place in the world and in our family. <br />
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There is a lot of debate within the international adoption community about names. Before we found Carter, we had planned to incorporate our child’s Chinese name into his new name. However, we found out that most abandoned children in China are left with no identifying information and are given names chosen by their orphanage director. Their last name is often based on the name of their city and first names are commonly patriotic words. Carter’s name, for example, meant “Strong Country.” The Chinese government recently passed a law forbidding this type of naming system because, as you can imagine, a generation of orphaned children are growing up with stigmatizing names that clearly label them as an abandoned child. So, we intentionally did not include Carter’s orphanage name in his new name. When we adopted him, he became Carter Jack Allen. Carter, the name chosen by his sister and brother, and Jack, for his grandfather. At first, we called him Guo-Ran, then Guo-Ran-Carter, and eventually just Carter. <br />
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But he has another name. The one his birth parents chose. The one his birth mother probably whispered out loud before he was born. The one he heard cooed over his tiny newborn face during the time before. The time before he was left. The time before he was found by strangers and no one knew his name. (All the unknowns of this time before will probably always haunt me.)<br />
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Sometimes I wonder if he remembers it. If he knows deep in his heart that he had a different name in that time before. I wanted to cry, too, during those meltdowns, when he would scream, “I not Carter! I not Guo-ran!” I wish I knew the name she had given this beautiful boy of ours, that mother from the time before.<br />
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I think we all have similar moments of identity crisis.<br />
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God has called us each by name. We have been adopted as sons and daughters of God. We have been given new names. True names. <br />
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<i>Beloved. Chosen. Daughter. Son. Redeemed One. </i><br />
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When we are happy and things are going well, we accept these names as our own. But when we are hurt and broken, we claim they are not true. We accept the other names that have been given to us. Names we give ourselves. Orphan names.<br />
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<i>Lazy. Ugly. Failure. Weak. Unwanted. Unloved. </i><br />
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To God we must seem a lot like a raging toddler. “I am not Chosen!” and “I am not Beloved!” God is infinitely more patient than we know. Even so, I think it must hurt His heart to hear us deny His love over and over again. <br />
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Your true name was a song whispered over you by God’s own self on the day you were born. Your true name was known before time began. It isn’t a secret. It isn’t a mystery. Your true name is etched in a manger and carved into a cross. It is the very reason why God would leave the glory of heaven and enter into the universe as a displaced, minority, refugee child with kings and kingdoms hell bent on his destruction. Your true name is the reason why your heart still cries out for justice when you see innocent life destroyed. Your true name is yours, whether you accept it or not...<br />
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<i>Beloved. Chosen. Daughter. Son. Redeemed One. </i><br />
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It is through grace that we have been renamed <i>Beloved</i>. Grace allows us to hear our name, to know that we are <i>Chosen</i> and <i>Redeemed</i>. But it isn’t enough for us to just hear. Eventually, faith requires that we claim our new identity and accept it as truth. Faith requires action on our part and the single most faithful thing we can do is embrace who we have been called to be without doubt or fear. God wants to hear us say-<br />
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<i>“I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine…”</i><br />
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When I picked up Carter from preschool this week, there was a group of older children passing us in the hallway. They all saw Carter and said, “Look, it’s Carter! You’re so cute! Hey Car-Car!”<br />
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Carter looked at them and said in his most serious voice, “I NOT Car-Car! I Carter Allen! This is Mommy Allen!!” Then he pointed to a nativity scene on the wall and said, “And that’s Bee-bee Jesus!” <br />
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I think that maybe, he’s figured it out. <br />
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<br />babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-27316353555204482242014-10-19T12:03:00.004-07:002014-10-19T14:13:07.107-07:00For Little Ones Lost<br />
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I have never lost a child. I have had two positive pregnancy tests and one signed adoption petition and every night I hold three sweet little ones in my arms and cover three little faces with kisses. (I am an overly kissy-kiss-snuggle-squeeze-hug-me-tight kind of momma.) <br />
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I don't know the pain that mothers feel to have lost a child not yet born. I can't say that I understand the sorrow of an empty crib, a quiet house, or unused toys. Motherhood has been easy on my heart. <br />
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"Grown up doctors" (what I call doctors who take care of adults) deal with death on an almost daily basis. They help their patients walk the final steps of life with as much dignity and as little suffering as possible. Often there is tragedy and heartache, but sometimes, death comes as a mercy for an elderly patient who has slowly drifted away. Grown up doctors spend a lot of time talking to their patients about end of life plans, living wills, and their DNR status. Pediatricians, on the other hand, rarely deal with death. We usher babies through their firsts....first breaths, first fever, first tooth, first words, and first steps. We send five year olds off to kindergarten and tell mothers, "It will be ok. They will survive the first day of school and so will you." We, like their parents, don't contemplate an end of life plan for most of our patients. Losing a patient is always, always, a tragedy and rarely a mercy. When we do deal with a child's death, it inevitably makes the world feel a little off balance. We walk a little slower, talk a little less. We want to call it a day and go home and cry. We want to just stop, for a little while, and be angry at the injustice of it all. We send our pediatrician friends messages that say, "Hold your little ones close tonight." and we know that they will know what that means. A little one is gone too soon and the only thing to do is go home, hold your babies tight, and cry more tears for the momma who has no baby to hold.<br />
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I went to seminary the first time because I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be a doctor. I went back, ten years later, because I wasn't sure if I could stay a doctor and keep my faith. How do we put the inexplicable suffering of little ones inside the paradigm of trust in a loving God? That was the Big Question I wanted answered and why I voluntarily obtained a masters degree- for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity. It wasn't until after they handed me my hard earned diploma, that I realized that perhaps there is no answer to my Big Question. Anyone who thinks they know is fooling themselves. The one thing I did learn in seminary is this: God doesn't promise any answers to our questions, only that His own suffering presence will be with us in our pain. My last project before I finished seminary was to write my own credo, my own statement of faith. I decided that any statement of faith I wrote would have to include my Big Question. Why leave out doubt when proclaiming one's belief? I thought that I was writing a credo for me, something to help me sort through what I had seen and experienced so far as a physician. Looking back, I think it was more than that. I was writing a credo for me, for mothers and fathers whose faith has been paralyzed by grief, and for all the little ones lost. <br />
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<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>A Creed for Little Ones Lost</i></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>I believe that you, little one, were made, designed, and hoped for <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>by
the same God, the only God, who spoke the universe, the earth, and all things
imagined into existence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>I
believe that Jesus, beloved Son of God, was present at the dawn of
Creation. </i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>That Jesus, the Eternal
Creator God,</i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i> sang the beautiful song that echoed throughout time and became
your song. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I
believe that Jesus </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13pt;">was loved and cherished by his own mother,</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13pt;"><i>from his first
breath until his last,</i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>just
like your mother cherished you.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>And
just like you, little one, Jesus knew suffering.
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>He
knew what it meant to fight for one last breath. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>He
knew what it felt like to have every part of your body broken <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>and
wounded beyond repair. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>He
knew the loneliness of death;<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>Death
that comes mercifully with the setting sun.
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>But
here is the beauty of Jesus’ story, and your story, too-<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>Jesus
walked with you into death, <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>And
then he forged a blazing path back to new life. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>Jesus
is alive, the Eternal One, </i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>waiting for the day when you, when I, when all of us </i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>will walk the Resurrection journey.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>I
believe that somehow, the Spirit of Life and Love, the Holy Spirit,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i> was with
you during every moment of your short life. </i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>This Flame of Love knew your heart and your sorrows </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>and carried every
tear to heaven </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>as if each teardrop was a new, beautiful note of your timeless song.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>Child, in the New Creation you will be even more perfect<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i> than you were in this one. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>You
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>You
will feel the sun’s warmth on your face and soft grass on your feet. </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>Finally, I believe that Christ’s song is your song </i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>and your song is my song and
we are not alone. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>We
are part of the mysterious holy body called the church. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>The
church is not just me (the living), but also you (the dead.)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>The
church is waiting for Jesus to return. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i>We
are hoping and believing that one day we will all sing together<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i> the song of the New Creation.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
(This past week was Infant Loss Awareness Day and I have many friends who have shared their own grief as they mourn children who are with them no more. I am sharing this creed for them, and for all of us who have come home and held our babies tight. )</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-60992838031038801352014-10-11T05:54:00.001-07:002014-10-16T06:04:29.837-07:00A little post about the little earWe took Carter to see specialists at Johns Hopkins last week to have his hearing and ears evaluated. I have referred to his hearing on the blog before, but I have never specifically discussed his condition. It his hard to balance the need for protecting your child's privacy with sharing on a public blog, but I thought I would talk a little about microtia and atresia in case any adoptive parents are interested in knowing more about this special need. Also, we have been asked a lot of questions by curious friends and family, and repeating the same conversation can start to get a little old. So, here is some information about Carter's "little ear"-<div><br></div><div>1. The medical name for this condition is unilateral microtia and atresia. Microtia means his outer ear is small and not formed correctly. Atresia means his ear canal is not fully formed. There are varying degrees of this condition. Carter's is right in the middle. Some kids also have smaller facial bones or muscle weakness on the side of their microtia, but he does not. Some kids are born with bilateral microtia. Sometimes microtia is part of a bigger genetic syndrome, but most of the time it is just an isolated condition that children are born with. </div><div><br></div><div>Waiting for his turn to see the ENT-</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYikVsLoYKnxsKPg19gl9QqTsfjOXx70vfngIL4mmWxiZJOPusLUEaFBwYTFaEb7mrAtZ1VbqzWGs24SAaZ4hn9zhlaPPEpVRE7uhWi9BCaViCE6_Xl2550tdBc5R9jjWUUwM14De1bLM/s640/blogger-image--336497549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYikVsLoYKnxsKPg19gl9QqTsfjOXx70vfngIL4mmWxiZJOPusLUEaFBwYTFaEb7mrAtZ1VbqzWGs24SAaZ4hn9zhlaPPEpVRE7uhWi9BCaViCE6_Xl2550tdBc5R9jjWUUwM14De1bLM/s640/blogger-image--336497549.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>2. We learned last week that Carter's hearing is considered "perfect" in his left ear. In fact, the audiologist could not get over how well he seemed to hear. Her biggest struggle with his hearing test was that he would not stop talking. "What's that?" "Where'd it go." "Mommy, look!" The test that he had done was meant to test his overall hearing based on his visual responses to sound. Which means, that we know his left ear hears perfectly well, and we assume his right ear has hearing loss, but we don't know EXACTLY how well he can hear from the right ear. Because his overall hearing is so good, and his speech is progressing rapidly, we have decided to wait before pursuing more detailed hearing tests like an ABR because those would require him to be sedated. Eventually, he will need to have this done but there is no rush. The big question that we don't have an answer to yet, is how well his inner ear functions. The inner ear is the part of the ear that processes and transmits sounds to the brain. There are AMAZING new hearing devices available that actually bypass the outer ear and middle ear and use the bones in the skull to transmit sound to the inner ear. For children with bilateral microtia/atresia, these special hearing aids can transform their lives from being almost completely deaf, to having near perfect hearing. It is amazing to watch as their devices are turned on for the very first time. If you want to have a warm, fuzzy cry session, go to You-tube and search "hearing for the first time." </div><div><br></div><div>So, if Carter hears perfectly well with one ear, why would he ever need one of these hearing devices? The biggest reason would be because he wanted to hear out of both ears. At some point, he is going to get older and will be able to learn and decide for himself what he wants in terms of his ability to hear with both ears. We need two ears to localize sound. Only being able to hear from one ear makes it almost impossible to tell just by listening where a sound is coming from. It is also more difficult to filter sounds in a noisy environment. When he is in school, he will need to sit with his left ear closer to the teacher, etc. We may decide to try one and see how he likes it, but he would have to wear it on a headband (since he doesn't have an outer ear to anchor it on) and I doubt he would keep it on for longer than a few seconds. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Ear reconstruction surgery is on the horizon but not until he is 6 or 7. Those will be big decisions- especially what kind of surgery and where to go. There are two different approaches and just a few surgeons in the country who perform these types of surgeries. We are going to take our time and do lots of research before we make any decisions about this. Thankfully, we have time. </div><div><br></div><div>Worn out from the long day in Baltimore...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplVds3GdmBVFwjBZfNzG8bwH2jX88pBk-4wu-uQaIMfLyPdPxfh8iYNFvCmhW5wt4XkhYthWU74x2p1w0YvjEGc0zFyvelGPobC-NJMC9bBwTRfrIV7i6_OwACxe8kMm24wpD9PZTltrn/s640/blogger-image--1919209320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplVds3GdmBVFwjBZfNzG8bwH2jX88pBk-4wu-uQaIMfLyPdPxfh8iYNFvCmhW5wt4XkhYthWU74x2p1w0YvjEGc0zFyvelGPobC-NJMC9bBwTRfrIV7i6_OwACxe8kMm24wpD9PZTltrn/s640/blogger-image--1919209320.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>4. Fun fact: if we ever want a modern day success story to give Carter of someone famous who was born with microtia, we can always tell him about Paul Stanley from KISS. Maybe our little music loving baby is destined to be a world famous rock star!</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1M73gEAshbsG3gdceY39xQDLpGpPo_PSFSRL40PtLFNriAkrH5vdKXuxeyWF2rbHCHbcA_n4MOxwYYQnzXq98sMm0i7iI833LK_f2PIF96-XHJc11Vf4F_5H-jjjXMP0rXSJiv76oIk1j/s640/blogger-image--743606641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1M73gEAshbsG3gdceY39xQDLpGpPo_PSFSRL40PtLFNriAkrH5vdKXuxeyWF2rbHCHbcA_n4MOxwYYQnzXq98sMm0i7iI833LK_f2PIF96-XHJc11Vf4F_5H-jjjXMP0rXSJiv76oIk1j/s640/blogger-image--743606641.jpg"></a></div> </div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-28030955136611135842014-10-05T16:46:00.001-07:002014-10-06T05:59:41.977-07:00Extravagant Love<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>435</o:Words> <o:Characters>2481</o:Characters> <o:Company>The United Methodist Church</o:Company> <o:Lines>20</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>2911</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>14.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<b><i> </i></b><b><i>This is extravagant love</i></b>-</div>
