tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410831623554117072024-03-12T16:44:19.911-07:00Jenny TraskOh, just because...Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-41095791047775605352013-02-22T08:49:00.000-08:002013-02-22T08:51:33.554-08:00Mama - Five Minute Friday<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">Five Minute Friday. Write for a timed 5 minutes, no editing or planning, just writing for 5 minutes. Then link up: </span><a href="http://lisajobaker.com/category/five-minute-friday/" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="link" x-apple-data-detectors="true">http://lisajobaker.com/category/five-minute-friday/</a><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;"></span><br />
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Today's Word: Mama</div>
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In a word she is, strength. Always a fighter regardless of the fight. She spoke strong words, undergirded in love. She wore strong perfume by the name of Oscar De La Renta. And she rarely took no for an answer. If there was an injustice about, she was on the path to bleat it out and save the day. That's just how my Mama was. She used strong words to show my sister and I how serious she was about her love for us. I remember her saying, "You could get pregnant, rob a bank or kill someone and I'd still love you." We knew better than to do any of the above at the ripe old age of adolescence, but more than that we understood that come hell or high waters she was in it with us for the long haul. Unending, unshakable love. She let us be ourselves and never let anyone put us down. She had a strong inner Mama bear and everyone knew it. She also gives strong. Gives outrageously and generously and selflessly. She sings strong and loud, and dances strong - never one to sit out a dance when there was a dance to be had. She's the tiniest little lady I know, but she is so strong. She loves me so strong, and I love her just the same!</div>
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STOP</div>
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Five minutes isn't fair with a writing prompt like, "Mama." </div>
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Take 5 minutes to write about your Mom, and then link up here: <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/category/five-minute-friday/" x-apple-data-detectors-result="1" x-apple-data-detectors-type="link" x-apple-data-detectors="true">http://lisajobaker.com/category/five-minute-friday/</a></div>
Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-83632432444877854852013-02-20T08:04:00.002-08:002013-02-20T08:21:13.496-08:00A Few Pointers for my KidsAs a snapshot in time, and because that's mostly what my blog is for, I thought I'd leave my children a little snippet of advice this morning, sort of on-the-fly, from their Mama in all of her 34 year old nonsense...I mean, wisdom. Definitely, wisdom. Or maybe...well, who knows.<br />
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1. God first. He is the only wise, true King. Seek Him, love Him, follow Him, know Him and be known by Him, reflect Him, sing-dance-pray-talk to-scream-shout-whisper to Him, and definitely make jokes with Him. He loves to laugh! He is kind. He will always love you and He will never leave you. He is your provider. He is your healer. He is the standard. He is your Father. And He sent Jesus to die for you. He's serious about you!</div>
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2. Love yourself. You were not, are not, and never will be a mistake. (I can't even articulate how badly, desperately, you were wanted!) You are worthwhile, smart, witty, kind, beautiful and generous, and you have been given everything you need to get to where you want to go in life. The desires in your heart came from your King. Trust Him to help you fulfill them. He is faithful! And also, this is so important, are you listening? When you love yourself, you can love others! This is key because we were sent to this world to love. Remember this verse, Love your neighbor as you love yourself? One has to come before the other. I know I'm your Mom, but, I mean, honestly, what's not to love? :) Treat yourself well. Love yourself. And then spill that love all over the entire world, or as much of her as you can reach. </div>
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3. Love your family with all of your heart. Look out for death-by-consumption when you meet your spouse (who should definitely resemble Jesus in some familiar ways), and when you welcome your babies. You will think your will to live has been stolen by an unquenchable love that steals your breath, consumes your thoughts and fills every space of every fiber of your entire being, but you will make it. Pull yourself together and love them madly. </div>
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4. Listen to the small, quiet voice inside. The peaceful, kind one. It will always lead you, and never leave you. Sometimes the world will disagree. I say, carry on. Go for it.</div>
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5. Talk a lot. (I'm sorry if you tend to talk too much. You probably get that from me. I believe it's healthy, unless you speak ugly to another person. In that case, hush!) Here's what I mean. Don't stuff things deep down inside. Let them out. If you're angry, hurt, rejected, sad, stressed, worried, fearful, happy, giddy, overflowing...etc. Talk about it...out loud...with Jesus, and also with a friend or someone you trust. Keeping things bottled up is like burying something that's still alive. You can't bury the living because if you do, it will surely resurface, and usually in the form of a violent explosion. This is never good. So, talk it out, work it out. Be honest and transparent and vulnerable, but never try to be stronger than you were designed to be. No stuffers allowed. Stuffing leads to stress. Stress leads to sickness. Sickness leads to death. Don't do it. And, just so you know, your Daddy and I will always be here to listen, and there's nothing you could ever tell us that would cause us to change our opinion of you. Guaranteed!</div>
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6. Stay in your lane. (Thanks Brad McClendon.) Mind your own business. Try, really try, not to gossip. Sometimes silence is supreme. </div>
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7. Set healthy boundaries. Help when you can. Do things if you have grace, time and energy to do them, and if not, pass on them. Don't pine for relationships or friendships that require you to constantly kiss hineys. You'll know what I mean. These relationships are toxic. Be yourself. Be genuine. You're super likable!</div>
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8. Keep the main thing, the main thing. Like in an argument, for example. Only argue about what you're arguing about. Don't bring the past 15 years into the argument. But, in all things, keep the main thing, the main thing. (Thanks Rick Joyner.)</div>
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9. Use the words, "always" and "never," sparingly, especially when talking to someone else or accusing someone else of something. It's rare that someone ALWAYS yells or NEVER keeps a promise. Give credit where credit is due.</div>
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10. Try not to say the word, "hate." It's ugly. Unless you "hate" cavities. It's okay to hate cavities. (Brush your teeth.) :)</div>
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11. Give generously, excessively, and extravagantly, never believing that giving something away means you will go without. The opposite is always true. Always give.</div>
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12. Get lots of sleep. Sleep keeps you healthy.</div>
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13. Be on time. Honor your commitments. Keep your word.</div>
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14. Close the toilet lid when you flush, and don't keep your tooth brush on the sink. Put it away. Why? Brace yourself. Because if you don't close the lid when you flush, all sorts of funkiness enters the air from the toilet, and I bet it often lands on toothbrushes. So, close the lid. And tuck your toothbrush away. Thank me later.</div>
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15. Don't manipulate people.</div>
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16. You are never a bad girl or a bad boy. You are always a good girl or a good boy. Decisions can be bad, but bad decisions don't make people bad (most of the time). </div>
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17. Wash your hands when you come in from anywhere. Get dirty? Yes! Play hard? Yes! Live adventurously? For sure! Just wash your hands when you're done! And after you do, don't start texting on your phone that you were just using at the gas station (unless you Clorox wipe it, then it's okay) because otherwise you defeat the whole hand washing purpose. Trust me, you'll save yourself a lot of tissues and trips to the drug store.</div>
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18. Vitamin C works. Airborne is great. Water is best! Homemade food rules! Moderation in everything is ideal. Diets are dumb. Exercise is wise.</div>
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19. Don't flush public toilets with your foot. It's rude. Use toilet paper if you don't want to touch the handle (and then throw it away). What if the next person touches the handle and then doesn't wash his/her hands? Now they are eating their turkey sandwich with your dirty bathroom floor tennis shoes on their hands. Lets pause and say a prayer for their protection. :) I'm grossed out. </div>
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20. Don't spend money you don't have. Save money.</div>
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21. Don't ask for loans you can't pay back.</div>
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22. Rise and shine and work hard. And then, rest. Live by faith, but don't live being lazy.</div>
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23. Be aware of what's happening in the world, but never let events rule you. Remember your King. He has the final say.</div>
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24. Read/watch/listen to the news and talk shows sparingly - they're almost always completely pointless. Do, however, watch Jimmy Fallon. He's hilarious and a-okay in my book! </div>
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25. Listen to music. It usually makes you smarter, and occasionally makes you less smart. It's worth the gamble.</div>
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26. Play music if you can. I can't. I probably could. I just don't, so instead, I dance. Definitely dance.</div>
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27. Garden.</div>
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28. Take care of your belongings.</div>
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29. Clean if you want to. I like clean, but it doesn't mean you have to, but I'm not going to lie, I sort of hope you appreciate cleanliness. </div>
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30. Peer pressure = lame. Try not to give in.</div>
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31. Dinner for breakfast tastes good, and so does breakfast for dinner. Switch it up. Keep it interesting.</div>
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32. Having the best things really doesn't matter. Peace and joy matter.</div>
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33. Nobody actually cares how clean or cute your house is, or what kind of car you drive. They care about their house and their car. Period. (Yawn.)</div>
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34. Comparison is the thief of joy.</div>
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35. You can learn not to lie if you practice.</div>
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36. New habits take 21 days of repetition to stick. Same with breaking bad habits. 21 days.</div>
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37. Drink lots of water, and maybe no caffeine, like me. Or not. Whatevs. </div>
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38. Cow's milk, no! </div>
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39. Cow's cheese, yes. :)</div>
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40. Never move away from your parents when you're good and grown. We will build you a house on our land and come running when you're sick or need help with your newborn baby, or when you've burnt dinner 5 minutes before dinner guests are set to arrive, or when you need anything...literally anything. And if you do move away, promise not to be offended if we follow you. </div>
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41. Be a friend. Listen. Love. Help.</div>
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42. Matching socks are overrated. Mismatched clothes are fun. </div>
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43. Be a lady. Be a gentleman. </div>
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44. Be respectful. </div>
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45. Err on the side of grace. </div>
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46. Repent. Forgive. </div>
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47. Try, try, and try again. Quit when, and only when, Jesus says to. And move when He says to. We did. It was scary, but worth it.</div>
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48. Spend summer days at the lake or in the pool. Bring fruit, salami, cheese and crackers, or a yummy salad, sunscreen and bottled water, and go home when you're long past the point of being tuckered out.</div>
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49. Be adventurous and inventive. </div>
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50. Save your kisses for your spouse.</div>
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51. Always, always remember I love you more than life itself. Same goes for your Daddy!</div>
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Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-33245459271580976672013-02-12T19:09:00.002-08:002013-02-12T19:09:22.878-08:00Jenny From the Block, on Parenting<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">Here I sit having just finished a piping hot bowl of chicken flavored Top Ramen. The steam from the heat of the remaining broth is still spinning in a spirally little dance upwards. I literally burnt my tongue as I choked my noodles down today. Choking not because the noodles are difficult to eat, but choking because I have that thing in my throat that my mom, sister and I refer to as, the "lump." The one that sits there begging you to just give in and cry. </span><br />
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I am torn today. Broken. Beside myself and desperate. I don't know how I got here. Sometimes life's all, BOOM, and what can a girl do? I'm just going to say it...I'm scared. My answers are running out, and my control is fleeting and I feel nervous and sort of angry. I really need Jesus to step in and do something because parenting is hard. Nothing big, or dangerous has happened, but I can feel the world creeping in to engage my girls in conversations I want so badly to protect them from. </div>
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My third grader wants to hang out with fifth graders, (note: there is a big difference between third graders and fifth graders), and while she still makes believe and loves to play dolls I can see the transformation happening, and I don't like it. And so from that place of insecurity I sometimes parent from a place of fear. I turn into "Jenny from the block," all ghetto-like, and make fun of other kids, secretly hoping that my kids will fall in line, and also hate the behavior I'm talking trash about and rolling my eyes at. I wish 1,000 times over that I could take back words like, "Oh please, so-and-so better watch her mouth or I will call her parents to tell them what a terrible little person they are turning out, and you know what else? If I hear anymore of this you won't be allowed to talk to her. Ever. That behavior is so lame." </div>
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So super mature. I stink at this. Sometimes. (I have to give myself some credit. I don't always mess up.)</div>
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So, today more than anything I want my girls to have an eagle's eye view into my heart where my love for them has drown most everything else out. Where they can see how deeply I love them and how I want nothing more than for them to never feel pain or hurt, or the sting of rejection, or the hate of a mean girl, or the pressure of their "friends" that comes on so strong that they are literally on the edge of giving in. Or worse yet, that they give in. And then become acquainted with regret and secrets. </div>
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I want my girls to know that I'm sorry for being an immature, ghetto mama sometimes. That's not me. The real me wants more than anything to give love and to be available for them always. To be the mama that won't revert to pointed words and ridiculous threats when she feels threatened. Dear girls, I'm sorry. And I love you more than life, and I always, always will.</div>
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We are at that weird point in time where my girls don't know the first thing about curse words. They wouldn't know what to do with the f-word if they heard it. They'd probably just ask me, "Mama, what does *#+! mean?" And then I'd have to tell Jenny-from-the-block to back away slowly so she didn't use that very same word to articulate the anger that caused her to fall faint on the floor the very second she heard such fifth coming out of such a pretty little mouth. It hasn't happened, but the stories I hear...the stories I can't believe...those are happening and my girls are out there within earshot of the filth. </div>
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Dear babies, don't let it in. Don't let it affect you. Stay the course. Grab a hold of Jesus and never ever look back. You can do this. You can walk through the grime and the gunk of this world and come out stronger on the other side. You can be the exception. You can be the example. And just so you know, you wouldn't bring me shame if you went a different way. There is nothing in this world that could ever separate you from me. I will love you outrageously forever (here on earth and in heaven). I'm your mama here and I'll be your mama in heaven. Nothing will ever diminish my love for you. That's a promise you can bet your life on. </div>
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And so we are making some changes. Are we pulling them out of school? No. Not now anyway. I believe Jen Hatmaker was right when she said something like, when we keep our kids locked away and protected at home, we are keeping them from the very world they were sent to redeem. Tough words to process, but I believe she's right. Will we ever homeschool? Yes, probably. For extended periods of time? No, probably not, but then again, who knows? Is this right for everyone? No, definitely not. This is us. This is our story.</div>
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But we will shift our schedules around to allow our big girls the space and time they need to participate in kids church at a Baptist church nearby. And we will work to plant the word of God so deeply in their hearts, souls and spirits that they are better equipped to fight the battles that I cannot fight for them, which are becoming less and less -- they are growing up, and I hate it. (Oh, if I could only be there for them all!) We will continue to have dinner together as a family because this is where we do our best work. We play games, talk about the day's high and low points, and this is where we sort through the trials of the day. This is also where I vacillate from cool, calm, collected mom, to the occasional, so-help-me mom. I'm sorry for those abrupt moments. I know they're necessary sometimes, but I could stand to work on my delivery. And I will.</div>
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So, no real answers here, only thoughts, and prayers, and a reminder that Jesus knew what He was doing when He sent us 3 girls and a boy to parent. He believed in our ability to do our very best, and we are trying. </div>
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Is this scary? Am I at a loss? Yes. Am I giving up? Not a chance. This is good news, I suppose. It quite simply means that Jesus must be at the forefront. That the days of just getting by are tired and over. That if we hope to come out stronger and healthier on the other side we will have to hand the reigns completely over to Him. Everything with prayer and supplication. So there you have it. I'm done being afraid. I'm no good when I'm afraid. I'm weak when I'm afraid. My kids need me to be brave now more than ever. Dear girls, I will be brave...so you can be brave. </div>
Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-20394261821052829812013-02-08T07:30:00.002-08:002013-02-08T08:09:05.761-08:005 Minute Friday<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">I found a new stranger friend who does this cool, 5-Minute Writing Friday Thing. This is mine. Where is yours? Go here to join in <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/02/five-minute-friday-bare/">Lisa-Jo Baker</a>. I think I could get into this!! Hooray for new friends.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">How my soul felt yesterday when I stumbled onto Lisa-Jo's blog. It was a breath of fresh air for a young Mom like me always looking for sisters to come alongside me and help me navigate this ship called motherhood, daughter of the King, and wife to the most handsome, loving guy I know. And also, bare, as in the place I'd like to live all of the time. A place where walls are down, worries are situated in the backseat of my car - the one where joy is in the driver's seat and peace is her co-pilot. Bare as in not being in control of my life, but giving all control to Jesus because He's the only One who can protect my family in this big, problem laden world. Bare as in clean floors. I love clean floors. Wait. Is that an area of control? Yeah. Yeah, it is. Bare as in the slate is wiped clean. Today is a new day, and the world will open up to bless me so that I can remain bare. Bare and peaceful and clean and hopeful. I like bare!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); white-space: normal;"><textarea cols="60" name="Five Minute Friday" readonly="readonly" rows="5" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; max-height: 120px; max-width: 50%; padding: 0px;"></textarea></span></span>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-5364239914276271642013-02-07T10:57:00.001-08:002013-02-07T11:14:55.772-08:00Church<br />
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Confession time. My family has not been to church in a very, very long time. Well, not in the, "What church do you go to?" church sense. We've organized 24hr worship with some of the most precious people on earth for the past four years, and that's been amazing, and we attend a Wednesday worship night led by Don Potter as often as we can, but we haven't been in an actual church, like, on an actual Sunday, in a very long time. We've had church at home, complete with all the bells and whistles -- announcements done by my 7 year old, welcome and opening prayer done by my 9 year old, worship led by Josh and accompanied by the Trask circus, books of the Bible memorization song by YouTube, lesson plans done by the Internet, tending to toddlers done by the nursery staff (all of us), and crying time led by me...which leads to corporate crying...over things like orphans, or Jesus dying, or almost nothing. I'm an emotional person. I cry. I lead with tears. The little girl sheep follow. And our Senior Pastor, my husband, looks at us like he's lost complete control of his flock, but he's smiling. We sit pathetic and sobbing, huddled on the couch in our jammies, because Jesus has come, and He's awesome, and we've been wrecked. A sure sign that this Sunday will be a good day. Or whatever day we happen to gather on.</div>
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So, why am I mortified when someone asks me, "What church do you go to?" Partly because we live in the South so naturally going to church is the right thing to do, and partly because I know (to my horror) that one of my kids will blurt out, "We don't go to church," which is sometimes subsequently followed by a pointed, "We need to go to church, Mom." I'm always like, "Take me now, Jesus. These kids are total sell-outs." (Hush, child.) And then I try to explain, but it's hard. How do you say, "Yep. We don't go to church on Sunday. We stay home. We do other things in place of Sunday morning church. We aren't backslidden. We love Jesus. We are good Christian people." </div>
