tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90800983021554248912024-03-13T13:14:35.837-04:00A Grandmother's HeartbeatA Christian Grandmother's effort to touch the world for Jesus, one child at a time.nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.comBlogger253125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-67451116986627240042019-11-18T00:07:00.000-05:002019-11-18T00:07:24.732-05:00The God of Promise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">She was in seventh grade when her mom, my sister in law, called me. Dylan was in trouble. Again. She was fighting in school. It was hard for her to ask but Kathy forced the question to the surface. "Can Dylan come stay with you and Steve for awhile? She needs to get out of this environment." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We were always a close family. We do what needs to be done so Dylan was packed up and made the trip to the Outer Banks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'd like to report that it was easy. I'd like to say "I fixed her." But truth be known she got detention on the very first day of school! My own three daughters while we had our normal mother/daughter conflicts had never equipped me caring for a girl struggling the way that my niece Dylan did. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In the first few weeks we did have successes. I was tough on her I admit. She was required to use an alarm clock to get herself up. I allowed her one reminder wake up from me. She had to have her bed made, be dressed and have breakfast finished and ready to walk out the door when I left for work.No exceptions. If there was any infractions she would have to go to bed one half hour early for each infraction. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At night after homework was done and dishes were washed she would lay on the sofa with her head in my lap so I could play with her hair and she would talk. It was a really sweet time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But still she had so much anger and fear and distrust. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One morning when I was home and she was at school I knelt down by my bed to pray for this sweet angry child. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">God spoke clearly to me "Get a pen and paper and write this down." That had never happened to me before so I obeyed quickly. I have this paper tucked away but it being 11:30 PM I will summarize now the words I was given to write down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Mark this day.How does it look to you now? I tell you the day will come when I will reach out my hand to Dylan and she will no longer strike out like a wounded animal." It was actually a lot longer than this but these words of prophecy ended simply with "Tell Dylan I love her." And yes....these were words of prophecy. I knew it that day. I was sure that they were not my words and I was confident that the day would come when Dylan would be healed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After about two months things were calmed down and it was time for Dylan to be back with her parents. I'd like to say that that was the happy ending.....but it was not. Things were ok for a time but as she got older her problems got bigger. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My beautiful niece went down the road that so many go down and she became a heroin addict with all the horrors that that word entails. The addiction was crushing her and crushing her family. I hated what was happening but I knew for certain that the promise of God would be fulfilled. I clung to that and shared it with her mom as the only encouragement I could offer in this nightmare. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Abraham and Sarah waited a long long time for God's promise to be fulfilled. Sometimes it seemed that maybe it would never happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Over the last five years we have all watched Dylan's life unfold and have seen how truly magnificent our Father God is. In her healing not only does Dylan not recoil from the hand of God but she is being used as the hand of God to others who are now living in pain and in fear that she knew so well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today she posted that she and a friend had started a street ministry to the homeless. She has gone through the legal channels to be able to distribute Narcam for those who battle addiction. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The Bible says "He that has been forgiven much loves much." I would like to think that it also would follow that "She who has been healed much, heals much." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While this may seem to be the story of a little girl gone wrong, gone right. I'ts really a story about a Father who keeps His promises. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"We love because He first loved us." </span><br />
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nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-27358292884075452182019-11-17T01:18:00.000-05:002019-11-17T01:46:19.207-05:00I Always Cook when Im Nervous <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We moved to the Outer Banks in 1995. It was a big scary move! Steve and I were both raised in Southampton NY. We married in 74 and then raised our daughters for the most part in NJ. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">North Carolina was like another planet. We loved it right away but we were so far from our friends and families. We made a new life in spite of not having the comfort of an extended family near by. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And then a miracle happened...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Nearly sixteen years ago I was standing behind the counter of the post office were I had been a clerk since relocating to the area having transferred from the Postal facility were I worked up North. I love how friendly people are in the south and was casually chatting with a customer. Noticing that her parcel was addressed to Freeport, NY I commented " My aunt used to live in Freefort." She replied "I lived there for a while but I was raised in the next town over. In Baldwin." This was the town my parents were from! Having no one in line behind her I asked her what year she was born and determined that she was six years younger than my father (who had passed away 3 months prior to our conversation.) and she was about 4 years younger than my mother. So I started naming off my mother's younger siblings thinking maybe she went to school with one of them. None of the names rang a bell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Then I said "My mother was as Muller and my father was a Tozzi" At this there was a notable shift in the atmosphere. My customer exclaimed "Joe Tozzi?!!!! Joe Tozzi was my brother!" I honestly went weak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And that is how I met my Aunt Gloria. Nearly fifty years and more than 500 miles had tried to keep us apart. But God had another plan. Aunt Gloria had never met my father or her 4 half sisters. She only had a memory to meeting her father (my grandfather) once. She told me she had a vivid memory of his gold watch that she admired when she sat on his lap. As she described it to me I instantly knew the watch. In fact my nephew still has it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After Aunt Gloria left the post office I was thinking how terrible it had been for her. She had a lot of difficulties in her childhood because of my grandfather. I thought how this could make it harder for her. The next day while waiting on a customer I looked up and saw this little woman who I could now see family in her eyes waiting patiently to approach me. When the line cleared up she pushed a bag of containing home made strawberry jelly over the counter and said " I always cook when I'm nervous." Which was good for me because I always eat when I'm nervous.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In no time at all we bonded. We both fell back in to our Long Island rhythm of speech and humor. We visited often. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We needed each other. We each filled in a missing piece. Because my father left when I was four I also had not known my father's family. She loved me. I loved her. We 'got' each other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Aunt Gloria moved to Rhode Island for several years to be near one of her sons. She lived in senior housing there for a time but we still kept in touch. She would often send me gifts. Boxes of rummage sale ornaments and decorations that she thought me or my grandchildren would enjoy. She loved glitter and tacky. And I love her and that fact that these gifts represented so much more than things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After her son in RI passed away tragically and her health began to decline she came back to live on the Outer Banks with her oldest son. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was so good to be close again.I tried to visit her at least once a week when I was in town and we had many lunch dates and outing and doctor visits. Doctor visits were interesting since I knew more of her family medical history than she did. Some days we just sat in the house is she was tired and she would show me photos and tell me stories. And we laughed. We always laughed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was approaching Christmas last year and she asked me to take her shopping. First we went to the Dollar Tree where she was dazzled by every tacky Christmas ornament she saw. She bought a reindeer head band for herself and I think snow globe for her daughter in law. Then we went to her favorite shopping place The Christmas Shop in Manteo. There she was like a child. Finally she grew tired and bought some nice chocolates for her son.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This was a Friday afternoon and I was heading out of town for a few weeks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then I got the call.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Aunt Gloria had a stroke and was not expected to live. A few days later I sat by her side in the hospital. I talked to her. I prayed with her. I cried. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">To everyone's surprise she did not die. Her condition however did not improve enough for her to go home and she was moved in to a nursing home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For the next seven or eight months I spent my Friday afternoons visiting her in her new home. I could tell she was 'still there' but as hard as she tried speaking she was only able to get out an occasional."Oh shit!" or sentences that would trail off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now it was my turn. After years of hearing the same stories over and over I now knew them well enough to tell them back to her. I was leave a sentence dangling and many times she could fill in the last word. She would always smile at the right places in the story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We played bingo. Kind of. We took snap chat photos.I fed her ice cream.We went outside to sit in the courtyard. When I ran out of things to talk about we just sat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Towards the end Aunt Gloria was nearly non responsive. It was then that I started listening to old hymns on my phone with her. I would sing along and I would always pray with her before I left. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One afternoon I went on YouTube and pulled up an old Billy Graham sermon. As he got started preaching he said "Open your bible to Luke." Then he said "Raise your hand if you brought your bible." At this Aunt Gloria (who had been laying there silent and still for our visit) shot her hand straight up in the air! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Every time I left I told her that I was not sure if I would see her again on earth. I told her she was my favorite. I told her that I knew we would be together again. Then I would ask the Lord to welcome her home. And He did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This long story is to say that I miss her. A lot. Especially when I see tacky Christmas ornaments. And reindeer headbands. Especially on Friday afternoons. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Aunt Gloria and I had a miracle relationship. Our story could only have come from the hands of a loving Father. My heart is filled with gratitude.</span><br />
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<br />nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-57865340175474275462019-11-14T11:52:00.000-05:002019-11-14T11:52:15.021-05:00What Does Jesus Look Like?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When my children were growing up I used to sometimes sit with them and watch Mr. Rogers.While many were making fun of this man because of his low key and simple manner I found that many times he was speaking to my inner child. His words were healing. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I watched (alone) his show talking about divorce and sobbed finally allowing the long gone four year old me to feel the weight of my father leaving. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This man never spoke with words about God but he carried with him always the fragrance of Christ. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When my oldest daughter Gretchen at two years old started experiencing very frightening nightmares about a vicious dog.These dreams continued for three nights with her waking with blood curtailing screams. On the 4th night we included prayers before bed asking God to help her to sleep peacefully. And she did. But a few nights later she tiptoed into my room and announced that she had another dream. My spirit sank until she said "No. It was good. This time Jesus came and He let me pet the scary dog." Then she returned to her bed and went back to sleep. The next morning we talked more about her dream. I asked her "What did Jesus look like?" and without missing a beat she said "He looked like Mr. Rogers." </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Let us all live lives of kindness that even a two year old will see Jesus in us. </span></i>nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-23119406102111760702019-11-10T23:45:00.004-05:002019-11-10T23:54:06.037-05:00Thirty Days of Gratitude- Shane <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning when I woke up and looked on my weather app to see that the temperature was a chilly 46 degrees and sunny. My first thought was "What a great running day! I wish I had signed up for the half marathon today!" I still surprise myself with these crazy thoughts.<br />
I knew right away that I wanted to post on Face Book a 30 days of gratitude that I was thankful to be able to run.<br />
As the day continued that thought kind of evolved and grew and took on a completely new element. I began to think about the people that I had connected with because of the running and the sense of belonging and purpose and understanding that I now had with these people.and how grateful I am for them.<br />
I think of my daughter Gretchen and the first time that she and her running partner Brandi ran ten miles. It blew my mind that that was even a thing. Like "Who runs ten miles??" And then my other daughter Melody ran a marathon. That's like a crazy long way to run! But she had. It really was a thing.<br />
I thought of Calavina and how I ran my first 5K with her. I thought of my running partner Pat and all the miles and stories we have shared.<br />
I thought of my pastor Frank running that first time on a dare. Barefoot. In the dark. Running that mile even faster than Brandi because he is competitive and was not going to let his sister beat him.<br />
I thought of Sarah and her infamous speed work that we all dreaded. Sarah always with a smile and positive words of encouragement.<br />
Then I thought of Shane. When I started running at age 57 he owed and operated the local running store. Of course I was not a 'real runner'. But I did know that maybe I should trade in my sandals for actual running shoes. Shane did not make me feel like a 'lesser than' because I was old or out of shape or slow. He hosted group runs each week that allowed me to spend time with lots of runners.<br />
I was slowly be melded into this community or subculture of people.<br />
Runners have their own lingo, their own costume and customs . They talk about things that are generally not discussed with others without any shyness or hesitation. ("Did you poop this morning?"is not an unusual questions among runners espically on a race day.) But I digress....<br />
This is really about a post about gratitude. This is a post to say that I am grateful for Shane Miles.<br />
He has taught we a lot about running and given me the courage to actually say that I am a runner. He has also demonstrated to me and to the world that running is not always about running only. Running is about having the courage, the fortitude, the strength and the guts to keep on going even when everything inside you says you can't continue.<br />
Shane is a fast runner. Stage four colon cancer has slowed him down. Ever time Shane goes for a run his example is telling me "Don't be afraid to do hard things." I have watched as this disease has progressed . Shane has run with chemo dripping in his veins. He was run with a colostomy bag. He has run with physical conditions that would take most people out of the race. In fact...they never would have signed up.<br />
Shane has been open and candid about his struggles with this disease. He has not allowed a shroud of secrecy give more power to the cancer.<br />
Life is about running the race or dropping out of the race. It is about allowing or not allowing difficulties to overtake us.<br />
When you run a race each mile has it's own personality. Elevation, temperature, humility, dew point and hydration are all factors in the run. But the one thing that will ruin a run every single time is mindset. If you say" I can't." Then you can't. If you say "This is too hard." Then it will be too hard. If you say " I could never do that." Then you never will.<br />
Shane has to choose every signal day how he will manage the new day. I too need to decide how I will live my life today. Will I walk when I can not run? Will I crawl when I can not walk? Will I push on through the hard miles or will I choose to quit.<br />
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Thank you Shane for the lessons I am learning as I watch you run.<br />
I continue to pray for you as you navigate this difficult season.Thank you for inspiring us all. And teaching is that to be a runner is not about what you do but about who you are.nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-28293969330004821812019-10-24T10:45:00.000-04:002019-10-24T10:52:19.461-04:00Do Not Fret<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RqCuosnA65A/XbG4F6QRr8I/AAAAAAAAZnE/TzLtHQ0Ly1Yudl7SKWuJ2PFZLggF3qKKQCKgBGAsYHg/s1600/IMG_9559.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1383" data-original-width="1600" height="276" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RqCuosnA65A/XbG4F6QRr8I/AAAAAAAAZnE/TzLtHQ0Ly1Yudl7SKWuJ2PFZLggF3qKKQCKgBGAsYHg/s320/IMG_9559.HEIC" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">October 10,
2019<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><u>Do Not Fret</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I sit on
my front porch and write this, I am reminded of the Bible verse that says that
the birds of the field do not worry because God has supplied all they need. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">They do not
worry. But they do work. They cannot sit on a branch and expect food to come to
them. They have times of plenty when the feeder is full or the summer seeds
abound but also times of scarcity. When the snow falls. When ice forms on the surface
of the water. Much more work and energy are required to sustain them during
these times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Birds can be
fearful of something new. When I hold out my hand offering the choice seeds it
will take time for them to know that I will not harm them. After just one bird
learns to trust my hand others will follow knowing that this choice seed is so
easily available. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">At the same time,
I am so encouraged and even joyful when these tender creatures approach me. I want
so much for them to come near to me and finally to be comfortable in my presence.