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~Not complaining when dinner is late, boring, repetitive, totally disgusting, or not even on the table. You keep the pizza delivery numbers on speed dial. All I have to say is, “P…?” and you’ve already placed our order. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple;">(Love is patient.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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~Getting the two big kids ready for school and out the door while keeping the littlest kid quietly entertained so that mommy can get just a few more hours of sleep after her long night spent with sick little ones in the hospital. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">(Love is kind.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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~Watching yet another episode of Outlander, even though you could care less if Claire ever makes it back to the 20<sup>th</sup> century or if Jamie is or is not her soul mate.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">(Love is not self-seeking.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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~Acting shocked and incredulous when I tell you I have lost almost twenty pounds in the last year and then saying, “Well your body has always looked the same to me- perfect.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">(<i>Love keeps no record of wrongs.)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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~Putting up with my latest crazy obsession and not pointing out that it is, in fact, a crazy obsession. Like urban homesteading. I know, the idea of me milking goats and keeping bees in the back yard made you want to scream….or laugh…or both. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">(Love does not dishonor others.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Remember how smug we were when we planned our wedding ceremony and declared, “We aren’t using that scripture from 1 Corinthians 13. Those verses are over used and not really about marriage, anyways.” We thought we knew better. Looking back, though, I think we missed the point. Marriages begin for millions of reasons, but a good marriage is about nothing other than this: trusting in God, holding fast to the One who is our hope, and learning how to love extravagantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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None of these things I just listed would have made my list of what defines true love when we were younger and had more energy, more time, less money, and less wounded hearts. Back when we were these babies...<br>
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<i>I didn’t know that love would look like this and I’m glad I didn’t know,</i> because learning how to love and be loved are lessons meant to be learned along the way- especially love that grows from grace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is my secret- you have always been my touchstone to grace. During those awful, miserable, almost too much to handle years, when I was angry with God for all the things He hadn’t done and all the ways He hadn’t saved me from myself, I even told you the scariest secret of all: that I had lost my faith all together. I thought you would be angry, but you stayed calm, let me wrestle with the darkness of doubt, and held tightly to Jesus for both of us until I found the answers I needed. Giving your wife room to doubt, room to change, and room to grow-now that is love in its most extravagant form. It sounds silly, but it is true: grace brought me to you, and time and time again, you have brought me back to grace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">“Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> And the best of the three is love.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">1 Corinthians 13:13 (MSG)</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-33289069446196793282014-09-20T04:16:00.001-07:002014-09-20T19:06:05.460-07:00Four Months and a Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Four months ago you were terrified and angry with the way your world had just been turned upside down. <div><br></div><div>Today you spent the whole day laughing and playing games with your Daddy- who you have already figured out is the fun parent. </div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago you were spitting your food on the floor and throwing eggs across the lobby of our five star hotel. </div><div><br></div><div>Today you only wanted to eat the meatballs in your spaghetti. I swear you ate at least ten. "Meatbops! Meatbops! More meatbops, please." Then you did a little dance and ran to the door when we said it was time to go get ice cream. "I-ceem! I-ceem! Yes!"</div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago you would have nothing to do with your sweet Nanny who flew all the way across the world just to meet you and you refused to even be in the same room if you heard Papa's voice on Face Time. </div><div><br></div><div>Today you couldn't wait to Face Time Papa and tell him "Happy Birday!" And as soon as you saw him on the screen you said, "Papa! Where's Nanny?" You wouldn't even let your brother hold the phone because you don't share well right now, especially when it comes to grandparents. </div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago you tolerated your brother and sister but just barely and as long as they didn't come near your toys or your food. </div><div><br></div><div>Today I heard you tell your brother, "Comeeer...let's play!" You also know that your sister is the one who is most wrapped around your finger. She is pretty much at your beck and call and if you want it done, you ask her. "Cammy! Put Belle in crate!" (Because you simply cannot tolerate Belle being within 10 feet of you while you are eating a snack.)</div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago you cried yourself to sleep for hours. It still breaks my heart to remember the way you called for your Nai Nai that first night. </div><div><br></div><div>Tonight you snuggled close while we read our bedtime books and you tried to read along. "Goodnight three little bears.... mittens... kittens... moon....stars...Hush!!" You smiled when I put you in your crib because you love to go to bed now. That is a miracle of no small significance. </div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago I was the only person in your world who you would let hold, carry, feed, bathe, or change you. I loved doing all of those things, but let's not pretend it wasn't hard. </div><div><br></div><div>Today you love your babysitters. And let's not pretend that isn't the best thing ever! Your Daddy and I can go on a date and you laugh and play and have a blast while we are gone. But as soon as I get home and scoop you up into my arms, you turn to your babysitter and say, "Bye-bye Rachels! See ya later, Annies!" The fact that you put an "s" at the end of everyone's names is hilarious, but more than that, you have figured out that Mommy is Mommy and other people may be fun to play with for a little while- but they better not stay one second longer than they need to after Mommy gets home. </div><div><br></div><div>Four months ago I was terrified just as much as you were. I loved you but I didn't know you. </div><div><br></div><div>Today I realized that you will never stop surprising me with something new about yourself. You can spend hours doing puzzles. A new thing that I love but also loathe because here is something you should know- your Mommy has serious ADD. Sitting on the floor for any length of time doing puzzles is torture. But I have learned in these four months that I will do anything for you- except maybe puzzles. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGDkd6JMv6Lw9uweYiZbw-BUYd6HcwkWWUnjVyyT9tqWxQNcxaAi1VX7qpYlMTIrD6nRxPnG8GZinZ0vcRbziNJU9j30dIWg9AkKDv1bTubafX3We0_qAHp82cB3l-I3XPEomzKKMlU01/s640/blogger-image-862755626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGDkd6JMv6Lw9uweYiZbw-BUYd6HcwkWWUnjVyyT9tqWxQNcxaAi1VX7qpYlMTIrD6nRxPnG8GZinZ0vcRbziNJU9j30dIWg9AkKDv1bTubafX3We0_qAHp82cB3l-I3XPEomzKKMlU01/s640/blogger-image-862755626.jpg"></a></div><br></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-36247559646863661912014-09-17T03:07:00.001-07:002014-09-17T03:09:53.976-07:00Wordless Wednesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfWmybCR_kwuPlcZEM9JQdhAu7e1KdbvkZ-hDpt7sF_1S7fUbnZ_WUnsD7IhKZ5sFXiVSeo4eUbH_0zrF6cXVRyivu5kEMmH-B5-AtGkGsmTGHydxPB3jzmzNGiYnv2-lrRIg1c5eA6Pm/s640/blogger-image-1391190898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfWmybCR_kwuPlcZEM9JQdhAu7e1KdbvkZ-hDpt7sF_1S7fUbnZ_WUnsD7IhKZ5sFXiVSeo4eUbH_0zrF6cXVRyivu5kEMmH-B5-AtGkGsmTGHydxPB3jzmzNGiYnv2-lrRIg1c5eA6Pm/s640/blogger-image-1391190898.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJyEv33ZZDGMEBSWG3GwjxDB9iW1SKJ_5DRi6iuN1zuhhpmO7aVdK1R46ah0AAKK6snr1gjykx0CxFRWPdflXPCrq8u0MQ8pTY1Umj9RixJZ5Jc6nN4ArQpSDwaFEfl4gKHoVOKEiDyuk/s640/blogger-image-1056205842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJyEv33ZZDGMEBSWG3GwjxDB9iW1SKJ_5DRi6iuN1zuhhpmO7aVdK1R46ah0AAKK6snr1gjykx0CxFRWPdflXPCrq8u0MQ8pTY1Umj9RixJZ5Jc6nN4ArQpSDwaFEfl4gKHoVOKEiDyuk/s640/blogger-image-1056205842.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPBPmI8GHdV7JJdSyIKHAdAchhtipFV3Oxe7ShA9TzNROdLa2t5f0M6Ko38LJ190ZKvoSq6dpYKB_y56eCMla3hxZd1FSU9n0i7VkI1AFa5lXYCkLTsyPal7Ul7iTRmVFAlciDTZPXsV3J/s640/blogger-image--1198279436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJE_5ZkHojlF4jLwpDadkzrl1mGdfoqfh_KbOdaqRMNJHP7iCnfEQ7ILP6AHi5pu20FROPx-TTWikZ4UfiHMm9X2ng9rAJkTqq4K6UCeWoBFvfqebvX1nzyhWfbhW88_dTEXBAOMSLGmB9/s640/blogger-image--637301475.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURdfCgt4TUkOjEAko_KCytFjGLGApA8PFO5_qa8bG-MwNa0F8Xw6jxEz0wRjLrkMXENb6rZhkTnlWCj_2NLtG7axLbydbec_impfvFuvfdAE1wq6IdaGfK2SZYuq5wC_Uf-x4ri0K0dlo/s640/blogger-image-560260919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgURdfCgt4TUkOjEAko_KCytFjGLGApA8PFO5_qa8bG-MwNa0F8Xw6jxEz0wRjLrkMXENb6rZhkTnlWCj_2NLtG7axLbydbec_impfvFuvfdAE1wq6IdaGfK2SZYuq5wC_Uf-x4ri0K0dlo/s640/blogger-image-560260919.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-1711537097513064962014-09-06T01:43:00.001-07:002014-09-06T03:02:53.127-07:00Grace In Motion<div>I have to admit, I am tired. </div><div><br></div><div>Tired of being needed by someone every hour of every day. </div><div><br></div><div>Tired of the never ending shift my mind has to make from mommy mode to doctor mode to mommy mode and back again. Sometimes more than once in a single day. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of picking up the same toys over and over again. I am tired of harassing your brother and sister to please. Just. Clean. Up. Your. Rooms.</div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of this poison ivy that makes me want to scratch my face off. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of never finishing my daily to do list, ever.</div><div><br></div><div> I am tired of feeling like I have to be nurturing and available and positive and patient and always present because you deserve nothing less than a mother who is all of those things and more. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of only seeing your father for brief moments here and there because he needs to work when I am not working so that you are with one of us most of the time. We have eaten one single meal together, just the two of us with no kids present, since we went to China. Then, tonight I fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to put you all to bed and missed our big "date" to watch the end of True Blood. We don't need Dr. Phil to tell us that's not a recipe for a healthy marriage. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of the pressure to make sure you eat a well balanced diet, when we both know you would be happy to eat nothing but rice and popsicles all day long. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of explaining to total strangers that yes, you are my son and no, you did not "cost a lot of money," and yes, the older two are doing just fine, thank you very much. </div><div><br></div><div>I am tired of still feeling hurt because of unkind words said not by strangers, but by people we love after we brought you home.</div><div><br></div><div> I knew but I didn't know just how hard and isolating this path we have chosen could be. </div><div><br></div><div>But none of this matters when you run to me as I walk in the door and jump up and down squealing, "Mommy's home!!! Mommy's home!!" Or when you climb in my lap and give me a big wet kiss just because you love kisses. Seriously, you love kisses. Or when I ask you if you want to take a bath and you say, "No, thank you." Or when we are out in public and you start singing, "Yes, Jesus lub me. Bible..me....so.!!!." My first thought is always, "I hope we don't offend anyone, singing about Jesus in the grocery store and all." Then I see your smile while you sing loudly, "Bible..me...sooo!" and I can't help but think you've got it all figured out. Just like the way you wave your hands in the air like you just don't care as soon as the music starts in church. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfOF1AO6F_0dbjmo3nbBk5j6r9Guv7spccxRIII3JgrNMFLqrbE5yG1zVJ2jXEqJ8tq5qLKY63duOMuhg9OTrZPz2BtYzC-VfG911O9eQxz8rrIu3uvZHj1b1M0HanMTbk3YB43ft9ZS7/s640/blogger-image-1425639607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfOF1AO6F_0dbjmo3nbBk5j6r9Guv7spccxRIII3JgrNMFLqrbE5yG1zVJ2jXEqJ8tq5qLKY63duOMuhg9OTrZPz2BtYzC-VfG911O9eQxz8rrIu3uvZHj1b1M0HanMTbk3YB43ft9ZS7/s640/blogger-image-1425639607.jpg"></a></div> Why are your hands not up, Mommy?</div><div><br></div><div>You are delighted by this world and by music and by love. Jesus said that it is the faith of children that will save us. He actually said we need to become more like children in order to be saved. I think he meant that the faith of children and their ability to accept love without question or cynicism, is the faith that will point us all towards Heaven. Not only do children accept love, but they give it away so unconditionally and unreservedly. Even after they have been abandoned, abused, and neglected- they still love. <i>Children embody grace. </i></div><div><br></div><div>And so it is with you, my sweet son. You make my tired old mommy heart smile with every kiss, every giggle, and every belted out "Jesus...lub..me!!" I don't understand it, but in three short months you have made us forget how we were ever a family without you. You love us without reservation or agenda and you have claimed us as your own. Literally- at least once a day you point your finger to my chest and say, "Momma. Carter's momma," claiming me as yours. </div><div><br></div><div> I realized this tonight, as your laughter melted away all the weariness of a long, busy week- Jesus was right. The faith of a child will bring us into God's kingdom because <i>children are grace in motion. </i></div><div><br></div><div>Here is what I am beginning to see- your faith in us, your love for us, and the joy you lavish onto the ones you love is what is saving me all over again. All of this, the hard stuff and the hurt, is the costly grace that matters so much. Cheap grace comes without sacrifice and counts for nothing in the end. And in the end, all of this isn't about me at all. It is about the One who called us out on this journey to live life as a family together. The One who knows that you are nothing less than a treasure- sought after and redeemed not by me but by God's own self. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Thank you for reminding me of that every time you call me, "Mommy."</span></div><div><br></div><div class="separator" style="text-indent: 0px; clear: both;"><span style="text-indent: -30px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods....</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="text-indent: -30px;">Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life."</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="text-indent: 0px; clear: both;"><span style="text-indent: -30px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, </span><i style="text-indent: -30px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">The Cost of Discipleship</i></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-42428716741459025682014-08-28T17:02:00.001-07:002014-08-28T18:03:01.763-07:00For My Daughter As She Walks Through the Valley of Middle School<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSlXEY-1EB_11I7_sbZKbafeIGvHtf0mQ40Y-gqYTh_YKtX9DO4qOwsZBHtBn-V9FZvEmGI_XnzWXbnBkj2LsAeiLPmMTEm3t347CTNRBp8HKCMCrptvxnsaqVch0aSDiJAlm9VrhW6ee/s1600/IMG_5223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSlXEY-1EB_11I7_sbZKbafeIGvHtf0mQ40Y-gqYTh_YKtX9DO4qOwsZBHtBn-V9FZvEmGI_XnzWXbnBkj2LsAeiLPmMTEm3t347CTNRBp8HKCMCrptvxnsaqVch0aSDiJAlm9VrhW6ee/s1600/IMG_5223.JPG" height="320" width="275" /></a></div>
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I’m not going to lie.
