tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30714307068116326602024-03-13T00:57:00.766-04:00oodles of graceoodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-51410295849002618222015-12-05T13:21:00.000-05:002015-12-06T21:12:57.051-05:00It's All About the Number, And I'm Okay With That<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--dNQCxMzoQ0/VmMyMIkLGEI/AAAAAAAAAWY/JifPXRhu92w/s1600/number.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--dNQCxMzoQ0/VmMyMIkLGEI/AAAAAAAAAWY/JifPXRhu92w/s200/number.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I don’t like to focus on numbers, but this time of year it’s inevitable. This may surprise you, but even hospices obsess over numbers. Is the census growing? Can we remain a viable hospice? Most of the time, I do a pretty good job keeping first things first. After all, this number isn’t a dollar amount or quantity sold—It’s a human life. Every time our number goes up, another family is facing a heartbreaking new reality. Still, I have a year-end goal to achieve. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I lay in bed this morning, pondering my number—the corporate-set mark, discouragement seeps in and I become disgusted with myself. I don’t want to be this ambitious person fixated on a target. The old saying comes to mind. “You can’t see the forest for the trees.” I understand the proverbial quote is encouraging us not to lose sight of the whole by fixating on the details. But maybe, at least in this situation, it’s backward. I should focus on the individual, not overall number. I can’t see the trees for the forest! But the tree is what’s important! Especially when this tree has a name. It’s a person—a person with a story. </div>
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I smile as my church’s philosophy comes to mind. NewSpring often faces criticism for being a mega church focused on numbers. Addressing the accusation, Pastor P unashamedly says, “Yes, we focus on growth and numbers, because every number has a name. Every name has a story, and every story matters to God.” Oh, how I love these words!</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I close my eyes as I release the pressure and let the words apply to hospice and my goal. I realize it’s not about being successful through achieving a magic number. It’s about being part of someone’s story. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So today, I’m okay with being all about the numbers. Because every number has a name. Every name has a story, and every story matters to God. What a privilege for our hospice team to walk alongside people as they write their final chapter. </div>
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As the year comes to a close, what are you focused on? I pray you find a way to let go of the stress and find rest. The Author of our life story longs to fill us with peace. I pray you experience His love during Christmas--the season where the number One is all that matters. One babe in a manger, One Savior of the world. One who came to earth so our story can be neverending, because just when the world types "The End", He whispers, "This is only the beginning."<o:p></o:p></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-55448957869629963252015-06-10T22:33:00.000-04:002016-07-23T16:18:40.699-04:00Sacred Space<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left; widows: 132;">
For all the nursing assistants who show up uninvited to care for the dying.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br />
<br />
Uninvited</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You enter sacred space uninvited.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
These are my last days and
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
I don't need your help.
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You will push and pry,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
and strip me of my dignity.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You will uncover and undress,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
stealing my modesty.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
My journey is almost over.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Just let me be.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You're not welcome. Not now.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You enter sacred space uninvited.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You ask to raise my blinds,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
seeking the sun to cheer me.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
I hear you hum a familiar hymn as
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
you bathe my worn-out body.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Your gentle hands caress me,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
and I feel your warmth—your
love.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
As you brush my thinning hair,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
you remind me of happier days
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
when my mom did the same.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Tenderly massaging my aching
limbs,</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
you ask about my life.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You're genuinely interested in my
story.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Reminiscing brings a needed
release.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You entered sacred space
uninvited, but now?</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Now I welcome you to walk with
me.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
I ask you to care for me—to
love me.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
My journey is over and I seek
rest.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
Your presence gives reassurance.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
I know it's okay to cross over.
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
I can let go.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You entered sacred space
uninvited, but now?</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
In this moment, I trust you—I
love you.</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
You are welcomed in my sacred
space
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 132;">
as I say my last good-bye.</div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-82630591648138916582014-08-23T19:43:00.000-04:002016-01-27T05:45:20.941-05:00Silence PleaseWhen grief is suffocating someone you love, what do you do? That moment when you witness someone's life come to a screeching halt, forever changing them, what do you say?<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's easier to cower away
because of fear of screwing up and saying the wrong thing, but you can't just walk away. So what do you do?<br />
<br />
Confession time. Back when I was green, I mean a clueless hospice
newbie who thought she had a clue, I made a lot of mistakes. Words
meant to comfort came across all wrong. I never intentionally
minimized someone's pain, but I'm afraid my attempts to reassure did just that. <br />
<br />
The sad reality is we can't rescue the grieving. Trying to say or do the right thing to make the person feel better is wasted effort. Those who mourn need time to work through the pain, but being a bystander to the process is uncomfortable. As Americans we shun pain. We avoid it at all costs. So it's no wonder we fail when it comes to supporting those who are in the throes of grief.<br />
<br />
From my experience, here's the top three things people say at the time of death but shouldn't. There's always an exception, but for the most part, these are
<b>not </b>helpful.<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-weight: normal;">Don't bring God into it or
quote Scripture.</span><b> </b><i>Gasp</i>. There may come a time, once grief has
settled, when there can be a conversation about God's peace, comfort
and sovereignty, but when one is in shock or deeply anguished, the
words come across as trite. So keep religion out of it when the pain is raw.