I know I can not nor would I want to force this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So it is
with our Father. He holds out His hand with the choicest of blessings. He will
not force us to come and eat from His hand. He will delight in us coming near.
He will be joyful in sitting with us and feeding us the very thing we desire
and need. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He will
continue to extend His hand to us patiently waiting for us to abandon fear and
embrace trust. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Note<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A few weeks ago,
I had the opportunity to travel to my hometown of Southampton, NY. While <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>there I
walked in a wild life park with my niece Trina. She brought with her the ‘choice’
bird seed and as we walked the birds came and ate from our upturned palms.
Since coming home, I have spent a good deal of time on my front porch with the choice
seed in my hand reached out softly beckoning the chickadees to come. They chirp
to me and hop on near by branches but they are not yet ready to fully trust me.
But I will continue to offer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">While I sit,
I also recognize that at the same time I am desiring these birds to come that
in that time I am also coming closer to my Father. I am coming to eat from His
hand. I am delighting in the choicest of blessings and He is delighting in me
coming to Him. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-12456532068924416152019-10-06T21:41:00.002-04:002019-10-06T21:41:22.768-04:00Thoughts<br />
Nearly a decade ago I began writing this blog. As with many things in my life I was strong for a while but then slowly, carelessly I gave in to my undisciplined life and rarely thought about the writings I penned over the years.<br />
The other day one of blog posts showed up in my Face Book time line. I went back to the post and realized that the words I had written where strangely familiar and at the same time as if I were reading them for the first time. I also realized that when I write I am writing to find some truths or answers or insights for my own understanding. I write to sort out out my thoughts, my fears, my doubts and to give voice to my gratitude. My blogs stand as a memorial to things that God has brought me through. I write so I don't forget.<br />
So tonight I set forth my plan. I will take the time to be quite enough to write. I will write for me. I will also write for my grandchildren. I'm excited to be approaching another birthday...this will give me more purpose.<br />
Grandmother's Heartbeat I look forward to spending time with you.<br />
<br />
<br />nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-88682381484459765762016-03-14T13:04:00.001-04:002016-03-14T13:08:37.897-04:00The Fragrance of Christ <br />
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Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it. “Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”</div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;">I have many thoughts about these verses. I see a much bigger picture than what is shared in this short passage. It could read "Days before Jesus was </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">crucified Jesus came to Bethany. " Or "While Jesus was visiting with the once dead now alive Lazarus..." Really, for those of us who have been Christians for any length of time it is so easy to quickly read familiar passages and not absorb the impact of what they say. For me the thing I keep coming back to it the fragrance. " and the house was filled with the fragrance".</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;">I am a big user or essential oils, I use them for nontoxic house cleaning. I use them in my shampoo and I </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">diffuse</span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;"> the air. I use them to replace most </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">commercial personal products. I use them in toothpaste and to ward off germs and bugs and to treat sore muscles, head aches, head lice and sleeplessness. I have some oils of the more common variety that while still very beneficial such as lemon or lavender. </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;"> I have some that are much more valuable such as </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">frankincense and myrrh. </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;"> Some have sweet aromas and some have very woody or even pungent fragrances. All of this oil come from the essential or life blood part of the plant. The oils I use are without any </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">syntactic additives making them honest and real, a true representation of the plant from which they were harvested. (Hear me out. This is not a sales pitch.)</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;">One thing is certain. People I encounter know I am an essential oil person. I do talk about oils for certain but even more it's the fragrances talk for themselves. Some people are attracted to the fragrances some are offended or even repelled. Either way there is always some reaction. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 22.464px;">People at church will hug me and comment on the oil. Many times they will walk into a room for come down the hall and comment that they knew I was near by the fragrance. Because it is so part of my regular life I don't even notice the smell. Often, very often, people will come to me and ask questions about the oils and I am always happy to share with them. Some will tell me they hate </span><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">patchouli or they love patchouli. Some will accept without reservation the benefits of the oils and some will utterly reject the concept as fad or irreverent</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px; text-indent: 25.92px;">.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px; text-indent: 25.92px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">Can you see where I am going with this?</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 25.92px;">
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">When Mary anointed Jesus with oil the whole room was filled with the scent. Jesus Himself carried the scent on His body. When He walked through the streets people could smell the sweet aroma. Jesus Himself stated that this was the anointing of His body for burial. The fragrance of His anointing stayed with Him. He is referred to as "the anointed One". </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">But here is what I am really 'chewing on': Mary. The sister of Lazarus. When she wiped the feet of Jesus with her hair she carried in her body his anointing. She carried with her the very precious fragrance of Jesus. When she walked through the crowds they could would know that she had been with Him. She would be a reminder to them of Him. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">So I'm thinking ever deeper here. Essential oils are very powerful and are actually rapidly absorbed into the blood stream. So also the anointing of Jesus is not a surface thing only. This anointing of Christ goes beyond our minds and intellect and becomes in essence the very life blood that keeps us alive and pumps our very hearts. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">Just as there are cheap oils that have synthetic additives so there are 'cheap' counterfeits in the holy anointing world. There are teachings that leave out the life blood that are void of the Holy and living Spirit of God. Teaching that may smell pleasant but have no power to heal. There are teachings that start our smelling sweet and turn rancid in time. Sunday, some days believers are not authentic. The Word says "You will know them by their fruit." Without the life blood there is no life. There is no fruit.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">If we are to carry the fragrance of Christ it must be the costly expensive fragrance. The fragrance of the arrest, the beating, the death, the burial and the resurrection of Jesus. To carry His anointing we must be willing to live as He did. As the oil was poured out so must we be poured out. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">It's expensive.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;"> Some people will reject it.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">Some people will be repulsed by it.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">Like Judas some will think the cost is too high.</span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">It's not about smelling good.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">It's about honoring Jesus. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">It's about carrying His fragrance. It's about others knowing as soon as they walk in the room they they are with someone who has been in the presence of Jesus.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="woc" style="border: 0px; color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 25.92px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="" style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; font-stretch: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #363030; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17.28px; line-height: 22.464px;">I want to carry that fragrance. </span></span></span></div>
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nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-8214270450363638172015-08-26T23:59:00.001-04:002015-08-26T23:59:41.706-04:00The Dance Teacher (and the Lesser)When the children start back to school it seems to always be a time of reflection for me. For most people I think. We remember shopping for new shoes and buying a lunch box. We remember the boxes of 8 brand new crayola crayons and the three ring binders.(They were only blue then.) There was a little hint of autumn coming in as we packed away our lazy summer days. There was always the excitement about meeting your new teacher and the hope that she would like you. For me there was also the fear. The fear that came knowing that I was a 'Lesser'.<br />
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Today it was like the perfect storm. Everything lined up in my day in such a way that all at once I was back there. Earlier today, Shane, the owner of the local running store wrote a post about runners and how they perceive themselves and how they are perceived by others. This is in part his post (Shane Miles, Roanoke Island Running Company):<br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">...Secondly! When you are proclaiming how much you don't look like a runner.. It's incredibly insulting to those who ARE your size and even bigger that have made a decision to get healthy and turn their life around. There are men and woman your exact size that beat the streets everyday and yes they ARE runners and to me they look like runners too! All you need to do is stand at the finish line of a marathon to realize just how much of a runner you DO look like as all shapes and sizes of athletes cross the finish line, without excuse of what they they Do or DO NOT look like, to accomplish something great! I've personally been passed, on more than one occasion, by women old enough to be my grandmother... at mile 23, okay! That's called "Dropping the excuses and going after goals" despite any weight, age or other self doubting self talk! So, I really do not care if you run or not, that's your choice.. But PLEASE.. Stop going around telling people you do not "look" like a runner!</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;"><b>It zapped me.I am that runner who doesn't feel they look (or run) like a runner.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 17.5636348724365px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next event in my perfect storm was when my dear friend a public school teacher shared with me how she had to write up a child in school today because they were not wearing the proper shirt for dress code in her school.</span></span></b></h3>
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<b><span style="line-height: 17.5636348724365px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My final 'blow' came in teaching the children in my Kidz Source class the 139th Psalm. </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">These three things lined up on the same day when there was already nostalgia playing in messed with my emotions pretty badly.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">When Shane wrote his post I thought of the many times I have criticized myself about my running. On one hand I am pretty excited that I can run. On the other hand I find myself daily comparing myself to 'real runners'. You know..the ones that look pretty even when they sweat. The ones that can run less than 10 minute miles who get up at 0 dark thirty and never miss a session. The ones who run 50 miles and run big hills. You know the 'real' runners. And they always have great legs.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">As a child the most athletic thing I ever did was play tag in the backyard with my cousins. I was not even very good at jump rope. I was pigeon toed and somewhat knock keened. I had to wear special shoes.I was teased by the other children who got to wear saddle shoes with their school uniform while I wore big clunky orthopedic shoes. I was not a runner. I was always 'less' good at any type of physical activities than my peers. I was a I was less fast, less coordinated, less talented. I was "lesser" then and it carried over to today 50 years later when I still consider myself less of a runner than my peers. That in spite of the fact that I am nearly 60 and have run more than 10 miles in one session and run 3-7 miles three to four times a week. Shane's words were encouraging and also challenging to me. </span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">When my teacher friend spoke of her student instantly I was back in Catholic school wearing those orthopedic shoes. The principle of the school pulled me out of line on the way to a whole school assembly and in front of everyone pointed out my non-regulation, non-uniform shoes. Again I was 'the lesser'. She continued to have me turn around in front of her as she inspected the rest of me and found a small L shaped tear in the back of my green plaid hand-me-down uniform.I hung my head in shame. In knew I was different..and not quite as good as my peers. I was the 'lesser' because I had less money than my peers who wore new uniforms with no rips or tears. Tonight I had to wonder did my friend's student feel like a 'lesser'. It moved me to tears.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">I lived my life knowing I was less. Honestly I did not expect more. I was less smart, less athletic, less rich, less educated, less pretty I knew my place and while I may have sometimes been embarrassed by it I accepted that I really couldn't expect any better. I still find that I make excuses for other people when they treat me like a 'lesser'. I don't generally get angry.I rather expect it.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">The third event in my perfect storm was the thing that wrecked me.I was teaching the children Psalm 139. You know the one." I thank you Lord that I am wonderfully and fearfully made." "You knew me when you knitted me together in my mother's womb." So here I am telling these children about the amazing love that God has for them. I am telling them that God choose for each of them to be exactly as they are. I am telling them that God does not make junk and they need to never compare themselves in their strength or weakness to anyone else. And as I am telling them this God is speaking to me. God is telling me that I never was a 'lesser'. He is telling me that I always was enough. He is telling me that I am enough.He is telling me that I am wonderfully and fearfully made. And He reminded me of the ballet teacher.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">I was maybe second grade. She taught ballet at the Watermill Community House. I think it was Saturday afternoons. She had us line up and one by one move the length of the shinny wooden floor to show off our beautiful ballet moves. It wasn't until many years later that I realized that she made up a move (and had the whole class do it) for my sake. Pointing my feet outward was difficult So she had all the other little girls point their toes inward (pigeon toed) and walk the length of the floor. I did it the very best and she praised me highly For that one moment I was no longer a 'lesser'. For that one moment I was just as good if not a little better than my peers. That one moment has stuck with me for over fifty years. </span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">I write tonight to help me sort out some of this myself but also to encourage you to be that ballet teacher.To encourage me to be that ballet teacher. 'Lessers" are all around us. They might look like runners (or not). They might look like students with the wrong color shirt. They might be that kid with the clunky shoes or the hand me down clothes.They might be that kid who acts out or that runner who can't call herself a runner. (It might be you!) But each of us has the power to touch the heart of a child who needs to know that they are in fact "Wonderfully and fearfully made." Each of us need to be reminded that "God does not make junk." Jesus tells us "Whatever you do for the least of these you do for me." The least of these..the lessers. </span></span></span></b></div>