It took all my mommy powers to put on a brave face and tell you over and
over again, “You are going to love middle school! You already have so many friends and you will
make new friends super fast. You won’t
have any problems figuring out lockers and schedules and where to sit in the
lunchroom.” Secretly, though, I knew you
were walking into a virtual minefield.
That’s what middle school is these days, especially for girls. I’ve worried about your tender heart and your
overwhelming shyness around strangers and how you would cope with mean girls
and fickle boys. I’ve always thought
that your biggest struggle would be that everyone will want to be your friend
but you will believe no one likes you.
I prayed down angel armies over you time and time again this summer as the start
of school came near. <i>Every day I have
asked God for one thing- a confidence in yourself that cannot be
shaken. </i> The same fearless confidence that sent you climbing trees when you were little-<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZGprNXZUtkE7bi5wD-QUK34hjT1RTowSfL0H9YATg1T9feo6OWLC5DR1lLQIxtKODBa7M3FNkYXfQ2ObMjywiXVZ3afmI5FmNnffYu_g-hruOd2uw1PWPDMxAaS7JKPFekn3D4znmUQQ/s1600/IMG_0158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZGprNXZUtkE7bi5wD-QUK34hjT1RTowSfL0H9YATg1T9feo6OWLC5DR1lLQIxtKODBa7M3FNkYXfQ2ObMjywiXVZ3afmI5FmNnffYu_g-hruOd2uw1PWPDMxAaS7JKPFekn3D4znmUQQ/s1600/IMG_0158.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>I think of confidence as a shield around your heart,
something that will protect you from all of the attacks on your self-esteem
that every young girl faces day to day as she walk the halls of middle school. </i> Pressure to look a certain way. Pressure to be cute and sweet and
popular. Pressure to impress a boy. I often see girls just a little older than you whose lives become
completely derailed because they lost their identity in a series of one bad choice after another.
I see their hearts broken by boyfriends who leave them hurting and lost
in more ways than your young mind can imagine.
I see their self worth tied to how many friends they have on Facebook or followers on Instagram. I see them utterly destroyed by one inappropriate picture gone viral. It is sad to see the way that they have
lost their confidence in themselves.
They no longer believe that they can accomplish their dreams. They have often forgotten how to dream.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is why your dad and I get up every morning in the summers to take you to swim practice. Why we
spent long Saturday mornings cheering you on while you raced. Why we drive you to soccer practice and
celebrate every time you push a girl out of the way to go after the
ball and shout, "Way to be aggressive, Camdyn!" Why we really don’t care if your
team wins, just as long as you love the game and keep that fierce look on your
face every time you play. <i>What you don’t
know is that we have been investing in your confidence since the day you were
born. Bit by bit, we have been building it up like currency. Saving it up for days like these.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIvkz2rpxcN8NpU9dNh5RJRbhW0ns3w9yuwdN6KXnvKK6h__Ae3FJXvuiIxJ96yCtuGHNWDPXNglaKdnl89KPnL6da4DjLKLs3TZh2IsRnb_CQDg2H1XjOiWHi9tbj1AyPU00PnYmB1RK/s1600/love+that+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIvkz2rpxcN8NpU9dNh5RJRbhW0ns3w9yuwdN6KXnvKK6h__Ae3FJXvuiIxJ96yCtuGHNWDPXNglaKdnl89KPnL6da4DjLKLs3TZh2IsRnb_CQDg2H1XjOiWHi9tbj1AyPU00PnYmB1RK/s1600/love+that+face.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
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See that confidence, shimmering under your smile?</div>
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So, it should not have been a big surprise when you came
home from school on the first day with a smile on your face and declared, “I think I’m going
to love middle school.” I said you
would, didn’t I? Every day you bounce in
the door with a new accomplishment, “Mom! I made an A+ on my math test!” Of course you did, I want to say, math is
your thing. What has been surprising and
perhaps a miracle is that the place where your confidence has soared the most
has been gym class. Who knew middle
school PE would build your confidence so much?
First you came home proud as a pea about how fast you ran the mile. Then, there was the day you came home
beaming, “I beat everyone in my pacer test! Even all the boys!” Last night, when you were talking about how
many “legit” pushups you did in class, I said, “I bet you never realized just
how strong you are.” Your response? “No,
I never realized just how AWESOME I am!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>That’s it Baby Girl.
Right there. I wish I could put
it in a bottle for you. Freeze these
moments of pure confidence for a rainy day.
</i>There will be rainy days. You
already spend a little too much time worrying about your outfits and your
hair. I’ve even caught you sneaking out
the door with makeup on. (Makeup!!??) But
right now, you see your body as something to be celebrated not for how it looks
but for what it can do. You are
strong. You are fast. You outrun the boys. And you love yourself for it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You know how we like to read your favorite Psalm together
sometimes? You say that you don’t know
why, but it makes you feel calm. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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“God, my shepherd! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t need a
thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You have bedded me
down in lush meadows, <o:p></o:p></div>
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you find me quiet
pools to drink from. <o:p></o:p></div>
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True to your word, <o:p></o:p></div>
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you let me catch my
breath <o:p></o:p></div>
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and send me in the
right direction.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Even when the way
goes through<o:p></o:p></div>
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Death
Valley, <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not afraid <o:p></o:p></div>
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when you walk at my
side…<o:p></o:p></div>
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Your beauty and love
chase after me <o:p></o:p></div>
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every day of my life.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Psalm 23 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Know this, Baby Girl- God walks with you through every valley- even
middle school. Especially middle
school! <i>God’s beauty and God’s love will
be chasing you, pursuing you, and seeking you around every corner. </i> Look for it.
I promise you will find it. You
already know you are awesome, but the only way for your confidence to be
unwavering is for it to be rooted deep in God’s love. So, I’ll keep praying and you keep running
fast, and we will trust God to take care of the rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-88429844511448915552014-08-24T16:41:00.002-07:002014-08-24T16:43:52.886-07:00Waiting For Fire<br />
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I have been in almost every type of Christian worship setting you can imagine. I grew up in large and small Pentecostal churches. The kinds with praise bands and loud organs and drums and preachers who weren't really preaching until they were shouting. I spent many summer nights in revival services at my grandmother's South Georgia church. I've seen people dance, fall out, jump up and down, and shout in worship. (For the record, I have never seen a snake in a church.) I've seen people weep in church as they pour their broken hearts out to God. I've seen lives changed in church. I've seen healing take place in church. I've had moments where you just knew, with every fiber of your being, that something sacred was near. Something bigger than big and realer than real. Something from whom you cannot hide. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEe6hqgl2gQDPNs2kkc_pcqHUNG9fhcJtwYkq1RosLpAsb-liBsy3WSrU3DfvBpLQ5GBr_smQFSaFasYe76TXNDXAk3pV-S4va0kVU7kE5xDbUNAO5MoWck3m3cP7yYeHGamwIA7ZQPyas/s1600/Ernestine_Jimmy.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEe6hqgl2gQDPNs2kkc_pcqHUNG9fhcJtwYkq1RosLpAsb-liBsy3WSrU3DfvBpLQ5GBr_smQFSaFasYe76TXNDXAk3pV-S4va0kVU7kE5xDbUNAO5MoWck3m3cP7yYeHGamwIA7ZQPyas/s1600/Ernestine_Jimmy.tif" height="320" width="257" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(My Grandma, who taught us all how to pray)</span></div>
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I've also spent years and years in more "respectable" churches. I've read liturgies. I've recited creeds. I've stood. I've kneeled. I've broken bread, taken communion, and partaken of the Eucharist. I've celebrated infant baptisms and adult baptisms. I've lit candles. I've walked the labyrinth. I've gone round and round the church calendar and found comfort in its rhythms. White, red, green, purple, white, green, purple, white, red....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSb6kQd7wDry68mzXX7_HV6E3KhqEj-zBNXe2oO06sSC-mvmsNBiXJcLesewlN_TqB_XQ8ifTORG31ShDWJVZh8aYPAh6bXJBeP4ncT8OIA4_FoDbubEWJmwi1pUXuCXEE1j_cPJKTniy/s1600/221095_10151637972685056_1789375120_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSb6kQd7wDry68mzXX7_HV6E3KhqEj-zBNXe2oO06sSC-mvmsNBiXJcLesewlN_TqB_XQ8ifTORG31ShDWJVZh8aYPAh6bXJBeP4ncT8OIA4_FoDbubEWJmwi1pUXuCXEE1j_cPJKTniy/s1600/221095_10151637972685056_1789375120_o.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(After this post, they may ask for my M.T.S. degree back)</span></div>
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I love when ancient worship is resurrected from our past. When I hear time tested words of faith come to life again, I feel anchored to the mysterious and timeless Body of Christ:</div>
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<i>We believe in one God, the Father Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.</i></div>
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<i>And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God, begotten of the Father before all worlds,</i></div>
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<i>God of God, Light of Light, true God of true God, begotten and not made; of the very same nature of the Father, by Whom all things came into being, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible.</i></div>
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-(from the Nicene Creed of 381)</div>
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What would it have been like to recite this creed in the fourth century? To stand in worship with those who knew that to publicly declare faith in the Nazarene could be their very own death sentence? (I guess to answer that question, I need only travel to other parts of the world.) I believe there is a richness hidden in many long lost liturgies and hymns that are waiting to be rediscovered by new generations of church goers.<br />
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I often wonder why God allowed me to become such an ecclesiastical hybrid. I sometimes get jealous of people who are comfortable with their church and its style and feel completely at home wherever they are. Because truthfully, I don't ever feel completely at home in any church. Not really. I usually leave church feeling like something was missing. Too much of some things, not enough of other things. If anyone has found a charismatic-liturgical-emergent-diverse-inclusive-justice oriented-church with a decidedly Wesleyan theology, then please point me in its direction. </div>
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<i><b>What I am coming to see is that we often worship our worship more than God's own self. </b></i><b> We take pride in it. We define ourselves by it. But really, true worship is an intangible thing that we cannot create on our own. Nor can we claim to "do it right." Nothing we bring to it makes our worship better than someone else's worship. Not our style, not our liturgy, not our lack of liturgy, not our theology, not our politics, not even our diversity. </b></div>
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Christians like to celebrate Pentecost Sunday as the birthday of the church. Some people may not realize that the church didn't begin at Easter. Jesus died and then he wasn't dead and lots of people got to see this newly resurrected Jesus in the flesh. That's a pretty amazing story. Enough of a story for people to start talking. You would think something like that- a crucified carpenter/ rabbi who is no longer dead- would send people running far and wide just to tell what they had witnessed. But that is not what happened. They didn't go anywhere. They didn't write any songs. They didn't preach any sermons. They did nothing except pray together. (I think the Quakers have this part figured out.)</div>
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Then God moved in a big way. We all know the story- rushing wind, tongues of fire, people speaking different languages. In the old days, God's presence among God's people was called the Shekinah. The Shekinah was the visible dwelling place of God's Spirit. It was wind and fire and unapproachable glory. (For those who think God is always a "He"- Shekinah was a feminine word in the Hebrew language.) When Moses saw the burning bush- Shekinah. When Jacob wrestled all night with the stranger and walked away blessed but limping- Shekinah. In the temple, only the priests could come near Her and only on the holiest of holy days. Until that unexpected Pentecost day, when a rag-tag group of Jesus followers decided to gather together and pray. They didn't know what they were waiting for. How could they? Maybe they thought Jesus would reappear. That's what I would have prayed for. He said he was coming back, right? How could they know that God would rush in? How could they anticipate the complete unraveling of every barrier they had ever known between the Holy One and themselves? They couldn't because they didn't know what we know now. They didn't know that the Holy Spirit had decided it was time. It was time for the church to be born and it was time for true worship to begin. It was time to redefine Shekinah. </div>