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Are you buying it? It's such a hard sell. </div>
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We are conflicted, and you're probably confused. Let me explain. We used to live for church. There was a time when we were so lovesick with programs and meetings and messages that fed our souls and spirits that we became addicted to them, and regarded the people bringing the messages like real life celebrities. Shame. We lived for a good, fiery message that pulled us out of ourselves and threw us into the heart of God, and we still do. These messages are life giving and important, but they aren't what keeps our worlds in orbit anymore. Jesus does.</div>
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Over time something has happened at our house. The person we considered our mentor (our former Pastor) became human (he always was) and had personal problems in his life to overcome. And things shifted. He moved away. We were sad, but we pressed on, still staying as amped up about church as ever, granted a little broken-hearted, but still focused. Still church meeting go-getters! And then life happened. Babies came, and then more babies came, and over time church changed for us. Church became real life. Church was in everything - diapers, sleep deprivation, bleeding hearts over the miracle of our children, sharing food with others - just ordinary real life stuff. Jesus was everywhere, and so He still is. We just simply changed. Josh stopped leading worship for a paycheck and started leading only if he felt like the Lord wanted him to do it. We prayed about everything. Where to go to church. When to go to church. Was church benefitting our entire family? IF we should go to church. IF we should continue to teach kid's church. And then, everything about being at church stopped. And I'm not sure exactly when it stopped. I only know that church still meets on Sundays and we aren't there. And it turns out, we aren't the only ones.</div>
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According to a recent message by Jen Hatmaker, </div>
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* 3 out of 10 people in their 30's go to church in a 6-month period.</div>
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* 4 out of 10 people in their 40's go to church.</div>
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* 5 out of 10 people in their 50's go to church.</div>
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And the numbers for people in their 20's are so dismal that there aren't any good stats to quantify it.</div>
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She also talked about how 90% of church growth is either biological, meaning new births, or transfer growth (people going from one church to another). </div>
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And then she struck a chord with me, and pointed out something that bothered me on a subconscious level, that came shooting to the surface when she said it. What about the world? Why is it an "us" and "them" paradigm? Why do we spend so much time blessing the blessed and ministering to the saved? What about the rest of the world? What about winning new believers? Where are they? She talked about how churches often respond to this problem by upping their game, adding cool coffee shops, more home groups, better phrasing, etc. -- new tactics all focused on getting people to the church campus. The idea being that if we can get them to church, we can win them. There's a lot of focus on the church building and her offerings, and seemingly very little focus on winning people to Jesus. It resonated with me. It made me sad because it's true. So true. But, guess what? Hope is not lost! It's not too late change things. Relationships with non-believers in whatever space they're in, without judging or preaching? Just loving? Making time to be in the world, to love the world? Yes.</div>
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You'll have to pop over to http://m.soundcloud.com/bud-harlan/living-a-better-story-jen to hear her entire message. It's worth it.</div>
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For us, not being in church has meant changing the way we meet with Jesus. We haven't stopped meeting, we only meet with Him in different ways now, at different times, still very much a part of the church of God. We've just backed away from Sunday mornings and the unending church commitments and duties that we used to be tied to, almost to the point of suffocation. For some people Sunday mornings are essential, and for those people I say, yes! Be where you fit. Definitely. For the record, I am Pro-Church. It's just different for us. Was it the message being brought in the church that turned us off? Sure, occasionally. But honestly I can't definitively put my finger on any one thing in particular except that I think that we (the church) have gotten way off-track from the original intent of coming together for a singleminded purpose, and for whatever reason, it's just not working for us in the traditional sense anymore, and that's the case for a lot of others as well. Much of church has become white noise to the world, which has led to "us" and "them" teams, and it makes my stomach turn. We all collectively come from one place. There is but one Creator and He loves every one of us equally, without question.</div>
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So, to answer my daughter who says, "We need to go to church Mom," I say: We do go to church. Everyday. It doesn't just have to be on Sundays under the umbrella of a certain church name. But, and this is a big BUT(!) -- we can only say that we go to church (or, rather that we are the church) if we keep doing the stuff Jesus encouraged us to do (which we have some time for now that we aren't volunteering for every program under the sun), and those things are this -- </div>
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Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;</div>
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lighten the burden of those who work for you.</div>
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Let the oppressed go free,</div>
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and remove the chains that bind people.</div>
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Share your food with the hungry,</div>
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and give shelter to the homeless.</div>
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Give clothes to those who need them,</div>
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and do not hide from relatives who need your help.</div>
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“Then your salvation will come like the dawn,</div>
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and your wounds will quickly heal.</div>
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Your godliness will lead you forward,</div>
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and the glory of the LORD will protect you from behind.</div>
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I'll end with this. Just the other day I posted about a little boy, Matthew Robert Pierce, battling cancer on my Facebook page and asked my praying friends to pray for his healing. (This boy is precious! Please pray.) My step-sister Melissa posted a comment that almost made me cry. She wrote, "You know I'm not really the praying type, but this sweet boy has inspired me to try to learn how. I've spent countless days talking to car ceilings, shower walls, and awkwardly clasped hands asking for Matthew's miracle."</div>
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This, friends, is church. A sweet helpless boy fighting for his life has captured the hearts of thousands of people who, not knowing what else to do, are trying to touch the heart of God in order to save his sweet little life. I bet Matthew wins more people to Jesus than any church program ever will. The Bible says, a child shall lead them. And also, love hopes all things. It really is time to love everyone. No more "us" and "them." Only "us."</div>
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I love this quote-- </div>
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"Have you noticed how much praying for revival has been going on of late – and how little revival has resulted? I believe the problem is that we have been trying to substitute praying for obeying, and it simply will not work." (A.W. Tozer)</div>
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And finally, we are open to getting back to the business of Sundays in the future. This is just where we are currently. Our focus at the moment is to keep on keepin' on, find an Awanas type kids church setting for our girls, and get going on a new Bible Study with our friends. One with a structure like this: Meet every Tuesday (1st and 2nd Tuesday - Bible Study; 3rd Tuesday - Bible Study group serves community in some way as a group; 4th Tuesday - everyone stays home to do something to serve your own neighborhood). </div>
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Please know that the goal is to know the Savior. Period. This blog is just a snapshot in time for us. Please, please, be where you fit. Do what you can. And definitely be love to the world. That's all for now.</div>
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Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-81441182818952529132012-12-20T18:00:00.000-08:002012-12-20T19:18:22.904-08:00Looky, look, look, look<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.09375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">The other night at dinner we were playing a game where everyone took turns thinking of a word that relates to Christmas, as we worked our way through the alphabet. When we play games at dinner time we do so in a very quiet, orderly manner, and almost no one screams, shouts, or talks over one another. Ever. We're so proper. Stop in some time and you'll see...that I'm a total liar. It's usually out-of-hand, but always so fun! We love it. We're making memories here, folks.</span><br />
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When we arrived at "Z" I said, in a very mature, set-a-good-example, definitely not a 5-year-old tone, "Z is for zero...as in the number of presents I have under the tree. Ohhhh!!! Or, Z, is for Zilch." Josh and I caught eyes and simultaneously started manufacturing new jokes spun off of my Z words, all while poor Avery held her cute little head in her hands, pounding the table, racking her brain, giving anything to call forth the perfect Z Christmas word. (We aren't competitive at all.) Avery failed. I took a cheap shot. </div>
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Zero and Zilch were honestly the only Z words I could think of, other than zebra of course, but I was hard pressed to connect zebras to Christmas, so Zero and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Zilch won. Josh and I laughed because we both know the reality of our financial state at the moment, and it's honestly okay. I'd be death-bed sick if I knew there were loads of presents under the tree with my name on them that belonged to VISA. I like the alternative. It helps me sleep at night. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Bear with me, I have a point. </span></div>
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Last night I was at a worship gathering when the two singers started singing about it being Jesus' birthday. And I lost it. I started bawling. I can't quote the words of the song. I only know that the tears came when they began singing about Mary carrying a child and bringing Him into the world in conditions suitable for animals. A King born in a manger. It could be that my Mama heart broke for Mary and Jesus, and led me to uncontrollable weeping. Or, it could've been that wells and wells of gratitude and awe burst and broke, followed by fountains of snot. Or, it could be that I could somehow relate, (not in the birthing our Lord and Savior sort of way, but maybe in the misinterpreted sense). Maybe it was the culmination of a thousand things. </div>
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At that moment I felt reminded that appearances are deceiving, sneaky and secret, (ordered by God)...and really, truly, actually awesome. What looks like poverty and hard times at our house is really just the opposite. We are building. Tirelessly (and tired-ly) pushing for a dream. Too stubborn to quit. And it's exciting!</div>
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Calling Joseph and Mary a poor, irrelevant couple, unworthy of a clean bed was actually one of the biggest misconceptions ever made. Mary brought forth the light of the world, but most everyone misunderstood the especially bright star in the sky that night, or why on earth wise men and kings would come to worship a baby lying in a manger. </div>
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But God knew better. He knew how history would unfold. He allowed His very essence to have the most humble, dirty, unappealing (lacking every kind of bell or whistle) entrance to the world. HE PLANNED THAT. HE DID THAT. He wasn't worried. Jesus' destiny wasn't in jeopardy. Sneaky right? </div>
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See, I've understood that our present circumstances and appearances aren't the end of the story, and last night I felt especially encouraged that something is brewing. I was past the point of being okay with the big Z words, I was actually thankful, energized and excited. And I cried the ugly, wipe my nose on my scarf cry, happy as a squirrel in an oak tree. (Is that a common analogy? Squirrel in an oak tree? I made it up. Be free to use it. Or not.)</div>
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I'll close with this, appearances are a bummer if you lay it all on the line every day for everyone to see. Where's the magic in that? Where's the testimony? How great is the prize if it's not desperately fought for, or extravagantly paid for, in one way or another? What kind of impression will remain? These questions streamed down my swollen tear stained face as I sat there feeling like the Lord just let me in on a big secret: Appearances are misleading. Deceiving. God works behind the scenes, and below the radar. I suggest saving judgements for later. And maybe even scrapping them all together. Let's do this. Let's plow the field in front of us. Let us not grow weary, for surely this is just the beginning of the beginning, or maybe even the middle, but definitely not the end. Let's be the best darn delivery truck drivers, bankers, post office workers, drum builders and stay at home Mom-ers we can be. Let's trust that if we fight the good fight, with clean hands and pure hearts that we will arrive on the other side, victorious. It's possible. It's certain. It's sneaky. Let's do what our Mom's always told us to do, and not judge a book by its cover. Remember that vision gives pain a purpose (thanks Kris Vallotton), and anything of lasting value isn't built over night. And most importantly, remember that God's too cool, too sneaky, and way too wise to wear His plans on His sleeves. If we stick with Him He's gonna make it count. It's His style. It's His plan. He orders the hard stuff. All we have to do is hang on.</div>
</span>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-47354135006313563812012-12-11T18:17:00.000-08:002012-12-17T10:57:31.994-08:00Christmas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.09375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">Christmas has been tricky for us. Especially since my husband and I grew up with different traditions. Me, Santa. Him, baby Jesus. It's a hard season to navigate. My kids adore Christmas, and I love it too. I always have. This year, however, has been exceptionally awkward, more so than in years past.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.09375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.09375); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">Common question when you're a Christian: "Do you guys do Santa?" My answer, "Sort of." (Read: cop-out.) And then, "Santa only gets credit for stockings. I'm not giving him the glory for the American Girl dolls under the tree. Haha!" (Sigh.) Not even I'm convinced. And then I want to explain, but I'm not sure how to start so we usually just sort of grin and talk about the weather or some less confusing topic. And I walk away half pondering the question that I've been asked a thousand times, (Do we do Santa -- big fat question mark???), but I'm too busy with life to try to untangle the mess in my brain concerning the jolly ol' big guy so I carry on.</span></div>
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But, here's the deal friends - I'm getting off the boat. I just can't do it anymore. I can't skate through Christmas sort of doing something, totally unclear on why, but only because I haven't taken the time to come to a happy answer that would sit well with all of my Trask's, age 34, right down to 10 mos. I owe it to my kids to be more clear, to be more precise in my (in our) belief that the big guy in the red suit isn't better, or more appealing, (or more worthy of our adoration) than a baby in a manger who foresaw his barbaric violent death, thanks to our sin, and still said, yes. It's a hard sell to little ones, especially when the subject matter is so heavy, but I know we can do better, so we will work toward that end. Merry Christmas! Joy! Joy! :) I won't be mad if you stop reading.</div>
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I know there are a lot of ways to address this, and certainly every Christian in America varies to some degree on what's acceptable for their home and what's not, so please read this as a, "this is me, and not you" commentary, and please, for the love, don't think I will judge you for doing things differently than we do. Please don't do that. That sort of reaction makes me want to vomit. Okay? Please? I'm not saying we are right. I just can't shake the sickness in my own gut over what Christmas has become so this is my honest response.</div>
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So, last night as I'm washing dishes I blurted out, "We aren't doing Santa this year." </div>
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My 7 and 8 year old in unison, "Whaaaat?!! Why?" </div>
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(2-year-old and 10-month old couldn't care less.)</div>
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"Because he's not even real." (Slow down, Jenny Trask. Take it easy.) "Do you know who the real Santa was?" </div>
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"Yes," they reply. (Josh told them that story a few years back.) They continue, "Santa's name was, St. Nicholas. He went around giving gifts to people."</div>
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"Right. So, there's a real Santa -- St. Nicholas -- and a fake Santa. It's fun pretending, but it's not why we celebrate Christmas."</div>
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"We know."</div>
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Indignation is rising. I know better than to continue, and anyway, busyness interrupts so that's the end of the conversation for now.</div>
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Here's the thing - I love tradition. I like regularity (kids do too). And I love the magical feeling that December brings, but it's all become a big tangly mess in my mind. I also really like doing fun things to make memories for our family to hold onto, and Christmastime is ripe with tradition, memory-making potential so it's fun trying to find traditions we love and ones we can carry on. This year we are scheduled to visit different countries (from home) to see how they celebrate Christmas. It's been fun so far, but guess what? Almost every country has some form of Santa Claus as part of their traditions. Religion too. But mostly some sneaky guy, creepy elf or freaky witch that comes in at night to leave something. This discovery has only stirred the pot of grossness in my guts. My fix? I boil it down to a few fun basic facts about a particular country's traditions, mostly historical, we eat fun food, and that's that. And then I realized that this is the same thing we've done in our own house. Focus on the cute parts, touch on history, eat, be merry and give gifts. I think we'll stay in America next year. Don't get me wrong, we do lots of things that celebrate Jesus, but then we throw Santa in the mix and with him comes a mess...especially since we have no chimney. :-)</div>
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This past weekend we visited Old Salem in NC, and learned how the Moravians celebrated Christmas. It was really interesting and fun. The Moravians had simple Christmas traditions, mostly because they had no money, but also because they believed in focusing on Jesus at Christmastime. Elaborate nativity scenes were found in most every home and they were used to remind children, and everyone, that Christmas is truly a time of remembering Jesus. They also have a tradition of coming together to worship Jesus by singing over candlelight - their Christmas vigil. The tradition began with children being given a burning candle made of beeswax which represents the purity of Jesus, and also symbolizes Him being the light of the world. The candle was wrapped with a colored band to help them remember Christ's birth, passion and wounds. As special as this history is, it felt significantly dumbed down by the town of Old Salem for the sake of commercialism and appealing to the masses. What has happened?</div>
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Christmas is losing it's magic. It's nostalgia is fading. I can't keep up and I feel like I'm suffocating. I need relief. We need Jesus.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Here's where we are headed -- </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Christmas tree - yes. I'm not getting into history here. We like the Christmas tree. It smells good. We do not worship it. It's not a paradise tree (garden of Eden reference) and when we look at it we don't think of it as being a source of redemption (Jesus hanging on a tree). We just like it. It's adorned with memories and warmth and it's not leaving.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Gifts & spending - Americans overindulge. Enough said. We're implementing this for our kids -- something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read, and something to give (all categories with a spending cap, of course), inspired by Jen Hatmaker. I'd also like to think more about giving experiences as opposed to cheap tee shirts or Black Friday Barbie dolls. (Ie. My kids will remember our trip to Old Salem better than they will remember almost every gift they will receive this year. Long after Barbie is headless, the memory of our trip to the Great Wolf Lodge will remain.) There's nothing like Christmas morning with kids. Nothing on earth. Our kids are extra blessed on Christmas morning only because we live across the country from our extended family so they have gifts from several families to open come <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors="true">December 25th.</a> This is special, and we are so so so grateful, but they are not spoiled by us on Christmas. Finances won't allow it, and even if they did, I'm not sure Josh and I would allow it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">We will also continue to make gifts for teachers, friends and family when and where we can. This is fun, and oftentimes the end result is super awesome and usually something you might pay a good amount of money for, so it's a win-win.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Santa - Sorry, buddy. We will watch Polar Express and Elf because they're like any other good kids' movie -- pretend and sweet. We will also encourage our kids to hush about Santa being a big fat faker when they're at school. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Pictures with Santa, fine. If we happen to encounter a friendly one who doesn't give me the heebie-jeebies or make our kids scream, and they want to get in on that hype, whatevs.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Mailing wish lists to Santa. Nah. It's just a set up to be let down, unless you're Donald Trump, and can (and will) buy everything on your sweet child's list. Note: Even if we could, we won't. This is the real world.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">You can't have it all just for being the cutest kid on the planet. Real life doesn't work that way. Character doesn't come that way. Buying love like that is dangerous.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">No more milk and cookies for Santa. Maybe we can make a special treat to leave for Daddy as a gift on Christmas Eve instead, to say thanks for providing for us all year? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Stocking credit will now belong to us, or we might adopt my sister Andrea's idea and make them "sibling stockings," filled by each other, for each other. I like that idea a lot! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Nativity scene - yes. We have a lovely one handmade by Josh's dad. It's precious.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Other traditions - </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will continue to read, The First Miracle by Jeffrey Archer on Christmas Eve Eve (we have plans with friends on Christmas Eve). </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will continue to pray on Christmas morning to thank Jesus for being born before a single gift is opened.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will write poems called, "Jesus, Because of You..." each year. No rules here. You can list words. Write sentences. Or be a rhyming machine. It will be fun to look back at our answers as the years pass by and the babies get bigger.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will read the Bible story of Christmas.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will attend Christmas functions.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will give to someone we don't know, in secret.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will bake and share our treats. We will craft. We will be merry.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will always love school craft Christmas presents made by our babies more than anything.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* We will probably only buy small, meaningful gifts for our extended family -- parents, nieces & nephews, and have a spending cap on our own kids' gifts.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">* Josh and I rarely exchange gifts. This makes birthdays more special, and we can buy socks any old time of year. Seriously. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Bottom line: We will simplify. We will remember Jesus. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Kids are a bottomless pit of questions. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0898438); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Why do we get a Christmas tree at Christmas? Who were the first people to have Christmas trees? Do reindeer really fly? Jesus knew me before I was born? </span></div>