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nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-41600649070866605052015-04-17T12:19:00.000-04:002015-04-17T12:19:13.347-04:00Resurrection Day <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No doubt you have heard the story of the resurrection of Jesus countless times. In Sunday School, in Children's church, in Bible Study and from the countless pulpits that preach the sermon year after year as Christian's gather to celebrate what we have come in our culture to call Easter. This blog is not about that day. This is about the day when Jesus came alive to me. I felt prompted to write this to honor those who seemingly unknowingly but very naturally changed the course of my life as a child. I say seemingly unknowingly because we were not in a classroom or in a church but what they shared came during normal activities and they just shared what was part of who they were. </span><br />
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was raised in the Catholic church and attended a Catholic school. We went through all the classes and learned to parrot the correct answers to any given question. Then it was time for the sacraments. Of course we had all been baptized as infants. That was the first sacrament. The second was Holy Confession. The mystery of that small dimly lit confessional box caused awe and fear in this seven year old girl. I admit now that many (most) times that I visited that box and shared my 'sins' with the priest I made them up. The hard part was trying to get just the right mix of sins as to not appear to self righteous and not being so bad I would be called out. But it was in relation to my First Confession that a spark of resurrection life was quickened in me.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was a typical Sunday afternoon. We were having dinner at Grandma Muller's house. Grandpa was in the living room with the rest of the family as Grandma and I finished cleaning up in the kitchen. She was washing the dishes and I was drying. She was talking about my upcoming confession and asked me if I could say the Act of Contrition. I said I could and she asked me to say it.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Oh my God I am heartly sorry for having offended thee. And I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because they have offended thee my God who are all worthy and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to confess my sins do penance and to amend my life. Amen" </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Grandma was very impressed and then asked something that no one had ever asked before. "Do you know what that means?". Sadly with all the instruction I had received I had no idea. So Grandma took that prayer and line by line explained what true confession meant. In that conversation was born in me the desire to please God with more than my words.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Fast forward. I am about ten. I am in the backseat of Aunt Bam's car. My mother's youngest sister often took me under her wing and included me in family activities while my mom worked. She was the scary aunt because she was strict but she was also the loving and fun aunt. (Actually....I think perhaps I am just like her in many ways :) . I think my cousins Karen and Steven were in the car too. We were passing the Water Mill windmill headed east on Sunrise Highway. Like the death of JFK and the first man in orbit, the death of John Lennon and the attack on 9/11 this moment is forever etched in my memory. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am not sure how it came up but Aunt Bam said that Jesus would one day return to earth. This was mind blowing to me! I remember the excitement I felt in hearing this new thing! I hung on every word as she explained the rapture and the 1000 year reign of Christ. This was truly the day that Jesus came alive to me. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Years would pass before I fully embraced Jesus as my Lord and Savior. But both Grandma Muller and Aunt Bam were the first people who put flesh on Jesus for me in a way that I could carry Him with with for the rest of my life. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While I do not practice Catholicism I do embrace some of the early teaching at my grandmother's side. I want to daily confess to my Jesus that I am sorry for having offended Him. I now hold to the teaching that I do not have to dread hell for myself because Jesus has once for all paid the penalty for my sin. I do not go to a priest but to Jesus the High Priest. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And more now than ever I look forward to the return of Jesus. That longing that was born in me through the words of my aunt has only intensified. I see how the world is changing. I read in The Word of God to expect these things. I expect the state of the world to continue to grow worse. I am not a 'dooms day' person. I am a 'second coming' day person. I know now that when people try to remove the Christian faith from all public venues that this is part of it. Jesus told us this would happen. Our faith will grow because of this. We are not being persecuted (yet) in the United States for our faith. We are being shaken awake by those who do not yet know the real live Jesus. Our faith is being tested.Faith that cant be tested is faith that cant be trusted. (-Greg Laurie) We must live for Him now and be prepared to die for Him later should it come to that. But unless we have those 'resurrection' moments in our live Jesus will only be words in a book and lessons we need to memorize. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I am writing this to encourage you if you are a "Grandma Muller" or an "Aunt Bam". Live your life in a way that other around you will be able to look back and pin point the moment that Jesus came alive to them. Take captive every opportunity to stir into flame the moments you are given. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you need a 'resurrection' moment in your life..I challenge you to allow a simple childlike faith to be born in your heart that you may truly, honestly, meekly say "God show me." He will. He will send you a "Grandma Muller" or perhaps a "Aunt Bam". He is faithful. He will do it. Don't try to grasp it with your mind. Embrace Him with your heart.</span><br />
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nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-33327751608673335342015-02-10T23:06:00.001-05:002015-02-10T23:06:41.790-05:00The Rat House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I remember her so well. It is as thought part of me still lives within her walls. Her walls that are only a memory. In those days she not far off Hwy 27 just across from the old Hotel James. Behind her were the potato fields and the railroad tracks. Built in the late 1600 to early 1700's she held the memories of countless children. One of the proud Halsey Houses. As a large founding family they all worked together and built several identical homes scattered over the eastern tip of Long Island.<br />
We were renters for a few short years. Maybe three? But she is my childhood home. We lived in I think 17 houses before my 18th birthday but the Rat House was 'home'.<br />
This house with the thick walls and low ceiling was poorly insulated and we had to close off the stairway to the second floor and only occupy the first floor in the colder months.My mother occupied the 'borning room' complete with a antique cradle and a brass feather bed. The fireplaces at that point were non-functioning or maybe the landlord just didn't want us to use them. The house was cold. So cold that one winter we had to move out for a time when the pipes burst.<br />
As alive as the house was with the memories of centuries of families and perhaps a visiting dignitary whose name may have been George Washington the walls were alive too. Rats who needed a warm place to winter found the thick walls and the close proximity to the potato fields to be the ideal place to weather the winter. At night their nocturnal adventures could be heard as they scampered just behind our heads separated only by the plaster walls. There was the one night that a rat feeling cold and bold made his way to my sister Janice's bed. As she pulled her blankets up in the night to warm herself she heard the tell-tale thud as the rat fell on the wide floor boards and scurried across the floor. I think Digger liked setting the traps and emptying them when they succeeded in their intended mission. When the traps were not enough the poison was placed...it worked. We spent many nights with the blankets held over our noses to buffer the putrid smell of the rats as they decomposed in the walls where they died.<br />
While my mother worked my brother, sister and I found countless amusements. Digger unearthed a civil war cannon ball in the back yard when an old shed was torn down. An American Indian witch doctor instrument covered with shark teeth and horse hair was unearthed in the old dumping ground behind the potato field. We would sneak into forbidden places in the house to check out the secret passage ways behind the chimney that we were told were used to hide from the Indians. When an old Elm tree was cut down in the front yard we found what was believed to be the remains of an American Indian dumping ground. We climbed trees and picked blackberries and wild grapes. We flattened pennies on the railroad track and played with the potato bugs from the fields and we made extravagant homes for the horse chestnut families.Sometimes we walked to the Penny Candy Store and sometimes we walked to my grandparents house. It was the happiest time of my childhood.<br />
The Rat House gave me a curiosity about people and a desire to know history. The low ceilings and slanted floors, the exposed beans and beautiful fireplaces, the dutch oven and narrow half circular staircase gave me a love for antiques and a passion for charm. The hand hued nails gave me an appreciation for the hard work that went into building such a home.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McwNZjuWmxk/VNrOusS42yI/AAAAAAAADSg/Aoj1qCyawAU/s1600/Rat%2Bhouse%2B2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-McwNZjuWmxk/VNrOusS42yI/AAAAAAAADSg/Aoj1qCyawAU/s1600/Rat%2Bhouse%2B2.jpeg" height="213" width="320" /></a>Tonight I did an internet search on the Rat House. It has been more than 50 years since we last walked out her door.Sometimes I visit her in a dream. I am always excited to be there.<br />
When I saw the pictures and read about her I almost cried.As I am writing this I am crying.<br />
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The Rat House is gone.<br />
The people who bought the property last year had no desire to live in this 300+ year old home.It did not suit the needs of their family. They offered it for free to anyone who wanted to remove it but it had to be done quickly. When that didn't happen quick enough the Historical Society striped what they could before she was.....destroyed. It is even hard to type that.<br />
With the complicated childhood that my brother, sister and I shared there was this one time in our lives when we had a home that suited us perfectly.We had room to run and we were home.<br />
I want to think that she remembered us too. I want to think that had we gone back she would have somehow found a way to greet us the long lost children that she had grieved for as much as we grieved for her. I want to think that as the walls came down that a worker found a long lost marble or a baseball card or penny candy wrapper wedged behind the dutch oven. I want to believe that they thought about the kids who lost it more than 50 years ago.<br />
I want to go back just one time.<br />
I want my mansion in heaven that Jesus promised is waiting to look just like The Rat House.No... I don't want it to look like it. I want it to be it. But the rats are not invited.<br />
Until then goodbye my childhood friend. nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-2215816515963494752015-01-27T01:49:00.001-05:002015-01-27T10:10:30.308-05:00For the man I married. All of them.<br />
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Today I went for a run with my 13 year old granddaughter Katie. I mentioned that tomorrow was my anniversary and that her granddad and I will celebrate 41 years of marriage. This started me thinking...<br />
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Katie is five years and one month younger than I was on my wedding day. How could this even be possible? But it's true. As an eighteen year old I had no doubt that I was old enough. Steve was twenty. In 1974 in New York as a male he still had to have his mother sign for him. When we told my mom we wanted to get married she immediately thought I was pregnant.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WpahhsecWnA/VMelwV_9PdI/AAAAAAAADQo/2CC9i2c5fv8/s1600/1930391_1102855971047_4146_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WpahhsecWnA/VMelwV_9PdI/AAAAAAAADQo/2CC9i2c5fv8/s1600/1930391_1102855971047_4146_n.jpg" height="304" width="320" /></a>My life at that time was in flux. When my mother remarried she moved away and I went to live in another town. I hated it and my sister and her husband were gracious enough to let me move in with them and share a room with baby Jesse. For $10 a week I could eat all the Kraft mac'n' cheese my little vegetarian body could handle. My sister was less than three years older than me and she already was married with two children so I really didn't think myself young. My brother got married when he was eighteen and his bride was only sixteen!<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMJfh4B6rA8/VMeoWMGvlNI/AAAAAAAADRI/gcm4p7UVoGM/s1600/1930391_1102855851044_2871_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMJfh4B6rA8/VMeoWMGvlNI/AAAAAAAADRI/gcm4p7UVoGM/s1600/1930391_1102855851044_2871_n.jpg" /></a>Funny thing.. with all the divorces in our country...there are none in my family. Digger has been married to Kathy for 47 years. Janice to Gene for I think 45 years and I have been married to Steve for 41 years. I am proud of us. Of all of us.<br />
We grew up as children of divorce. We knew the pain of being fatherless children. It was hard for Mom and hard for us. We were fiercely protective of each other and of our family as a unit.<br />
All of us have had our hard times in our marriages. But all of us always knew that family was still worth protecting and fighting for.<br />
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I am not married to the boy I said " I do." to on that cold January afternoon. He is not married to that same girl. That girl who wore a $25 antique dress that her mother found in a country store display case. A dress she really didn't much like but she was too timid to hurt her mother's feelings. A girl who really wanted the whole white veil thing but since her mother told her it would not look right did not say she really wanted it. That girl was someone I used to know. And someone that visits me sometimes when I am not feeling confident to speak words that I am feeling. But she is mostly gone. Mostly.<br />