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The church was born when those who were gathered together became dwelling places for the Spirit. I don't understand it, but this is what I know- the church was birthed not in our worship but in spite of it. True worship does not begin with us. We don't plan it. We don't create it. We don't even get to define it. No matter how we like to sing, chant, recite, or pray- it is all meaningless if it does not make room for God's own self to breathe, speak, and move right in. </div>
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Worship isn't about us or our ideas about God, and it certainly isn't an elaborate production created to please God. Worship is what brings us together and centers us around God. Every single time Christians gather together, we should be listening for the wind. We should be looking for the fire. We should be expecting the living, breathing, resurrected God to show up once again in a real and unimagined way. Because that is what we believe, right? Don't we believe God is still working and acting to bring about good things here on earth and that God is present in all things, big and small? Then why shouldn't we also expect God to show up when we go to church? Why have we stopped looking for the Shekinah?</div>
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That is where I want to worship- with people who come together like those confused and lost disciples came to the Upper Room, bringing nothing but their hurt, their fear, their brokenness, and their disappointment. People who gather together for no other reason than to carry each other's burdens straight to the heart of God. People who remember hope. People who come to church every time expecting the unexpected. And most importantly, people who are not afraid of wind and fire.<br />
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babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-75456365355860660592014-08-17T17:38:00.001-07:002014-08-19T11:50:12.855-07:00Who's the Boss?From the second we first met Carter in China he has been telling us what to do. Literally. The first few minutes and hours with him were filled with his loud commands (in Chinese) for us to "Go out there!" and "No! Over there!" We think he was trying to direct us back to the van that had just hours before taken him away from his foster home and delivered him to us. While he is much more happy, hardly ever angry, and usually very silly and playful most of the time, he still sometimes acts like this is all one big play date and he is the one in charge.<div><br></div><div>Adopting a toddler is particularly challenging because traumatized children will often deal with the disruptive or abusive events in their past by wanting to take control of their new environment. Taking control allows them a false sense of security and keeps them from relying too much on their new caregivers. This is a survival technique for children who have learned at a very young age that grown ups are unreliable at best, hurtful at worst. </div><div><br></div><div>Add to this the natural developmental instincts of a two year old. Toddlers are pre-programmed in their very nature to begin to establish autonomy and independence at this age. For most two year olds, these efforts at independence are steps that parents should applaud. However, for a newly adopted two year old who has already experienced multiple layers of abandonment and a long string of different care givers, what they need to be learning now is dependence, the exact opposite of what their developmental instincts are telling them to do. </div><div><br></div><div>All of this can coalesce into behaviors that are what I call a "toddler on steroids". Temper tantrums are triggered more easily and last longer. Sometimes he will wake up from a nap completely in a rage and we haven't figured out if he is having nightmares or just waking up disoriented and confused. Sometimes he still will be overcome with waves of grief and sadness that seem to come out of nowhere. If he sees food that he wants and we don't give it to him immediately, he will cry, fuss, and then begin to plead "Food! Please! Mommy, hungry! Food!" (Imagine being at a large picnic while you are standing in line and this is what your child does, over and over and over while complete strangers stare at you wondering why your child seems so hungry and desperate for food.) Most two year olds don't understand waiting, but then add to that a history of hunger and neglect and this is what you get. All of this is normal for a newly adopted toddler and none of it makes us love him any less. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_CD2nay5NwEYlRDMkT5MLQriTj2Zy_PMAJ8Ut5uPemfLWppPmFOcF0H_aEs8Xs0DcdDcpMblrDWXXtQyjgSTqeXtXBhESgmM_gj5zKdl64HtNG5u2obpkPKNJIchN-QX8wpvCvTzyOGd/s640/blogger-image--1014856003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_CD2nay5NwEYlRDMkT5MLQriTj2Zy_PMAJ8Ut5uPemfLWppPmFOcF0H_aEs8Xs0DcdDcpMblrDWXXtQyjgSTqeXtXBhESgmM_gj5zKdl64HtNG5u2obpkPKNJIchN-QX8wpvCvTzyOGd/s640/blogger-image--1014856003.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">What has become one of my greatest pet peeves, though, is the well meaning comment, "He's just acting like a two year old." Well, yes and no. His behavior is normal for a two year old but his responses to stress, new situations, or even just not getting his way are more extreme and are often accompanied by an attempt to pretend like we are non-existent. He doesn't want to be held, he doesn't want us to talk to him, and he will do everything in his power to avoid looking at us. In his anger, we become strangers again. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Yesterday we had one such tantrum that lasted for over an hour. All because I told him to apologize to his sister for hitting her. He refused to say "sorry" and I would not let him out of my lap until he did. So we sat there. Me holding him. Him screaming and kicking. Me trying not to cry. Him refusing to look at me or say the one word he knew he needed to say. Eventually I started to second guess the whole thing. Why did he need to apologize? Does he even understand what I am asking him to say? But I knew he did because just the day before he had said, "Sorry, Cammy!" several times when we asked him. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2CipMR-R70FbPCZWDRa52U1MoSkd7N0JieqbFnXYGcO8PHo7o1zW_Q64gbckYk1dSqOBE4jUfDiJfaPm8tmmNniArKLAfp2am4h9S_pmL6Miz-z7KYHjJqBcQDk7XhJUdu66eZVJnBV4/s640/blogger-image-187865416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2CipMR-R70FbPCZWDRa52U1MoSkd7N0JieqbFnXYGcO8PHo7o1zW_Q64gbckYk1dSqOBE4jUfDiJfaPm8tmmNniArKLAfp2am4h9S_pmL6Miz-z7KYHjJqBcQDk7XhJUdu66eZVJnBV4/s640/blogger-image-187865416.jpg"></a></div> (He fell asleep screaming only to wake up and start screaming again.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Just when I thought we would both be glued together forever, he saw his lunch being set out on his high chair, and stopped crying. He turned to Cammy, smiled at her and said as sweetly as he could, "Sorry, Cammy!" Just like that he was smiling and happy and all was well in his world. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3QgZ2KfdE54xsR5jRxafx4y6kzO78PgXwjs9GpcUhC_tadm0znUHqKo06Z8Y_GGOCigWpHzujHvPVUdUCCH0Tku-kzw0zevgsR-VBKJOrCDqlu1TJm05Jp0ZHyT57QThGPyJps-13cW4/s640/blogger-image--1180378537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ3QgZ2KfdE54xsR5jRxafx4y6kzO78PgXwjs9GpcUhC_tadm0znUHqKo06Z8Y_GGOCigWpHzujHvPVUdUCCH0Tku-kzw0zevgsR-VBKJOrCDqlu1TJm05Jp0ZHyT57QThGPyJps-13cW4/s640/blogger-image--1180378537.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Somehow our long and drawn out battle of wills had reestablished the correct order of roles in his universe and he came out of it much more calm and content. I think he needed to push the boundaries as far as he could, just to see if this new Mommy really has sticking power. Children may think they want to be the boss, but deep down their little hearts want someone else to take charge. </span></div><div><br></div><div>What we are starting to see is that Carter needs less choices and more structure. Instead of saying, "Do you want to go play on the swings?" we are now telling him, "We are going to play on the swings now." Structure, schedules, and routines help provide a framework of security that he has never truly possessed. Instead of having him learn to do tasks all by himself, we are encouraging him to "help" Mommy or Daddy. Yesterday he saw me struggling to carry a bag of groceries inside and he said, "Mommy need help?" My heart almost burst right then and there. </div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">All of this is meant to reinforce the message that we are his parents and he doesn't have to parent himself anymore. We will provide all that he needs and then some. It is love in action, saying over an over, "It is ok now. Relax. We've got you and we aren't letting go."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I am not sharing any of this because I want sympathy or because I want to scare anyone away from adoption. We are blessed beyond measure with this beautiful boy who fills our days with more joy than we ever expected. Whenever anyone asks me how Carter is doing, I always respond with a sincere smile and an enthusiastic, "He is amazing!" But I don't want anyone to think that the road we are on is without struggle. The task of parenting any child, biological or adopted, is not easy and we never thought it would be. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">What I also know is that as difficult as it has been for Justin and myself, the last three months have been infinitely more difficult for Carter. In spite of all he has lost and all the changes he has faced, he remains so very brave and generous with his love. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> Love is not easy and does not come without cost. True, deep, abiding love is always forged through pain and tears. That is the beauty of it. </span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqEQvIdfEY9VChijQM7wjDanWdmvfXm_VwunCq5K70LXbTuBDX447pa5xsvX2BXGyAsTbANpeLSI4zGlCoRB2pLvViA1899N9yL3j3rvVZMPcWjtgincl1POCwiFusM0Cin5ZqPlkcZuV/s640/blogger-image--1714450810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqEQvIdfEY9VChijQM7wjDanWdmvfXm_VwunCq5K70LXbTuBDX447pa5xsvX2BXGyAsTbANpeLSI4zGlCoRB2pLvViA1899N9yL3j3rvVZMPcWjtgincl1POCwiFusM0Cin5ZqPlkcZuV/s640/blogger-image--1714450810.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-15167268224205226442014-08-16T22:18:00.002-07:002014-08-16T22:38:08.436-07:00Thanks But No Thanks, Ebola<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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If you haven’t heard of the Ebola virus, then you must be
living in a cave. If you are living in a
cave, you should be prepared for some of us to come join you soon because Ebola
virus scares us all and such paranoia may send me to the hills. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
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Ebola is not a new virus.
Relatively speaking, it is new to humans, but it has been around long
enough for most of us to know about it.
We’ve heard stories about this deadly contagious disease that mostly existed in
remote African villages, causing many of its victims to die in a truly horrific
way- while bleeding out of their orifices.
But most of us haven’t feared Ebola because we never imagined it would
spread and we never imagined a patient infected with this deadly virus would actually
touch ground on U.S. soil. (Which is where they belonged- at home, being cared for by the best doctors we had to offer.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
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Yet here we are, in a state of virtual panic because Ebola
is spreading in Africa and Americans working over there are contracting it and we don’t have a cure or a
vaccine to protect us. (Never mind a cure or vaccine for those who are facing it in real life.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>This is what I think- Ebola is terrifying us because we have
forgotten what it is like to fear disease. </i>
We think of deadly infectious diseases as things of the past. We walk around our twenty-first century world
feeling secure in the knowledge that modern medicine can rid us of most infections that in the not too distant past were nothing less than deadly. Perhaps the biggest fault with vaccinations
is that they do their job too well.
Children rarely become ill with any type of life threatening
infection. Rarely are they so sick that
a quick visit to the doctor won’t help.
Antibiotics are cheap and readily available and we use them like a
talisman to ward off infections even before we get sick. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve had
a parent request an antibiotic for their child because “We are going on
vacation this weekend and I just don’t want them to be sick while we are at the
beach.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ve forgotten how summer time would often bring waves of
panic among communities as children would go out for an afternoon swim at the local pool and come
home infected with polio. Most young parents today have never even heard of an iron lung. We don’t
remember the heartbreak of a pregnant mother who contracts Rubella and knows
with almost certainty that her unborn child will now be born severely
malformed. We haven’t lived through an
influenza outbreak so bad that it wipes out one third of our population just
like that. Infant mortality is a rare
tragedy today, and that is a good thing. We forget that our town graveyards are
speckled with the tiny unmarked graves of all the babies who died too
soon from diseases like whooping cough, diphtheria, measles, and meningitis. We forget that before the introduction of modern
medicine and vaccinations, most women saw only half of the children they gave
birth to survive past childhood. And now, in an irony of ironies, mothers hold their babies close and refuse to give them vaccines, thinking that by doing so, they are somehow keeping them "safe."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
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It is human nature to forget the horrors of our past. That is just how we survive. But if we don’t start remembering some of
the fear, these diseases will come back to haunt us once again. So, if you are going to be afraid of Ebola,