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This blog is my conscious attempt at having some answers - having some black and whites where there've only been gray's. </div>
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So, now when the question is asked, "Do you do Santa?" the answer will be, yes. We most definitely do. We try to give to the poor and sick in secret, just like he did. We try to protect the ones who are in danger of being abused, just like he did. We give without wanting. Just like St. Nicholas did, and just like Jesus wants us to do. </div>
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Oh, you mean, do we try to get our kids to behave in December so that Santa will come? Go into huge amounts of debt so that Santa will be lifted up and glorified? No. Definitely not. If I can't get my kids to behave between my husband, Jesus and I, there's no way I'm handing the reigns over to some strange fat guy to do the job for me. No.way. Plus, I figure they'll end up in counseling eventually for being let down year after year, and never getting that one thing they asked Santa for, so we're really doing them a favor. </div>
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We will make Christmas sparkle once again. It will be magical, and meaningful and special and joyful. It will. It will. I can feel it.</div>
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I believed in Santa when I was little. I don't think he ever disappointed me, but then again, fairy tales never disappoint, do they? Life does, however, but the disappointments are always trumped by the man I know as my King. He's the reason for the season. He's the encounter that matters to these kids He's put Josh and I in charge of. He gets Christmas. Period.</div>
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</span>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-71540657151489589822012-07-10T19:52:00.000-07:002012-07-10T19:52:53.588-07:00Be One On Whom Nothing Is LostBe One On Whom Nothing Is Lost<br />
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It's one of those nostalgic phrases that I had to repeat to myself over and over again in order to fully appreciate it's weight. The more I said it, the more movement it created. The movement caused a dusty portion of my brain (overrun by cheap media and an illegitimate language) to perk up. Neurons fired, lethargy left, and revelation came. Hallelujah! My name is Jenny Trask and words win me. And Henry won me again with his smart words a few days ago. <br />
<br />Here's what happened.<br />
<br />I found myself pouring over my latest issue of UC Davis's alumni magazine when I read a familiar quote by Henry James, "Be One On Whom Nothing Is Lost." (I like to capitalize every word of this phrase to emphasize each word, and to sort of slow down the pace at which it's read, mostly for me, but perhaps it's helpful for you as well. It's not grammatically adequate, but to make my point, I have chosen to write it this way.)<br />
<br />At first I was swept away by the existential ring of the phrase, "Be One On Whom Nothing Is Lost." It encouraged me again to open wide my eyes and ears in order to behold everything and miss nothing. Something I instinctively like to do anyway. It gave me permission to daydream. To observe my surroundings and then linger there for as long as I'd like. To perhaps open my windows to listen (and experience) the contradiction between the whimsical sounds of the forest and the frenzied chaotic musings of my home where little ones fill every square inch with their sounds. To breathe in the moment and savor every morsel of deliciousness afforded to me by God. To truly celebrate my life. I tucked Mr. James's words away in my heart and carried on, thankful that they've come to me again, reminding me yet again to be myself. To celebrate my journey. To pull back from the knit-picky hum-drum workings of life and to zero in on what pulls on the deepest part of my heart: the beauty of life. The details of my life, others lives, the mechanics of life in general, be they pretty and peaceful, or dark and disheartening. His words were a pat on the back. A wink and a nod of encouragement to pursue experiencing life, and to write about it because I've earned the right to do so through experience. I've earned the right. That's a big deal. I've lived something and get to process it, or I've witnessed something and get to re-tell it, be it celebratory or mournful. This is a privilege. This is life-giving. This is a gift.<br />
<br />But, then today happened, and with it, new meaning to this timeless phrase. I found myself feeling, for lack of a better word, indignant about something, and noticed that more than anything I'd like to use my words to express my disdain and general dissatisfaction with someone, but I knew that it would be wrong to do so, and I was unhappy at the wrongness of using my words. So, in true Jenny Trask fashion I took it out on my bathrooms. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and while doing so I engaged in a mid-paragraph debate with Jesus. It's what I do. No formalities, just mid-sentence/mid-paragraph business. He gets me. We talk. I was carrying on and on, maybe arguing just a little, when He stopped me. And this phrase found me again, "Be One On Whom Nothing Is Lost," only this time without any kind of whimsy attached to it. It came polished and clean, and cold, just like the concrete floor I was standing on. It stung for a minute, but then came relief.<br />
<br />"Be One On Whom Nothing Is Lost." Again, "Be One On Whom Nothing Is Lost." I paused. I understood that even when I am mistreated I must remain one on whom nothing is lost. I must hand my hurt over to my King and grow from the pain set before me. Humility is the high road, and sometimes silence is supreme. In this case it was, and I knew it. Justice comes from God. The gain I received from dying on the inside today was more valuable than what I would've received by misusing my words, and tearing someone else down. I might have lost this battle had I acted the way I wanted so strongly to act, but Jesus and Henry James reminded me that it is more courageous to be one on whom nothing is lost, rather than to lose through flippant disregard for right and wrong. I will savor the good and bad, easy and difficult, and every degree in between. I will do my best to be one on whom nothing is lost, and I pray I can teach my children to do the same.<br />Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-42441346162082905792012-06-24T09:51:00.001-07:002012-06-24T16:32:38.816-07:0010 Years StrongHe cornered me in our closet yesterday, forced a hug on me, and said, "I'm sorry you're still waiting." I knew exactly what he meant. I sank into his embrace and savored the moment as I pondered the weight of his words. And then someone needed something, or squeezed herself into the middle of our hug, (I can't remember which), and that was that. A quick little meeting of our hearts, and then it was time to get busy.<br />
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Building a new business isn't for the faint of heart. Let's start there. It's difficult. It's fighting past rejection, shrugging off discouragement, smiling through doubt, and pressing on when you're wore slap out. <i>(Is that how the saying goes?) </i>Anyway, we are no strangers to all of the above. We are in our early 30's, 4 kids, a 3/4 finished house, and we are starting a new branch of our existing business. Hello full-time life! Our new branch is called, The BoxKit. He is our inanimate son, made of wood, invented by Josh. And quite like Josh, The BoxKit believes in going forth and multiplying, and alas, we have a whole line of BoxKits. Daddy, Junior, & Mini, (although we never call the The BoxKit, <i>Daddy</i>, to his face. He prefers, The BoxKit. I have a thing for nicknames. We make it work.) They are a family of 3, but not without frills. They have accessories. They are the start of something, and they aren't afraid. Who could blame them, really? What with Josh building them and all. His hands have a way of keeping fear at bay. They're strong, steady, building kind of hands. Safe hands.<br />
<br />
Anyway, we had big plans for our 10-year anniversary. Nothing concrete, really, only pipe dreams. But we had every intention of being long-gone, sleeping in a hammock built for 2, on some remote island somewhere, listening to Pandora play the story of our lives via Brad Paisley come June 22, 2012. And then life happened. Claire happened. And then her sister, Avery happened. And a few years after that, Avery became a big sister to Josh's mini-me, Noelle, and then Jesus said he had one more for us, so then Joel happened. And our Trask party of 2, became the Trask circus of 6 just like that. We are a happening family!<br />
<br />
So this year's big shebang of an anniversary celebration never happened. Well, not in the tropical sense anyway. We've never had (4) kids and this much going on in our lives, ever. June 22nd came fast, and that secret pile of vacation money vanished somehow, much to my dismay.<br />
<br />
Our sweet day started like most others, only we woke up more tired than usual thanks to #3. Noelle decided to celebrate the longest day of the year (June 21 - the first day of summer) with a pretty raging party into the wee hours of the morning, which for the most part is quite uncharacteristic of her, but she's a Trask, so, Go Big or Go Home. She went Big. At Home. Her daddy and I considered making a run for it, but we were too tired to try (wink, wink). Instead we situated her between us in our bed where she quickly proceeded to study us, poke, prod, elbow, pat and quietly aggravate us for a steady 2 hours. We had no choice but to evict her from the premises, and escort her back to her own bed. She cried. I hated it for her. I hated it for us.<br />
<br />
The morning of, no big deal. A groggy, Happy Anniversary, and we were up and at 'em. Business as usual. We considered skipping out on celebrating at all on the actual day of our anniversary because for the life of us we couldn't make it work. We were unprepared on all fronts. Even Google found me wanting. Speaking of, Google should be ashamed for coming up short on such an important date. 100's of inquiries prior to the big day, and nothing. (Okay, it wasn't Google's fault, but I need something to blame, so, tough luck Google.) And then 10am showed up, looking sneaky, sort of taunting me, daring me to try again, insisting that I reconcile with Google and repent for my pitiful disposition. I caved. I grabbed the iPad, said sorry to Google and made things happen. I quickly formed a plan, okay'd it with Josh, found somewhere for the big girls to be, hired someone to look after #3, loaded up #4 to serve as chaperone, and we were off. It was an "it takes a village to raise a child" kind of day, but the village came together and we had ourselves a little date...with our 5 month old.<br />
<br />
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<br />
A fun walk through historic Old Salem, touring buildings from the 18th century, Krispy Kreme donuts, and Chipotle, and that's how we celebrated our big 1-0. The craziest thing we did - we ate donuts before dinner.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing. Josh was wrong. I'm not still waiting. I'm living. I'm building a life for all time with my very best friend. He builds houses and drums, and together we build character in smaller versions of ourselves. Not only that, but we're building a marriage marked with perseverance, strong love and commitment. We live a life that's currently saturated with deep, thought-provoking talks with 7 & 8 year olds, poopy diapers, sippy cups of milk, microwaved lunches, lots of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, and occasionally cereal for dinner. This is where we are. I can't tell you what's trending on yahoo at the moment, or who the Hollywood "it" couple is, and quite frankly I find it excruciating to discuss politics because I honestly have very little knowledge of what's really going on in the world. Don't get me started on fashion either. I.have.no.idea. BUT, I can tell you who got writing awards on PTO night, who's little feet are click-clacking in high heels too big for her as she makes her way down the hallway, and who's doing what at any moment, anywhere in our house. I know without much investigating who instigated the fight, who's telling the truth, who's stressed out, who pooped, and who needs some attention. I can also tell you who hung the moon, settles my heart and sends me swooning at the very sight of him. My Trask's are all I know at the moment. They captivate me and preoccupy me. The tropics can wait for me. I'm not waiting for them. They will come when I'm good and ready to go, and probably not a second sooner. I will go. With my husband. And we will sleep in a hammock without a care in the world. It will happen.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I will savor long talks with my husband at lunch, movies at bedtime, making fun of our kids behind their backs, and brainstorming about our future. To quote Nacho Libre, "My life is good...reeaaally good."
Happy Anniversary to the best, most loving, hardest working, most affectionate daddy and husband in the world. He's everything that's anything to me. He's an inventor with an adventurers spirit. His perseverance is awe-inspiring. He's carried our family on his shoulders for 10 years. My dad once said about Josh, "He's strong for a little sucker." (<i>They were moving a heavy couch at the time.</i>) And I agree.<br />
<br />
We will arrive. We have arrived. We are arriving. There's no waiting. Only new days to celebrate new things. And old things. And everything in between things. Ten's a big deal for sure, but it's not as much about standing still to mark a day with an island getaway as it is about being sure that this day will come again and again for the rest of our lives, punctuated with lots of tropical vacations scattered everywhere along the way. June 22nd is only special because it reminds us where we've been and where we're headed, and what we've promised. Here's to the rest of my life with Josh Trask. Cheers!Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-69700307595888654432012-05-22T10:55:00.000-07:002012-05-22T11:10:55.339-07:002012 Summer Bucket ListHere we go...<br />
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<br />
The list...in case the pictures aren't easy on your eyes. :-)<br />
<br />
* Build & paint birdhouses<br />* Lake<br />* Get donuts in our pj's<br />* Write & mail a random letter of encouragement<br />* Ice cream for dinner<br />* Picnic at the park<br />* Laminated art placemats<br />* Yard sale<br />* Claire lead church<br />* Avery lead church<br />* Kool-Aid & ice cube painting<br />* Layered salt artwork<br />* Spa day<br />* Ding-dong-ditch & leave prizes<br />* Tree leaf discovery: collect leaves, use Internet to identify them, draw leaves & write about each one.<br />* Take care of our garden<br />* Learn all books of the Bible through a memory song.<br />* How I would spend $100- report: Use Internet to price items.<br />* Fireworks<br />* Write a new song on the guitar or piano<br />* Claire start a blog<br />* Avery start a blog<br />* Tie dye shirts<br />* Play dates<br />* Neighborhood carnival<br />* Pajama/movie day<br />* Book-It reading log. $0.10 per book read<br />* Alphabet tour with camera. Develop pictures. Make a book.<br />* 2-liter bottle tree painting <br />* Go fishing<br />* Scavenger hunt<br />* Library with friends<br />* Milk carton boats to float at lake<br />* Nature walk with camera. Develop pictures. Make book.<br />* Create kids cookbook<br />* Visit Blowing Rock<br />* Sewing project<br />* Visit Discovery Museum<br />* Melt & create with crayons<br />* Pick berries, make jam<br />* Trampoline sleepover<br />* Travel around the world with food day<br />* Blow up diet coke with mentos<br />* Art lesson<br />* Cattle sale<br />* Building project at Lowes<br />* Mini golf<br />* Christmas in July party<br />Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-27181457542074433782012-05-21T13:59:00.001-07:002012-05-21T16:10:01.324-07:00Feet First<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is the story of shoes...<br />
<br />
I
recently read a book called, 7, by Jen Hatmaker. In the book the author recounts a
conversation she had with a homeless man who told her what the homeless
need most, outside of food (of course), is shoes. He said that they're on
their feet all day long, and therefore, many of them have ruined feet,
aching backs, and burning legs. <i>You mean to tell me my $5- value meal
from McDonald's isn't what they really like/want/need? </i>Shameful, shallow heartbreak. (sigh.)<br />
<br />
And so begins this shoe story. A story that wrote itself, through other people.<br />
<br />
A short time after finishing 7, my stepdad sat on my couch and told me how his mom was poor and didn't have
money for her kids' shoes. He told me how he had one pair of shoes -- his
band shoes. He wore them everyday, for all occasions, not just for
band. The first day he wore them to school someone caught one of his
shoes with theirs and accidentally ripped his shoe. He said, "I was over there in the corner trying to sew up my
shoe." Imagining a younger version of my stepdad sewing his shoe
nearly broke me down, but he was smiling, so I refrained. He described
the shoes. They were black, and pointy at the toes. I squinted trying to
picture them. I grinned, trying to hold it together. And then he told
me about the time his sister went to school barefoot. He said, "Man. I
felt so bad for her. She was over there on the bus trying to hide her
feet because she was so embarrassed." And then he laughs, "She came home
with 3 new pairs of shoes that day."<br />
<br />
And then
there was the time my daughter came home and announced that it was a
classmate's birthday tomorrow, and we needed to buy her a present. <br />
<br />
"Okay. Well, I'm going to Walmart tonight. What's she into? Do you think she'd like a Barbie or something?"<br />
<br />
"Well...ummm...maybe shoes? Her shoes are really tore up."<i> (Stop-what-I'm-doing-pause.)</i><br />
<br />
Trying to wrap my mind around her proposition I say, "We can't do shoes. I don't know her size." <br />
<br />
"She probably wears my size." <i>(My heart sinks lower.)</i><br />
<br />
"But, we don't know for sure, so we can't do that."<i> (I feel terrible.)</i><br />
<br />
"Maybe a warm coat?" <i>(You are killing me, kid!)</i><br />
<br />
"Umm, well, we don't have a lot of extra money. How about a warm hat and gloves? And maybe some candy?"<br />
<br />
"Welllll, okay. Yeah. That, or a Nintendo DSI." <i>(Oh, okay, right, let's do that. That's only $300 smack-er-roos. No prob.)</i><br />
<br />
So,
the next day my daughter brought her the small gift, and a snack for
her to eat during snack time. (This child rarely brought snack for snack
time. Maybe she just forgot, or maybe she didn't have something to
bring. Either way, a bag of chips couldn't hurt. I heard she loved the
gift, and enjoyed the snack. It turns out she forgot hers that day.)<br />
<br />
From this same daughter I've heard, "So-and-so needs shoes. He always wears the same ones, and they're all ripped up."<br />
<br />
<i>(Jesus? Is that You?)</i><br />
<br />
Before I knew it, I found myself engaged in a conversation with the counselor at my daughters' elementary school. I found out that there were 29 kids at the school who could use some extra help. During our conversation the counselor mentioned shoes. <i> (Hello again.)</i> She said many of the children will have outgrown their shoes come year-end, and if they haven't already outgrown them, then they will have worn them out for sure. <i> </i> <br />
<br />
So, my friend
Sarah Webster and I teamed up, and asked around for $20.00 donations for 29 pairs of shoes. Between
us asking, and generous hearts responding, we raised $732- in a matter
of 2 weeks. Friends asked friends. Family from across the country sent
money. A generous church across the street from the school jumped in. A
miracle unfolded. Feet were measured at school, and shoes
were in sight. The original plan was to shop at Walmart where you can
easily get a pair of tennis shoes for $20.00. But God isn't going out like
that. He's way too cool. So, Jesus's friend, James Cook came alongside
us and contributed big time. We found 17 pairs of the shoes on our list at his amazing store, <a href="http://www.cookssports.com/">Cook's </a>in North Wilkesboro. (Shop
there if you can.) We found the highest quality, coolest looking shoes there. I'm talking, Vans, Nike, Puma, and other awesome name brands
I'm not cool enough to know. We were shopping in the clearance section,
digging through boxes and boxes of shoes that would originally sell for $60.00. Our
budget was $19.99/pair. There were only a few shoes marked down to
$19.99. The rest were in the $39.99 range. We were nervous, but the good folks at Cook's encouraged us to keep shopping...so we did. A stack of 17 shoe boxes later and we were ready to checkout. We don't even know how deep the
discount went, but it was bigger than big. Every single pair was marked
down to $19.99. Generosity to the max. Sarah
and I couldn't get over how different the shoes were, and how each kid
was probably going to receive the exact shoes they'd pick for themselves
if they could've been there to shop. That's just how the miraculous
works. It's like magic, only better. And to watch it all happen is
awe-inspiring. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Naomi next to the shoe boxes. She's Sarah's super cute daughter, and our super shopper helper!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We loaded them up and headed out.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BIG THANKS TO COOK'S!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We left Cooks and headed across town to
Burlington Shoes. No discounts there, but no problem. God makes the
impossible, possible. Wouldn't you know that the 11 pairs of shoes we
found there averaged out to be about $19.99/pair. Some shoes were
$26.99, and some were $16.99. Most were $19.99. It just worked out. World Industries, Sketchers, Converse...the coolest shoes. Score.<br />
<br />
One more
pair across the street at Shoe Show, for just the right price, and we
were done. I'm not sure you could measure the joy in our hearts, but if I had to guess I'd say it was
somewhere in the out-of-our-minds register.<br />
<br />
But there's more, we
had change - a cool $120.00. We hit Walmart!<br />
<br />
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<br />
29 boxes of peanut butter
bars. 29 boxes of cheese crackers. 29 boxes of crayons. 29 bars of soap.