The boy with the shoulder length mass of blond hair who rode his motorcycle through the driveway of my high school and popped wheelies as I watched from my earth science class..well I haven't seen him in a while either. Maybe once in a while when entertaining grandchildren that boyish daredevil will show his face.<br />
But the truth is ..in the last 41 years we have each been married to many different versions of ourselves.<br />
The year before Gretchen was born we were the kids living in a basement apartment with two old twin beds pushed together. We had an old box spring that we used for a sofa and a china closet witth no china. Steve bounced his motor cycle down the concrete steps so he could work on it in the comfort of our sparsely furnished living room. We drank cheap wine out of the bottle and entertained in the back yard with a bedspread laid out on the lawn for guests to sit on.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A4Cw6kU_9r4/VMcn1RT-z_I/AAAAAAAADPs/BydgCOfxaNw/s1600/baby%2Bgwenn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A4Cw6kU_9r4/VMcn1RT-z_I/AAAAAAAADPs/BydgCOfxaNw/s1600/baby%2Bgwenn.jpg" height="320" width="314" /></a>Then we became the new parents..I was still only 19 . But with the birth of our first child we entered a new season. We evolved and started to grow up. We even got some furniture. It was never new. We got what we could and made due with what we had.<br />
Once at the NJ state fair I saw a very expensive table set. I don't know how we did it but we bought it. It was $500! My grandchildren now are growing up around that same table that their mama grew up at.<br />
And so the years passed and who we were changed and changed over and over again. But what did not change was our belief that marriage and family are worth investing in and worth fighting for.<br />
What also changed was not only who we are but 'whose' we are.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LFRaAxjW6v0/VMcpdALJtvI/AAAAAAAADQE/pKG14jqzRgE/s1600/DSC05283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LFRaAxjW6v0/VMcpdALJtvI/AAAAAAAADQE/pKG14jqzRgE/s1600/DSC05283.JPG" height="200" width="197" /></a>It was three years after we got married that my sister Janice started to talk to me about Jesus. The same timid girl who could not tell her mother she wanted a veil could not tell her husband she was turning to Jesus. I would go to the library and borrow a bible and then hide it so Steve would not know. Somehow..I thought that he would think I was very 'uncool'. One year later he would also come to faith in Christ.<br />
At this point we started to become who we are today. Everything else in our past was to bring us to that point. Any confidence I have now that I lacked before is a direct result of God and my husband loving me through all my weakness and all my failures and being there to tell me I am still loved. I can love others because I have been loved when I was at my most unlovable places.<br />
The man Steve has become is direct result of the decision he made in 1978 to be a Christ follower and to love me as Jesus loved the Church.<br />
When we have been married 51 years..well I guess we will be a different man and woman than we are today. Life will happen. We will truly be that much closer to becoming the perfected 'us'. Finally when we done changing with the seasons of life the whole 'til death do we part' thing will only be a pause until we become who we were always created to be.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jwxstQAfXlU/VMcpkH0TUJI/AAAAAAAADQM/YaLVmDk5LyQ/s1600/DSC05363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jwxstQAfXlU/VMcpkH0TUJI/AAAAAAAADQM/YaLVmDk5LyQ/s1600/DSC05363.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a>I am thankful tonight to have been on this life journey with Steve. I am thankful for who we were and for who we are becoming. "Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be." <br />
Steve, this is your anniversary card..since I lost the one I bought for you :)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">All day I have had waves of emotions. Five years ago...a half a decade ago everything changed. January 12, 2010. About 5:12 PM. 45 seconds. Nearly two million dead. My family alive. GOD WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?????</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">Unable to put two thoughts together in my head without the thought 'earthquake' slipping it's sting into my heart. I remember thinking "How can these people just continue with their day?" I felt like I was bleeding out and no one noticed. After the first week came and went CNN had other disasters to cover. But I was stuck. Because it wasn't over for the millions of people who were left injured, homeless, hungry and thirsty. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">Now I can still feel the ache but it seems almost like a dream or a book I read or a movie I saw. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">This grief drives me back to her. I long to again see the beauty that Haiti was and is and is becoming. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">The rubble is mostly gone. The tent cities replaced by semi-permanent tent neighborhoods with small gardens planted beside the concrete floor and canvas walls and tin or canvas roofs. Beautiful ceramic tile mosaics replace broken down walls. An entire water front street is paved with mosaics.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 24px; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 24px;">I am proud of Haiti. In some ways, maybe many ways she is better than she was before the earthquake.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;"> I was not in Haiti on that fateful day in 2010. But I was. On my first trip there I often said that </span><br /><span style="font-size: 24px;">"It would not fit in my carry on so I left half of my heart in Haiti."I don't ever want to be the person who shows up and does a few good deeds and goes home. I want to be a grandmother to twelve children who call me "Nana". </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">But tonight I can not think of Haiti without crying. The grief is still very close. The fear of knowing that we have no promises that it wont happen again. But there is peace in knowing in that 45 seconds God was there. God is still there. But time will always be measured in "before earthquake" and "after earthquake". </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 24px;">Today my heart and prayers go out to all the people of Haiti.</span></b></div>
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<img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="21" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="39" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="55" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="85" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="75" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="6" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="114" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="144" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="63" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="115" /><img height="1" src="https://eservices.dor.nc.gov/sau/images/transparent.gif" width="33" />nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-53361755337794072802014-12-27T15:42:00.000-05:002014-12-29T15:37:29.788-05:00The Long Run and What does that have to do with me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AfSyGUWVRdw/VJ8Q23wZ1qI/AAAAAAAADNY/AGQfqMNhHk0/s1600/April%2B27%2C%2B2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AfSyGUWVRdw/VJ8Q23wZ1qI/AAAAAAAADNY/AGQfqMNhHk0/s1600/April%2B27%2C%2B2011.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FmR8hxtZ3R8/VJ8Q7DW4xoI/AAAAAAAADNg/PnV7Iw2x6oY/s1600/April%2B12%2C%2B2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FmR8hxtZ3R8/VJ8Q7DW4xoI/AAAAAAAADNg/PnV7Iw2x6oY/s1600/April%2B12%2C%2B2011.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a>Today is Nick Mangine's birthday. He is 35 and he is preparing for his first marathon in Jacmel Haiti on January 4th. While Nick has spent months preparing for this event he has really been in training for years. He has always chosen to step up to the hard challenges. He has never been content to be on the sidelines when there has been a race to run.<br />
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Many of you first learned who Nick was shortly after the Haiti earthquake nearly five years ago. (January 12, 2010) That was when people got really interested in the 'race' that Nick and Gwenn were running.But the race began miles before the public interest.Nick sold everything and gave up a good career in 2009 and moved his wife and family to Haiti. Even that took over a year to prepare for. This truly has been a race of more than seven years at this point.<br />
It was just that during those hard miles after the quake we all had a good view from the spectators stand. We watched the endless videos on CNN and saw the tragic photos. Our hearts bled with all of Haiti during the months that unfolded and much needed giving was drastically increased.<br />
Over the last five years Haiti has been and still is in recovery. Cameras have turned to other tragic stories.The race continues.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xlKuIbD4eA0/VJ8RYkFdL3I/AAAAAAAADNw/mWhUieEmaI0/s1600/DSC_0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xlKuIbD4eA0/VJ8RYkFdL3I/AAAAAAAADNw/mWhUieEmaI0/s1600/DSC_0160.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a>Other challenging hard miles have come and gone since those early days. As a family they have dealt with more in these years than most can image.A middle of the night home invasion and gunpoint robbery, robbed at gun point on the way to the airport and more serious illnesses than I can list.They have seen death and life up close and personal.Poverty tries to suck the life out of everyone in Haiti and Nick and Gwenn are not strangers to going without.<br />
Nick sometimes has become fatigued and weary from the run and has hit a wall and felt too tired to continue. He has experienced all all the highs and lows that a long distance runner learns to expect. He has had times when getting to the next 'water station' for refreshment could not come soon enough. He has felt the loneliness of the long miles when it seems that he is the only one on a stretch of road. He has felt the elation that comes when least expected a friend or family member shows up miraculously on the side of the road waving and yelling and holding up a sign that says "You're almost there!" or "Stay Strong!" or maybe even a funny sign like "Run faster or the kids will catch up!". Those encouragements in the form of kind words, prayers, fellowship and financial giving have been the thing that keeps Nick on track. That and the sheer love he has for his wife and the twelve children in Haiti who call him PaPa Nick. Twelve children who are being trained to run their own races. Because of PaPa Nick they will be trained and ready to sign up for this marathon we call life. They will be equipped with courage, integrity and strength. They are learning that if sometimes the good things are the hard things. But the good things are worth the effort.<br />
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So on January 4th Nick will run 26.2 miles. In the heat. In Haiti. I have no doubt he will finish. Just as I have no doubt that when this life race is over he will cross over the finish line and be greeted with "Well done my good and faithful servant. Enter now into my rest."<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">SO WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH YOU????</span></b><br />
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Months ago when I heard that Nick had signed up for this marathon an idea started to run around in my head. (run around ...get it?)<br />
In January a lot of people start new fitness plans or recommit to an old one. Now as Nick is about to run this race lets commit to run with him. Here is how you can join his race:<br />
Decide on a goal for your year. (When I was 58 I started running. Honestly... if I can you can.) Maybe you will run, maybe walk, maybe palates, yoga or chair aerobics. It's good for you. Do it.Then in the spirit of 'running with Nick' for the long haul commit to this: each time you complete your chosen activity put one dollar in a jar. At the end of 2015 send that collected money in to Joy in Hope. Because giving is about the long haul. Running with Nick and cheering him on takes effort. <br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE!!!! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b>
In addition to the joy of giving you can get your very own running shirt!!!! I am going make running shirts available to everyone who commits to Run for Joy! Shirts will cost $25 with all of the profits going to kick start the giving! These will not be the cheap cotton shirts you get from your average 5K but will be made of 100% polyester so you can actually exercise in them.<br />
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: red;"> HERE IS THE FUN PART:</span></b><br />
<br />
Submit your shirt design to me and when we decide on the best design and the artist will receive a free shirt!!!<br />
The design will be on a white or light colored shirt. It should contain the slogan " Kouri pou Lajwa" which means "Run for Joy" in creole. It can contain the Joy in Hope logo.<br />
All entries must be received by midnight Jan 2nd to be considered. Once shirt design is selected we will be ready to take orders!<br />
BUT don't wait for your shirt to get in the race! Let's run with Nick and " Kouri pou Lajwa" ! Please share this post liberally. If one person takes on this challenge and works out 3X a week at the end of the year that would be $156.00! Do the math. This could be an awesome way to say Happy Birthday to Nick and cheer him on to the finish~!<br />
Design submissions can be sent to me at <a href="mailto:dgoodale_creation@yahoo.com">dgoodale_creation@yahoo.com</a> put Run for Joy in subject line.<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">links: </span></b>
<b><span style="color: red;"><br /><a href="http://joyinhope.org/">joyinhope.org</a></span></b><br />
<a href="http://www.lghmarathon.org/">http://www.lghmarathon.org/</a><br />
<a href="http://mangine.org/">mangine.org</a><br />
Nick's facebook : <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/ng.mangine?fref=ts">https://www.facebook.com/#!/ng.mangine?fref=ts</a><br />
Gwenn's facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/mangine?fref=ts">https://www.facebook.com/#!/mangine?fref=ts</a><br />
Let's go Haiti (marathon) on facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Haitiultramarathon?ref=profile#!/LghMarathon">https://www.facebook.com/Haitiultramarathon?ref=profile#!/LghMarathon</a><br />
Closed group on Facebook for those who want to join the run : Kouri pou Lajwa- Run for Joy<br />
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nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-27947723618533882772014-10-12T22:52:00.001-04:002014-10-12T22:52:30.897-04:00<h2>
Priscilla<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> </b></h2>
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<b>If you know me you also know that the Creation Music Festival in PA has played a large role in my life for many years. In fact my Creation experience began in 1980. I was 24 years old. I am now 59. When I went on volunteer staff in 1985 the story really began. That was when the 'family' started to evolve for us. Over the years staff members have come and gone but for most of those years we have had the same core group. Young men with braids down their back have turned into...not such young men with blue hair around the side and no hair on top. Children have grown from toddlers to teens to young married to parents. Many of us are grandparents now with our new generation of Creation family in tow. What keeps us coming back has never been the music, or the preaching. What brings us back is the family reunion.You pick up where you left off the previous year and you catch up, laugh, work and pray. Us old timers are pretty die hard and most have not missed a year in decades.</b></h2>
<h2>