that’s ok. It scares me a little, too. But not as much as a world where children are
no longer vaccinated against polio, or measles, or tetanus, or….take your
pick. Truthfully, they are all pretty scary to
me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-81468667625811962742014-08-07T17:31:00.001-07:002014-08-07T17:43:13.729-07:00For Emma<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IJGAuWa4KwLLC3TigCXs6UjdWpv6QFxrJTuftXV8b1xc63Xsp7zeYnumBOkfmzZOxhlZiBSsfu2SN5GH4Y3m8a8kXpDBxF1KwPosdhtajXtUCQ6cenLW0Qbrrocq4SDbjarU28cf7EFS/s1600/7685408116_0d4c4f558f_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IJGAuWa4KwLLC3TigCXs6UjdWpv6QFxrJTuftXV8b1xc63Xsp7zeYnumBOkfmzZOxhlZiBSsfu2SN5GH4Y3m8a8kXpDBxF1KwPosdhtajXtUCQ6cenLW0Qbrrocq4SDbjarU28cf7EFS/s1600/7685408116_0d4c4f558f_z.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22https://www.flickr.com/photos/stuckincustoms/7685408116/in/photolist-8Jtz9Q-9No3ih-b66DBX-9jGWjf-bCDWTy-9Z99vR-9qrnoZ-dzn4hk-ZzP8-c1XqxQ-cH8J5u-bNwCPV-hWo5JX-kzRGe3-57jodE-8f3XZ-GfuQ9-aA8ggN-d54Dd9-f2HzLm-bnJ1of-ofXBuu-a9oSr3-baULpM-7XuEVb-dQ8qAa-k99VL6-cuqjkh-8ZCpt2-5QfQ27-o7MXhM-98Utwk-osfc73-hvsWyi-ec7kJC-kmmn56-fiBXAp-bViNF7-kQ7RbZ-hRmUyG-68y61x-czYx5w-nxF9at-fxhcY-7zJFaE-eKHEzh-3fsXRG-soLV6-bqXupo-bwKpsb/player/%22%20width=%2275%22%20height=%2275%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%20webkitallowfullscreen%20mozallowfullscreen%20oallowfullscreen%20msallowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Photo: "The Third Tree" by Trey Ratcliff</a> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>“But blessed is the man who trusts me, God, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>the woman who sticks with God. <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>They’re like trees replanted in Eden, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>putting down roots near the rivers—<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b> Never a worry through the hottest of summers, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>never dropping a leaf, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Serene and calm through droughts, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
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<i><b>bearing fresh fruit every season.”<o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Jeremiah 17:7-8 (MSG)</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You shared this scripture on Instagram yesterday. When I saw it I told you how much it meant to
me, too. I showed you my bracelet and
said, “See, I wear this silver tree on my wrist to remind me every day.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I realize now that I should have said more. I should have told WHY those old, poetic
words from far gone days are burned into my soul. I should have said, “They changed me forever.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I suppose I didn’t want to sound silly. Who does that? Who lives their life every day as if all of
it is one big metaphor for a single verse in scripture? Something that was
written a few thousand years ago and isn’t really about me at all. I know that and so do you. We took the same Hebrew Bible class at the
same seminary in the exact same classroom (though over a decade apart.) Smart Christians don’t read into scripture
things that aren’t there. We don’t take
it apart verse by verse and apply the ones we like, discard the ones we
don’t. Smart Christians understand
historical context and ancient Mesopotamian world-views and smart Christians
don’t extrapolate twenty-first century meaning from words that weren’t written
for us or even about us. (Secretly, I’m
finding myself becoming less and less a smart Christian and that’s ok with me.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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If I had been brave, this is what I would have said: <i>This scripture has transformed me</i>. In a way that defies explanation, these words
have been Spirit words, holy and alive, redefining my own sense of self. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Blessed is she who
trusts in me, God….she will be like a tree planted by the water, sending out
roots in the stream….<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It hit me like a brick one day. Trusting in God means standing still. It means that we cease striving. We stop wondering where we are going and if
we are moving in the right direction. We
don’t think of ourselves as always one wrong decision away from not serving
God. We stop defining ourselves by what
we do, what we believe, or where we go. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Blessed is she who
trusts in me, God….she will be like a tree planted by the water, sending out
roots in the stream….<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If we are like a tree that is planted in God, then we are no
longer trying to find ourselves in our husband, our children, our career, or
our home. Instead, we find ourselves in
the deep, deep mystery of God’s grace. And bit by bit our roots go further into that beautiful abyss of love that is
God. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Blessed is she who
trusts in me, God….she will be like a tree planted by the water, sending out
roots in the stream….<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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So we stand by the Living Waters and decide that this place,
the heart of God is going to be our dwelling place. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We plant ourselves next to Jesus himself and let our roots
go down deep, deeper, and deeper still. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then, before we realize it, something beautiful begins to
happen…<o:p></o:p></div>
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We begin to stand taller.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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We grow stronger. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Storms come and go, winds blow, but <i>we are not afraid</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We are not afraid because we have been transformed into daughters of God Most High and we
know there is no greater place to be than where we are right now. No better person to be than the person we are right
now. No task more important than simply
growing in God’s grace. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Never a worry through the hottest of summers, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>never dropping a leaf, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Serene and calm through droughts, <o:p></o:p></b></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>bearing fresh fruit every season.</b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is what I wish I had known all those years ago when I was
where you are now and I am sorry I didn’t share this last night, but you know
how it is…we had a very important TV show to watch and watching TV is
infinitely easier than sharing your heart.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-50137131765248374912014-08-03T20:21:00.001-07:002014-08-04T07:29:13.035-07:00Birthday WeekendWe had a great weekend with our family here to celebrate Carter turning two. It was a whirlwind of toddlers playing, screaming, and playing some more. We spent part of Saturday morning at Camdyn and Charlie's championship swim meet. It was a fun way to end a summer of swim practices every morning and swim meets every Saturday. <div><br></div><div>To be only seven, Charlie is an amazingly fast little breast stroke swimmer-</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguScmiqVCBavu6WkpfoqL_5XPqATpBUfWYcwTunEUX6IhhgIVpF88fN-QEoJktx7oXaLwpKK6CO0Vi4PTlCUuqrUchILtrYrRbYmsMTZZ0NdMAxkoc-dtWUbHEgJbUZKy2_kxuj-QFhWrd/s640/blogger-image-1598255770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguScmiqVCBavu6WkpfoqL_5XPqATpBUfWYcwTunEUX6IhhgIVpF88fN-QEoJktx7oXaLwpKK6CO0Vi4PTlCUuqrUchILtrYrRbYmsMTZZ0NdMAxkoc-dtWUbHEgJbUZKy2_kxuj-QFhWrd/s640/blogger-image-1598255770.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love how he smiles through most of his races:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZz2p5O-asURpmvf4Z7mtG4P35MYnTqktENxBrJK7XfM9Rfu_YaHqbTUOR9iV83SEqhZuJwWNl1shHr8z8elMIxO-CPTjVlU5uhAM0P16-egkIyQ0CVLk3U5LNxVNt6nGEv1B-EiXDUTq/s640/blogger-image-423247461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZz2p5O-asURpmvf4Z7mtG4P35MYnTqktENxBrJK7XfM9Rfu_YaHqbTUOR9iV83SEqhZuJwWNl1shHr8z8elMIxO-CPTjVlU5uhAM0P16-egkIyQ0CVLk3U5LNxVNt6nGEv1B-EiXDUTq/s640/blogger-image-423247461.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I love this picture of Camdyn mid-butterfly stroke:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QdQNbM_xO6g9U3fHwELSt04VSVbW7zvj27zYDrx3s65pHm3oA6vmMlJDcJ9GMtU3ZU9PTE8JJEDlLuzxDpXWFaFGfXiLFDux09rS6ki4wAS5olfLYCcSk-c1iqmfivFXajto_BNqbegG/s640/blogger-image-1255790010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QdQNbM_xO6g9U3fHwELSt04VSVbW7zvj27zYDrx3s65pHm3oA6vmMlJDcJ9GMtU3ZU9PTE8JJEDlLuzxDpXWFaFGfXiLFDux09rS6ki4wAS5olfLYCcSk-c1iqmfivFXajto_BNqbegG/s640/blogger-image-1255790010.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>And I love the fierce look on her face when she races:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZOVgGiVX71QJHZtWz8Xh0vN6a5_0wNu7X-eVjvzIypfsqRdEB2cjDDEWz_9iW-eSt_TSud8ibGHBvq6tez0mG7jAWjJTgN2f92kTBE_qsOjP9Ms71r5SsYZzQQ74cvNnP169x-0Rkez9/s640/blogger-image--1547160014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdZOVgGiVX71QJHZtWz8Xh0vN6a5_0wNu7X-eVjvzIypfsqRdEB2cjDDEWz_9iW-eSt_TSud8ibGHBvq6tez0mG7jAWjJTgN2f92kTBE_qsOjP9Ms71r5SsYZzQQ74cvNnP169x-0Rkez9/s640/blogger-image--1547160014.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br><div><br></div><div>With all of our family together there were almost twenty of us here for Carter's party. We were afraid that too many people would be too much for him so we kept his party to mostly family only. Looking back, I can see this was a good decision because even with somewhat familiar faces around he was still very easily overwhelmed. BUT, he seemed to know it was his "birday party" - especially when he woke up from his nap to a house full of balloons and a tower of cupcakes.<div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoo5YKBop0prAuGCD578VQSIEy9gS17TtR5POyJVsPr_X-Kq3bG666j7erGPG-pE8aHFqnmQLn-exY5OL5h6e3Enrq8NBvchN85oiZHrI7bwVEBV4EsWJnSRr1nSIqYN7n9-XKmkmKvNuF/s640/blogger-image-900158023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoo5YKBop0prAuGCD578VQSIEy9gS17TtR5POyJVsPr_X-Kq3bG666j7erGPG-pE8aHFqnmQLn-exY5OL5h6e3Enrq8NBvchN85oiZHrI7bwVEBV4EsWJnSRr1nSIqYN7n9-XKmkmKvNuF/s640/blogger-image-900158023.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Jqdemp4QvC8YlakDm3LI2_nBAqNtVT6RMYLRwmzO1aZU19EUqPWhkV1g3Avjr4Sissc8FjjzAdGkOucW_oPQ54Aw9xoCZwl635J-HnNo7jXVZxRDEvzJtoYeIlqNMQPpuUP6DiYvey1w/s640/blogger-image--932481302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Jqdemp4QvC8YlakDm3LI2_nBAqNtVT6RMYLRwmzO1aZU19EUqPWhkV1g3Avjr4Sissc8FjjzAdGkOucW_oPQ54Aw9xoCZwl635J-HnNo7jXVZxRDEvzJtoYeIlqNMQPpuUP6DiYvey1w/s640/blogger-image--932481302.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div> He even went around telling everyone to come inside when he was ready for them to sing "Happy Birthday" to him. He'd been practicing his candle blowing all week. </div><div><br><div><div>Here are a few more pictures from the weekend:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9UvNsa7zT1pU_JikBS04-1H2Reo27Edckbk7r2QPK2PAFkUnuWrkcIxJdMBwxkzn6LkssZUJra4F7RZnUKX27oREYb4lKx4a4WUdoDVwl5ePYOz4mbOVV3RfHhAzbWOYeVhA4sgog3TE/s640/blogger-image-226077297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9UvNsa7zT1pU_JikBS04-1H2Reo27Edckbk7r2QPK2PAFkUnuWrkcIxJdMBwxkzn6LkssZUJra4F7RZnUKX27oREYb4lKx4a4WUdoDVwl5ePYOz4mbOVV3RfHhAzbWOYeVhA4sgog3TE/s640/blogger-image-226077297.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EoKDP8i1Tvr-GmIsSBV9Nk7Gl7mNt8V37zVqqOFce7EFpFfiE33ie1JWGk7fSWXFGlGGy92pYN7oNfZsTyb_lnWnD3KYU_zQ1TYd1y9tZp5xDRkm2sSlktkxSNMyLqgbXWRi6wPLO1Ih/s640/blogger-image-2035237148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EoKDP8i1Tvr-GmIsSBV9Nk7Gl7mNt8V37zVqqOFce7EFpFfiE33ie1JWGk7fSWXFGlGGy92pYN7oNfZsTyb_lnWnD3KYU_zQ1TYd1y9tZp5xDRkm2sSlktkxSNMyLqgbXWRi6wPLO1Ih/s640/blogger-image-2035237148.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM6SQMsJYi8WauHGlG1YTSCAuMItyGlmhSlDd7q2LXPdsIwZpAcNepdjPwTHSFFERGFasdEOuHTsgJ-TGYDFtrvEYVlRio7qQ97fmM5X6P58Tw0FC0FyHyfG47qvGaMMwmUAGySEcCp_u/s640/blogger-image-1225600999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM6SQMsJYi8WauHGlG1YTSCAuMItyGlmhSlDd7q2LXPdsIwZpAcNepdjPwTHSFFERGFasdEOuHTsgJ-TGYDFtrvEYVlRio7qQ97fmM5X6P58Tw0FC0FyHyfG47qvGaMMwmUAGySEcCp_u/s640/blogger-image-1225600999.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM6SQMsJYi8WauHGlG1YTSCAuMItyGlmhSlDd7q2LXPdsIwZpAcNepdjPwTHSFFERGFasdEOuHTsgJ-TGYDFtrvEYVlRio7qQ97fmM5X6P58Tw0FC0FyHyfG47qvGaMMwmUAGySEcCp_u/s640/blogger-image-1225600999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKI_DavRDAYqb_MhlnArCf_GgkvuiI92ntIwG9W0Fs7Spiudimkc1q5sME0HtS1II6A2gOBcXZVB-yrNcJWfSHQuOEiToPmkZ8hVFJ_Fqdqpq_kT61cT7Sy-jQymUQvkzCr_L2YiB9DUe3/s640/blogger-image-168651603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKI_DavRDAYqb_MhlnArCf_GgkvuiI92ntIwG9W0Fs7Spiudimkc1q5sME0HtS1II6A2gOBcXZVB-yrNcJWfSHQuOEiToPmkZ8hVFJ_Fqdqpq_kT61cT7Sy-jQymUQvkzCr_L2YiB9DUe3/s640/blogger-image-168651603.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeDNhxCDKmXIFphgJGqq1BTwOuRi9VsAvT7qdn45f0V-EZPIQXW0cx4pzo9mr3Anv3QLpBEYnti-y3nnGeUOyZTcZvMtJmE8tK18FbcrVVGhjVcl0wYIdt0iOR5H2sZBA_knLtAqVCaxx/s640/blogger-image-870740501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVeDNhxCDKmXIFphgJGqq1BTwOuRi9VsAvT7qdn45f0V-EZPIQXW0cx4pzo9mr3Anv3QLpBEYnti-y3nnGeUOyZTcZvMtJmE8tK18FbcrVVGhjVcl0wYIdt0iOR5H2sZBA_knLtAqVCaxx/s640/blogger-image-870740501.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASFLzRnbzZczZXYuKvntGgFW2XZpmA4zGrDy_p-2HaDxfqppGOKtIUMB3DYxlgWbvxnkvAkDhFfSz8m-NPTwsvZStidIH1nJMHPxybWiE7jz9kJUKAL93HoCLrgvQ_0ukI40J1TbmDCwk/s640/blogger-image--808920123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASFLzRnbzZczZXYuKvntGgFW2XZpmA4zGrDy_p-2HaDxfqppGOKtIUMB3DYxlgWbvxnkvAkDhFfSz8m-NPTwsvZStidIH1nJMHPxybWiE7jz9kJUKAL93HoCLrgvQ_0ukI40J1TbmDCwk/s640/blogger-image--808920123.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> "Here, mommy. You eat some."