29 million thanks and shouts of praise in our hearts.<br />
<br />
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Quick stop at
Food Lion for paper bags to bag everything in, and we were done. I'm
pretty sure I floated into my house. I bet Sarah did too. It felt like
we just got to witness Jesus feed 5,000 people with one small boy's
lunch, for real!</div>
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<br />
We delivered the shoes on a Monday morning
first thing. No big deal, except for the man who asked us what we were
doing. Sarah explained. The man told us how when he was
little he didn't have any good shoes, so he saved and saved and then found his way to a
local thrift store where he bought himself some shoes. He got a great striped pair for
$3.00. He thought they looked pretty cool until he got to school and was teased for wearing bowling shoes. He laughed and told us how he now
owns more shoes than he needs...more than his wife, even. He hated the feeling of being made fun of. I
hated it for him. But I loved the coincidental run-in with him to encourage Sarah and I that shoes really do make a difference.<br />
<br />
Cut
to after school. I'm carried away chatting with Sarah in the car line
about random, unrelated events, when I begin to catch Food Lion bags
swimming through the parking lot. A
quiet thanks to Jesus, and my heart soared. I got to see a few of
the sweet faces for myself.<br />
<br />
One of my daughter's got into the car and told me
that 2 of the Food Lion bags were delivered to her classroom. She said,
"I didn't say a word but I watched the 2 boys open them. One of them
was like, 'Dude! Check out my new shoes. These are awesome! They're
skate shoes.' Now, the other boy, he didn't say a word. He just sat there with the biggest smile on his face." I looked at my daughter in the rear-view mirror. She was beaming, almost bursting. Her joy flooded our car. The best part is that she knew for a fact that we didn't buy those shoes and snacks, etc. for the kids. She knew the whole story, from beginning to end. She got to see God do His work, and she was blessed. We all were.<br />
<br />
Sarah told me she watched a little girl run out of her classroom, shouting, "Mama, Mama. Zappatos!!!"<br />
<br />
And then these notes came yesterday... <br />
<br />
"To
Who It May Concern: We like to thank you for all the gifts you have
gave (girl's name). She loves the shoes a lot and uses all the supplies.
Thank you again and hope you have a great summer."<br />
<br />
"Dear
sponsor, Hi. My name is (boy's name). I would like to write you this
note to tell you thank you for my new shoes and snacks that you provided
for me for my summer break. Everything that you did really helped me
and my family out. Thank you."<br />
<br />
"Thank you for the shoes and the cakes and crackers. We will enjoy them."<br />
<br />
"To Whom It May Concern, Thank you for the shoes, snacks and toys. Our family enjoyed these things from you."<br />
<br />
And then there were 2 other thank you's done in crayon, (probably with the crayons they received).<br />
<br />
"Thank you for the shoes, food and snacks. We greatly appreciate them. Hope you have a good summer." 3rd grader<br />
<br />
"Thank you for the food, shoes, crayons and the snacks. We greatly appreciated it. Hope you have a wonderful summer." 3rd grader<br />
<br />
Sarah and I aren't responsible for this shoe story, Jesus is. He loves the little ones. He loves the big ones. He loves the ones caught in between. And He is faithful to provide.<br />
<br />
Thank you to everyone who gave to this shoe project. You did the work of our King. You reached further than you'll ever know. It turns out jumping in feet first pays off big time when you know who you're jumping in with. Thanks friends. Thanks Jesus. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEMFYnw363oAom9bGRgPvn_U25g90g42kOMdqdoYYYD5twZ6xM_eqxhWQyupimffZiopij8ElHZgIHak9PF07uzBykvZYSQPpZTIJz_RIKmysWUhAD77z3DjAQrRezAvIs9pNfpxMvXtw/s1600/214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEMFYnw363oAom9bGRgPvn_U25g90g42kOMdqdoYYYD5twZ6xM_eqxhWQyupimffZiopij8ElHZgIHak9PF07uzBykvZYSQPpZTIJz_RIKmysWUhAD77z3DjAQrRezAvIs9pNfpxMvXtw/s320/214.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-8263620451206672312012-05-12T18:12:00.002-07:002012-05-12T18:12:28.622-07:00Dear Mom...Happy Mother's Day!A little Mother's Day tribute to my Mama. She's the best! Pretty, witty, beautiful and mine. <br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hard to find<br />
The words to begin<br />
This story of her<br />
I mean...<br />
It goes on without end<br />
I've known her the longest<br />
From then until now<br />
She carried me to term<br />
And look at us now<br />
<br />
She won my first smile<br />
She earned it for sure<br />
She held me close<br />
With her, I'm secure<br />
<br />
Such a powerful love<br />
The world's never known<br />
Than the one that grows<br />
Between a mother and her own<br />
<br />
I may not remember <br />
That one September 5<br />
When my eyes found yours<br />
And my lungs breathed life<br />
<br />
A quick little greeting<br />
A healthy hello<br />
Then off to sleep <br />
In your arms I'd go<br />
<br />
Completely at peace<br />
Not knowing for sure<br />
What life would bring<br />
…No matter, no worries<br />
Of you I was sure<br />
<br />
I knew in my heart<br />
What the years have proved now<br />
That wherever you are<br />
Wherever we'd go<br />
We'd always be safe<br />
Somehow I knew<br />
<br />
You're a force to be reckoned with<br />
A strong, steady lady<br />
Trouble falls at your feet<br />
You make the devil feel fainty<br />
<br />
You've taught me so much<br />
From manners to strength<br />
That love's worth a fight<br />
No matter the length.<br />
Hate is a cuss word,<br />
Never leave in a fight,<br />
Settle your scores,<br />
Put dreams to flight.<br />
<br />
Your no-matter-whats<br />
Made me feel safe<br />
They may have been extreme<br />
But they instilled in me, faith<br />
That no matter what,<br />
And come what may,<br />
You'd always be there<br />
With an, I Love You, to say.<br />
<br />
You have a way with words<br />
And from you I've found mine<br />
You have a knack for writing<br />
Me too, I find <br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for
all <br />
you've instilled in me<br />
My heart started with you<br />
And Jesus, our King<br />
<br />
You're more than my mom<br />
Or my very best friend<br />
You're heroic and precious<br />
And I love you without end<br />
<br />
Wherever you are<br />
My heart is at home<br />
Your love will find me<br />
To remind me,<br />
I'm never alone<br />
<br />
So from now ‘til forever<br />
I will shine just like you<br />
My eyes are your eyes<br />
And my cheeks are yours too.<br />
<br />
I'll end with a thank you<br />
One more time<br />
For all you do<br />
My mama, divine!<br />
<br />
And, also, another<br />
(just for good measure),<br />
I love you for always,<br />
My forever treasure</span></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuLX8uGmQHD6lEIUZyjln8LVBQtkWWuonWH5vlMAYTLHbN5wggsTPvzsAxXhrK3aHJ0bB69Ga-blwmaltQTD2dQomAZYVwULpGgufIrmf4HN0s3km-WUNXo_b1pfzZbwLemqr_9AGN2i1/s1600/Mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuLX8uGmQHD6lEIUZyjln8LVBQtkWWuonWH5vlMAYTLHbN5wggsTPvzsAxXhrK3aHJ0bB69Ga-blwmaltQTD2dQomAZYVwULpGgufIrmf4HN0s3km-WUNXo_b1pfzZbwLemqr_9AGN2i1/s320/Mom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-49023321091207774112012-05-01T11:05:00.002-07:002012-05-01T15:59:46.819-07:00<div aria-label="Message body" class="msg-body inner undoreset" role="main">
<strong>Willie Hardee</strong><br />
<br />
April 22, 2012. My heart was stolen for the
bazillionth time by a one, Willie Hardee. We've never actually met, Willie and
I, so the relationship is very one-sided at this point. I only admired him from
across a dance floor at a wedding. A wedding I wasn't invited to. <br />
<br />
Now,
before you go labeling me, wedding-crasher/husband-cheater, let me explain.
<br />
<br />
My friend, Nicole Roberts hired me last weekend as her, (don't laugh),
umbrella holder. She's a photographer, and in her moment of despair she asked me
if I would come with her to an outdoor wedding she was shooting since it was
scheduled on the same day as a 70% chance of rain. Canon and rain don't mix. I
said, yes. <br />
<br />
My goal for the day was to be the best umbrella holder I
could be. I didn't want Nicole's expensive camera dying a tragic
death-by-drowning on my watch so I watched her like a hawk. I waited for a quick
nod, (or not), and boom, I'd run like an imbecile to cover her and Canon. I'm a
good friend. <br />
<br />
I did other more important, less nerdy tasks during the day, but
for the most part, my mission was to protect the camera and the bride from the
rain. I was kind of secret service about the whole thing. Stealth mode was the
goal. Nerd-city was probably the verdict. Either way, I did my thang. Canon
lived. I rested easy in the knowledge of a job well done. Nicole said, thank
you, and threw around the phrase, life-saver. It was a good day.<br />
<br />
Okay,
back to Willie Hardee. He's the groom's grandpa, and he likes to dance. When I
happened upon him he was owning the dance floor, meaning he was the only one on
it, save one small boy who was probably about 2-1/2 years old if my mommy age
guesser serves me correct. The boy was fascinated with Willie. They danced
together like dancing was their way to maintain life. They weren't intimidated
by onlookers. They could care less if the dance floor was open for dancing or
not. There was music. There was room on the floor. And there was dancing. Willie
outlasted the small boy by far. The boy fell several times during their dance
party, and every time Willie would bend down to help the little guy find his
feet again. You could tell Willie enjoyed his dancing companion. I imagine the
boy liked Willie just as well. He looked like he felt safe. Like he was staring
wisdom in the face and couldn't, wouldn't let go. Like he could see the future
in Willie's eyes and he felt encouraged and hopeful by it. Or was it the other
way around? Either way it was magical and emotional. New life and older life.
New beginnings, and a legacy secure. It was a wonderful contradiction to
witness. Now, it could be that I cried because I was having an, "I miss my
3-month-old little boy" moment, or it could be that tears came because I got to
see two worlds meet and crash, and dance and move, and push and pull life into
and out of each other. It reminded me of Jesus and the people He calls the
greatest in the Kingdom. Pure and childlike is the only way I can describe it.
It was almost too much to take. Being just the umbrella holder, I whipped out my
iPhone to keep this moment forever. At this point I felt very much like a
weirdo-stalker, but I couldn't help myself.<br />
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iPhones aren't the best at taking
dancing pictures.<br />
<br />
Canon had my back. Thanks Canon.</div>
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<div aria-label="Message body" class="msg-body inner undoreset" role="main">
<br />
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This is Nicole, Canon and Willie. See Nicole's face? That's what happens when you talk to Willie. He's hilarious.</div>
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<br />
After the
wedding I got in touch with Willie's daughter, Ginger (mother of the groom), to
sort of repent for falling head over heels for her dad. Well, actually, I knew
I'd want to write about him and I thought it wrong not to ask first. And I'm so
glad I did. I scored the most precious interview. It's recorded. I got to hear
Willie tell me stories as I sat crouched like a cat on my bedroom floor glued to
my iPad that couldn't move because it was charging. I got to hear Willie laugh,
and cry, and sing(!), and speak honestly from his heart. And to make the
interview even more special, I got to hear his daughter ask him the questions I
wrote. One of the best parts is how the interview is punctuated with moments of
quiet laughter between a father and his daughter. I could hear Mrs. Hardee in
the background on occasion too. It was a gift. <br />
<br />
This is Ginger, her
husband, Bobby, and the beautiful bride and groom, Christina and Jonathan.</div>
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<div aria-label="Message body" class="msg-body inner undoreset" role="main">
<br />
And this is the
interview. <br />
(Really awesome photos, courtesy of alivelyphotography, and Nicole Roberts.)<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
*******************************</div>
<br />
<strong>How many children do you have? What's one word/sentence you'd
use to describe each one?</strong> <br />
I have 2. They're both precious. Ginger. She's
phenomenal and sweet. Rick. He's precious too. I just love them
both.<br />
<br />
<strong>What did you do for a living?</strong><br />
I was a brick layer all my
life.<br />
<em>(Fitting when you think about what brick layers do. They lay
foundations and build up. That's Willie, I can tell.)</em><br />
<br />
<strong>How did your career
shape who you are?</strong><br />
It was good to me. I always had a job. I never drew a
day's unemployment. God always kept me busy. And then I went into business for
myself. I never advertised for work, it just came. I took pride in it. I'm in
good health. I thank God. It kept me active. Always doing something. I worked
hard. I didn't try to see what I could get by with. I always tried to do the
best I could do. Some people did enough just to get by. I never did that. I
wanted my boss's job. I want his job. That's how I worked. I don't know if
that's the right attitude to have, but I had it, and thought of it anyway. I
enjoyed my work and still do. Of course I don't do much work now. I'm gonna
finish up tomorrow what I started today...and that was nothing. <em>(Insert sweet
Willie laugh.)</em> I'm gonna finish up and start another one tomorrow. I'm gonna
finish that job up tomorrow, and start another one the next day. <em>(Now Willie and
Ginger are both laughing...and so am I.)</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Where did you grow up?</strong> <br />
I
grew up in Horry County in South Carolina. 9 miles from Cherry Grove beach.<br />
<br />
<strong>What
did you want to be when you grew up?</strong><br />
I don't know. I didn't never think much
about it. I just took it one day at a time. And whatever come, well that's what
come. I quit school when I was sixteen. I went two months in high school and
didn't go back. I did construction work when I was 16, making $0.50/hr, and I
thought that was cool. I started laying brick when I was 17. <br />
I rode my
bicycle down to the beach to the drive-in theatre. A bunch of us boys. When I
was...I guess probably 14 or 15. It was a Sunday evening. Traffic was rough and
bad, like it usually is on a Sunday. When I came in the next morning I had a
surprise. My daddy come in there and got me out of bed. Had nothing but my
shorts on, and he tore my fanny up because I rode my bicycle to the beach. He
was trying to save me, take care of me, you know. He thought it was dangerous,
and it was. I don't remember him giving me one since then. He always beat me
with a broom straw. <em>(Willie is laughing big time now.)</em> And when he'd do it, it
would bend. Now my mama, she'd tear me up. But you know, I don't remember
talking bad to my daddy or my mama. I really don't. When they'd fuss and tell me
to do something, I don't remember ever talking back. Really I don't, and I thank
God for that. <br />
One time I had a slingshot around the old wash pot there. She
(<em>his mama</em>) had the fire going to heat the water to wash the clothes with, and I
found a jar lid off of one of them jars you use to can stuff with. I had a
slingshot and I put it in there and I shot her. It hit her on the face. Buddy, I
got a tearin' up for that. And rightfully so. She took my slingshot and threw it
in the fire and burned it up. I ain't never had another one since then. That was
my last one. No more slingshots. I didn't know how to use one. I shot the wrong
thing. Oh boy. I've been through some stuff now. <br />
Oh yeah, I lived across the
road from the schoolhouse. I lived back up in the fields some. I'd go up there
on cold mornings and light the fire. I'd be able to crawl in the window at the
schoolhouse and build a fire and then when the teachers got there I'd have a big
fire going. That was cool. Yeah, I thought so. <em>(Can you hear the
laughter?)</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Where do you live now?</strong><br />
I live in Indian Land, South
Carolina.<br />
<br />
<strong>What's your favorite thing about where you live?</strong><br />
I love it
out there. I live in the country on 8 acres in the woods. I have a big yard. I
love it. I keep thanking God for it out there. Often I say, "Lord, I thank you
for this place and I'm serious. I do." I'm thankful for it. It's a nice place.
It's close to everything. Close to the mall. Close to Lowe's and Home Depot.
Close to everything, really. Walmart. And I love Walmart. Yeah, I do. I don't get
to go much. Lynn won't let me go. She always says, 'I'm going to Walmart.' She
don't ever ask me to go with her. If I get to go I guess I have to take off and
go. <em>(Major laughter.)</em><br />
<br />
<strong>What is your proudest achievement/accomplishment in
life?</strong><br />
The best thing I can think of is when I got saved. I wasn't that bad, I
don't think. I was drinking some. That's one reason I quit drinking. I was
thinking about my family. First I quit smoking, and then I quit drinking. Quit
smoking in February, quit drinking in July, and I got saved in September. The
first Sunday after I got saved was the first Sunday in October. The time had
changed. We went to church and there wasn't a soul there. The first thing that
had come to my mind was the rapture had come and left us. <br />
<br />
<em>(Yep. He's
laughing.)</em><br />
<br />
I'm proud of my family. Oh yes. My wife. God gave me a good
wife to help me. I thought I was gonna train her up. She was young. I thought I
was gonna train her up in the way she should go, and that didn't work. She's
trained me. And my children, my grandchildren, my greats. I'm telling you the
truth, I'm so blessed. It's amazing how blessed I am. I just thank God. I've got
2 great-grands, and 2 on the way. It won't be long before I'll have 4 of them.
I've got 3 grandchildren that aren't married. 6 are married. I've got 3 to go.
It looks like my great-grands might be married before some of them are married.
<em>(Laughing!)</em> Of course I was 25 before I got married so I can't say
nothing.<br />
<br />
<strong>What are the most important lessons you've learned in
life?</strong><br />
What I'm learning now: The closer I can be to God, the better off I am.
Put Him first in your life and you'll do great. You'll do good. And hard work
will get you somewhere. And too much of it isn't good either. Which I did. I put
my work before my family most of my life. I didn't want to, but I did. Of course
I knew it was important to provide for them. I guess you can go to extremes with
anything. But I'm thankful. God's taken care of me over these years.<br />
<em>(Willie
pauses, and adds...)</em> I'm happy, really. I've got my ticket. If I go, okay, and
if I stay, okay. I'm not rushing it. But, I'm just ready to go. To leave here. I
am.<br />
<br />
<em>Let's pause for a second. </em> <br />
<br />
<em>Okay. Moving
on...</em><br />
<br />
<strong>When are you the most happy (doing what)?</strong><br />
Well, let's see. I was
cutting the grass out there on Friday. And I was a'singing. Bobby and them said
they heard me singing. I was enjoying that. <br />
Serving God is the best,
really. I get the feeling that the anointing of the Holy Spirit is, to me, the
best thing there is. There ain't nothing better. That's the best thing. I'm
thankful for that. I'm thankful that I found the Lord. He knew where I was all
the time. In fact, He knew me before I was born and He ain't never forgot me. I'm
thankful for that. Hallelujah. I'm blessed. I'm really blessed. With my family,
and everything. With my wife and children, grandchildren and greats. Couldn't
ask for no more, no better.<br />
<br />
<strong>You light up a room. Where does that come
from?</strong><br />
I guess it's got to be God. I'm joyful and it's because of the Lord. I
don't know what else it could be. It's got to be. That's it. I don't know what
else it could be. I want to be a witness. I try to be a witness for the Lord.
That's my prayer.<br />
<br />
<strong>Dancing suits you. Have you always loved to dance?
</strong></div>
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<div aria-label="Message body" class="msg-body inner undoreset" role="main">
Yep, I have. I used to dance when I was a kid. My dad was a banjo player.