<b>My job as the Ice-Pop lady is very visible and even if they don't know me personally most people know who I on around the farm. Others are more behind the scenes kind of people and perhaps are not as easily recognized.</b><b><br /></b><b>I think it was in 1992 that Fred McNaughton asked me to serve as supervisor for the Individual Campsite Ushers. This might be thought of as a step up from being a supervisors with the 6 pack crew. The six packs were how we referred to the wooden outhouses that housed 6 toilets each. But honestly that job was great for the seven years I did it. Melody a toddler when we started grew up holding the doors open for us and handing us toilet paper. </b><b>Individual Campsite Usher was not my gift. I found it VERY stressful especially when the weather got bad. Jackie and Cathy were the supervisors over me. They paired me with Priscilla. A red haired quiet woman who was perhaps a little harder to get to know. As my partner we each had a radio. I don't think Priscilla liked the radio because she would never use it! If a call came from Jackie or Cathy I had to answer it. Only I really didn't know what I was doing.. I often could not find Priscilla because she, as I mentioned, did not like to talk on the radio! Did I mention that that job was stressful? But my partner rolled with it. Along the way I learned that she never married, had a government job and came up to the farm weeks in advance every year to help Ken Taylor flag the fields. </b><b>During this era Creation did not close the gates overnight. Priscilla and I pulled a few overnight shifts. It was then that I got to know this quiet woman. As the stars cascaded across the black backdrop we sat in our golf cart and watched the light show. The crickets chirped and the night sounds echoed around us. The air was crisp and clear.Sometimes cold. We didn't bother to look at each other as the night was too dark for that and in this beautiful overnight shift we shared our hearts. We connected on a level that would not have been possible on any other shift. I felt so honored to be invited into this quiet woman's world.</b><b>As I mentioned that I found Individual Ushering very stressful. It was also hard to work the schedule out because Melody was still a young child and I did not like leaving her overnight with her sisters at the campsite.( Yes this was pre-cell phone era!) When Fred offered me the Head Supervisor for the Deaf Ministry area I jumped on it! I don't remember how many years I worked with Individual Ushers but I 'think' it was seven years. (WOW is that even possible??) Priscilla was always my partner. And she never spoke on the radio!! </b><b>When I moved into my new job Priscilla and I would only run into each other now and then at meals. It was always good to see her but without the shroud of the dark night we never had any more deep discussions. But still we were family. </b><b>We were different parts of the same body. We were the Body of Christ. </b><b>When I read on Face Book today that Priscilla has died my heart instantly rushed back to our overnight shifts in the middle of the H field. I am thankful to have shared that time with her.</b><b>I am shocked and saddened. I am grateful and encouraged. We are family we will have a reunion once again. Good night Priscilla. This shift is over. Your years of dedication and service to your Creation family are remembered. My heart is with your family now and with Cathy and Jackie and all the people who worked so closely with you for so many years. I am blessed to have known you. Until we meet again.</b></h2>
nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-14046039462163736622014-08-04T01:56:00.000-04:002014-08-05T23:31:00.511-04:00The years that the locuct have eaten.<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was the summer before my thirteenth
birthday. I cringe at the memory. Inside my head I am embarrassed to even think
about it. But today I am reminded. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was 1968. Born to Be Wild was a hit that
year. As were other great (not!) songs like 'Yummy, Yummy'. Chambers Brothers
'Time' was popular as well. People Get Ready was on that same LP. Wish I had understood that song then. Inagattadivita. ( Is that even a word?) was popular that year. And Christian Rock and Roll legand Larry Norman was with a band named People and sang 'I love you.'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I had finished my first year of public
school. Finally after seven years of Catholic School my mother had relented and
enrolled my in eighth grade. That summer having always been around the friends
of my older brother and sister I found myself experiencing my first 'date' and
then my first 'boyfriend'. It wasn’t really a 'date' because as I understand it
now it was sick. He was 19. That was a one night carnival gig. I let him kiss
him. (Yuck) Shortly after I found myself with his younger brother. A mere 17
year old. We rode around for aimless hours in his car. He removed the center console
so I could sit by his side. Born to Be Wild was his favorite song. We went to
bars. Yes. I was served beer in these bars. Yes. I was 12. I smoked about a
pack of Marlboros a day. All the while I thought I was a good girl because I
was a virgin and I was not using drugs. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was well acquainted with the drug culture
at that time. There was always someone around me sniffing glue, smoking pot or
hash. LSD, mescaline, and speed were around. As well as heroine. I told myself
I would be a 'good girl' because I did not want to hurt my mother. Honest...I
thought I was good. I continued to date older guys for a while. It is a wonder
I did not get into some really big trouble. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My father left when I was four. My mom worked
six days a week. She loved me I am sure. If she were alive today I would not
write this. I still would not want to hurt my mother. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">All this is just a brief history to get to
today. Today. Those years that the locusts have eaten have been redeemed. The
curse has been broken and I am free from that ugly part of my past. Today I sat in the
front row of church and cried as I watched my oldest grandchild </span><br />
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led worship.
She is exactly how old I was that summer. She is beautiful and could easily
pass for a much older young woman. It was easy as I watched her to see how it
was possible that I could date such older guys. Like her I did not look 12. But
that is where the comparison stops. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Katie has been raised in a intact family. Her
parents love each other and they love her. My daughter has managed to work
hours that allow her or my son in law to be home most of the time. Katie is
bright and confident. She is also kind hearted and sweet spirited. She is not
sheltered but she is protected. As I listen to her sing and play her guitar I
wish that I had come into a relationship with Jesus early and spared myself
these embarrassing memories. But I also consider the love of my Daddy God who
reminds me "You have done some things right." My children never had
to know the pain of divorce. They never had to fill a Daddy void because they
had a Daddy to tell them they were good enough, smart enough and pretty enough.
While far from perfect I am mother to three awesome women who love and serve
God. Somehow in spite of me, God allowed me to be part of His plan for my
family. The yesterdays are now redeemed by the todays. I no longer have to be
ashamed. I am part of the story of Katie standing in front of the church and
leading God's children into worship. Leading me into worship. Tears freely
flowing. Knowing the love of my Daddy</span>. Redeeming the years.nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-10056374915416223692014-06-13T01:16:00.002-04:002014-06-13T01:16:52.457-04:00Second Hand Smoke<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>It has been widely studied and documented that when a non-smoker is exposed to cigarette smoke on a regular basic has a higher than average chance to contracting lung cancer than a person who is not exposed. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Today I think of this as I am speaking to my son-in-law's mom. The things we have shared together over the last seven years might only be seen as toxic to those who might study our case.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>As grandmothers we have dealt with the tragic news that our grandson at birth was not ok. We have walked the halls of Duke Childrens hospital watching, waiting and praying as Josiah underwent open heart surgery at four days old. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>We watched and waited for two years for the arrival of our grandson Nico as the adoption process stretched on and on. We would see the photos and get the reports and know how much he needed to just be home...but wasn't. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>We have watched our children sell off their home, their car and all of their possessions to move to the poorest country in the world. WITH OUR GRANDCHILDREN! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>With each of these events we would breath a sigh of relief as events unfolded and life became more 'normal'. But that 'normal' was never long lived. Because for whatever reason that second hand smoke was determined to affect us. Our phone calls would confirm that each of us were choking back our fears and even our doubts from time to time. Then the air would clear and again we would be hopeful.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Josiah's birth. GASP! Nico's adoption. GASP! The decision to move to Haiti. GASP! The actual day they moved to Haiti. GASP! The earthquake. GASP! (Big gasp.) Malaria. GASP! The ministry split and betrayal. GASP! Josiah's illness. GASP! Gwenn's staph infections. GASP! Middle of the night home invasion at gunpoint. GASP! GASP! GASP!! The bandits on the road to PAP that robbed them in the car. GASP! The continued land dispute. GASP! And of course all the GASPS that went along with the every day problems raising children with attachment and trauma issues. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>And then as the smoke clears we breath easier for a time and pray this time will be different. This time it will get easier. But somehow it is never long lived. We have seen Malaria. We have seen den-gay. We have seen staph. We have seen the results of a lion fish sting. An allergic reaction to a wasp sting. We have seen the most awful pink eye that one can imagine. And with each new illness there is an inaudible GASP! inside our hearts. And when these things happen we turn to each other. Our grandmother/mother hearts just need to know that there is someone else who 'gets it'. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>And now Chikungunya. Spell check doesn't even know about it! But this latest 'second hand smoke' is a tough one. Haiti is in the middle of an epidemic and once again we are watching our children and grandchildren suffer. The news says in a week you will be better and you will be immune. We know better. We know that everyone is relapsing or reinfecting and there does not seem to be an end in sight. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Today Wildarne has a head to toe rash and a fever of 103 F. She has had a fever for 3 days. Nick spent the night vomiting. Fritzie also relapsed. And as we sit on the sidelines we breath in this illness into our minds and hearts and GASP! once again for air. Thankful once again we have each other to balance our thoughts and concerns. Praying that the air will clear again and life will get back to normal. You know- Haiti normal. The kind of normal that is riddled with 'normal' problems like no electric. Manifestations where people set up firey road blocks to demonstrate the lack of electricity. School closures and 'normal' Haitian problems. But there is a smoke screen that clouds our vision and we can not see even the Haiti normal now.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>People have asked me "Don't you want them just to come home?" or say "They just need to come home." Even with the 'second hand smoke' I can say "No way!". They are home. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sometimes we Christians seem to think that when we become believers that God will pave the road for us to have a comfortable or at very least a 'safe' life.Sometimes we even get angry when bad things happen to us. But the Word of God says "it rains on the just and the unjust". To choose the 'safe' way is not always choosing God's way. Look at the early church. History tells us of the awful deaths that the apostles died. While they lived they faced danger and hardship everyday. I think of the 'second hand smoke' their families must had inhaled. I think of Mary the mother of Christ and how she must have groaned in agony when she saw her son suffer. But we never read of her telling Jesus to just come home. I think of her 'pondering these things in her heart' and I am glad God has given me another woman to share my heart with. I don't know if I could just ponder these things alone. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Breathing in this 'second hand smoke' has definitely changed my life. There is always a nagging cough that is just below the surface. There is a constant tickle in the back of my heart and when the phone rings and I see on the display that the call is from Haiti or from Nick's mom my first thought is "What's wrong?" When I awaken at 2 AM for no apparent reason I start of pray for my family in Haiti because 2 AM is when bad guys like to rob people. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>On the other hand I think I am maybe even a little hardened to the hardships in Haiti. Things that used to concern me pretty much don't. When I first went to Haiti the whole voodoo culture pretty much freaked me out.Now I just turn on the noise maker on my phone to drown out the drums so I can sleep. I also don't 'worry' as some might perceive the word. I do think about the things going on there a lot. I do pray about the things going on a lot. I do talk about Haiti a lot. But I am equally sure that if God has brought them to it that He will lead them through it. Fighting the affects of this 'second hand smoke' has brought me closer to Jesus much as a person who is suffering a physical illness will draw closer to Him. So in the end of this tale I thank Him. I thank Him for counting me worthy to be close enough to the smoke to breath it in. Even if it is uncomfortable and even if my whole person smells of smoke. I want to be as close as I can be to the place where Jesus is glorified in all things not just in the easy things. I pray for the time to come quickly when there is once again some fresh air and my family in Haiti (and Nick's mom and me) can breath deep and have a time of refreshment and health. Until then I will continue to trust and be thankful for each tiny breath of fresh air. I will thank Him for each day of health that He affords our family. I choose to be thankful because I know without doubt that God is good all the time. God is here even when we can't see Him. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Breath of God fall on us. </b></span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </b>nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-27870548493537649342014-03-31T01:13:00.001-04:002014-03-31T01:14:17.469-04:00Looking back...Looking forward.<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Tonight as I was thinking about my trip back to Haiti this week I was remembering..</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It was five years ago next week that I took my very first trip to Haiti. I was filled with wonder, excitement, fear, idealism, faith and more questions than answers. Now, well I still feel that way only it is no longer blind wonder, excitement, fear, idealism or faith. Still I have more questions than answers.</span><br />
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Kristi, Gretchen and Gwenn at home dedication</div>
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2009</div>
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Street view from the guest house.2009</div>
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Street view from guest house.2009</div>