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yesterday, we went down to the Winchester walking mall for ice cream and to play in the splash pad. When we first came home from China, Carter wanted nothing to do with ice cream. This time, he refused to share with us and was not happy until we gave him his very own cone- </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfDdsmpgn8oLrz0OS9O7PSPo3ud9JPCgrkLaov5lTg0EB157fFApA33hEN-yeBX_aSwf279XMDRxkV3d2-WjDhDxB2U3oCm5QrVXDB-UGlgBNhKkvjNsGWOy4tx_XTM7oO86CLpvhyphenhyphenvMV/s640/blogger-image-434659940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfDdsmpgn8oLrz0OS9O7PSPo3ud9JPCgrkLaov5lTg0EB157fFApA33hEN-yeBX_aSwf279XMDRxkV3d2-WjDhDxB2U3oCm5QrVXDB-UGlgBNhKkvjNsGWOy4tx_XTM7oO86CLpvhyphenhyphenvMV/s640/blogger-image-434659940.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Step away from my ice cream. Step away."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBofZD-rmQAyhz81eFGmKod1Swk3nbFvldqUO6fy3KfewIU3Dq-VXenyi_c03qDFngEKT1qqB0wh0-lhuNgkS5GQkD55rg3hQdhMuPz9OKFq7abWByX9GUmz6XUsB93znt1Ozcz5C3EUUJ/s640/blogger-image-1899349420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBofZD-rmQAyhz81eFGmKod1Swk3nbFvldqUO6fy3KfewIU3Dq-VXenyi_c03qDFngEKT1qqB0wh0-lhuNgkS5GQkD55rg3hQdhMuPz9OKFq7abWByX9GUmz6XUsB93znt1Ozcz5C3EUUJ/s640/blogger-image-1899349420.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4eFLDJi_A7PFuPZE3jP2SobhdAJkG4HcCdzEy1DG7t0l67QS6wDFhlXZ_3CoMox84vBSvbMYi79-zYlXrmIKUJbDr3a2iSxG7U0nyBdJFbJ_ewrqNoPb6O87ybhB5bo8lAXFxL7vB85UJ/s640/blogger-image--544956965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4eFLDJi_A7PFuPZE3jP2SobhdAJkG4HcCdzEy1DG7t0l67QS6wDFhlXZ_3CoMox84vBSvbMYi79-zYlXrmIKUJbDr3a2iSxG7U0nyBdJFbJ_ewrqNoPb6O87ybhB5bo8lAXFxL7vB85UJ/s640/blogger-image--544956965.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMP2lBmIa9El0PrycpZx9DwyTLfTDxjrp65WUniuxG2V_WENvG1aUy6ccefMElBMgamIjinWTQw6-jj3qKMMZA_Vf35NC1vZcUkN8a6uqXdooM00p5viUCKqiQAkilN9lp4w5YO8JpsUj4/s640/blogger-image--936274845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMP2lBmIa9El0PrycpZx9DwyTLfTDxjrp65WUniuxG2V_WENvG1aUy6ccefMElBMgamIjinWTQw6-jj3qKMMZA_Vf35NC1vZcUkN8a6uqXdooM00p5viUCKqiQAkilN9lp4w5YO8JpsUj4/s640/blogger-image--936274845.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBDJAeAD3l8ycizixAiMCpMusCPh90pby1AZp9rdTPMnw7ils48xajCTgocgTDEE2E7fCqOXzsMvQsP2Cy5UYWUkiodETr0SdAhERCKPjOpiWHXCgkyacxKv8o1APgH3akqfyjtTQ9yjP/s640/blogger-image--31931104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBDJAeAD3l8ycizixAiMCpMusCPh90pby1AZp9rdTPMnw7ils48xajCTgocgTDEE2E7fCqOXzsMvQsP2Cy5UYWUkiodETr0SdAhERCKPjOpiWHXCgkyacxKv8o1APgH3akqfyjtTQ9yjP/s640/blogger-image--31931104.jpg"></a></div>Can't get wet because that would ruin her perfectly coordinated "super cute" outfit. Fashion always comes first.</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The best part of the weekend for me was having my "baby" sister, Karisa, here with her family. She and Johnmark drove all the way from Chicago in a car with their two toddlers just to meet Carter and celebrate his birthday. That is love- pure and simple. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmdLL1xesI7ajwQGoiFKFWWoPWWGiQVYsaFYspb4sisD-OPN535Vm7CFfFNMCncZanmW0eSghIDpYuYGHe0Qqm-OpUEO8dE0_YpVHu1Mm7H4zuBjGeyV-ACqxPWCyrB0BdT6OYn_faYu5/s640/blogger-image-1225059256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmdLL1xesI7ajwQGoiFKFWWoPWWGiQVYsaFYspb4sisD-OPN535Vm7CFfFNMCncZanmW0eSghIDpYuYGHe0Qqm-OpUEO8dE0_YpVHu1Mm7H4zuBjGeyV-ACqxPWCyrB0BdT6OYn_faYu5/s640/blogger-image-1225059256.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now that everyone is gone, I think Carter is enjoying having the house (and mommy) all to himself again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBfPqMV3uDx7a5Fdh03GdhiAqx2SGnG2cUErOP0z3jr0C11KI_1RPw4j84OS2fObM-4qxAw8mTYZv2zxixO9o_sDQj_K8nYWWAnbS8sHWhR4yO7SpTRn4hI4hRUdKMd-sGjAPJ3jFEt78/s640/blogger-image--1927705274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBfPqMV3uDx7a5Fdh03GdhiAqx2SGnG2cUErOP0z3jr0C11KI_1RPw4j84OS2fObM-4qxAw8mTYZv2zxixO9o_sDQj_K8nYWWAnbS8sHWhR4yO7SpTRn4hI4hRUdKMd-sGjAPJ3jFEt78/s640/blogger-image--1927705274.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div></div></div></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-31660467486403024642014-07-28T20:08:00.004-07:002014-07-28T20:23:54.211-07:00For HerTonight was probably the night. I say probably because we are just guessing that tomorrow was the day he was born. His birthday is one of those assumed truths that we accept as if it is true, knowing that we will never really know for sure.<br>
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Was it an unusually cool night, like the one we are having now? Were you scared? Were you alone? Did you already know, deep in your soul, that you would not be able to hold him forever? Or were you hopeful, and full of all those not-yet realized dreams that every waiting mother carries in her heart? I think, but it is only a guess, that you had no idea what lay ahead. Because how could you? How could you guess that your tiny little boy was going to be born so sick, fragile, and possibly deaf? <br>
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Tonight, while I snuggled close to him and kissed his cheeks as he fell asleep, I thought about you. He likes to fall asleep that way. Cheek to cheek. Eye to eye. Sometimes he leaves his little hand on my face as if he's checking to make sure I'm still there even after he has closed his eyes. I lay there thinking that tonight must be a hard night for you. Here I am, love drunk from this beautiful moment with such a precious little boy, and there you are, wherever you are, missing all of this. <br>
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Tomorrow is his birthday and we are going to fill it with as much joy as we can. His family is coming here from far and wide just to surround him with love. We are loving him well, I promise. <br>
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But birthdays are never just about the person being born. There is always another person who relives the day again and again in her heart. I remember the days Camdyn and Charlie were born like they were yesterday. <i>Always like it was yesterday</i>. Moments of fear, agony, and joy that are seared into my heart and cannot be erased. How hard it must be for you, to carry those moments in your heart, to feel the weight of them, to remember him so well. His <i>birth</i>-day is also your giving-birth-day. <br>
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Here is my promise to you: I will carry you in my heart tomorrow and in my prayers I will send Carter's joy back to you....through the air, on the clouds, in the wind.<br>
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The ancient ones called this the <i>Ruach, </i>the Breath of God, that moves between us, breathing life and hope and love out from God's own self, onto us. <br>
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My prayer for you is this- that this <i>Ruach Elohim</i>, the Breath of God who is mother and father to us all, who gives us life and sets us free, will whisper in your heart and let you know...<i>he is loved, he is loved, he is loved. (And so are you.) </i><br>
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<i><br></i>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-7284827601790821582014-07-27T20:36:00.001-07:002014-07-31T20:06:39.898-07:00Sweet and simpleIf I told you that adding a third child, a busy and active toddler at that, to our family has brought more harmony and order to our home, you probably would think I was telling a lie. I know it sounds completely crazy, but it is true- I swear. I think that in the months leading up to our trip to China, we both naively assumed that adding a third child would be like going from juggling two balls to three. Not easy, but doable. What we realized shortly after we got home, however, was that all of the balls were not staying in the air. In fact, a lot of our old routines and ways of doing things were suddenly no longer an option. The first several weeks at home, when we were focused on establishing boundaries and a routine for Carter, forced us to see that we had never done a good job with any of those things before. We also saw that if our new family of five was going to survive, we needed to stop juggling all together. First, because children are not flying objects. Second, because living life at a frenetic pace wasn't good for anyone, most of all our little ones. <div><br></div><div>Around this time I also discovered the book "Simplicity Parenting" by Kim John Payne which has almost revolutionized the way I think about parenting. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GKT2QT2vwRztyJnf5vSMnQXz8rvAUKp1uKInPMxSz3kgA8L7sprQHhXg1KYgd_PW3KQiB_BGHLQ5O5ZHuB6QRxUiUKspc3EQGyEw25ygO8Cmo0MCq43g5lGHv6Mw8C9-IqTjTYVqYd1k/s640/blogger-image--1172605196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GKT2QT2vwRztyJnf5vSMnQXz8rvAUKp1uKInPMxSz3kgA8L7sprQHhXg1KYgd_PW3KQiB_BGHLQ5O5ZHuB6QRxUiUKspc3EQGyEw25ygO8Cmo0MCq43g5lGHv6Mw8C9-IqTjTYVqYd1k/s640/blogger-image--1172605196.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Because the few simple changes we made at home have caused such a major shift in our family life, I thought I would share some of what we have tried. </div><div><br></div><div><b><i>First: less is more</i></b>. Less toys and less stuff mean less clutter and less mess. Kids get overwhelmed by too many toys that are out at eye level. It mentally distracts them and keeps them from being able to get lost in a world of play. And play is what children need in order to develop healthy minds. I spent weeks cleaning out clutter from every place I could find- the kids' rooms, cabinets, closets, basements, etc. My motto was, "If we don't use it, we don't need it." Amazingly, it became easier and easier for us to keep things clean and semi-ordered at home. Even after an entire day of toddler mayhem, we could clean it all up with a family 3 minute "cleaning blitz." </div><div><br></div><div><i><b>Second, kids won't argue with a written word</b>. </i>In order to keep up with our routines and provide better structure for our older two kids, we started writing down their schedules and their weekly chores on these organization boards-</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGbnNw1jL3UcUWpYjDArgIoID28xg1s-vWjE2xM_iw0y9CzrDk8V281H0doOOLo7XH3CBk2gaVcybbGdzC_hDBGlReLSxhekQvIpAQEaM1GTzqHXZaGNadNtWQwbeRyk4ce-VEhb05VVU/s640/blogger-image-1570173290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGbnNw1jL3UcUWpYjDArgIoID28xg1s-vWjE2xM_iw0y9CzrDk8V281H0doOOLo7XH3CBk2gaVcybbGdzC_hDBGlReLSxhekQvIpAQEaM1GTzqHXZaGNadNtWQwbeRyk4ce-VEhb05VVU/s640/blogger-image-1570173290.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I call this wall "Command Central"</div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisW0BMMmYF2L8ZX1p2U-XBX2IOM71TTwU9reBxcsKR5HhEj1J-HNUm3IOonIdINnQ1wnk-uqtFf7KOJrQ5elGlPjmFTmkq6b0Ty1-vx6fUjWylqoA7AtqkpQnyQMB-6AxMz1oGoHKxbmpk/s640/blogger-image-1387475926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisW0BMMmYF2L8ZX1p2U-XBX2IOM71TTwU9reBxcsKR5HhEj1J-HNUm3IOonIdINnQ1wnk-uqtFf7KOJrQ5elGlPjmFTmkq6b0Ty1-vx6fUjWylqoA7AtqkpQnyQMB-6AxMz1oGoHKxbmpk/s640/blogger-image-1387475926.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> A close up of our chore chart magnets</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We also came up with a weekly menu plan and put it in the kitchen-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpNxb65swiRL9EkbNz9w9SqaLCtANZ9dXoqAX-uTe5kGJjFMl2CW7qtoBjp1mL0qVvKhr1uTI0GpaTGE5b9BpJBaXD5x0td2AubwY8hiWnEdwWzqahe49BYOjHTY-CgfmZlvurkUKO1d7/s640/blogger-image--2125250738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpNxb65swiRL9EkbNz9w9SqaLCtANZ9dXoqAX-uTe5kGJjFMl2CW7qtoBjp1mL0qVvKhr1uTI0GpaTGE5b9BpJBaXD5x0td2AubwY8hiWnEdwWzqahe49BYOjHTY-CgfmZlvurkUKO1d7/s640/blogger-image--2125250738.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">What I didn't expect was just how much writing down the plans helped Camdyn and Charlie stop fighting the plans. If mommy tells them they have to clean their room today, mommy can be argued with and her weak spots exploited. The chore chart doesn't listen to any arguments and has no sympathy for whining. The chores get done. In the same way, having a meal plan makes family dinner both predictable and non-negotiable. Meals get eaten and not complained about. It is almost like magic. (Not to mention how much easier it is for Justin and myself to have a plan in place for every night of the week!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b><i>Finally, if you build it they will read...or draw...or just be. </i></b> We have tried to give them more spaces in the house that are kid centered and serve a specific purpose. Like Carter's art table in the kitchen-</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURHATDXKEy8fI9mo0k09UOltByg1zwEVhfgYFAerJO4UFNO6i_1PROYmEojVowQgmtfzZFv88XW51SXCYkvmqbg_CXcdU3rFjE2cL7UyQ1KrbC2IPirY9Fd_q602MtzodJS7O1Cv4vv_E/s640/blogger-image-1594156027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURHATDXKEy8fI9mo0k09UOltByg1zwEVhfgYFAerJO4UFNO6i_1PROYmEojVowQgmtfzZFv88XW51SXCYkvmqbg_CXcdU3rFjE2cL7UyQ1KrbC2IPirY9Fd_q602MtzodJS7O1Cv4vv_E/s640/blogger-image-1594156027.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Though, to be honest, keeping markers within Carter's reach might not have been my smartest mom move ever:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-Y06F1JMz-qRn4j92sbcDI6dUQeSm44EyqNxLXsXZDx9QjNo8kUEEIQtlx4lAUIHePCW7SyH-5LR5E65XA-HyHEIgP2ySJnL-k9WjdYxBH0WfPzE33bpKC1JkI6hz1VPZHofaiy19bjg/s640/blogger-image--1146983293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-Y06F1JMz-qRn4j92sbcDI6dUQeSm44EyqNxLXsXZDx9QjNo8kUEEIQtlx4lAUIHePCW7SyH-5LR5E65XA-HyHEIgP2ySJnL-k9WjdYxBH0WfPzE33bpKC1JkI6hz1VPZHofaiy19bjg/s640/blogger-image--1146983293.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We also turned a guest room into a study and reading room for Camdyn and Charlie. With all of the extra noise and activity that a toddler brought to the house, we saw that they needed a quiet place to get away for reading and homework. We let them pick out their own comfy reading chair for their study, which might not have been the best idea because more than once I have sent one of them in there with a book only to find them fast asleep in their chair an hour later. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwn5pm5edw-PD6NqQ3JWsjQjpWJLatqlBWP3NotbcJ4V6HZCWPiNWvlvaAuTwZYiut32FwxYmFaKVfWZgTJEy17eZRC6SpGqts5T26LuXatHSgQMGtl6iJJGy4ClX8JIsa6VbrJvjbF0xP/s640/blogger-image--431966046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwn5pm5edw-PD6NqQ3JWsjQjpWJLatqlBWP3NotbcJ4V6HZCWPiNWvlvaAuTwZYiut32FwxYmFaKVfWZgTJEy17eZRC6SpGqts5T26LuXatHSgQMGtl6iJJGy4ClX8JIsa6VbrJvjbF0xP/s640/blogger-image--431966046.jpg"></a></div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sometimes more silliness than studiousness happens in the new study- </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNxRjhyphenhyphenAw2vepYCx8pXYtPFf21R8NlzNHWuCekBrOux274iS8oBhPrWAP1Ic6SZz92TN6kWk25Qr9TGGa14pGcu-TkGG0qn79HEmMOPRShIodblTkJ-ZD_zPMbuFgWfdd49-0e14ty1zZ/s640/blogger-image--2028807683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNxRjhyphenhyphenAw2vepYCx8pXYtPFf21R8NlzNHWuCekBrOux274iS8oBhPrWAP1Ic6SZz92TN6kWk25Qr9TGGa14pGcu-TkGG0qn79HEmMOPRShIodblTkJ-ZD_zPMbuFgWfdd49-0e14ty1zZ/s640/blogger-image--2028807683.jpg"></a></div></div> (Yes, that is underwear on his head.)</div><br></div><div>I am sharing all this not because I want people to think that we are super organized parents who always have our you-know-what together. Really, I have always felt like any semblance of structure and consistency at home were just out of reach and never quite attainable. However, I am learning slowly but surely that simplicity is a gift that allows all of us, parent and child, to thrive. This may seem like common sense to many super moms who have been running their homes like a well oiled machine for years, but for me- a chronically overwhelmed working mom who never feels like she can get anything done - I feel like I've found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. </div><div><br></div><div>And that is why having a third child has brought order to our home. (See, I told you I was telling the truth.)</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-24761943458775489192014-07-20T10:22:00.003-07:002014-07-20T10:51:25.601-07:00Rhomboids and cloversYesterday marked two months with our little Carter Jack Allen! It seems like forever and it seems like only yesterday that we were here:<br />
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Carter loves shapes. When I say love, I mean as much as any almost two year old can adore an inanimate object. He has been with us now for exactly two months and he can already correctly identify stars, diamonds, squares, circles, ovals, hearts, clovers, triangles, and rhomboids. Rhomboids aren't a shape, you say? Well, yes. Rhomboids are back muscles. I guess my mommy brain and my doctor brain got a little muddled on maternity leave and after I taught him to say "rhomboid" he now refuses to say any other name for his favorite shape.<br />
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Mr. Star is out for a ride</div>
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Carter is also determined to learn the alphabet. <i>How</i> he knows that letters are things to be learned is beyond me because we really have been focusing on basic things like, "More noodles, please" instead of the alphabet. But once he realized that letters were things that needed to be learned, there was no stopping him. As of today, he can recognize the letters, B, P, M, L, O, A, Y, & C. </div>
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Blueberry syrup everywhere!</div>
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We lost track of how many English words he can say at 100. He talks non-stop. Even Charlie, our talking machine, will beg Carter to stop talking "for just two minutes, please!" New words have to be repeated at least 50 times. He makes me repeat them, too, just to make sure he is saying them correctly. A typical conversation goes like this:<br />
Carter: "Mama, what's that?"<br />
Me: "That's a butterfly."<br />
Carter: "Butterfly? Butterfly...butterfly....butterfly. Mama? Mama! Mama! Butterfly?"<br />
Me: "Yes, butterfly!"<br />
Carter: "Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, BUTTERFLY!"<br />
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Before he goes to sleep at night he has to look around his room and catalogue everything he sees that he knows how to say, "Owl, alligator, backpack, fan, bed, light, Mommy, owl, alligator..." Over and over and over again. It takes all of my willpower to sit there and just rock him, waiting for his little brain to finally slow down and be ready for sleep. Whenever I start to get impatient, I remember all the nights he didn't get rocked, all the conversations with a mama that didn't happen, all the hours he must have lain in his crib alone with no one to hear him talk, and I suspect that he is just trying to make the rocking, the snuggling, the holding, and the kisses last a little longer. I think we both know that those are magic moments when his heart is being healed. </div>
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So sweet I can hardly stand it. </div>
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I'm shamelessly bragging on Carter for one reason: this brilliant boy was at one time considered almost unadoptable and I am haunted by the realization that there are countless other brilliant children just like him with scary medical files who just need one thing: a family. Had he remained an orphan in China, his visible ear deformity coupled with his orphan status would have kept him from ever getting an education or being able to choose a career. In our country, we assume that anyone can overcome the odds and rise to the top if they have the desire to learn and work hard. But for orphans around the world who have no one to advocate for them, this is simply not the case. Their futures are often without hope. For orphans in China with special needs, it is virtually impossible for them to get accepted to a university or to find successful employment opportunities. I cannot imagine what it would be like for a child to live without hope and without promise of a future. I think of the millions of children who are still waiting and my heart becomes paralyzed with the vastness of it all. <br />
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Every day I look at Carter and think that he is nothing short of amazing. I wonder what his future holds and I know the possibilities are endless. They say adoption is a miracle. That is true, but not really. <i>Adoption is not <b>a</b> miracle, but many endless miracles that continue to unfold day after day.</i> Seeing the way Charlie and Camdyn have grown in their love for Carter, that is a miracle. Each time Carter leans over to give us a kiss, that is a miracle. Every person who tells us how much joy they've gotten from following our family's journey, that is a miracle. Finding out that the hole he once had in his heart is now so small the doctors consider it gone, with no follow up testing ever needed again, that was a miracle. <i>But, the miracle that I am most grateful for today is Carter's future.</i> The doors that will open for him. The choices he will have. The limitless possibilities that wait for him simply because we took a leap of faith and said "Yes" to a baby who had only ever been told "No." The thing about miracles is that they require more faith than action or ability on our part. It is God who steps in and does the rest. When I see this boy smile, I know that God has stepped into our lives in a big, undeniable, beautiful way. What is more miraculous than that? </div>
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<b><i>"To love another person is to see the face of God." </i></b><br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> (~</span></b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Victor Hugo<b style="font-style: italic;">, </b><span style="font-style: italic;">Les Miserables</span><b style="font-style: italic;">)</b></span></div>
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babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-33956344876750271122014-07-11T12:11:00.004-07:002014-07-11T13:26:25.744-07:00A Truce Declared A story in the Bible that I have struggled with lately is the one about Hannah and Samuel. This is a story about a woman who is given a child by God after years of infertility. It is also a beautiful story about faith, a woman's faith that held fast despite the shame, mockery, and ridicule that were hurled upon her from almost every direction. Most of us know that Hannah's prayers are eventually answered. God hears Hannah and gives her a son.<br>
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But that is not the end of the story. Because Hannah gives her son away. <br>
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We don't really talk about it that way, but that is what she does. After he is weaned, when he is still very young, she takes him to the temple and leaves him with the priest Eli and his sons. That's not so bad, right? She is giving him to God and leaving him with godly men who will raise him as well as any mother could. Well, not exactly. Eli was old, apparently not a good priest, and willing to turn a blind eye to the evil of his own sons. The Bible says that "Eli's sons were scoundrels; they had no regard for the Lord or for the duties of the priests to the people," (1 Sam 2:12). <br>
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Think about that for a second. Hannah may have given Samuel back to the Lord in a literal and figurative sense, but she also left him alone without a mother, to be raised by a man who clearly did not know how to parent and to live in a home with men who were notoriously corrupt. <br>
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"She left him there for the Lord." (1 Sam 1:28)<br>
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This was the child she had longed for and wept countless tears hoping for...and she left him there for the Lord. Here is the part that I just can't get past: God did NOT ask Hannah to do this. This wasn't part of some bargain. This was Hannah's calling. <br>
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I sit here listening to one son sing silly songs at the top of his lungs while the other son is taking a nap beside me on the couch and I realize that what I really want to do is pass judgement on Hannah. How could she think that sending Samuel away from her was in any way the right thing to do?<br>
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Here is the truth: I want to judge Hannah for leaving Samuel the way I have judged myself for not being home with my own children all of the time. Wrestling with Hannah's story and how it makes me feel has shone a light into my own ideas about motherhood and what it means to be a "good mother." Those who like to promote the idea of "Biblical womanhood" will tell us things like: Good mothers stay home with their children. Good mothers plan science projects. Good mothers bake organic homemade bread. Good mothers sit beside their children on the floor while they play with developmentally appropriate toys. Good mothers are mothers first, and doctors second.<br>
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Like it or not, the mommy wars of the last few decades have made victims of us all. Even though I have spent the last decade refuting all these ideas in my head, in my heart there has always been doubt about the choices I have made. Every time I have walked out the door to go to the hospital or the office, I have faced the same wave of guilt, wondering what damage my choice to have a career has done to my little ones. There have always been voices, real and imagined, that have said, "You should be at home with them." <br>
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But this narrative, the one we have accepted as the definition of "biblical motherhood" leaves no room for women like Hannah who followed her heart and left her son with the Lord. There is no room for Carter's birth mother who must have felt that her only choice was to leave her tiny, sick baby in someone else's care because try as she might, she could not provide the medicine and food that he needed to survive. There is no room for the mothers in Africa who leave their children at home so they can walk for hours every day just to find clean water. There is no room for the single mother who works two or three jobs at a time so her children will have food, clothes, and shelter. <br>
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I am going back to work next week and Carter will start a two day per week daycare program. The amount of sadness, guilt, and dread that I have put into this is matched only by the same emotions I felt when Camdyn started daycare ten years ago and then Charlie a few years later. The more I come back to Hannah and Samuel, the more I begin to hear it, deep in my heart, and believe for the first time that maybe God sees motherhood differently than we do. <i>Maybe, being present with our children isn't God's mandate for women, but a privilege.</i> Maybe, I should not feel guilty for the 30 hours each week that I leave my children to go to work...because the other 138 hours that I am present with them are evidence of the fact that I am more privileged than I realize. <br>
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I know that being a pediatrician allowed me to look at Carter's file and see instantly that his three listed medical problems were either mislabeled or untrue. <b>Privilege.</b><br>
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I know that having a home with more room than we need, enough money in our bank account to pay each bill, and a loving family made our decision to adopt that much easier. <b>Privilege.</b> <br>
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I know that being married to a man who walks through life as my partner and my friend gave me the strength I needed to face each agonizing day of waiting to bring Carter home. <b>Privilege. </b><br>
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<b>Privilege</b> has allowed me to become Carter's mother. <br>