He had a band. They used to go around and play for square dances. I'd get out
when I was real young and dance, and people would throw me money. And when I got
through dancing I'd pick it up. I'd have my pockets full. They went to
schoolhouses and clubs and put on a little show and I'd dance for that. The
older I got, the more embarrassed I was, and sort of reserved, and I quit
that.<br />
<strong>Ginger:</strong> Didn't they give you a little hat to wear?<br />
<strong>W:</strong> Oh yeah, I
had a black hat with bells on it. Those girls, they liked that. They'd come up to
me, and talk to me, and run after me. In fact, one got me. That one over there.
I didn't have a hat on though, did I? I didn't need it. I used to make people
laugh when I danced. I played music some too at those dances at the
schoolhouses. <br />
<strong>Ginger:</strong> So, your daddy had a band and you were in the
band?</div>
<div aria-label="Message body" class="msg-body inner undoreset" role="main">
<strong>W:</strong> Well, yeah, sort of. I played some for dances at the schoolhouses,
but I didn't play any other than that. They didn't think I was good enough, but
I did.<br />
<strong>Ginger:</strong> And then you have a bunch of grandchildren that have bands,
or are in are in bands?<br />
<strong>W:</strong> Oh yeah. I've got grand-youngins that play and
sing. Man. They got it honest. My daddy, he was good. <br />
I remember the first
time I ever saw him drink a beer. Man, I did not like that. That was bad. Now
that's not good, I thought. The doctor told him he needed to drink a beer a day.
Some people use that for an excuse, and I don't know if he did or not. <em>(Lots of
laughing.)</em> But I never did see him out of order. We were down at Crescent beach
at the American Legion hut. They were having a square dance there, and he was
outside and somebody gave him a beer. And that's when I saw him drink a beer.
And that was the night that I got home and found I had a hundred dollar bill
after dancing. A man had given it to me. I thought to myself, he didn't mean to give
me that, I know he didn't. He was drunk and he didn't mean to do it. So, I went
the next day and gave it back to him. He took it, and he thanked me. <em>(Cracking
up.)</em> That was the kind of fella I was. Somebody said I ought to have kept it.
Well, if I knew he meant to do it then I would have, but he didn't mean to do
it.<br />
<br />
<strong>You were dancing a lot with a little boy at the wedding. What do you
see when you look at little ones like the little boy at the wedding?</strong><br />
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<br />
I guess
I see Jesus. It's precious. Jesus had a special thing for children. He said,
'Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not.' He loved children,
and I do too. I love babies. They're special to me. I guess it was so precious
to see that little boy dancing with me. That was sweet, sweet. The youngest and
the oldest out there dancing together. I thought about that and thought it was
cool.<br />
<br />
<strong>Ginger:</strong> Tell them about the time you were dancing in church and
you got into trouble.<br />
<strong>W:</strong> Well, some of the people in the church where I went
didn't like dancing and thought it was a sin to be dancing in church. I danced
in church and they didn't like it. They brought me before the district board. I
went up there and they were talking about it. <br />
I got up and I
says...<br />
<br />
<em>(Willie starts singing...)</em><br />
<br />
David danced <br />
before the Lord<br />
He
danced with all his might<br />
His heart was filled<br />
With holy joy<br />
His spirit
was so light<br />
<br />
Now this is what his wife said...<br />
<br />
Michal through
<br />
the window looked<br />
To criticize his God<br />
She didn't know that
David<br />
Had got the dancing heart...<br />
<br />
Oh! <br />
<br />
The Holy Ghost <br />
will set
your feet to dancing...<br />
The Holy Ghost will thrill you<br />
Through and
through<br />
<br />
The Holy Ghost<br />
Will set your feet to dancing<br />
And set your heart
to dancing too<br />
Hallelujah!<br />
<br />
<em>(I'm laughing and clapping for Willie's
song!)</em><br />
<br />
The moderator broke out and went to laughing and everybody else
did too. And then they dismissed the case. Dancing's good sometimes. I enjoy it.
<br />
<br />
<strong>What's something you'd like to be remembered for?</strong><br />
Well, what I'd
mostly like to be remembered for is for being a blessing to people, and for
being a soul winner. That's what I would like most. <br />
One time I went to this
little store in Conway where I lived. I had been there a few times. I was
witnessing to the boy, the fella that owned the place. Some time later he got in
a car wreck. He was in the hospital. He couldn't talk. He was in critical
condition. His wife could lay her head on his breast and communicate with him.
Somehow or another he asked for me to go see him. He was in Florence, about 60
miles away. I went up there to see him in the hospital. I prayed with him and
asked him if he had accepted the Lord, or did he want to. He wanted to, and he
did. A couple days later he passed on. He died. That was precious to me. I
remember that. That was one of the most memorable things in my life. And
probably about the best...that I had something to do with bringing somebody to
the Lord. <br />
(<em>Everyone is drying tears...including Willie</em>.)<br />
<br />
I got
married. That was a good thing. And then I got saved. That was the next. And
then I had babies. I thank God for it all. It's a blessing to me. I got some
in-laws. They're pretty good. I got some good ones.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*******************************</div>
<br />
And, that's the
interview. Sweet, or what? Okay. One more dancing picture... This is Willie, his grandson (and groom) Jonathan, and his son-in-law, Bobby (Ginger's husband).<br />
<br />
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<br />
I can't think of anything else to add to this
post, except, thanks Willie. Thanks for your heart, and your life, and your mark
on this world. Your legacy is incredible. Your life is awe-inspiring and your
dancing is spectacular. Your stories will live on forever. <br />
<br />
As the saying
goes, you don't know me from Adam, but no matter, I love you just the same! <br />
<br />
And
thanks Ginger. I can tell your daddy thinks you hung the moon. Or, is it the
other way around? <br />
<br />
And a great big thanks to Jonathan and Christina for letting me crash your gorgeous wedding!<br />
<br />
What a special family!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-12250614296616164972012-04-07T09:46:00.001-07:002012-04-07T09:46:03.232-07:00The WigglesAs a family we collectively do not like The Wiggles. There I said it. Strange dancing, singing men. I bet they're kind people, we're just not into them. <br />
<br />
Enter yesterday afternoon. <br />
<br />
Me and the kids were scattered across the living room, taking a break from our day. I asked for the remote so I could change the channel because, you guessed it, The Wiggles were on. I hit, "Guide" on the remote to see what else was on. Claire and I instantly spotted, Austin and Ally, one of the girls' new favorite shows. Easy decision. And then, Avery interjected, "Wait. I want to see this." <br />
<br />
What? Hold the phone. Avery is as anti-Wiggles as the rest of us. <br />
<br />
I looked over at the tv and understood why. One of the Wiggles had lost his lovely maiden and was singing and dancing to find her. <br />
<br />
O-kay. <br />
<br />
I could tell Avery was lost in the storyline and really loved looking at the pretty maiden's curls down to there, tossed over her shoulder, and tied up in a velvet ribbon. I remember that part specifically because that darned Wiggle sang it over and over as he questioned common people as to the whereabouts of the love of his life. <br />
<br />
Claire resentfully sat through the scene...after she obeyed my command to, hush it. <br />
<br />
Avery was on the couch across from me with her arm up and her hand covering both eyes. She peeked through her fingers to watch the Wiggle at last find his love. They danced and sang together. I think she was nervous they might kiss. I'm sure she was blushing. She was swept away completely. I'm certain her siblings and I didn't exist for those 45 seconds. She was sucked in. My little hopeless romantic. <br />
<br />
Claire commented on the look of the lady, "She looks like she's like 40. Ugh." <br />
<br />
Avery shot a dirty look at her and disagreed, "She's pretty. Look at her hair." <br />
<br />
"Yeah, I like her hair too," Claire agreed. <br />
<br />
I like watching our kids watch the world. I like watching them participate in the world. I just plain like them. A lot. The more and more I watch them the more and more I wonder if Avery really does live in a fairy tale world most of the time. Party of one, (plus her imagination). She really is the freest of them all. She is flippant about many things. Things I'm waaay uptight about. I could stand to learn a thing or two from her. I'm afraid poor Claire is more like the grown up me. Thorough and thoughtful, careful and obedient. Granted she's the oldest, but sometimes she could stand to let loose a little more. You know, really savor 8 years old for everything it's worth. I may end up eating my words. Hmmm... <br />
(Side note: Avery is A LOT like the younger me. She's sneaky now and then. I get her. I know her games.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, thanks Wiggles for yesterday. Thanks for letting my Avery enter into your timeless tale of prince and princess, and happily ever after. (I think Claire came along for the ride too, but you didn't hear that from me.) And thanks for stomping all over our usual disdain for your antics. You succeeded in collectively capturing 4 Trask girls' attention, which isn't easy to do. Thanks for the break from life. Thanks for the memory. Thanks for letting me inhale the uniqueness of my beautiful girls as only their mama can.<br />
<br />
And now, back to refinishing furniture. Josh told me to publicly promise to never refinish the girls' bedroom furniture again. I promise. Happy, babe? :) I honestly, seriously, promise. Oh, my aching body. But, on the upside, I did dust off my conviction that power sanders are seriously one of the coolest tools ever. DeWalt, if you ever need a girl to endorse your products, call me. Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-51696019856496793172012-04-04T18:15:00.006-07:002012-04-05T01:15:03.978-07:00Good Morning"Momeeee? Can you curl my hair?"<br />
<br />
Still half asleep, I look up from smearing peanut butter all over 2 pieces of bread to see my Avery Grace and her puppy dog eyes, desperate for curls today. She's wearing a long sleeved peach cotton dress with flowers all over it. She's looking way cute.<br />
<br />
"Umm, I'm not sure. Maybe. But you can't wear that today. It's gonna be hot today. Remember? Wear something short-sleeved. Go change."<br />
<br />
"But! Ugh! Mooommmm! I don't have anything else. I want to wear this."<br />
<br />
"Avery. Go."<br />
<br />
(Deep sigh trod upstairs.)<br />
<br />
I'm at the slicing Avery's sandwich into triangles, and cutting crusts off Claire's sandwich phase of lunch packing when Avery reappears wearing something better. Claire's red and white striped dress, (that's too big for Claire - Claire, her older sister), with a long sleeved red shirt underneath. Topped off with a thick cotton red and pink striped sweater with a hood, buttoned wrong so that it sits cock-eyed on her, and finished off with a winter scarf wrapped neatly around her perfect neck.<br />
<br />
Josh and I look at each other, trying not to destroy her with full-on laughter. I'm awake now. Don't worry, babe. I've got this.<br />
<br />
"No, baby. I said it's going to be hot today. You can't wear that. You have a long sleeved shirt on under there. No."<br />
<br />
Claire pipes up, "Yeaaaah...that's because that dress goes down to here on her in the front. She has to wear something underneath." (Duh!)<br />
<br />
Houston, we have a communication breakdown. Note to self, teach them the value of the saying, "Keep the main thing the main thing." I'm talking weather, and Claire's talking logistics.<br />
<br />
Now, I laugh. Avery's not amused. Not even a *smidge. Josh seizes his opportunity and exits stage right. He knows a formidable foe when he see's her. All 48 pounds of her.<br />
<br />
* Smidge = Avery's favorite term for measurement. For example, "Are you feeling better?" <br />
"Um, maybe like two smidges," as she holds up her thumb and pointer finger to show the precise distance of 2 smidges.<br />
<br />
I'm getting off subject. (Wonder where the girls get that from?) <br />
<br />
Meanwhile Noelle is taking off her pajama shirt from the neck down so that it sits perfectly on her torso like a strapless halter top, only everything ladylike isn't covered. It's her preferred way of wearing (and destroying) neck holes in any and every shirt. Shirts beware!<br />
<br />
Perfect.<br />
<br />
"Okay. No. Go change again. Sorry baby. No. Don't cry. Just change."<br />
<br />
So help me if she comes down in another long sleeved winter ensemble I might lose my mind. Bless her heart. She's just trying to find a dress to match her vision of bouncy, beautiful curls, but we are running low on time. And I am specifically growing tired of playing fashion police. Move it girlfriend.<br />
<br />
Take 3. Goodwill Easter dress special. Literally. It's a 100% polyester number with straps at the shoulders, no sleeves. Light green with light purple flowers slathered whimsically all over the sheer fabric. She bought it a few months ago during one of our thrift store trips, and she l-o-v-e-s it. I think it's just okay. But I definitely don't think of it as a school dress. Whatever. It will work. I tie the tie at her neck, glance at the clock, and we book it down the hall to get her curls going.<br />
<br />
Claire, aka, relentless clock watcher, kill me now if we're going to be late girl, is slowly moving from cool and collected Claire to full-blown panic-ridden drill sergeant sister. She starts subtly asking how many curls are left, and then the checklist begins. "Where are your socks, Avery? Do you have your glasses?" and on and on. I encourage her to calm down and reassure her that she won't be late, but she's not buying it. She checks the clock for the third time in one minute and then starts moving at lightning speed to get out the door. Shoes on, backpack on back, standing in open doorway, swimming in stress, "Let's GO!"<br />
<br />
"Claire, hush."<br />
<br />
"Avery? Av-ray? AVERY!!! Are you done?"<br />
<br />
I wonder if Claire bumped her head and somehow thinks she's now the mom and dad in the house. Hell-ooo? I'll be the mama, Claire. K.Thanks! "Claire, STOP! We're almost done."<br />
<br />
Major, not-so-quiet, Claire Bear sigh.<br />
<br />
It's 7:31am and it's loud as all get out in our house. <br />
<br />
Like the guy who says whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not, I finally, at last, announce that we are done. Avery is ready. Everyone is relieved.<br />
<br />
Avery and I hurry down the hall. We nearly crash into Josh, who has just returned from buckling our half naked 2-year-old into her car seat. I take that back. Her shirt isn't all the way off. It's now in the skirt position, but she is redeemed by the hoodie she must wear whenever she goes anywhere in the car. She has convictions, and she's serious about them.<br />
<br />
I ask Josh to run upstairs to grab Avery a half sweater because it's not quite hot yet. She'll need it for the ride to school. He does a what-the-heck-is-a-half-sweater, and moreover where does one find such a thing dad sigh/grunt and makes a run for it. I clarify, "Get the pink one." He returns with 2 choices. Avery chose the full length hot pink one with fancy buttons. I resign from commenting any further on her fashion decisions. I am Mom. And I am done.<br />
<br />
"See you after school. Love you."<br />
<br />
For all you Moms out there who keep up with fashion and try to tow the line on trendy, good for you. As for me and my house, we will keep it real. I will not allow my kids to leave the house dressed inappropriately for the season, for fear of overheating and misery on their part, but I will not engage them in fashion wars unless what they pick out falls into the travesty/inappropriate category, which rarely happens anyway. I honestly care only just a little bit about what they wear. The battle's too big for me. Too exhausting. Plus, for the most part, my girls make great fashion choices. Claire rides the wave of conservative and simple. Avery pushes the envelope every chance she gets. Not in the risqué sense, but in the, I know what I like and I don't care if you do or don't sort of way. And Noelle struggles with keeping clothing on her body. She's 2. There's still time to correct this. We all have our issues. <br />
<br />
(Deep breath.) <br />
<br />
It's 7:40am. Where's that baby boy of mine? It's time to feed him. Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-18782091961479629722012-03-23T18:52:00.000-07:002012-03-23T18:52:01.896-07:007. A quick book report.If you don't have a Nicole Roberts in your life, you should get one. But not her, she's mine. (haha!) Nicole is my treasure-hunting friend. She's great at the biblical call to uncover hidden treasure in people, but she's also super good at scouting out the best deals, sales, recipes, books, and she'll even preview movies for me and gauge whether I'm mature enough to handle them or not. See? Shes great! A true friend. She often makes my life easier. Anyway, she's the one who told me about, (insisted that I read), 7 by Jen Hatmaker. And it's awesome. <br />
<br />
You can read the publishers press release about the book and sort of shrug like I did, thinking it's just another self-help book, or you could obey your friend, and buy the book. I did both. Shrug, and then obey. And then I cried. And laughed, like, A LOT. This book is hilarious! And then I did a lot of thinking, reflecting, examining, and eventually, inevitably, I found myself fighting off the urge to vomit over how far off course I was. I am. We are. It's deep, you guys. Deep. <br />
<br />
Here are some of the takeaways for our family.<br />
* We are rich compared to most of the world. Like, loaded. And selfish. (Enter gut-wrenching sad face.) We are shifting our thinking in this area, determined to feed our greedy hearts less, and our impoverished neighbors more. Starting here at home. And just so we're clear, we plan to brainwash our children accordingly.<br />
One small goal for us will be to spend $105-/mos. like this.<br />
$20- for a child's pair of tennis shoes, donated to our daughters' elementary school.<br />
$25- for a pair of adult tennis shoes for a homeless woman or man.<br />
$25- loan to help fund a small business through kiva.org.<br />
$35- to sponsor a child abroad and/or to stop child trafficking.<br />
Small amount of money...big potential.<br />
* We will waste less and care for the earth more. No more romping around like we own this place, leaving a huge trail of trash in our wake. We country folk will recycle. We will use what we have. We will attempt to shop more responsibly, and from fair-trade companies when we can. <br />
* We will serve where we can, when we can, not veering away from opportunities to meet the less fortunate face-to-face. Speaking of face-to-face. We hope to love our neighbors a little better. <br />
* We will give our kids room to be passionate about what they're interested in. For Claire, it's helping the deaf (her idea, pre-book). And Avery will continue to address the human flight crisis. Meaning, she's 6 and wants more than anything to fly like a bird.<br />
I wonder what the littlest ones will pursue.<br />
* We will do church the way church was meant to be done. (Read the book...meaning, the Bible.) No offense intended.<br />
* We will simplify, pare down and live within our means, and maybe even below our means. (Wouldn't that be something!!)<br />
* We will continue to try not to waste food. "No, you may not be done! Finish your food!" Just like the book...just because you know there's more food in the pantry doesn't mean you get to throw dinner in the trashcan because it's not your favorite. No ma'am, no sir.<br />
* We will try to pray differently. More focused, vast, yet precise prayers.<br />
* We will try to fast Isaiah 58 style. "Free those who are wrongly imprisoned; lighten the burden of those who work for you. Let the oppressed go free, and remove the chains that bind people. Share your food with the hungry, and give shelter to the homeless. Give clothes to those who need them and do not hide from relatives who need your help."<br />
* We will tattoo Matthew 25:40 onto our hearts. “And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’"<br />
<br />
This list is incomplete. We will probably fail in many of these areas, but we will try. And we will not give up. Lord, let us never give up. <br />
<br />
The author said something that ruined me. She talked about how there is more slavery today than any other time in history. And then she said something like, "When my grandchildren ask me what I did to end slavery I want to have something to say." <br />
<br />
And so do I. So do we.<br />
<br />
I know this all seems ultra noble and maybe even pretentious, but it's the result of an awakening that's occurred in my soul. I honestly feel like I just woke up after a long winter's nap. Like I'm stretching, squinting, blinking, and processing where I've been and what's in store. I'm happy for this new day. I'm ready for it. I'm ready to live closer to the heart of God than I ever have before. And I'll do it in the simplest, most plain way possible. <br />
<br />
Good morning world. My name is Jenny.Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-21430636530734556792012-03-06T07:36:00.002-08:002012-03-06T07:44:11.234-08:00Okay, my turn to take a crack at the married couple questionnaire. I'm certain I'll look back on this in 10, 20, 75 years and think, "Oh, I was so naive." Or maybe not. I'm sure I'll think something. :) Either way, here goes. <br />
<br />
1. What made you realize that you could spend the rest of your lives together? Were you scared at all?<br />
I had a dream of my husband before I met Josh. The dream came right after I renounced all dating, declaring to the Lord that I would like to be a single missionary forever because dating stinks, and so do guys. :) That night I had a dream, and saw my husband's hair and silhouette...and I fell in love. We met a few months later. We knew about a week into dating that we had found 'the one.' I wasn't scared for the first time in my life. I was something more like, over-the-moon.<br />