That first trip in April of 2009 was with a team of family and close friends . We were going to prepare a home for Gwenn,Nick, Nico and Nia. This was to be the home where they would raise their growing family. We cleaned and painted, built, laughed, and prayed. The walls were fresh and clean and many of the household items were in place. The children's books awaited them in their freshly painted rooms and we felt good. We were glad that just as we had been a part of their 'old' life in the US we were now part of their 'new' life in Haiti. We also did not yet know the expression TIH. This is Haiti. That expression has been a term on which one could loose or gain their mind for the last five years. Everything in Haiti is fluid. There are so many factors beyond ones ability to anticipate let alone control. Slowly you begin to understand that normal is not a word to be grasped. Everything changes and sometimes will even test your faith. If you cant accept this expression you will loose your mind. If you can accept this you will be able to laugh at things ..well things that are not really a bit funny.You have to. Or loose your mind. Your choice. <br />
The freshly painted, newly dedicated home was never to be lived in by Gwenn and Nick. The landlord backed out of the contract and they were left searching for a new home. They found one in downtown Jacmel and that was where I stayed on my second visit and got to meet the first three of the new children.This was a cute little bungalow with a very leaky roof. Which was fine if it didn't rain. (check out this video)<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moGvAUJdoDM">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moGvAUJdoDM</a><br />
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In this home the family started to be reinvented and in October of the same year I got to visit and meet Fritzie, Wildarne and Prisca. Watching how Nico, Nia and Josiah went with the flow was heartwarming. <br />
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Oct 2009</div>
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Family was being established. It was a pretty calm time and I was excited to really be experiencing Haiti on the community level. Going to the market with Gwenn and into local barber shops. Working with a street kid named Stanley who stole my heart. Watching Fritzie and Nick climb canape trees and playing with Bigsbee the most adorable puppy EVER! </div>
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But because TIH a few weeks later Bigsbee was poisoned. He and his puppy brother who was visiting died. And because Stanley the street kid was stealing he was no longer allowed in the yard. And because 'this is Haiti' life did not stay the same.</div>
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What happened between my second and third visit would forever rock our world and change our life.</div>
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In January of 2010 the earthquake hit. A phone call turned my life upside down and the next six months were spend in a frenzy of taking care of Gwenn and Nick's children after they came back to the states, fund raising for the ever mounting needs in Haiti , collecting diapers, starting a small business for fund raising purpose and trying to stay somewhat sane while holding tightly to faith to sustain me.<br />
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July 2010</div>
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July 2010</div>
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July 2010</div>
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And the visits continued. Nearly every six months. For five years. There was the trip I missed when I had cancer. On that trip my team went down. Gwenn and Nick were robbed that week in the middle of the night in there bedroom. TIH</div>
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I think I am glad I missed that trip. </div>
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And so over five years my hair has grayed.And the children have grown.Over the last five years the Haitian children have learned a lot of English. I have learned a little Creole. I think they have learned that I am not going away. </div>
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We are family. Like Haiti itself the family is fluid and changing and you never know what to expect.</div>
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I'm ready for this next adventure!</div>
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Sept 2013<br />
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Yves and I July 2010<br />
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Yves and me Sept 2013</div>
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And I look back at photos of myself from the last five years and think "Crap I have aged." There is no doubt in my mind that TIH has given me a bunch of white hair. But because TIH... I really don't care. I am glad to watch grandchildren gow. And to do that I must age. I'm good with that. So when I head back on Thursday I don't know what it will look like. I have my plans. Build a chicken coop. Visit with my Deaf friends. Go swimming in the blue water. And hang out with my Haitian/Haitian-American/America grandchildren. </div>
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I never know what adventure might await me because in Haiti you live in real time/Narnia time. And you never come home the same.</div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-4n9Od89vFbM%2FTFDsn3fNGZI%2FAAAAAAAAAh8%2FjsopS143yrM%2Fs1600%2Fhaiti%2Bjuly10%2B130.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4n9Od89vFbM/TFDsn3fNGZI/AAAAAAAAAh8/jsopS143yrM/s1600/haiti+july10+130.jpg" -->nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-69875859203093931692013-06-05T15:55:00.004-04:002013-06-05T15:58:19.435-04:00<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Father's Day</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>I wrote this to share at a Woman's Luncheon. After all these years my own memories still have the power to bring me to tears but I am so thankful for God's continued power to heal my heart.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a long
time the subject of fathers was a sore one for me. Like so many other children
my father left. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had just
turned four years old. I remember the day. My brother and sister were in
school. They didn’t know that we were moving into Nanny’s house. Because my
mother did not have a driver’s license my father was driving us. We had to stop
at the Police Department for him to pick up his paycheck. When he opened the
car <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>door out cat jumped out never seen
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our beloved dog Lobo would not be
making the move with us. I lost my cat, my dog and my Daddy on the same day. My
mom was filled with despair having been betrayed by her husband and the woman
she had believed a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the days
turned to weeks we moved away from town to a rental home which was closer to my
mother’s sisters and brothers.I felt the ‘sting’ of being ‘fatherless’ when the
little girl down the street came over and took my bike from the front yard and
later said “Since MY DADDY fixed it, it is mine.” I wanted so much to have ‘my
daddy’ be the one there to do the fixing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though my
father only lived 90 miles away to my child mind it was a far, far way off. We
saw my father one or two times a year. While my mother struggled to put food on
the table my father moved in with ‘the other woman’ and lived well. He had a
cabin cruiser and drove a Cadillac. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But still I
longed deeply for a relationship with my father. As the years past and this
need was not satisfied I lost hope and turned that need into hatred. At least
that is what I would say. It was the era of 60s and everything was about peace
and love. I would say “The only thing I hate is hate. But I hate my father.” I
needed to hate him. It was easier than loving him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As with many
girls who do not have a healthy relationship with their fathers I filled my
‘daddy void’ with unhealthy relationships. It is only by the grace of God that
Steve and I were married shortly after I turned eighteen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During my
childhood I attended Catholic school. I did have somewhat of an understanding
of Christ , in fact, I would say I loved Him even then. Jesus was safe for me.
I understood Him like a brother relationship. Three years after Steve and I
married my sister introduced me to Jesus as Lord and Savior. I was shy about
this<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but accepted with joy. God the
Father was not as easy for me. While I grew in my faith there was still a Daddy
hunger in me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One
afternoon while the children napped I was vacuuming the pine needles up from
under the Christmas tree when a wave of sorrow flooded over me and I burst into
tears and cried “Daddy! Why did you leave me?” And so began months of finally
dealing with my broken childhood. It may have been triggered by my own children
climbing on my husband’s lap and giggling and playing. Or when Steve told the
children how their hair was sleek and was like “spun gold”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While
driving alone in my car one day the Spirit of God said to me “Remember that
dream?” I hadn’t. Until the moment. But now the raw pain and fear of my
childhood recurring nightmare flooded back. I dreamed, many times, that I was
outside playing with my best friend “Lisa”. She fell from the slide, hit her
head and died. I buried her in the sand. For a very long time I did not know if
it was real and did not tell anyone because I believed it to be my fault. I cried
at the memory. Then the Sprit explained the dream to me. My ‘best friend Lisa’
was my parent’s marriage. I thought it was my fault that they divorced and did
not want to admit it or let anyone else know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now as an adult I could understand that I surly was not to blame and was
able to let go of at least that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then
soon after I was lying in bed when I was in that twilight that comes just
before sleep and I heard a voice in my head that said “Do you remember?” And I
sat straight up and said “YES!” And I was 3 or 4 years old again and I was
sitting on my Daddy’s lap on a rocking chair that I remembered from my
childhood home. I was nestled down in the crook of his right arm with his other
arm draped over me. And when I said “Yes!” The voice said “How do you feel?” I
answered “Safe.” And the voice replied : “That’s me.” For the first time since
that day when the cat jumped out of the car I knew the safety and security of
my Father’s arms. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<h3 style="margin: 1em 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">All those long years that is what I was
truly seeking. <o:p></o:p></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt;">The word of God tells us : Psalm 68:5-6<o:p></o:p></span></h3>
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<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,<br />
is God in his holy dwelling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zephaniah+3:17&version=NIV"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Zephaniah 3:17</span></b></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Lord <b>you</b>r
God <b>i</b>s <b>with</b> <b>you</b>, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He <b>will</b>
take great delight <b>i</b>n <b>you</b>; <b>i</b>n his love he <b>will</b> no
longer rebuke <b>you</b>, but <b>will</b> <b>rejoice</b> <b>over</b> <b>you</b>
<b>with</b> <b>singing</b>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The word tells us that we are His
beloved. It tells us that he loves us. He delights to be our father. Not
because of who we are or what we have done but because we are His and that’s
enough!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I hope that most of you have had
wonderful relationships with your earthly fathers. But no doubt some of you
still carry in your heart that “Daddy pain”. I believe that God wants me to
tell you “Daughter, you are my child. I have loved you from the start. I will
love you til the end. You are beautiful and I want to rock you in my arms.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My father testimony is not quiet
finished. I believed when God spoke to me my inner healing was complete. But
there was more…Many years later when my father was married to his third wife
(who was younger than me) he came for a visit. With him were his wife and young
children. I watched as he positioned himself in a rocking chair. I watched as
his young daughter climbed up on his lap and nestled herself in the crook of
his arm. Instantly I saw him as a fallible man who had himself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>had a deep Daddy void in his life. At that
moment in my heart I completely forgave him. It was not enough to make peace
with my heavenly Father I needed to forgive my eartly father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was blessed to pray with my father
in his final days. I am grateful I was able to tell him so many of the things I
had never spoken out loud.I was honored to be able to be with my father as he
berated his final breath. I am awed to think that finally he got his healing
when he opened his eyes in heaven and his father welcomed him home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If this is not your story let
Father’s Day truly be a day of thanksgiving. If this is your story let this be
a day of healing. Finally..do you know a fatherless child? You do..we all do. Open
your eyes and hearts to their tender hearts. You may not be able to ‘father’
them but you can encourage them. You can love them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can help their mom to cope with the day
to day . You can be family. You can…you can…you can…will you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-47827021569359059752012-09-10T14:00:00.002-04:002012-09-10T14:00:31.034-04:00The Grapevine<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6LS8ieRyqmQ/UE4o4N9UFcI/AAAAAAAADHs/pZLDxtARFaM/s1600/grapes+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6LS8ieRyqmQ/UE4o4N9UFcI/AAAAAAAADHs/pZLDxtARFaM/s320/grapes+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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There are moments in time that lock into our minds, into our hearts. Precious moments that are just under the surface or perhaps deep in our subconscious that surface to reconnect us to the very core of who we are.<br />
Before I married at age 18 I had lived in 17 different houses. My parents divorced when I was four and my mother, my brother, my sister and I moved to the Hamptons where my grandparents and the extended family had settled. For this reason we moved sometimes seasonally to be able to afford the rent which were very high in the summer months. With all of these moves there is still one house that pops into my mind when I think of 'my childhood home'. <br />
The Rat House. It was a beautiful home built in the 1700s. It had low ceilings, slanted floors, hiding places behind the chimney and rats. The walls were about 12" thick allowing lots of places for the rats to nest. In the summer months the lived in the fields that surrounded the house and were only driven in when it was too cold to live outdoors. Several occasions we had 'face to face' meetings with these rodents including the night one decided to warm himself in the covers of my sister's bed...<br />
But that is not my story today.<br />
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It was necessary for my mother to work full time. It was also necessary for us to take care of ourselves while she was out. But the 'Rat House' had so many adventures to offer! The horse chestnuts made for great playthings as we set up entire villages. Each nut was pryed out of it's sharp spinney shell and the beautiful smooth nuts became our beautiful people. Sometimes there would even be 'twins' revealed when we opened the shell much to our delight. We also set up 'olympic' training camps with pole vaulting, weight lifting and broad jumping using rocks and sticks and lots of imagination. Collecting pennies we would line them on the railroad track and put our ears to the rail as we waited for the train to come. On the rail the sound could be heard a long way off. Digger of course would tease us and pretend he did not hear it coming. Effectively scaring us and causing the engineer to blow his whistle. <br />