</li>
<li>Don't try to frame things in a positive way. I'm the queen
of positive reframing, so this one is tough for me. Yes, he may be
in a better place. Yes, the suffering is over... But it may not be time
for these reassuring words. There will be days and weeks following when these affirmations may
bring peace but perhaps not now.
</li>
<li>Don't say, “Let me know if you need
anything.” Haven't we all done it? And sincerely meant it. But how often does that person call? It's hard for the grief-stricken to breathe, let alone
anticipate their needs. Picking up the phone and asking for something? How is that possible when they are under the sheets weeping?
</li>
</ol>
So what can we do?<br />
<ol>
<li><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HjYjk04aeME/U_ioiqD8rTI/AAAAAAAAASY/2pG6Z7nUEBg/s1600/hands.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Be fully present without words. Simply hold their hand or wrap them in your arms. No advice. No words of wisdom. Just be present.
</li>
<li>If you just can't stand it and must say something, keep
it simple. "I'm so sorry this happened" or "I'm here" is all that's needed.</li>
<li>
Offer concrete ways to help. Anticipate their
needs. Don't expect them to know. “I'm going to pick your children
up from school tomorrow.” “I will bring dinner tonight.” Ease
their stress by doing the practical things that must be done without
being asked.<br />
<br />
Above all, be honest. Be real. Be transparent. It's okay to say you
don't know what to say or do. After twenty years of hospice care, do
you want to know the words I say most often?</li>
</ol>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>“I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what to say, but there are no words.” </b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
That's it. No magic formula. No struggle to find wise words to comfort. No perfect verse to bring healing. Not now. Not in the midst of raw emotion. The best gift to offer the grief-stricken is to simply bear witness. Sit in silence as they weep. Hold their hand. Offer your shoulder. But do so without meaningless words. Never be afraid to simply offer your presence.<br />
<br />
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<br />oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-67190576357969795862014-08-14T07:48:00.000-04:002016-01-21T21:41:39.164-05:00A Shattered Spirit is LovedWhen I hear of someone ending his own life, my heart breaks.
Whether it's a person of worldwide fame whose beloved by millions, or
a nobody college kid, the question is the same. Why?<br />
<br />
From mansion to dorm room, suicide doesn't discriminate. The act
of a coward? Those words make my blood boil. No it's not the act of a
coward, it's the final act of a desperate soul. A shattered spirit.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
A shattered spirit seeking escape. To disappear. Cease existing.
Stop the pain. Silence the fear. So much fear. Fear of never being
understood. Of being lonely. Isolated though surrounded by many. Fear
of failure. Feeling as though you never measure up, even in the
presence of fame and accolades. Fear of never being truly, deeply
loved.<br />
<br />
Fear that boils so hot, there's no other answer. Alone. Engulfed
in darkness. Fear lies. Fear consumes. Fear destroys life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
But what if? What if fear is covered by Peace?<br />
<br />
A peace that flows
right down to the core of your being, warming your innermost spirit.
Quieting your restless mind. What if desperation is blanketed in
Love? An agape, no-strings-attached, eternal love. A love that offers
security, a place of complete acceptance. And what if once you're
consumed by this Love, you feel hope? Hope that life can have
meaning. Purpose. A divine destiny. A destiny in which you are loved
by your Creator.<br />
<br />
If you are struggling today, even if your spirit is shattered, I pray that you will reach out to
God. He is there with you. I pray that you will feel his loving
presence consume you. But please know, even if you don't hear his
voice, if you don't feel his presence, He is still there. He is
accepting you. He is hovering over you. He is cradling you in his arms. He is loving you. He is mending your broken spirit. <b>He is loving you.</b> No matter what. Always and Forever-<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F21J0wsdeMk/U-ye7DJkywI/AAAAAAAAAR4/CfF-gikwzdU/s1600/sunrise.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F21J0wsdeMk/U-ye7DJkywI/AAAAAAAAAR4/CfF-gikwzdU/s200/sunrise.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-size: large;">He is loving you.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2>
</h2>
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<br />oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-78131953494472122622014-07-22T07:51:00.000-04:002016-01-21T21:44:37.592-05:00Unshakable Faith<div style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Squeezing
my hand, the frail voice whispered, “</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">Even though I</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-14240A" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-ESV-14240A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">walk through the valley of</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-14240B" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-ESV-14240B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">the shadow of death,</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 0px;"> </span><span class="text Ps-23-4" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">I will <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-14240C" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-ESV-14240C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></span>fear no evil.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">” The nurse rolled him further on his side, he groaned, “For you are with me." His grip tightened around my hand as he gasped, "Your rod and your staff, they comfort me."</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">I
glanced over at the nurse who was packing his wound with gauze. Tears were
streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, almost done.” She looked at me, her
eyes filled with despair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">It
was the worst decubitus ulcer I had ever seen- a gaping, five inches wide, to
the bone, bed sore. Nursing home neglect