<br />
2. How did you know your spouse was the right one for you?<br />
Because I told him every, (and I mean every), ugly detail about my past and he looked at me afterwards and said, "I love you." It only confirmed what I already knew in my heart...that he was the one I loved for my whole life.<br />
<br />
3. Is there anything you would do differently after almost 10 years of marriage? <br />
Relax sooner. Let go of insecurities faster. Determine to use my words more wisely. Show my love and appreciation for my husband more freely. Other than that I wouldn't change a thing...especially not these munchkins of ours!<br />
<br />
4. What is your advice to someone who is trying to keep the faith that Mr. Right is really out there? <br />
I like the answer a friend of mine had, so I'll steal it... Remember that God is faithful to provide all of your needs.<br />
<br />
5. What was the best piece of marriage advice you ever received? <br />
These came from my husband, directed to me. He's always said, divorce isn't an option. (Thank God! I've never wanted to divorce him, but I might've divorced me already if I were him.) <br />
And he once told me, "I just need you to get on my team." That changed me. I realized that I wasn't playing as a team. It was a benchmark moment in my life. <br />
We've also learned the importance of fighting fair. We aren't allowed to use the words, 'always' and 'never' when we fight. (Ie. You 'always' do that.) It's not fair and it doesn't give the other person any credit for growth.<br />
Also, keep the main thing the main thing. (Thanks Rick Joyner.)<br />
And my advice... Take time to learn about the differences between the male and female brain. We are different creatures. We think and operate so differently. Learning about this was a huge light bulb moment in my life. <br />
<br />
6. What are the most important attributes of a good spouse? <br />
For me it's the deep down security of knowing that he loves me with all his heart, and that he prefers me and likes me. And also the basics, that he's a Christian and loves the Lord with all his heart. I also find great security in knowing that he can fix or build anything. That he would kill anything that tried to harm us. And that he's an inventive genius. I also like the way he sings and plays music. He's gifted to the max. I'm proud to be his wife. <br />
<br />
7. What is your best Valentine’s Day memory? <br />
I don't know. They're all mixed in with all the fun moments of our marriage. I liked getting my treadmill that one year on V Day. I also liked getting a shotgun another year on V Day. <br />
<br />
8. You got married young – how did you both manage to grow as individuals yet not grow apart as a couple? <br />
We had to hold on to our marriage while we learned to become one. We were 23 (me) and 21 (him) when we got married. Now we realize that our individuality is beautiful and wonderful, (we've learned to really savor the uniqueness we see in each other), but like the 85 year couple said, we are stronger together. <br />
<br />
9. What is your fondest memory of your 10-year marriage? <br />
Our kids for sure. And also the songs Josh has written for me and the house he built for us.<br />
<br />
10. Does communicating get easier with time? How do you keep your patience? <br />
Yes! You learn to NOT become so easily offended. Laughing during disagreements is much more the norm these days. Learning about the differences between the male and female brain has helped me greatly with patience. For example, if Josh is listening to some complicated jazz ensemble on the radio I know that he is lost somewhere in his mind, inventing some new contraption, and therefore talking to him won't be nearly as effective as it would be if I wait to talk to him until later. :) <br />
<br />
11. How did you cope when you had to be physically separated for long periods of time? <br />
I hate it. But, I complain a lot less than I used to because I really try to focus on the significance of why we're apart, and also that we made the decision together that the trip was necessary. But, I prefer being together.<br />
<br />
12. At the end of bad relationship day, what is the most important thing to remind yourselves? <br />
I chose him. He chooses me. Divorce isn't an option. This too shall pass. Most of all, I love him!<br />
<br />
13. Is fighting important?<br />
Definitely. Bottled up emotions only result in untimely, ugly explosions. Talking, disagreeing, airing grievances, etc. is so key. Women are better at this...we talk way more...men like to stuff feelings more. It's a process to meet in the middle. Have a fight. Fight fair. And make up. It's healthy. But no fighting in front of the kids. We've done this...much to our embarrassment.<br />
<br />
14. What’s the one thing you have in common that transcends everything else? <br />
At the end of the day, everything else can leave, but as long as we have each other and our kids, we'll be okay. And the Lord is the head of our home.<br />
<br />
I love hearing answers to these questions. If you're so inclined, take the quiz yourself and message it to me. Like I said before...I love free wisdom! :)Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-79315353082120450412012-03-01T10:36:00.000-08:002012-03-01T10:36:56.565-08:00Love & Marriage...they go together like a horse & carriage...Remember that theme song? You were singing along, weren't you? :) You'll be relieved to know I'm not going to write about Al & Peg Bundy. Not this time. Although I am half distracted thinking back on those ridiculous episodes I used to get a kick out of when I was little. Such a weird dynamic in that house. (sigh)<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to the blog...it's all about l-o-v-e.<br />
<br />
This past Valentine's Day I came across an interview done between the folks at twitter and the world record holders for the longest living married couple. 85 years. Whoa! It was sweet to the brim. I cried. I like marriage. I love being married. I also love gleaning wisdom from those who've been at it longer than Josh and I have. (This June marks 10 big ones for us. Or would they be 10 little ones when you compare our run to 85 years? No worries. That will be us in 75 years.) <br />
<br />
So, taking inspiration from the good folks at twitter, and advantage of some friends that are role models to me where marriage is concerned, I replicated the interview and posed the same questions to a few couples. Here are the first two I'll share. <br />
<br />
Couple 1:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Meet Scott and Deb Williams. Married for 30 years. Cry over a few answers like I did. And laugh at others. Either way, wrap up their secrets and put them in your marriage wisdom pocket to be pulled out as needed. Cheers!<br />
<br />
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<br />
1. What made you realize that you could spend the rest of your lives together? Were you scared at all?<br />
We made each other laugh! And yes, we were both scared because we both had previous bad relationships.<br />
<br />
2. How did you know your spouse was the right one for you?<br />
It was just a feeling for both of us (neither of us were walking with the Lord). I am actually the one who told Scott, "We are going to get married." I just knew.<br />
<br />
3. Is there anything you would do differently after more than 30 years of marriage? <br />
Not really. I mean, marriage is a process. It is learning to give constantly. There are so many elements to marriage. There is the physical love, the emotional love, the friendship, and all of those come and go. It is learning to be content where you are, riding out the storms when the come, and remembering that God is in control no matter what.<br />
<br />
4. What is your advice to someone who is trying to keep the faith that Mr. Right is really out there? <br />
WAIT!! Young people are in too much of a hurry. No one should settle. Everything should be in place...a person should not compromise.<br />
<br />
5. What was the best piece of marriage advice you ever received? <br />
Keep the Lord above everything, as your first love.<br />
<br />
6. What are the most important attributes of a good spouse? <br />
Haha. I think that this is really something that is individual. What might make a good spouse to one may be totally different to another. For me, it is knowing that my husband is the head of my household, that he can really take care of me. I never worry about things breaking or being protected. Those things are important to me. We have weathered quite a bit, and as you get older the things that made him a good husband when he was 20 are still what makes him a good husband at 50!<br />
<br />
7. What is your best Valentine’s Day memory? <br />
Taking a quilt out in the middle of field in the country and just being together. :)<br />
<br />
8. You got married very young – how did you both manage to grow as individuals yet not grow apart as a couple? <br />
We got married at 22. It is difficult to marry young. We had to learn who we were as individuals as well as learn to grow as one as a couple. The key is giving each other space to be who they are...which is hard to do when you are young.<br />
<br />
9. What is your fondest memory of your 30-year marriage? <br />
The two beautiful daughters we have. :)<br />
<br />
10. Does communicating get easier with time? How do you keep your patience? <br />
Yes, it does because your relationship really becomes one of genuine friendship. As far as patience, it just comes with age and time. The things that bothered you at 20 do not bother you at 50. Haha.<br />
<br />
11. How did you cope when you had to be physically separated for long periods of time? Rejoicing! Haha. We never have been apart more than a few days. But those times apart are actually good for the relationship. It is during those times you can develop as a person and do things you would not normally do when your spouse is there.<br />
<br />
12. At the end of bad relationship day, what is the most important thing to remind yourselves?<br />
Try not to go to bed angry. Everything is better in the morning sun. :)<br />
<br />
13. Is fighting important? <br />
Yes. Get it out. It is important to verbalize your feelings and emotions, but be careful not to do it in anger.<br />
<br />
14. What’s the one thing you have in common that transcends everything else? <br />
We are best friends.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Sweet, right? It's a process...that's key!<br />
<br />
Couple 2:<br />
<br />
Here's another one. Only this time it's anonymous. It's packed full of good stuff...hang on, take it all in. If you're a crybaby like me, you'll probably cry again. <br />
<br />
1. What made you realize that you could spend the rest of your lives together? Were you scared at all? <br />
TERRIFIED! I have four older sisters who had all been married and divorced before I ever got married. He was fearless.<br />
<br />
2. How did you know your spouse was the right one for you? <br />
I prayed and got an answer. He heard it when he met me.<br />
<br />
3. Is there anything you would do differently after more than 30 years of marriage? <br />
30 years....mmmm...I would have gotten to the good parts sooner. lol I would have decided that small things are SMALL things.<br />
<br />
4. What is your advice to someone who is trying to keep the faith that Mr. Right is really out there? <br />
God is faithful to provide for all of our needs.<br />
<br />
5. What was the best piece of marriage advice you ever received? <br />
Never mother your husband. If his alarm clock goes off and he does not get up, let him live with the consequences. If you begin mothering, you will always mother. Best advice I ever got. <br />
<br />
6. What are the most important attributes of a good spouse? <br />
Truthfulness, faithfulness, love for God, love for family...<br />
<br />
7. What is your best Valentine’s Day memory? <br />
My husband brought a dozen roses to each of us: Me, my daughter, and my niece who was living with us. Sweet! Each of them were our favorite color of roses. We normally do not celebrate Valentine's day since we try to make everyday Valentine's.<br />
<br />
8. You got married very young – how did you both manage to grow as individuals yet not grow apart as a couple? <br />
We grew up together. We did the same classes together and have grown more than one business together. We do have VERY different interests, but there are so many we have that are the same. I prayed for him to become the man God wanted him to be (many times) so he would not become what I wanted him to be. I like God's handiwork.<br />
<br />
9. What is your fondest memory of your 30-year marriage? <br />
7th and 17th....when our two kids were born....lots of adjustments but so worth it Oh, and our son was a 'girl'....by all sonograms. He was a lovely surprise.<br />
<br />
10. Does communicating get easier with time? How do you keep your patience? <br />
We have found that some things don't have to be said anymore.<br />
<br />
11. How did you cope when you had to be physically separated for long periods of time? <br />
I learned to get a backbone and just weather it. We have done this A LOT...and I mean A LOT.<br />
<br />
12. At the end of bad relationship day, what is the most important thing to remind yourselves?<br />
I love him.<br />
<br />
13. Is fighting important? <br />
Ugh...NO...disagreement is. Stay an individual and not mind-melding clones. He is a guy and thinks like a guy. I most certainly do not want him to think like I do. Life would be dull without that.<br />
<br />
14. What’s the one thing you have in common that transcends everything else? <br />
Love for God and people, our KIDS and each other!<br />
<br />
PS: The most fun thing about our relationship is that he is an adventurer.I just grab him and hang on tightly. Guys tend to be the risk takers. I try to not squelch that. It gets us<br />
into some trouble, but it has not killed anyone. Ha!<br />
<br />
Amazing, right? Thought provoking for sure! Did you grow? I think I did.<br />
<br />
Special thanks to my friends who lead busy, busy lives and still took the time to share wisdom with all of us who like to get things for free. Lessons and wisdom are the best kind of freebies if you ask me! <br />
<br />
To read the interview that inspired me, visit: http://blacklikemoi.com/2012/02/black-news-2/relationship-advice-from-the-longest-living-married-couple-married-for-85-years/Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-18381084758989109792012-02-05T08:06:00.000-08:002012-02-05T08:08:56.065-08:00And Joel Makes 6!January 20th. 4am. Josh and I are up and at 'em. The house is quiet, save the excitement and anticipation spilling from our pores as we think about our big day ahead. Thoughts run rampant as bags are checked, lists for the babysitter double-checked, book bags for the girls put into the van, odds and ends tied up, one final look around the house, and it's time to go. The start of Josh's truck says so. I'm of course 5 minutes behind schedule. I'm a Mom. I have a lot of stuff rolling around in my brain. A lot of people to look after. :) Josh meets me at the door, grabs my bag, puts it in the truck and hurries back for me. The slam of the truck door and tires crunching through the gravel as they make their way down our drive signal something's different this morning at the Trask house.<br />
<br />
We arrive at the hospital at 5:15am, quickly check in with the ER receiving desk, strap on my admitting bracelet, sign a few forms, I grab Josh's hands and we're off. Floor 2. Ding. The labor and delivery ward is expecting us. A nice nurse greets us, takes my paperwork and before I know it I'm in a hospital bed having an IV put in. An IV means this is for real this time.<br />
<br />
The IV nearly makes me lose it. What would otherwise be no big deal nearly made me pass out. Mostly because the nurse inserting it was having a hard time, grimacing as she tried to get it right, and after a failed attempt, I had to put her in time-out. She switched hands and I threw a penalty flag. I asked her to wait a couple minutes because I could feel blurriness coming on and the room beginning to move. After some water, a few deep breaths, (and silent prayers for her success), I was ready to begin again. Round 2 = success. The room was back to normal and I was ready to go.<br />
<br />
I was monitored for nearly 45 minutes and then it was pitocin time. I was induced for the fourth time. Why? Several reasons. Joel was measuring big. I was in and out of the hospital so many times, with contractions that never fully stopped, that the doctor felt sorry for me. I was 4cm and almost entirely effaced. I was tired. I was 39 weeks. I said, yes. Josh said, yes. I talked it over with Joel, (for real), and he said, yes. So, that's why. You raised your eyebrows at that last part, didn't you? That's okay. <br />
<br />
I texted some friends to ask for prayer. And then got out my ipad for some Sudoku, which I've become pretty good at. <br />
<br />
At about 6:30am pitocin began. The doctor broke my water at some point thereafter. My friend Nicole arrived at about 7am. She, Josh and I talked about all sorts of things until things got rough, and then it got quiet. Josh and Nicole were great. Josh knows this labor thing very well by now, and also knows well when my contractions go from tolerable, to uh-oh, so he's a big help to me. Nicole was really sweet and I was happy to have her there.<br />
<br />
I had two intrathecals (shots that relieve pain, and last for about 1 1/2 hours before wearing off), and then I had Joel at 11:41am. About 5 hours of labor. Pitocin makes your contractions go from a level 1 discomfort to a whoa! level of discomfort fairly rapidly, especially if the amount of pitocin administered is done at a fast pace, which was the case for me. I was used to it.<br />
<br />
Side note: The anesthesiologist might very well be the sweetest little old man in town. He should be retired, but he loves what he does and doesn't want to quit. He's apparently climbed every tall mountain in the world and is an avid snow skier. He was definitely a bright spot in my morning...especially after he gave me that shot. :)<br />
<br />
Joel was born with no complications. I think I only pushed for 10 minutes at most. He was bigger than I expected, weighing in at a whopping 8lbs. 11oz.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQvuF9GeK8KTMWOWRvF9nNS8YFPK3R7njSEUHD2Uk459L2PIPawKwSL19Y61dGIPQtE9E16MQwqIKXKNPi3yaHZJo3hpEFZaW5oUv0ZTKhsDtv9wW_IGa7eSBKe9keUoMCLtdJTXjJ4gg/s1600/Trask-50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQvuF9GeK8KTMWOWRvF9nNS8YFPK3R7njSEUHD2Uk459L2PIPawKwSL19Y61dGIPQtE9E16MQwqIKXKNPi3yaHZJo3hpEFZaW5oUv0ZTKhsDtv9wW_IGa7eSBKe9keUoMCLtdJTXjJ4gg/s320/Trask-50.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I think he surprised all of us. I’ve never had a baby bigger than 7lbs. 12oz. He came out with a perfectly round head, and once he was cleaned, a perfectly smooth complexion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4cFgrgPiymeYX5XukZa12Dq285Bj7J8C7wGKadGtPVw-La4qqaG57sSmnsn9U_i2i_6nmFypU8nMV2p1jXwab4Ta84rcLQlTIxL-KdvG589e7CwkUr2-JVDkXnXhVcP6ku_u2MycEMYq/s1600/Trask-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq4cFgrgPiymeYX5XukZa12Dq285Bj7J8C7wGKadGtPVw-La4qqaG57sSmnsn9U_i2i_6nmFypU8nMV2p1jXwab4Ta84rcLQlTIxL-KdvG589e7CwkUr2-JVDkXnXhVcP6ku_u2MycEMYq/s320/Trask-39.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5dfEx7IMiRoJQhDtbeJtAFIK4nORnzItJWhAR9_zguK2uo5Q7Oi3sG2Nj0oUk8uYHTUN6AZn4Z3OP-tJ1kM_3clPi51U6nxQQE_8jp4QEFgfUQsu7O0BgxE7pWOftGXRP4bHbTPMITXE/s1600/Trask-145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5dfEx7IMiRoJQhDtbeJtAFIK4nORnzItJWhAR9_zguK2uo5Q7Oi3sG2Nj0oUk8uYHTUN6AZn4Z3OP-tJ1kM_3clPi51U6nxQQE_8jp4QEFgfUQsu7O0BgxE7pWOftGXRP4bHbTPMITXE/s320/Trask-145.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I thought I might’ve had an all natural birth this time around, meaning no intervention by the hospital in the form of medicine, but that wasn’t the case, and I’m okay with it. I’m not particularly extreme either way about medicine and labor and delivery. I think I'm more in the, "I trust the Lord, and I know He'll protect us no matter what," camp. That's just me. To each their own. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As you can imagine, our hearts are full and our family is complete. We are thrilled to add our son, Joel David, to our house full of girls. This will be an adventure for sure. And we plan to savor every second, or at least try to!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGT66jIXvlz1Rg2hG2HZ8ipxVs0dLsmQCo2jlHMLwOiV00jgz9Y-gcuHpqqfoy9B0ef7s0yylqDvgE5eXOPoik3MZTPjZ5DB_kA2-wgpEOEZHd68ep_njCHWIcEsAjWaM5O3PKNJCbt1C/s1600/Trask-149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGT66jIXvlz1Rg2hG2HZ8ipxVs0dLsmQCo2jlHMLwOiV00jgz9Y-gcuHpqqfoy9B0ef7s0yylqDvgE5eXOPoik3MZTPjZ5DB_kA2-wgpEOEZHd68ep_njCHWIcEsAjWaM5O3PKNJCbt1C/s320/Trask-149.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-2028156097631574512012-02-04T09:55:00.000-08:002012-02-05T05:47:24.464-08:00We have been InVaDed!A quiet Saturday morning finds me nursing my sweet boy in the stillness of our house. There are a few birds outside my window, which I'm so thankful for. We've had a more than mild winter here so there hasn't been a day that I've not found birds of all kinds singing, jumping, hopping and sputtering outside my window. Flying too, of course. That is, after they inspect the wooded forest outside. I love their sweet sounds.<br />
<br />
I can hear Claire Lauren in the living room talking quietly to her Daddy who has just returned from a 4-6am shift of 24hr worship up the hill. It's raining. The sprinkling sound is the perfect compliment to the sounds of the morning. It's so peaceful.<br />
<br />
And then it happens. The invasion.<br />
<br />
Noelle is awake. I spot her moving on the video monitor next to me. I alert Daddy, and he comes to get her. A quick sippy cup of almond milk for her and then it begins. The parade of children down the hall. I know where they're going. A few seconds later, and they've arrived. The invasion has begun. They've come to see "buddy," and to see what they can get into. Actually I take that back. I don't think they truly know why they've come until they get here. They are adventurers, explorers, treasure hunters, thrill seekers. They're spur-of-the-moment gals. We say, good morning, and then it hits. The chaos of 4 kids. <br />