It was on one of these walks to the track that we discovered the wild grapes. They were large, round and purple. I am guessing something along the lines of a concord. They were sour with seeds but we collected all we could and I imagine ate more than we should. The day was delightful. It must have been late summer or early fall. I would have been six years old. Fifty years ago. But that moment in time is as clear as if I were there right now. It was perfect. I still sense the closeness I felt to my brother and sister and the pride of telling our mother about our awesome find.<br />
I moved to Manteo, NC seventeen years ago. After a year we bought a home on the north end of our little island. It is a 'homey' place that meets up with wooded undeveloped lots in the backyard. The brush that we have left on the boarder of the property provides a buffer of sorts and gives us a sense of privacy. Yesterday I was working in the garden and was doing a little 'walk around' on our property. It was then that I saw them. Big beautiful wild grapes. Not unlike those of my childhood. These would not be the exact variety and are somewhat sweeter than those of my memories. In the moment I saw them I was carried back..back in time, back in miles, back into the deepest place of happiness I could remember from a difficult childhood. Thankful does not truly express how I felt seeing these beautiful clusters..but that is part of it. Thankful for a childhood rich with memories of the simpler time. Thankful for my brother and sister and the bond that goes from the cradle to the grave. Thankful that my grandchildren will pick grapes like I did and pucker their lips at the sour sweetness. Thankful for the moments that define the years. The moments that attach us and carry us through difficult times in our lives and connect us with cords that can not be broken.nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-37163164408039316322012-05-02T23:48:00.001-04:002012-05-02T23:48:46.393-04:00I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY!!Recently I have not had too many things coming up that I felt a 'need' to blog. Once in a while something will simmer just below the surface but not quite come to the surface. Not so today. In fact there are three blogs wanting to be birthed tonight and I am not sure yet wish direction to go. But there is one common thread. Each blog was conceived in prayer. A story that I came across yesterday that I wrote twenty eight years ago...a prayer I had for Gwenn and Nick... and a prayer journal entry that I happened upon..I will choose the last to be the first.<br />
This blog "A Grandmother's Heartbeat" began as a way for me to share about my family and more correctly my grandchildren. So that is what I will share tonight. A pray for my grandchildren. What follows is part of a journal entry:<br />
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I pray that they will all come to know you at an early age. I pray that they will have the heart and mind of Christ. keep them from temptation and the evil desires of this world. Create in them a place that will only be satisfied with you. Make them a witness to their generation. (the following is what brought me to this blog)<br />
<strong>For Katie- a sharp mind and a sweet spirit</strong><br />
<strong>For Nia- the ability to reach far to touch the lives of wounded children</strong><br />
<strong>Micah- for grace and laughter</strong><br />
<strong>Abbie- the gift of friendship</strong><br />
<strong>Josiah- great strength and patience</strong><br />
<strong>Nico- peace and assurance of your love</strong><br />
<strong>Evie- a merry heart and a kind spirit.</strong><br />
<br />
Mostly Lord give each the gift of salvation. I ask that you would be raising up Godly spouses for each of these dear children. my babies. my heartbeat.<br />
<br />
I love that I recorded this pray. And here is why- it took me a little while to realize that I prayed this prayer BEFORE Josiah and Evie were even born! We had not met Nico yet as he was still in Haiti waiting to come home to Gwenn and Nick.It was written on May 5th, 2007. Five years ago this week.<br />
Katie was 5 years old, Nia and Micah were 3, Abbie was 2. I had some idea maybe about the older ones..but some of these things must have been straight from the heart of God. <br />
Katie is a very smart girl but the thing that impresses everyone is that she has a very sweet spirit..<br />
Nia - When this was written it was not even a plan that her family would move to Haiti. When they did and when children started to enter their home Nia was the one to warmly welcome them and love them and comfort them. She has the gift of empathy that 'touches the lives of wounded children'.<br />
Micah: I don't have a specific answer for this prayer except that maybe he needs a lot of grace and good humor to live with 3 sisters!<br />
Abbie: only a baby when this was prayed but Abbie has become the outgoing and friendly child that makes friends easily and loves them dearly.<br />
Josiah..born needing open heart surgery he was born strong allowing him to overcome and heal. And patience..well that was for all of us dealing with that little rascal!<br />
Nico..Nico is always talking about the love of Jesus. He is a Jesus lover BIG TIME..before I ever met him God knew that his little heart would be tender to the things of God.<br />
And Evie..remember she was not yet born : A Merry heart..for sure..a kind spirit like her mom.<br />
For those of you who know my grandchildren I know you can testify to these truths. <br />
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God answers our prayers when we are lining up our will with His. If I had prayed "Lord make them the best "whatever" I don't think that He would have answered that prayer. Being a dancer or musician or football player while not bad things in themselves are not important to God. He is more concerned with the condition of our heart. He desires to give us gifts and fruits not talents and things. Hard work can get us talent and things. Work can never get us Love, Joy, Peace , Patience, Goodness, Kindness, Gentleness, Faithfulness or Self Control. Have you ever tried to love some one that you can't stand? Have you tried to make yourself joyful when you are in the pit of despair? Have you tried to have peace when your world is falling apart?/ You may grasp fleeting moments but you cannot attain any of these attitudes on your own. <br />
Lest I go off in 100 different directions (note title of blog "I have some much to say".) Let me get back to my point. First - We need to remember how important it is to pray. Then we need to from time to time go back. Remember what you asked God for and then thank Him for answering you. <br />
I don't know why after all these years I am still so amazed when I see what God does. Amazed and delighted. Pray for your baby before he is born. Before he is conceived. Pray for your husband before you meet him. Pray that he is growing in faith and patience and wisdom and integrity. Pray gifts and fruits into the lives of your children and grandchildren and into your own life. God wants to answer these prayers. He loves to delight you. He is waiting for you to ask. And then thank Him. <br />
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I thank You now Lord for the qualities that you have sown into the lives of the children and I pray for all the other grandchildren that came into my life since I wrote that prayer journal. Thank you that you have carved their name on the palm of your hand.<br />
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<br />nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-40814162321303192932012-04-13T23:17:00.001-04:002012-04-13T23:20:31.901-04:00The gospel and love translate without words.<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Nana is avèk ou always. Jezi is avèk ou always. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In the three years that my heart has been turned toward the island of Hispaniola I have longed to communicate with the population of the Haitian people whom my daughter lives and works with. I have studied with </span><a href="http://www.pimsleur.com/Learn-Haitian-Creole"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">http://www.pimsleur.com/Learn-Haitian-Creole</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> lisening to CDs in the car and repeating after the speaker pharses like "Would you like beer or wine?" and "No, I don't want to go to your house I want to go to the hotel." I have practiced reading and speaking the Haitian language of Creole using the online tutorial at </span><a href="http://www.byki.com/lists/Haitian-creole/01-quick-start.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">http://www.byki.com/lists/Haitian-creole/01-quick-start.html</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> and last winter when visiting Gwenn and Nick I hired a Haitian tutor to work with me every night after the children went to bed. In the afternoons they would help me with my homework and laugh at how badly I butchered their native tounge. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I learned the important things like : "Childen, come." , "Children, eat." and my personal favorite "Settle down" which is something like "poze". I used this a lot at meal time when the children's voices would echo off the walls and I would tell the children "Poze! You are hurting Nana's ears. They would laugh and tone it down a notch for a minute or two. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As I am learing more creole the children are learning more English. So we are meeting somewhere in the middle. Except for Manita.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Manita, the youngest girl in my daugther's home is a spunky little spit fire. She will run up to me rambleing full speed as if by some magic I would not have the same response I had ten minutes earlier: "Nana pa konprann kreyòl." (Nana does not understand Creole). She continues to ramble and then will finally get Nia to tell Nana what she is trying to communicate. She will climb up on my lap to have me read her a story (in English) and we study the pictures together and share the names of the objects with each other. I have told people I love them when I meant to say "What is your name?" No harm done ...right..?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I have connected at different levels with each of the Haitian children whom I consider my grandchildren. Some seem to have no doubt I am part and parcel of this whole 'family' thing. All of them know that when Nanny comes there is likely to be some surprises in her overstuffed bags. And I am thankful for each of these precious children in my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Everyone knows it is not right to have 'favorites'. I really don't favor one more than the others..but there is one whom I have a special bond with. I don't understand it very well but I think it has something to do with my brother. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Digger had a tough childhood. When my father left he felt rejected and abandoned. It made him angry and bitter and tough. And fiercely loyal and protective toward my sister and me. He was sometimes mean as a hornet. But I knew that I knew that I knew that he was there for me. If he caught you smoking a cigarette he might put it out on your stomach ..but he did have to make you not want to smoke. Reasonable actually. But back to Haiti...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The first time I met Yves was on my first visit after the earthquake. He was twice orphaned and living in a refugee camp alone before he came into my daugthter's home. He was angry and bitter and mean. But..when I would be struggling to get up in the back of the truck he would be the one to hold out his hand to help me up. He would pat the seat beside him and say "Nana" and get angry if anyone else tried to take that spot. But he totally won me over the morning that I was preparing to leave to come back to the US. We had a long ride over the mountains to the airport. Our ride was leaving at 4 AM. As I rounded the stairwell there sat Yves. Sitting and waiting. Waiting to say goodbye. I was beyond honored. I was back with my brother and I wanted more than anything to be able to communicate freely with this young man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As fate would have it and God would allow I went 14 months between my last to visits to Haiti. A lot of growning happens in 14 months. Especially when children who were once under nourished and living on the streets are now living with three meals a day and sleeping in a bead. Many of the children were maturing and becoming teens. Voices changing, taller, stronger...growing up. Yves while growing up on the outside was still struggling on the inside. His behaviour caused many problems in the home and full time staff was hired to 'look after' him. He isolated himself from his family and his peers by him angry outbursts. He needed to become responsible for his destructive behaviour. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">When I arrived in Haiti last month the bond I had with Yves continued. He wanted to please me all the time. He would jump to carry things for me and anticipate my needs and rush to meet them. He wanted to work by my side and was eager to learn whatever I would teach him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The next day when I had to say good bye to him was agony. I wanted so much to say so much... I told him that God understands. I asked him if he missed his family. He started to cry. I asked "Do you remember your mother's name?" He said "Yes". He told me the names of his mother, father, sister and brother. And he continued to cry. And I cried with him. I put one of my hands on my own heart and one hand on his and told him "Nana is avèk ou always" ( Nana is with you always) and then the hand that was on my heart I extended to heaven and said "Jezi is avèk ou always" (Jesus is with you always.) As our tears ran down our cheeks the other curious children began to huddle around whispering about the fact that Yves was crying. And then with a motion from the front gate his ride was ready to go. He said " I have to go now." We hugged and he turned and left. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Having worked in youth ministry for many years I knew there was so much left to say and I felt like I had failed him. For all my practicing and parroting my words were just not enough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Re-entry was a little harder this time for there was so much more I wanted to do. It was a great trip on so many levels. But coming to church that first Wed night I was still feeling such a burden for Yves. I asked Pastor Rob, who had been a troubled youth himself if he would pray with me. The power of the Spirt of God was palatable. He prayed against the powers of darkness that held him. He prayed for his mind, body and spirit. He prayed that the power of God would fall on him and he would be delivered... and he prayed..and then he prayed some more. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The following night as bible study I asked for prayer again not willing to stop praying until an answer came. And we prayed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The next day Gwenn wrote me a simple email. "Great news!" was in the subject line. The night before Yves had gone with the family to a revival meeting at one of the camps. He asked Christ into his heart. I read the email through sobs. I messaged Pastor Robb and the Brandi who leads the Bible Study with her husband. God's faithful hand was so powerful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I do believe that God used me to plant seeds in Yves heart.My faltering words did not matter.My words were not important. The grandmother seed that says "I am with you." The seed that says "Even if you are a jerk I love you. " The seed that says "You can." That was what God trusted me to give. I believe God used Pastor Robb. I believe He used the Bible Study group. I believe the prayer of agreement broke down strong holds that needed to come down. But more than all of these I believe that God placed Yves with Gwenn and Nick so that he could be re parented and come to understand 'family'. God knew that Yves would come to know Him. He also knew that the road to healing and wholeness would not be accomplished with one trip to the alter. Each day Yves will have to wake up and decide this day whom he will serve. So glad he has a family to help him to make good choices. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8FowuMDnpbE/T4jmrA_1NcI/AAAAAAAAAt4/5hbWi7CBgqw/s1600/IMG_8672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8FowuMDnpbE/T4jmrA_1NcI/AAAAAAAAAt4/5hbWi7CBgqw/s320/IMG_8672.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Tomorrow Yves will get baptized. Nia will be baptized as well. Two very different stories. One never changing God A God who is not a respecter of <span style="background-color: yellow;"> language. His gospel is not understood with words.For He speaks to the heart. And </span> now ...the story begins.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQ8iSbFXFM4/T4jnG-xUfjI/AAAAAAAAAuA/kaTimvPP7yw/s1600/IMG_8878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQ8iSbFXFM4/T4jnG-xUfjI/AAAAAAAAAuA/kaTimvPP7yw/s320/IMG_8878.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="dict_inner" id="dict_content" style="height: 61px; margin-top: 6px; width: 99.54%;"></div><div class="dict_inner" id="dict_content" style="height: auto; margin-top: 6px; width: 100%;"></div>nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-89307238681781117582012-04-05T09:25:00.005-04:002012-04-05T09:54:46.504-04:00Nothing but the Blood of JesusToday is in the tradition of the Christian church known as Maundy Thursday. It is a day of remembrance. It is the day when we think about the words of our Messiah as He broke bread and had fellowship with His closest followers. His closest friends. He knew as He knelled in front of Judas to wash his feet that within hours this same man would offer to Him the 'kiss of death'. <br />