had taken its toll and now Tom had been moved to our hospice house to die.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">As
the nurse kept working, Tom’s jaw tightened, his voice strained. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." His voice weakened to a labored whispered, “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">I don’t know if the
morphine finally took effect or if he passed out from the pain, but he fell
unconscious. I loosened his hand from mine and looked at the frazzled
nurse. I asked, “Have you ever seen
such faith?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She wiped her wet cheeks. “No, it seems impossible. How does he do it?” </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAbeyRz5UnA/U85fv98e-TI/AAAAAAAAARI/B5S05VwBYgY/s1600/old+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAbeyRz5UnA/U85fv98e-TI/AAAAAAAAARI/B5S05VwBYgY/s1600/old+man.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I </span>didn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> have the answer
then, and I still don’t. His family had abandoned him in a nursing home. He must have felt unwanted. Unloved. Tom never regained consciousness and died a few days
later. In spite of his physical pain, emotional suffering and unanswered questions, the last words on his
breath,"I shall dwell in the house of my Lord forever."<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">I wish I knew his life
story, how his unshakable faith was forged. How he still felt the love of his Father in spite of pain. Thankfully, I look forward to
asking him one day when I see him whole and in perfect health.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /><span style="color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I reflect on the end
of his journey, I’m reminded of others who chose praise in their darkest hour. Jonah, Daniel, David, Paul... the list goes on. In fact, I think it's harder</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> to find a Bible hero who </span>didn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> praise through his hardship
than ones who did. How reassuring to know Tom is now in a circle of these great men
of faith.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lXD2l5dW1hM/U8-INhCcHEI/AAAAAAAAARY/cjvRyrUh8oc/s1600/EmilysQuotes.Com-life-positive-inspirational-attitude-thankful-change-Shauna-Niequist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lXD2l5dW1hM/U8-INhCcHEI/AAAAAAAAARY/cjvRyrUh8oc/s1600/EmilysQuotes.Com-life-positive-inspirational-attitude-thankful-change-Shauna-Niequist.jpg" width="326" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit;">Makes me think twice next time I grumble about
insignificant nuisances and temporal inconveniences. I pray for an unshakable faith so that in spite of circumstances, even during tragedies and crises, I will be able to praise in spite of pain.</span></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-61604447616830756222014-07-13T17:37:00.000-04:002014-07-13T17:45:41.563-04:00Dudley's Demotion<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8MsV-KxG-o/U8KLzGUZpAI/AAAAAAAAANc/r-BKJY7lXGg/s1600/laundry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8MsV-KxG-o/U8KLzGUZpAI/AAAAAAAAANc/r-BKJY7lXGg/s1600/laundry.jpg" height="177" width="320" /></a>Saturday morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A mountain of laundry stares at me. The neighbors are probably on their way to take pictures.<br />
<br />
<br />
Dust bunnies have grown into annoying rabbits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i5LaLDxJHFE/U8KL55Ldq3I/AAAAAAAAANk/phhonwxf0Ec/s1600/dust+bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i5LaLDxJHFE/U8KL55Ldq3I/AAAAAAAAANk/phhonwxf0Ec/s1600/dust+bunny.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">I think I'll name him Dudley.</span></h3>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
It's the perfect day to scrub down, sweep out, and polish up. The house is quiet. Hubby is fishing. Jess is living her
missional dream in Uganda. Nathan is working, and Katie still slumbers. </div>
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<br />
I glove up and jump in, but as I
run a feather duster over picture frames, a bittersweet nostalgia trickles in. Pausing, I stare into three little faces. Is it possible that the precocious toddler smiling at me will be moving away and starting graduate school in just a few weeks? Can the snaggle-toothed girl sitting atop
her pony really be starting her junior year of college? And Katie, my baby, is
it possible that she’s no longer a baby at all but a blossoming tween?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Then... reality slaps me in the face. In ten years, will I look back and feel remorse because I didn't have a tidy, Martha Stewart home? Doubt it. Is it possible I may regret not spending time with my children? Quite possibly. A sense of urgency replaces the nostalgia. Cleaning supplies are quickly put away. The
dust can wait. The laundry will keep. Plans have changed. </div>
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<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7vYDPg1hFqU/U8Lku2O_1XI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dqrv3-lBjd8/s1600/memoriespic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7vYDPg1hFqU/U8Lku2O_1XI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dqrv3-lBjd8/s1600/memoriespic.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>I bound into Katie’s room and declare, “It’s
Mommy-Katie Day!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Groggy eyes open. “Really?” She squeals in delight. Her bear hug takes
my breath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
After shopping, lunch, a movie and playing at the neighborhood pool, we drag home. I open the door, and Dudley Dust Bunny greets me. I don’t care. Dudley doesn't bother me one smidgen. He's been demoted to the bottom of my to-do list.<br />
<br />
Top of the list: Family. Our little ones leave the nest way too soon not to keep first
things first.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OgRMw6Y1d_U/U8L7JXoy0UI/AAAAAAAAAQc/Wytf0-thPrk/s1600/sillygirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OgRMw6Y1d_U/U8L7JXoy0UI/AAAAAAAAAQc/Wytf0-thPrk/s1600/sillygirls.jpg" height="200" width="185" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Katie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-51181840950039953562014-07-07T10:47:00.002-04:002014-07-07T18:12:06.329-04:00Three Words<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Three words.