<br />
Claire jumps onto the bed, walks around like a dog sniffing out its prey and almost instantly finds what shes after. The remote. Without asking, she takes the liberty of tuning our tv to Phineas and Ferb, and then proceeds to arrange the pillows on our bed to precisely fit her snuggle bill. And then she settles in for some good quality Saturday morning laughs. Daddy's side of the bed has been occupied.<br />
<br />
Avery jumps on to what we refer to as, "the ugly chair," does a few little fairy-tale-Avery-spins and small jumps, and finally plops down. She starts drawing a family portrait of us on her new dry ease board that she got as a prize from school yesterday. She begins narrating what she's drawing, why she's drawing it, and why she's chosen the look of each person in her portrait. She's invested in this picture.<br />
<br />
Noelle is busy trying to climb onto my nightstand to talk on her "phone" (the baby monitor) for which I am adamantly reprimanding her for, and simultaneously asking for kisses from, since she's so close to me. She obeys after a few threats, finally gives me a kiss, and then shifts her focus to something else of interest...my fig newton stash. There are only 3 left. I offer her one to eat. She takes it, but doesn't eat it. She'd rather put it, and the other two, everywhere except her mouth. (She managed to shove a couple into her Daddy's mouth, who by the way, is now trying to rest on my side of the bed.)<br />
<br />
And then there's Joel. Still nursing. Unaffected by the tornado that just blew in. I notice his long eye lashes and the way his expression changes as he eats, and I'm overwhelmed. I'm in awe. I look around, marveling at my life. It's wild. It's raucous. It's loud. And I realize for the hundred-millionth time that I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
<br />
I love the quiet still sounds and rustlings of the house, and I appreciate those moments so much. They are quite necessary. And there are no doubt times when I'm irritated by the circus coming to town that so easily (and efficiently) banishes the quiet, and steals my wonderings and day dreams. But once it's here it only takes but a second for me to look around at the miracles bouncing off the walls to realize that the circus life is the only life for me. My wonderings and day dreams aren't stolen. I take that back. They're only put on hold for a bit while I choose to realize that my best work, my most magnificent day dreams are spilling over with life right in front of me. I find myself in a time-outside-of-time moment and I'm almost certain it's only but a dream. And then someone breaks something, and it's business as usual. :)<br />
<br />
We are thetrask6, and I wouldn't have it any other way! Happy Saturday morning!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF25x0QDQaA6A3KMb6YGHmhZ7oAGf0q4IDyIXFmNnS7WMiPwGcP16dhUm7Md5AWAJbZQZWSbmHMTPXVh_tSeptD8Cg9SupQYTpCxoRwCgEfcCbh5KEg5T9NxeT5SGW40fCcBsFnbTXcLY/s1600/kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF25x0QDQaA6A3KMb6YGHmhZ7oAGf0q4IDyIXFmNnS7WMiPwGcP16dhUm7Md5AWAJbZQZWSbmHMTPXVh_tSeptD8Cg9SupQYTpCxoRwCgEfcCbh5KEg5T9NxeT5SGW40fCcBsFnbTXcLY/s320/kids.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-64480353465557485032011-12-16T18:49:00.000-08:002011-12-16T18:49:38.213-08:0034 weeks.A little update.<br />
<br />
I am 34 weeks pregnant today (cue applause!!). Yesterday I went into the hospital for a third time during this pregnancy, after three days of persistent contractions. And for the third time I was adamant that I did not need to go when the doctors office insisted that it was necessary. But, like the previous two times, I gave in and once again found myself on floor 2 at our local hospital. Fun times!<br />
<br />
Here's why I don't like to go. I feel like if I'm just having uncomfortable contractions, no matter how frequent, I'm okay as long as he's okay...and I know in my heart that he's okay. (Like Kris Vallotton says, "Vision gives pain a purpose.") I can handle the discomfort as long as it means he's still hanging in there, and doing fine. And he always is. I know it's important to be monitored, but I also know I'm okay. I just know it.<br />
<br />
Yesterday actually turned out great! That whole, "the third time's a charm," thing happened. It was still long, (a solid 5 1/2 hours), but it was different. Before I went in, I prayed like I always do. And then I took the elevator up to labor and delivery to once again rendezvous with that lovely gown that always greets me in a haphazard fashion, either laying on the bed or on the food tray (strange). And then I climbed into the bed that comes apart in about 17 different ways. Functionality beats comfort by a long shot in those beds. They're functional and that's it.<br />
<br />
I decided against tv for about 5 hours of my visit. I just didn't want the noise of it. TV doesn't really matter so much to me anyway. I often times prefer quiet over the static of nothingness on tv. So, I grabbed my iPhone instead and went right to, where else, Facebook. Haha! <br />
<br />
I found two great things on my news feed right away. And I think the Lord put them there on purpose. The first was a clip by Bill Johnson about staying in the rest of the Lord. It's about staying at peace no matter what comes your way. The Lord has been teaching me a lot about rest and boundaries during this pregnancy so I knew He was up to something when that clip caught my eye, and eventually my attention. <br />
<br />
Here's the link if you want to watch : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvkE4PyVZrs&sns=em. It's a quick 9 minute watch with a lot of impact. You have 9 minutes, don't you? (No pressure!) :)<br />
<br />
After that, I happened upon Bill Johnson's daughter singing a song called, Healer. Again, it felt like the Lord, so back to YouTube I went. <br />
Another link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3aBhGu4ryg&sns=em <br />
<br />
These are the lyrics:<br />
<br />
Healer:<br />
<br />
You hold my every moment<br />
You calm my raging seas<br />
You walk with me through fire<br />
And heal all my disease<br />
I trust in You<br />
I trust in You<br />
<br />
Chorus:<br />
I believe You're my Healer<br />
I believe You are all I need<br />
I believe You're my Portion<br />
I believe You're more than enough for me<br />
Jesus You're all I need<br />
<br />
Bridge:<br />
Nothing is impossible for You<br />
Nothing is impossible for You<br />
Nothing is impossible for You<br />
You hold my world in Your hands<br />
<br />
As soon as the song started I turned it up all the way and put it on my belly for our baby to hear. (I know the song says the word, 'disease,' in it. I know we don't have a disease, but the song was so perfect nevertheless.) I cried during the bridge of the song. I felt like me and my baby were especially singing that part to Jesus. We really believe He holds our worlds in His hands.<br />
<br />
As the song played I had moments of, "I hope this song isn't too loud, and I hope it's okay that I'm using my cell phone," but then I got over that, and just didn't care. I felt the presence of the Lord so strong in the hospital room that I thought any hospital worker would be so lucky to come in and feel the peace that had now taken over my room, my baby, our hearts and our spirits. It was pretty special. So then I moved right along to Jenn Johnson singing, "I Love Your Presence." One of my all-time worship songs. And then I just sat there, lingering in peace that felt so thick and tangible. Intoxicating. And I had contractions almost the whole time, but they were much less noticeable. Funny how that works. ;)<br />
<br />
My friend, Nicole, came to see me for the last 40 minutes or so, and that was so sweet. We just sat and talked, and laughed, and moved from one half-conversation to the next, like we always do. Totally random and unpredictable. I love how we can go from one topic to the next, back to the first, into the third, finish the first, and then go somewhere else entirely. Good friends are good at that. <br />
<br />
The doctor came in at the end and said that my preterm labor test was negative. (Great news!) She did go ahead and give me a shot of betamethasone though, to help strengthen the baby's lungs should he come early. (I had to go back for a second shot today. Ouch.) And then she said that the baby could come anytime after 35 weeks and be just fine. I told her that I didn't want to keep coming back to the hospital every time I start having more than 4 contractions in an hour. (That's their rule of thumb.) I said, "I feel like its pointless." She understood what I meant and told me that since this is my 4th baby my body just knows what to do, and so do I, so she gave me permission to only come back if I find myself in hard labor, like the kind you have right before delivery. Or if something major happens, (water breaks, bleeding, etc.) I was relieved. I was so tired of everyone panicking, (namely the folks at he doctors office).<br />
<br />
The contractions I've been having are uncomfortable and persistent, but that's it. I'm 2cm dilated, (sorry men-folk), but that's it. So, as of now, I'm still having to take it easy, and rest as much as possible, and I'm trying to. It's been hard, but things are settling down now. I'm officially done Christmas shopping (hooray), and have no big engagements coming up, so I'm finding rest easier to come by now. Phew! <br />
<br />
So, who knows when baby boy will come? He could come early, or he could come on time. Probably not late though. Time will tell. The only thing I'm sure of at this point is that the Lord has my world, and his, in His great big hands. That's enough for me. <br />
<br />
This is our last baby, as far as I know, so I have determined to savor every last second of being pregnant. I love him more than my heart understands, just like I love my princesses, and I'd rather spend my time resting, loving on his life and destiny than worrying about the discomfort. It's not always easy, but it's the goal. He'll be here before we know it. What does he look like? Hmmm... Handsome for sure! Delicious and breathtaking, definitely. Completion to our family, absolutely.<br />
<br />
Here are a few sweet quotes to leave you with...<br />
<br />
"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."<br />
<br />
"Having a child is surely the most beautifully irrational act that two people in love can commit."<br />
<br />
"Nobody will ever know the strength of my love for you, after all you're the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside."<br />
<br />
"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."<br />
<br />
"Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were here an hour I would die for you. This is the miracle of love."<br />
<br />
Okay, that's all. Me and baby boy are well. I hope all of you are too! <br />
<br />
Love & Merry Christmas!!Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-26225255141197954012011-11-18T09:23:00.001-08:002011-11-18T17:40:01.610-08:0030 WeeksYesterday I spent a solid 6 hours in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors measuring unrelenting contractions. I'm only 30 weeks pregnant so contractions at this point are no good, and better yet, unnecessary. Totally inappropriate, if you ask me. :) 6 hours of tv, some texting, shifting around in a terribly uncomfortable bed, starving, and desperate for answers. I wanted to go home. I was all by myself. No one to talk to, nothing of importance to do. I occasionally glanced out my big window to look on the view of the parking lot of people coming and going. I had moments of wondering who the people were, and what their purpose at the hospital was, and then I was back to shifting around in my bed, trying not to disturb the monitors stuck to my basketball belly. Overall I was miserable. <br />
<br />
But then I had a moment where my despair and pity were usurped briefly by the wonder of life. It happened when I looked back at the monitors to read their numbers and happened to notice the baby bed sitting nearby, ready to receive new life. (I was in a labor and delivery room -- not a monitoring room -- those were full. So, my room was all set and staged for the ushering in of a new, sweet life.) I admit it, I only looked at it for about 10 seconds or so, but in those quick seconds my mind shifted from, "this stinks," to awe and wonder, and the thought of what my little boy will look like when we meet face to face. Love rushed in, and moved on my heart. I was overtaken by the mystery of new life, and the destiny that begins to breathe on it's own, for the very first time, in rooms like these. It was magical. It was precious. The sure steady sound of my baby's audible heartbeat on the monitor in the background only amplified the perfect nostalgia of the moment.<br />
<br />
Despondency became joy.<br />
<br />
And then I was back to watching the Food Network, salivating at the sight of food, and regretting the 4 graham crackers I had earlier that morning. (I would've had a box full had I known I'd soon go hungry. I know. 6 hours isn't that long, but I'm pregnant, and used to eating whenever I like.)<br />
<br />
The funny thing about the onset of these contractions is that I had been telling myself this whole pregnancy, "I just need to make it to 30 weeks." (Why, you ask? I have no idea.) 30 weeks arrive, and, BAM, full-on contractions, and not Braxton-Hicks contractions. Contractions like I remember having the day I went in to have Noelle. (**Warning: Careful what you think and say.**) <br />
<br />
So, a trip to the hospital, and a negative preterm labor test later, and I'm back at home with orders to take it easy. The contractions have set things in motion for the arrival of our baby, however, not so much so that I can't manage holding off on his big debut for now. But, the way to do that is to do nothing. I'll give it a try. I mean, within reason. I have a family to take care of, but as my doctor put it yesterday, "You are the only one who can take care of this baby right now. You need to do whatever it takes to do that." Her words made an impression on me. I had an "ah-ha" moment. I realized again the privilege I have of protecting this baby in my belly until God thinks he's ready to come see us in person. That's pretty special. <br />
<br />
So, maybe I'll blog more, craft more, or invent new ways to be productive while sitting still. Or maybe I'll finally take the advice of a friend who is near and dear to my heart, and very much like Jesus, and do nothing. She just told me (a few days prior to the onset of these contractions) that it's time to rest, to reassess boundaries, and stop doing so much. She's right. I'm going to give it a try. Besides, I'm starting to finally understand that rest really does bring life's sweetest moments. Rest and time for reflection pull you out of the confusion of the moment, and right into the heart of God. Rest brings sweet revelation, and appreciation for the little things in life...just like the feeling I felt when I looked over at that baby bed. Rest is good. Necessary. Rest makes you breathe better.<br />
<br />
One more quick thing before I go. This past week I have been to the hospital twice, (once for me, and once for Noelle), and to the pediatrician's office once for Claire. All 3 times the visits have ended in what I'll call, false alarms. No significant injuries, illnesses, or nightmare diagnosis's. All 3 times have resulted in praising God for His omniscient presence in our lives, and for His strong hand that refuses to let go of us. For His unswerving gaze that keeps us safe and protected. For His love. The night before Noelle's visit to the ER found me sleeping in her room, on the floor, on a very thin futon mattress, (pregnant), and while the sleep I got was insignificant at best, it was one of the sweetest nights I've had in my life, ever. I've never been so aware of angels and Heaven and Jesus as I was that night. Her room felt stuffy and intoxicating, but in a good way, make that, great way. It felt like all of Heaven lived in her room. I'm pretty sure it does. The next day a friend said, "Ahh, a room of no worries. Perfect peace." That's what it was. It was a room where a child of God lay sleeping in perfect peace, being completely certain of the promise of a new day, and even if that day didn't come, it wouldn't matter anyway. There was perfect peace, steady breathing, and beautiful rest. <br />
<br />
Babies live in the now, and trust in their caretakers to provide for them, believing, without a doubt, that they will. And if they don't, it doesn't matter, because their Creator, whom they still know very well is with them. I'd like to get back to that. I'd like to be the child that the Bible encourages me to be. My kids are helping me learn. Divine circumstances are helping me see. I pray I'm becoming a good student. I pray I can put into practice what I'm beginning to understand. God, help me! :)<br />
<br />
Until next time....Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-88948614163667148752011-09-10T07:02:00.000-07:002011-09-10T07:58:45.550-07:00Baby #4<span id="yui_3_2_0_1_131566236642477">The cat's out of the bag, baby #4 is on his way! </span><br />
<br />
(I said, 'his!' Isn't that miraculous? A baby boy has finally come along, last in line, after a good run of sugar and spice, and everything girl! And we couldn't be more thrilled!) <br />
<br />
This pregnancy is my biggest reason for my blog writing sabbatical. I like to write about things that are in the forefront of my mind, or pressing persistently on my heart, and, well, a baby will do that to a Mama! I'm not one to break baby news right away, anyway. It's a matter of preference for me. I like to cherish her/him in my heart first, and also make sure things are coming along nicely as far as health is concerned, before I/we make the big announcement. So, here we are, 20 weeks in, and I finally feel like I want to blog about my angel baby #4. (I've wanted to tell you all about it for some time now. Like the minute the two lines appeared, or the morning after my dream, but I had to refrain. You understand.) <br />
<br />
So, a quick little back story. <br />
<br />
(** Warning to the not-so-spiritual: Might want to pack it up, and leave now if you're not so into Jesus, like I am. If you decide to linger on and read, please no eye-rolling, or heavy, sarcastic sighing. This story is precious to me. **)<br />
<br />
Okay, moving right along. <br />
<br />
One night in April, 2011 I found myself in dreamland. It was business as usual for me. I was caught up in some ordinary Jenny dream, when a different dream interrupted for a brief couple minutes. <br />
<br />
A commercial break, if you will. <br />
<br />
In that dream I heard the sound of the most complex, intricate drum beat I'd ever heard. It was a beat no solitary drummer could make on his/her own. It was way too involved. I realized that the sound was coming from a Doppler heart monitor placed on my belly. I looked up at the doctor who was listening to the heartbeat, and hesitantly asked, "Is that my baby's heartbeat?" The doctor shook his head, yes, with a look of giddy excitement on his face. <br />
<br />
I remember pausing for a brief second to process/reflect, and then I looked back up at the doctor with a sort of puzzled, inquisitive look on my face. I remember raising objections in my mind, like, <br />
<br />
"But, we're done." <br />
<br />
And then, <br />
<br />
"Wait, that's a boy. Is there really one more? How could I say, no, if there's another little Trask in heaven, waiting to come down?" <br />
<br />
We met gazes for a moment. It was like he heard all of my thoughts, even though they occurred only in my heart in a simultaneous-combustive-unorganized sort of way. He looked at me with a look I've seen on my one year old's face. That familiar, 'I'm-so-excited, and definitely up to something' mischievous look. <br />
<br />
And then I remember him saying, only without words, "What do you want to know? I'll tell you anything you want to know." Same look on his face. Wide, enticing, about-to-burst, eyes, with a coy, encouraging smile. <br />
<br />
I shook my head, no, and somehow backed out of the dream. <br />
<br />
Commercial over. And I'm back to my regularly scheduled dream programming. <br />
<br />
I woke up the next morning in normal Mama mode, processing the upcoming day, organizing my to-do list, thinking about Josh, etc., etc., (this all happens in a matter of seconds, by the way). Thoughts are flying. I'm exchanging good morning's with Josh, when I stop mid-sentence and say,"Oh my gosh. I just remembered. I had a dream last night." <br />
<br />
(Pause.) <br />
<br />
Josh can tell it made an impression on me. He's all ears. I tell him the dream. He smiles. I smile too, although I'm a total confused mess. <br />
<br />
There is a serious subject on the table. A matter of life. I need to investigate. I'm a woman. It's what I do.<br />
<br />
Later in the morning I find myself deep in thought, in a house now quiet from little girl chatter. My thoughts merge from my mind and heart, right into a heavy conversation with the Lord. There's no formal hello's exchanged between us. We just get right down to business. <br />
<br />
I think it started like this. <br />
<br />
"Was that you in my dream? Are you sure about this? We just can't <em>have</em> another baby. We need to be able to financially support another child first. I want to be responsible. If that dream was just a whim, I need to know." <br />
<br />
We, (God and I), both knew it wasn't a whim. I know when I have God dreams. I knew that morning it was a God dream. I suppose I was trying to put the Lord on notice, reminding Him that I really want to be responsible so that He can trust me/us with more. And that my biggest heart's desire is to be obedient to Him. (I've learned by now that when we follow the Lord's plan for our lives, we live out of exceeding, abundant joy, happiness and provision.) I was serious. I'm sure He was yawning. <br />
<br />
I'll be honest, deep down I loved the idea of one more child. A BFF for Noelle. A (possible) little boy for Josh to call, "buddy!" I was totally on board in my heart, but my mind needed confirmation. <br />
<br />
So, I continue carrying on with the Lord when I put my hands in my jean pockets to smooth them flat. (I was getting ready for the day. Bunchy pockets give you odd shaped hips. Haha!) I felt something in my right pocket. It was wadded up money. I know money when I feel it, even though I almost never have cash. <br />
<br />