As a woman who is facing the birth of her child He knew that no one else could do this for Him. He knew the only way through it was to go through it. Unlike the woman in labor He would not cradle a precious babe and be able to forget the pain as "water gone by". There would not be encourages around Him. Only mockers. And when He cried out to the only One who truly understood His pain that One would turn His back and forsake Him. The Father God. The only Son. <br />
Last night at Source church Pastor Frank was not there so Pastor Robb brought the Word to us. He spoke of the blood. Life is in the blood. Without blood there is no life. He spoke of the Cross. The life giving blood.<br />
I have pictured myself at that scene. I like to think that I am brave enough to stand at the foot of the cross with Mary the mother and the 'other' Mary. I like to think that I am loyal and that I would not have left Him. I see his blood on the His head, His hands, His feet...the cross, the ground and yes even on me for to be this close it surly would have smeared my cheeks. <br />
I think back to the death of my father. He died of cancer. I was not with him for the long months of his illness but was there for his last days. He coughed and with the cough came blood and it stained my shirt. It was precious. It was intimate. It was not gross or ugly. I was close enough...<br />
But in the end Jesus was alone.<br />
As Pastor Robb spoke of Jesus on the cross he spoke of Him crying out to the Father. At the moment he spoke the word "Father" a baby who was seated right behind me at the exact moment said "DaDa". In the moment all of the divinity that is Jesus on the cross collided with all the humanity of the baby in Bethlemhem. His cry on the cross was not to some far away theoligical diety. His cry was "Abba, Daddy!" and His Father turned His back as the life blood left His body. As He breathed His last and died.<br />
Without the shedding of blood there is no remission of sin. Thank you Jesus for your blood that covers me.<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/ayJusJ_jvco">http://youtu.be/ayJusJ_jvco</a><br />
<iframe ayjusj_jvco?="" src="<a href=" embed="" height="315" style="height: 13px; width: 66px;" width="420" www.youtube.com=""><p><p><p><p><p>http://www.youtube.com/embed/ayJusJ_jvco</a>" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></p></p></p></p></p></iframe>nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-6660379075720962502012-01-21T17:50:00.000-05:002012-01-21T17:50:52.701-05:00Going DeeperI sit here at my computer on on 10 minute break from my 10 minute challange.(See previous post) I gotta say, this is working for me. Now that I am on track and have completed the first challange each day I do it I go deeper. Like today, I had just spent 10 minutes yesterday cleaning the bathroom. The basic stuff, the shower the sink the mirror, the toilet. So that did not need to be done today again. Still I had 10 min. committed to that room. So today I wiped down the fixtures and then had 8 minutes to straighten up the towel shelves and start to clean up the closet. Then, while doing my 10 min. laundry bit I had time to dump out that ever present, ever growing sock bag, make matches AND THROW OUT EVERY SOCK THAT DID NOT HAVE A MATE! I only have to go back in my cycle to the kitchen whick naturally takes more time. I included the porches today and was able to dead head the flowers AND fix the little fountain out there. Now I need to add on the upstairs in to the routine. I jump started my office last night. So many papers- I hate that part. Now before the buzzer rings..gotta go. My 10 minutes are nearly up!nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-45415848915978409652012-01-18T00:07:00.001-05:002012-01-18T00:08:20.386-05:00Where's my watch?For months..ok, for years I talked about being able to retire from the Post Office on Oct 11, 2011. I had a few false starts over the years, near misses or maybe near hits when I almost left earlier. The last time I held out for one last year for a better retirement offer. (Which ended up being less than if I actually left a year ago.) That is not my blog however. This is my blog: I am retired!!!!<br />
In October I was going to hold out for a few extra weeks and just end my time with my departure for my long awaited trip to Haiti. When I received the news of cancer the trip was cancelled and the retirement postponed to avail myself of the sick leave that I would have lost completely otherwise.So basically I went out on sick leave and just didn't go back. I was operated on on October 10th just one day shy of my original retirement day. My retirement day got switched from October 31 until Nov 30.<br />
Dealing with cancer and having my home filled with my wonderful daughters and grandchildren gave me little time to dwell on this retirement thing. Then Gwenn went back to Haiti and Melody and the girls left for PA and the house was quiet so I dove in to my new reality..for a few days. Then Gwenn and Nick got robbed and Gwenn and the children came in and I postponed the retirement idea for a while.<br />
It is not like I got up early like on work days for the last 26 years. Not at all. But I just didn't have time to redefine what my life would become without punching a time clock.<br />
Right after Gwenn and the children left I was sick so it began to feel like a new normal would never be realized.<br />
The day arrived! Finally on Monday, Jan 16th more than three months since my last work day it is sinking in. And I am starting to carve out a plan....Lord only knows about that! I fully understand my time is in His hands. Each day a gift and a blessing. I have dreams and visions. I am excited about tomorrow and the next tomorrow and the next.<br />
Pastor Frank spoke on New Year's day about the scripture "without vision my people perish". (Isaiah) I want to have huge visions and I want to see God bring them to pass.I want to learn. I want to grow. I want to go . I want to teach. I want to share. I want to encourage. I want to live a life of passion for the things that my God is passionate about. I want to minister to my children and my grandchildren. I want to minister to my husband Steve and create a home that is a refuge. I want to have meaningful time with each of my grandchildren. I want to teach them the secrtes of the universe and the secrets of my heart. I want to carry their secrets safely never demeaning them for their childish fears or frustrations. <br />
I want to learn home to cook wholesome, healthy, great tasting food that even Steve will like. I want to learn how to discipline myself in so many areas.<br />
I want to spend time in Haiti. I want to see what God is planning for my company Jacmel Bay (doesn't count as work cause I love it so much :) I want to serve my church and my community. I want to be free to study the Word with woman.....during the DAY time! I want to be free to visit my children, my sister and my sister in law and my aunts and uncles..and the more I type the more excited I am becoming because y'all I AM RETIRED!!!! I have cleaned out my refrigerator, freezer, several cabinets, washed the bathroom floor, started a class on Tues night.. It's real..It's real..It's real!!!!!!!<br />
Ok..where is my gold watch? I think people get gold watches when they retire. Forget the watch. Who needs a golden watch when you have golden time?nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9080098302155424891.post-1646898896242027102011-12-26T15:10:00.000-05:002011-12-26T15:10:32.722-05:00The best Christmas?After my surgery and as I was starting to feel really good I had all of these good intentions about how "great" Christmas would be this year. I would bake and decorate and have lots of time to work on my business , Jacmel Bay. I imagined having a party and inviting people into my perfectly clean home with the smells of gingerbread in the oven (as opposed to Yankee candle on the candle warmer.) <br />
Sometimes we need to release our expectations about how things "should" look and gracefully accept how the actually are. <br />
Gwenn came to stay with me after the surgery.She took care of me. Then Melody and the girls came and continued to care for me. When the house was quiet again I started to dive in to projects that have been neglected for years. Thus the start of a "perfect" holiday.Less than a week later Gwenn and Nick were robbed in Haiti and shortly after she was back with the three American children. Let me just say up front that I am so glad to have her and the children here! I have never had a Christmas with these grandchildren. <br />
We had already planned to spend Thanksgiving with Melody and Chris and the girls in PA and had a really wonderful few days with them. Chris even go tickets for Steve and I to go to a play while we were there.Honestly, Melody and Chris are amazing hosts! And what fun I have with Melody and her thrift store/yard sale passion! Evie makes me feel like I am really someone special!<br />
The night before Thanksgiving I rolled over in bed and actually heard a "pop" coming from behind my right knee.The pain can only be compared to childbirth...except it was in my leg :) Thanksgiving AM was spent in the ER and here I am after Christmas and have not had a follow up appointment and still hobbling around and not kneeling down. <br />
All this to say that Christmas was not shaping up how I imagined. Sometimes I felt frustrated by the fact I had not pulled out even half of my Christmas things. Frustrated that while the greens are gathered I still have yet to make my yearly wreath for the front door. Frustrated that while I have bought all of the ingredients for cookies I have not made the first cookie.Frustrated by the pain in my knee not allowing me to move freely. Frustrated that I have not been the "fun" grandmother doing all the holiday "fun" stuff with the grandchildren. Oh sure we did do a bunch of cool things (saw the Manteo Christmas parade for the first time ever!)..but I was not always 'fun'. "Micah...what are you crazy??" , "Josiah, you are too loud!", "Johanna! get down!" , "Nia, not now." , "Nico, you and your brother go watch a movie." , "Pick up your coat...hat...shoes...toys......brush your teeth.....STOP IT!!!!" Not exactly the fun, silly, loving, gentle, and playful grandmother I long to be, once was...hope to be again....kind of grandmother.<br />
One night when I looked at a Santa Clause mug I told the kids about my own (hated) great-grandmother who kept me and my brother and sister apart from our father when he came to deliver very similar mugs to up after the separation of my parents. Her rage that day separated her from my affections for the rest of her life. I still can not think of one good thing to say about her. I don't know why I told them the story but they have asked to have me repeat it nearly every day. The only thing she taught me is that I don't want to be like her. <br />
In my times of frustration when things are not so 'perfect' I understand how important it is for me to not let my expectations cloud my reality. So what if all the decorations did not get up. So what we didn't make cookies or wreaths. Really..so what!!!<br />
I had a Christmas break through. I was with Gwenn and the children at Gwenn's church Crosspointe in Cary. A song about relationships was being sung. I remember thinking "not very Christmasie but really pretty." And then it came. I felt tears well up as I had this quiet moment to reflect. I found thoughts rushing through my head. "I am alive this Christmas! I did not die from cancer. I did not make Christmas a really bad time for my family by being dead. Gwenn is alive! Nia and Nick and Josiah and Nico and all the other kids!!! Alive!! The robbers did not kill them!Ruby was born beautiful and healthy without the problems that had shown themselves in the pregnancy. Gwenn did not die from staph and Josiah did not die from what ever he had!!We have a home that while messy and small is a haven where my grandchildren feel safe and loved! This in fact is the BEST Christmas ever.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Well not really, there was one that was better. It was another messy and loud one. It was a Christmas that did not meet the expectations of the family. No cookies or decorations. No wreath. Just a baby in a barn and parents to keep Him safe a warm. Parents willing to do whatever needed to be done to keep their family together. Even if being together meant to be separated for a time as Gwenn and Nick are. Christmas. Not always pretty. But always beautiful. </div>Thanking God for getting the "stuff" out of the way so I could see His heart.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NRWlTQHfuMU/TvjSRtAgJ2I/AAAAAAAAAsU/7-JtVg78ggI/s1600/IMG_6986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NRWlTQHfuMU/TvjSRtAgJ2I/AAAAAAAAAsU/7-JtVg78ggI/s320/IMG_6986.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnAMgSv5WD8/TvjShqrLYMI/AAAAAAAAAsc/uWwVVEWt_14/s1600/IMG_7447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnAMgSv5WD8/TvjShqrLYMI/AAAAAAAAAsc/uWwVVEWt_14/s320/IMG_7447.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4VMk7jjQtJY/TvjStfSTU4I/AAAAAAAAAsk/myjq_pdziLE/s1600/IMG_6626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4VMk7jjQtJY/TvjStfSTU4I/AAAAAAAAAsk/myjq_pdziLE/s320/IMG_6626.JPG" width="247" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rpWDv9DojcQ/TvjS01Jd4YI/AAAAAAAAAss/Fowl70EyB1Y/s1600/IMG_6750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rpWDv9DojcQ/TvjS01Jd4YI/AAAAAAAAAss/Fowl70EyB1Y/s320/IMG_6750.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PvGRJMgQtgM/TvjTF6DQaMI/AAAAAAAAAs0/3Hufyt0FSiQ/s1600/IMG_7361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PvGRJMgQtgM/TvjTF6DQaMI/AAAAAAAAAs0/3Hufyt0FSiQ/s320/IMG_7361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MrBbI1QntDA/TvjTSUyrkOI/AAAAAAAAAs8/Rf5FYelZsHI/s1600/IMG_6587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MrBbI1QntDA/TvjTSUyrkOI/AAAAAAAAAs8/Rf5FYelZsHI/s320/IMG_6587.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ycx1NaD9Roc/TvjTm9RZuPI/AAAAAAAAAtE/1vNASwpXZTs/s1600/IMG_7362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ycx1NaD9Roc/TvjTm9RZuPI/AAAAAAAAAtE/1vNASwpXZTs/s320/IMG_7362.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">(Looking at these pictures I think..hmm...maybe I WAS the fun grandmother!)</span></div>nanajobxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14331818949919247582noreply@blogger.com0