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The thing about privilege is this: God sees our privilege, too. Privilege makes me nervous, honestly, because in the Bible God doesn't seem to favor those who have as much as those who have not. The same God who sees my privilege also said, "Blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the Kingdom of God." The same God who sees me cry over filling out a daycare form, looked at a woman named Hannah and called her blessed, not because she held tightly to her child, but because she followed the calling in her heart and gave him to the Lord. <b>This is what I know for sure- the same God who called Hannah has also called me.</b> I love being a pediatrician. I love taking care of sick little ones and being the one to help them get better. I love being able to reassure a worried mother or calm a scared child. I love having silly conversations with three year olds about mermaids and dinosaurs. I love almost everything about my job. What I also know is that being a physician is just as much my calling as being a wife, or a mother, or any other role I've been given. <br>
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Next week will be hard for all of us, I'm sure. But I think that it will be easier this time because I have decided that <b>my</b> mommy war is over. It feels good to finally declare a truce on oneself, an end to feeling like you will never quite measure up. Like Hannah, I will give my children to the Lord and let God's grace cover all of my failings as a mother, both real and imagined. Grace covers everything. Everything. Grace has even taken my old mommy-war battle wounds, all the insecurities and self doubt, and turned them around into something beautiful- an overwhelming sense of wonder at just how blessed I am to be a mother to these three amazing little children of God.<br>
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Hannah's prayer:</div>
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<i>I’m bursting with God-news!</i><br>
<i> I’m walking on air.</i><br>
<i>I’m laughing at my rivals.</i><br>
<i> I’m dancing my salvation.</i><br>
<i> Nothing and no one is holy like God,</i><br>
<i> no rock mountain like our God.</i><br>
<i>Don’t dare talk pretentiously—</i><br>
<i> not a word of boasting, ever!</i><br>
<i>For God knows what’s going on.</i><br>
<i> He takes the measure of everything that happens.</i><br>
<i>The weapons of the strong are smashed to pieces,</i><br>
<i> while the weak are infused with fresh strength.</i><br>
<i>1 Sam 2:1-5 (MSG)</i><br>
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<br>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5201580885569075216.post-65987043890980997612014-07-02T09:13:00.001-07:002014-07-04T10:35:43.478-07:00Sweet Tennessee<div><br></div>Watching all three kids play and laugh together is one of my new favorite things. Carter thinks it is hilarious when Charlie fake vomits and Camdyn freaks out. Two brothers giggling and going "Blaah" while their sister pleads "Stop!" is awesome to watch. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihi2-dWcz0af452y6-HA1usZIcEM-icVteahWliXCAGWqaKDid-h_MVlS40Oc72cxD5dwt1NyZjSbomX3ANl4BS1GAJgOX1EI6UHVqebKIK6t7xvH-5A3ztFtLnSBoVYYcgPJYcAVceJWE/s640/blogger-image-1772894580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihi2-dWcz0af452y6-HA1usZIcEM-icVteahWliXCAGWqaKDid-h_MVlS40Oc72cxD5dwt1NyZjSbomX3ANl4BS1GAJgOX1EI6UHVqebKIK6t7xvH-5A3ztFtLnSBoVYYcgPJYcAVceJWE/s640/blogger-image-1772894580.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> A blur of laughter and fun</div><br><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div>I am very ashamed that after just a month in our country he already <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">knows the second we pull into a drive through and starts saying, "Eat! Please! Eat!" </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">He understands if we ask the kids if they are hungry and will start to frantically say and sign, "Eat! Please! Eat!" My biggest fear is that someone will hear him and call social services because he begs for food so desperately that clearly we don't seem to be feeding this child enough.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1z__dphHVk6EQ22EHL26sUU0iR4w9g7BG0yLXG3CmVDfoHzrg-Qgz9UDmyktNfsUcfaNx4GqkHclu7Jp0FxXYi6fOVR4BPF5KYpbO4FnZP2W6z88jtbnI3nJ6Z3ILF2jN53ZiBXpN6eSc/s640/blogger-image-1725679571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1z__dphHVk6EQ22EHL26sUU0iR4w9g7BG0yLXG3CmVDfoHzrg-Qgz9UDmyktNfsUcfaNx4GqkHclu7Jp0FxXYi6fOVR4BPF5KYpbO4FnZP2W6z88jtbnI3nJ6Z3ILF2jN53ZiBXpN6eSc/s640/blogger-image-1725679571.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I am also ashamed that it took less than two weeks at home for him to be totally and completely obsessed with Elmo, or as he calls him, "Melmo." And Bubble Guppies, or as he calls them "Buppies." On our eight hour drive to Tennessee he watched Bubble Guppies the entire way. Non-stop. I am NOT ashamed that I used a video screen to keep him entertained for so long. The alternative (being trapped in the car with a screaming toddler) would have been misery for all of us. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8iHSBg5vbX_Leayl336M7siZLQ_6Ucra183mmbnSPT4PIbv88InSdNKKbpJ28ycUteokaEqdvJEQHJcYocVuj3-eHsPtJ_PKN9x8v-8TBGq82LN6Yqi3VrmLtYalZyb1MewtJ6U5-tFY/s640/blogger-image--1138634156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8iHSBg5vbX_Leayl336M7siZLQ_6Ucra183mmbnSPT4PIbv88InSdNKKbpJ28ycUteokaEqdvJEQHJcYocVuj3-eHsPtJ_PKN9x8v-8TBGq82LN6Yqi3VrmLtYalZyb1MewtJ6U5-tFY/s640/blogger-image--1138634156.jpg"></a></div>"Don't even think about turning off my Buppies."</div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Our trip to visit family in Tennessee and Georgia has been great for lots of reasons but mostly because it has allowed us to see just how much progress we have made with his attachment. He no longer seems to be "mommy shopping" and treats new grown ups like any two year old would- by ignoring them as much as possible. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8zOOaqkKMPObfFMjcag-g0K1KChwlxlmSNetVto81uzKDnFSkkvaXWKP5aXIW38-AC-lF4zQ9RuBN5ZDoOvwF6Av7O3P6HASUTUiQc0yrLnodhxH4jgHFrmz1_8Sv5gMI4lfirhjfZFG/s640/blogger-image--566036767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8zOOaqkKMPObfFMjcag-g0K1KChwlxlmSNetVto81uzKDnFSkkvaXWKP5aXIW38-AC-lF4zQ9RuBN5ZDoOvwF6Av7O3P6HASUTUiQc0yrLnodhxH4jgHFrmz1_8Sv5gMI4lfirhjfZFG/s640/blogger-image--566036767.jpg"></a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> Short visit with my Aunt Shirley in Georgia</span></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>He loves his Nanny and Papa but clearly doesn't think they are there to replace his mom and dad. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISJWeVllOyG6V9rz4MsYnzBVVXQuLExZNHAx-a6YOzC-HoECQwHMY7SHD9uD_yfUsyu_ieITMuvEy4alJL56uCbYuOwiNdIS6OvTT18z_eZgl_UGWUE6CIzdYpDg4k-EBzQMCqqaK5CEO/s640/blogger-image-581595968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISJWeVllOyG6V9rz4MsYnzBVVXQuLExZNHAx-a6YOzC-HoECQwHMY7SHD9uD_yfUsyu_ieITMuvEy4alJL56uCbYuOwiNdIS6OvTT18z_eZgl_UGWUE6CIzdYpDg4k-EBzQMCqqaK5CEO/s640/blogger-image-581595968.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>We are the ones he goes to for comfort and security and food and kisses when he gets a boo-boo. (Every boo-boo requires we give a lot of sympathy kisses and much dramatic acknowledgement of his great suffering.) They are there for laughs and fun and I think he is starting to get the difference. We have still been careful about some things and only Justin and I are carrying him, feeding him, or changing him. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoOn6zSq_48FkPFA7x4kflGKFamiJ-v95Gqkssi-Hzc520U5SnKdabe2NkPNKgD-0rMgLijSyx6yMrEaVDS20xHS8tfZGvK4J5pelOTeT3EYt3jSJqX5gkmJnDNuAgqErbWDlMe4qxQz8/s640/blogger-image-521434672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoOn6zSq_48FkPFA7x4kflGKFamiJ-v95Gqkssi-Hzc520U5SnKdabe2NkPNKgD-0rMgLijSyx6yMrEaVDS20xHS8tfZGvK4J5pelOTeT3EYt3jSJqX5gkmJnDNuAgqErbWDlMe4qxQz8/s640/blogger-image-521434672.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> Posing and telling Papa to take his picture</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihV-atJTUV_cOB0e8pBehHMWcWar73aSrx2iDyhb74lDjG1eThOdRCKMTMeqhkQU7lu1C7q05_L_ftVEN41MJbzRQG0OE0bS_ai1X1VV9KDI5KPvqab8aZXz19oUllU16c09KOd99t0JSp/s640/blogger-image-736563041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihV-atJTUV_cOB0e8pBehHMWcWar73aSrx2iDyhb74lDjG1eThOdRCKMTMeqhkQU7lu1C7q05_L_ftVEN41MJbzRQG0OE0bS_ai1X1VV9KDI5KPvqab8aZXz19oUllU16c09KOd99t0JSp/s640/blogger-image-736563041.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> Then insisting he take a picture of Papa</div><br></div><br></div><div>I love that my kids get to come to my parents' house and feed cows, gather eggs, and care for baby chicks. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gHNE2hN8RELxs4h0PklGfHqQcu8rjlUqPAzs5mLXw-fzRPLcLbZf7CdGpkcTbnN69L0vvzfSkxRjREH_iJYKVcwAICOG-0YQrSWhJRa9d8WCz5btgSUe07_SA7mD9VzKycSuglvJZJcS/s640/blogger-image-102609130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gHNE2hN8RELxs4h0PklGfHqQcu8rjlUqPAzs5mLXw-fzRPLcLbZf7CdGpkcTbnN69L0vvzfSkxRjREH_iJYKVcwAICOG-0YQrSWhJRa9d8WCz5btgSUe07_SA7mD9VzKycSuglvJZJcS/s640/blogger-image-102609130.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4Sy6Ni4b73aZEe2uToCIc390spzaPZSfmzEDoFSTXKPYjH9BI3xtiLRyazwbA8btl0o7GDtyzFRfkNkBHwjUduIxLb38A0pRMBb-I3mbdOgXL_6hh_nujNtg7JMc0aI3SZ-LYeHj7Jyb/s640/blogger-image--1671260920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4Sy6Ni4b73aZEe2uToCIc390spzaPZSfmzEDoFSTXKPYjH9BI3xtiLRyazwbA8btl0o7GDtyzFRfkNkBHwjUduIxLb38A0pRMBb-I3mbdOgXL_6hh_nujNtg7JMc0aI3SZ-LYeHj7Jyb/s640/blogger-image--1671260920.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Drying off a chick that got caught in a storm.</div><br></div><div>I love taking them up to the Ocoee river to go swimming in places only locals know about with names like "The Blue Hole."</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt6rpD5dlvvwN1hyh8Q-r3DvtOGMKfhTVrh6AqaFa3EOGOYye9vDJIWM0buJnFixAoYGaa8nV_ajQIdiVoD9lF7f20oJiAZeZcjpCRXCXBiT9nRwGjARvGmKzDxNcufs2TVzNutytzvsG9/s640/blogger-image-1901684347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt6rpD5dlvvwN1hyh8Q-r3DvtOGMKfhTVrh6AqaFa3EOGOYye9vDJIWM0buJnFixAoYGaa8nV_ajQIdiVoD9lF7f20oJiAZeZcjpCRXCXBiT9nRwGjARvGmKzDxNcufs2TVzNutytzvsG9/s640/blogger-image-1901684347.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmELHMnzedvEjQ5tJRaj0to3bcQ0Pimt2Z26GbraQInz9UxrwT5IYXtBZFZfyC4a5wJeWvJJ_9qayiM5-ORT2aRdANAWM3RCEhxPqwteBAGsjQtzTLdESeXbXCZmhmaDYxSIOxCiWWOaY/s640/blogger-image--721166668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmELHMnzedvEjQ5tJRaj0to3bcQ0Pimt2Z26GbraQInz9UxrwT5IYXtBZFZfyC4a5wJeWvJJ_9qayiM5-ORT2aRdANAWM3RCEhxPqwteBAGsjQtzTLdESeXbXCZmhmaDYxSIOxCiWWOaY/s640/blogger-image--721166668.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love that they get to go fishing with their Papa at his church, because Papa's church has a fish pond like all awesome churches should. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblRGixCUdaTcFDtRIax1h31YrrLQVgLArD8fsm18b8323qMmRzkQ1G0bv-S0qmXG7Kq90PtDw6L-7mdjG3_wys77G5bOZRbJSQjGYxkJ_riBwybBTbzMK886_3b2fzgBUpJBmzG5Dvko4/s640/blogger-image-2143400733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblRGixCUdaTcFDtRIax1h31YrrLQVgLArD8fsm18b8323qMmRzkQ1G0bv-S0qmXG7Kq90PtDw6L-7mdjG3_wys77G5bOZRbJSQjGYxkJ_riBwybBTbzMK886_3b2fzgBUpJBmzG5Dvko4/s640/blogger-image-2143400733.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>I love lazy summer afternoons when we all have nothing better to do than to tape my iPhone to the front of the air buggy that Charlie and I built and video it's ride around the driveway...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="http://youtu.be/toBHRGRrt1w">http://youtu.be/toBHRGRrt1w</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love sending them outside with nothing but a ball and watching them play...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7worNySJcLe4r8Itikmju5ZtEZI9aIH9STRwqIvS5XQJzZYHOK56fHmxyrg6fbBmno3L11TA4KrGBZJ8gzq3Ay4sZ6DCcGBM04bFK-N4hBqL7ymvQc-Iky9DHe6m3BuOLzs_84mKWjOIf/s640/blogger-image-1300713594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7worNySJcLe4r8Itikmju5ZtEZI9aIH9STRwqIvS5XQJzZYHOK56fHmxyrg6fbBmno3L11TA4KrGBZJ8gzq3Ay4sZ6DCcGBM04bFK-N4hBqL7ymvQc-Iky9DHe6m3BuOLzs_84mKWjOIf/s640/blogger-image-1300713594.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohv617zWB0h8pmr8HU9JC9_b0SVDM80SJmvREvbtNEvLFZYBcp7JErk_uUgYfq7FxSqJfTPb_9TCRToBBlCG4h9dEFIdCi4Vrz5K0oSrDwngLK7ZlE77C3GjVIIYdualGwO8TZQWAA3Ns/s640/blogger-image--995445141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohv617zWB0h8pmr8HU9JC9_b0SVDM80SJmvREvbtNEvLFZYBcp7JErk_uUgYfq7FxSqJfTPb_9TCRToBBlCG4h9dEFIdCi4Vrz5K0oSrDwngLK7ZlE77C3GjVIIYdualGwO8TZQWAA3Ns/s640/blogger-image--995445141.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><br></div><div>I always love coming home, but this trip with Carter has made me see it all again- the mountains, the cows, and the swing in the tree- through his eyes. To him, everything is wonderful and new and I know he senses the magic here that captured the hearts of his brother and sister when they were little, too. </div></div><div><br></div><div>I've also thought a lot about the beauty of having a home, a place you can always return to. A place where you can come with a weary heart and and leave feeling whole again. <i>Home is a more than just a house (or in my case a modern day Green Acres.) Home is a sanctuary filled with security, comfort, acceptance and most of all, a deep sense of belonging. It is my parents and all the love that they have given me, embodied in one sacred space. </i></div><div><br></div><div>Every night since we've had him, I tell him these words while I rock him to sleep:</div><div><br></div><div>"I love you. God loves you, too. God has loved you since the beginning of time. Every second of every day you have always been loved. God loved you so much that God sent us all the way to China to get you and bring you home. <i>Because this is your home, and we are your family, and you belong here with us. </i> Mama loves you. Daddy loves you. Cammy loves you. Gugga loves you. Nanny and Papa love you. GG and Pa love you. We all love Carter."</div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I want him to know that love is what sent us looking for him and love is what ties us together, and more than anything, <i style="font-weight: bold;">I want him to know that he belongs here with us, because adoption is more than just giving a child a new name, a new citizenship, or even a new family. Adoption is the gift of home. </i></span></div>babydoc1030http://www.blogger.com/profile/12514302798930897996noreply@blogger.com0