So, in classic Jenny reasoning I put the Lord on the spot. I said, out loud, "If this is four one dollar bills, then I'll know this us You, and that everything will be taken care of." (Four one dollar bills = four kids. You get it.) :-)<br />
<br />
And what do you know? $4.00 exactly. I smiled. I stopped rambling. I tucked the dollar bills away for safe keeping, and then I was quiet. I looked into the mirror and started fixing my hair. I couldn't get that one-year-old happy little look off my face. We were going to have another baby. And it just might be a boy this time. <br />
<br />
So, here we are 20 weeks in. Half way done. We made plans to keep the baby's gender a surprise until he/she arrived...and then yesterday happened. Ultrasound time. We went in for our appointment at 9:30am. I told the technician that we weren't sure if we wanted to know what the baby's gender is. <br />
<br />
I said, "Unless it's entirely obvious to us, we don't want you to tell us. Instead we'd like you to write it down on a piece of paper so we can look later if we want to." It was kind of like the game I played with the Lord. A gamble, if you will. <br />
<br />
Our eyes were glued to the tv screen during the scan. And then, BAM, something unusual appeared. Something I had not seen during my 3 girls' ultrasounds. It was unmistakable. I blurted out, "It's a boy!!!!" I was laughing. Josh was laughing. Uncontrollable joy. I even hit the technician in the arm and said, "Isn't that the cutest little boy you've ever seen?" She laughed and shook her head, yes. (I know she lied. She has a little boy of her own - every parent swears hers is the finest looking child - but she couldn't resist agreeing with my over-the-moon joy, so she agreed!) I'm right, by the way! ;-)<br />
<br />
And that's most of our story, to-date. There are other precious pieces of this story, but those will remain in my heart for me to cherish. <br />
<br />
In short, we are a blessed Trask family! We can't wait to meet our son!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9VZPqfPkVDl0S1Wy-MI1frTKEwERENqyieSwXDUvqoxcE_Oc-2UT0o5uD2Qaonjg-NFvH-ka4mlbTGjp6cB_qf5m29UM1K3DyMd9ZyLEOYIEzYRDC2gD4nLoXhq65TKTqxgp0ueJS5Vr/s1600/baby4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib9VZPqfPkVDl0S1Wy-MI1frTKEwERENqyieSwXDUvqoxcE_Oc-2UT0o5uD2Qaonjg-NFvH-ka4mlbTGjp6cB_qf5m29UM1K3DyMd9ZyLEOYIEzYRDC2gD4nLoXhq65TKTqxgp0ueJS5Vr/s320/baby4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In closing, I've missed blogging, very much! There's a lot rolling around in my head. I promise to not stay away so long anymore. I plan to write again very soon. I hope you'll come back to read.Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-14330746739117537962011-07-03T07:16:00.000-07:002011-07-03T07:17:33.876-07:00Older-Than-Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">This morning I played Josh a new Brad Paisley song on youtube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s called, “Toothbrush.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s real sweet, and true to the clever, lovey-dovey, uber-creative style that Brad Paisley’s become known for, (which I happen to love…I’m mushy like that).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, after the song ended I hit the “related” search on the youtube menu and it brought up all of the other songs off Brad’s new album.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I scrolled around until I found a title that grabbed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I like words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Words intrigue me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Words win me.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, I found a title called, “Love Her Like She’s Leaving.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know what you’re thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wow! Words win her, huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are some super complex, deep words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s <em>all</em> it takes?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re classic cliché country words, but I knew the message would be sweet, so I hit, play, (and <em>no</em>, that’s not all it takes to win me, by the way).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, guess what? I loved that song too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song talks about a man and woman getting married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the wedding, her Uncle Bill pulls up a chair and gives the newly wedded husband a little talkin’ to about how to hang onto his wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The message is basic, and it’s all in the title, but it’s a good reminder:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Love her like she’s leaving, like it’s going to end if you don’t, love like she’s leaving, oh and I guarantee she won’t.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What got me about the song is something that I know for sure about myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love old people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strike that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love older-than-me people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the song there was a man, married for 45 years, giving a young man all of his secrets for keeping a happy wife. I love that. It was simple advice, but it worked for him. Maybe simple really works. Hmm, there's a thought. Anyway, I love learning from older people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking about the choices they made; their life picture that appears in my mind when they tell stories; the round-the-mountain lessons they’ve finally learned, that I get to have for free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I just love them. </span>I love the legacy and life stored deep within the wells of their eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They fascinate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re precious to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Quick story, and then to my point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>A few years back I took my daughters to trick-or-treat at a home for the elderly with their preschool class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was strangely excited to go, although I didn’t know why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I was definitely hoping there wouldn’t be a stench that would send me over the edge, (classic stereotype, I know), but even still I found myself really looking forward to visiting the elderly, <em>and</em> seeing my ladybug and princess score lots of treats!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I’m a protective Mom, so I like to go on field trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, when we walked through the doors of the home I wanted to cry, and I mean, boo-hoo sob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I'm realizing that my blogs make me seem like such a cry baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> ...</span><em>sigh</em>)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, anyway, we paraded through the home, room to room, and while I was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>busy maintaining a straight walking line, shushing loud chatter, and encouraging good behavior, I became very aware of how much I valued each person at the home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted so badly to know their stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To know what they did in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To know their triumphs, happiest memories, failures, and lessons learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I just wanted to honor them with a listening ear and a welcoming heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was mostly selfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like getting things for free, especially wisdom, but I wanted to be their friends too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to say, thank you, for whatever they were, and whatever they weren’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to say, “Say hi to Jesus for me when you get there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are your feet warm?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can I get you something from your favorite restaurant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want a different pillow? Want my daughter to sing for you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You get my drift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to be their friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet only 2 out of the whole bunch would’ve wanted a friend like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone who talks excessively, and often times, entirely too fast, but that’s okay, I liked them all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I was honored to witness the joy they had as they passed out candy to the raucous preschoolers. (Except for the man who fell asleep and missed the entire shin-dig. I actually felt terrible for him. Poor guy's gonna wake up with a bucket full of candy and no wild kids to give it to. Or, is he? Maybe he's a sugar-daddy. Maybe it was part of his plan! Haha!) I plan to go back and volunteer someday. I will make a new friend there, by golly. Surely someone will have me. :-)</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay, so here’s what happened this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to the song about the Uncle telling the young man ways to love his wife when that sappy, familiar, I love older-than-me people feeling surfaced again, which made me think of Buck Petty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>Phew, we’ve arrived at the point. Clap if you want to. Or go potty if you need to. But, definitely keep reading.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQl_gWiBAzsmv2XZWF-BDIEzFfkk96l41ksSHLwfoJaFF93be7DotUE3UOR44X3OiiQXe5ZE9R_UMTaobv30MTyLZE_aJ8oZvQWxM3zgLg-IG6Mx8RIQz5A0dCZqL9jnFa2Y-ajR4JrTVY/s1600/bande.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQl_gWiBAzsmv2XZWF-BDIEzFfkk96l41ksSHLwfoJaFF93be7DotUE3UOR44X3OiiQXe5ZE9R_UMTaobv30MTyLZE_aJ8oZvQWxM3zgLg-IG6Mx8RIQz5A0dCZqL9jnFa2Y-ajR4JrTVY/s320/bande.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Buck is my neighbor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s married to Elaine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re both precious to my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re a big part of our adopted family in the south. I thought since I was thinking about him (and Elaine) this morning, I'd post a poem I wrote about him this past year, when he turned 75, just as a small way to honor him. Elaine's poem to come... :-)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">We didn't have a lot of money for a gift, but I couldn't show up to his party empty-handed, so Josh and I bought him some coke and peanuts, (a true southern treat), and I wrote him this poem. (Josh actually read it...I couldn't do it.)</span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-RS0i27rJEjDmdpyPP8J8zPNpjTojI3fuaNswdRqMqhLMLrHfDbfgCuJgGc8x75zhB51X9mfjORl3geEaL13h9i2TL_w0VijulTr_eaplvKk9hCQEXzZvtsOeOJveNE4p8LMvhIWke8/s1600/buck1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-RS0i27rJEjDmdpyPP8J8zPNpjTojI3fuaNswdRqMqhLMLrHfDbfgCuJgGc8x75zhB51X9mfjORl3geEaL13h9i2TL_w0VijulTr_eaplvKk9hCQEXzZvtsOeOJveNE4p8LMvhIWke8/s320/buck1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">There used to be </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">a hole in our hearts</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Someone missing </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Who would play a part</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">In helping us become</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Who we’re supposed to be</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And loving us through </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Life’s triumphs </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">and tragedies</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">If you would’ve asked us </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">5 years ago </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">If someone was missing</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">We would’ve said no</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">A hero, you say?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">No, we’re fine.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Califorina’s our life</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">This life’s divine</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Who would’ve thought</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">We’d find a hero like you</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Who<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>would hold our hands</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And paint our sky’s blue.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You’ve blessed our lives</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">In countless ways</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To name them all</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Would take 10 years and 2 days</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">But a few things come </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Right to mind</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Times you’ve blessed our hearts</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And saved our lives</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">When Christmas found us </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Losing a baby</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">No money for a tree</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Happiness escaped me</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Angels from Heaven,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Let’s call them the Petty’s, </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Left a Christmas tree outside</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And smiles for Claire and Avery</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And when the snow locked us inside</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">A red truck came</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Like a flash in the sky</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">We didn’t have to call</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">No need to ask</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You came to rescue us</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">So that our car could pass</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And who could forget </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">The loud knocks at our door</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">He comes to check on us</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And just like that, </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Our hearts soar!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">One hundred dollars </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And a loving grin,</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">“Go get you some biscuits</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">For you and your kids.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And who could forget </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">The tires for Josh</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You gave them so freely</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Like there was no cost</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But we know better</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Hugs and hugs</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And tears to boot</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You’re always there</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To help get us through</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To some</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You’re WL Petty</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Dump trucks, </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Tractors and rock</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To us you’re a hero</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">To our kids, you’re Pop</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">We love you, dear Buck</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">More than you’ll ever know</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You make our hearts sing</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">And you help our faith grow</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Knowing you </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Is more than an honor</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">You’ve filled the hole in our hearts</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">By being a Jesus-shaped father</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">It’s been 75 years</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Here’s to 75 more</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">We love you forever</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">Plus forever and four </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2wE3XTmdTZVGVz3JrEddE2RjfqKuiS8xuPf5-DElLqGnTQmsfn69IJDgBk2xsg7g5T-IYhyDZxKDCuLWOUIOQrDc8rJ_VkdI4b9I8OWtIl1ZPfAavpCFeBE6cgBM2VaVlTyOvpfsxbd7/s1600/IMG_2314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2wE3XTmdTZVGVz3JrEddE2RjfqKuiS8xuPf5-DElLqGnTQmsfn69IJDgBk2xsg7g5T-IYhyDZxKDCuLWOUIOQrDc8rJ_VkdI4b9I8OWtIl1ZPfAavpCFeBE6cgBM2VaVlTyOvpfsxbd7/s320/IMG_2314.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is Buck and Elaine with Noelle, just a few days after she was born.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0_TLCADIlX7yJjv6VjB8ggWWoGK559S64GhUjw7iG3HHa9flc9xqwZjPTWEWHDq9gXRhatK72DabTcHG5ToOisv0lfmaJbb3KQj4xVS8irfSeL1efSphy2MpwM069TLXoLGJ-jEdZm2B/s1600/Buck2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0_TLCADIlX7yJjv6VjB8ggWWoGK559S64GhUjw7iG3HHa9flc9xqwZjPTWEWHDq9gXRhatK72DabTcHG5ToOisv0lfmaJbb3KQj4xVS8irfSeL1efSphy2MpwM069TLXoLGJ-jEdZm2B/s320/Buck2.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPJ5dWCn-QyLUKLt65iow-GtVhFHTBDmCJl9LuGtSOhZcc3iuoKk02-s3lkjLRe03dOJVA2XvyFZ6rpi8BHCZalvg1xO-W9uaIgr1_7UhwEGjWkm77DVmzY2YPYqOGgR4I4HtuqFD9c-4/s1600/Elaine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPJ5dWCn-QyLUKLt65iow-GtVhFHTBDmCJl9LuGtSOhZcc3iuoKk02-s3lkjLRe03dOJVA2XvyFZ6rpi8BHCZalvg1xO-W9uaIgr1_7UhwEGjWkm77DVmzY2YPYqOGgR4I4HtuqFD9c-4/s320/Elaine.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> And here they are again, when we dedicated Noelle to Jesus! Elaine talked about what a worshiper Noelle is, and Noelle lit up and smiled big. </div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_xcO7sIym6k8r3ZT0jDErHNVLibZxVVuAi1oUXlHO4K6xYGJsK3D2xsxlgkOzei5HPu97r8dKgxpE-nZIv7JSpSlyEN0EdvhN2HQo0ND6V4QtAX8hyphenhyphen9VdyiwEN4YfPV4FthVeeOpeoc/s1600/Buck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_xcO7sIym6k8r3ZT0jDErHNVLibZxVVuAi1oUXlHO4K6xYGJsK3D2xsxlgkOzei5HPu97r8dKgxpE-nZIv7JSpSlyEN0EdvhN2HQo0ND6V4QtAX8hyphenhyphen9VdyiwEN4YfPV4FthVeeOpeoc/s320/Buck.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And here's me and Pop, the day he came over to have lunch with Josh and I. What a treat!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I don't consider Buck and Elaine "old people," but they're older than me and their stories, lives and wisdom are precious to my whole family. I love them with all my heart, and I hang onto the wisdom in their words like my life depends on it. Josh and I both do. They've taught me a lot about true love. They've laughed and cried with me, pounded their fists with me when things have gone wrong, prayed with me through anything and everything, let me be myself (California-girl-turned-southern), and have treated me like I'm their own...and have loved my babies the way all parents desire for their children to be loved. Most of all they've shown me the heart of God, and for that I am changed and forever grateful! I love you, Buck and Elaine Petty (Maw-Maw and Pop)! I love you forever, plus forever and four. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-641083162355411707.post-55464630588996325512011-06-17T09:23:00.000-07:002011-06-17T09:24:10.301-07:00Summer 2011 ListI found a fellow Mom after my own heart. She made a Summer Checklist for her family that wasn't overly scheduled, or completely impossible. I was inspired! (Summertime is always a stretch for a Mom like me. How does one find the time to make summer memorable, educational, <em>and</em> fun for the entire family?) It's a daunting task that takes planning, commitment and <u>ENERGY</u>...it's a year-after-year summertime conundrum for me. Until now. I love this list. It's loose, yet scheduled, simple, yet fun, and most of all, attainable...easy-peasy! I love it! <br />
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Here's our list. <br />
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What's yours look like?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIZsOPSurDSbRXxwY5hDIraWzMOKzGOgFrUb-Zph82l-dkdejHjs-SuaFHK2ftGMTOFxZ0K6ejDCFZHD9iCn-Apzn0S0V5mtcuDUwFfqC3a1xlW1IgdZVFHXfcOjQwMd_-yQeT6mphzHo/s1600/Summer+List.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIZsOPSurDSbRXxwY5hDIraWzMOKzGOgFrUb-Zph82l-dkdejHjs-SuaFHK2ftGMTOFxZ0K6ejDCFZHD9iCn-Apzn0S0V5mtcuDUwFfqC3a1xlW1IgdZVFHXfcOjQwMd_-yQeT6mphzHo/s400/Summer+List.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>Inspiration from: <a href="http://megduerksen.typepad.com/whatever/2011/06/the-summer-list.html">http://megduerksen.typepad.com/whatever/2011/06/the-summer-list.html</a><br />
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PVC Pipe Sprinkler Course: <a href="http://prairiedaze.com/2010/08/08/pvc-pipe-sprinkler/">http://prairiedaze.com/2010/08/08/pvc-pipe-sprinkler/</a><br />
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* Yes, we have ice cream for dinner one night, every summer. It's tradition. I understand your potential concern, but yet, the tradition stands. *Jennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02069390307735616082noreply@blogger.com0