Three words to describe myself. Well, what day of the week is it? Am I at my
best or worst? Am I refreshed with creative optimism or petering out after a high
pressured week? Am I polished and ready
to take center stage or wallowing under the covers, feeding my insecurities while
unsuccessfully comparing myself to others?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">If you haven’t
guessed, I’m struggling with this whole time-to-promote-your-book thing. One of
the author spotlights asked me to describe myself in three words. Three words! I
admit, I can be overly analytical, (oh, that should probably be one of my words)
but this is a daunting task. Should I be transparent and admit that at my
worst, I am impatient, cynical and smart-alecky? No, that won’t work. I’m
supposed to be likeable. Transparency has its limits.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">How about my
best day self? I can honestly answer with empathetic, capable and creative. No,
now I sound like I think I’m all that. When clearly, I'm not. Humble? No,
people who claim to be humble, usually aren’t. Perhaps I should go with my
ideal self, the woman I aspire to be. Genuine, compassionate, accomplished. No, that's my dream self. If anything, I need to be honest. Integrity? Should that make
my list of three?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">What about
you? What three words would you choose to describe yourself? If you rattled
them off in less than five seconds, I’m jealous. Maybe I should add envious to
my list.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Okay, it
only makes sense to go with an average day. I am warm, caring and sarcastic - not
biting sarcasm, the fun, bantering- I like you so I’m going to say the opposite
of what I mean- kind. Oops, I broke the rule, I can’t elaborate on my words. Conundrum.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Time to wrap
this up. Three words! Just three words! Pressure is building. . .THREE WORDS. . . The Jeopardy tune is playing as I peck out words on my keyboard
only to watch them disappear as I hit delete.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Sigh. Pause. Throw my head back. Eureka!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Grateful! Yes, grateful. That should be number one, top of my list. I am
grateful that I don’t have to fret over being defined by three words or a whole
long list of words for that matter. Why?
Because I just realized my three words: Forgiven, Free, Redeemed. Oh, I have three more. Covered by Grace. Oodles of Grace to be exact.</span></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-4016687285609443092013-03-23T10:58:00.000-04:002014-10-24T16:56:07.732-04:00Window of Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9nPkoM_xMc/Trcf4V2xTBI/AAAAAAAAADE/CfKSSDVIkE8/s1600/me+and+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9nPkoM_xMc/Trcf4V2xTBI/AAAAAAAAADE/CfKSSDVIkE8/s200/me+and+dad.jpg" height="200" width="182" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today marks nine years since my dad was released from his broken body that was ravaged by years of battling Alzheimer's. As the sadness of that day threatens to spill over on this dreary, rainy Saturday morning, I'm reminded that just like a prisoner on his much anticipated release date, my dad was finally freed. And while it was a heartbreaking, excruciatingly long journey for his family and friends to have to witness, it was finally finished on March 23, 2004.You can read about my dad's loving legacy here. </span><a href="http://oodlesofgrace.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-daddys-loving-legacy.html"><span style="font-family: inherit;">http://oodlesofgrace.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-daddys-loving-legacy.html</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead of fighting this sadness, I've decided to snuggle under my warm blanket of melancholy. Not for long, mind you, maybe not even the whole day. But I need to nestle down, reminisce and have a good cry.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I've often wondered if my dad is aware of my journey here. I've read commentaries and blogs arguing for and against the belief that those in heaven can see us on earth. Many believe they can offer prayers on our behalf. And while that thought is comforting to me, others counter that knowing our struggles would lessen the perfection of heaven. So it's simply not possible. There seems to be scripture supporting both sides.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I do know that I've been with many people as they've taken their last breath, and they often reach and call out for a loved one who has passed. If you were there, I don't think you would doubt that loved ones often come back to usher the dying into heaven. Is it possible that they come back more than we think? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBSp8KTXNZY/UU2_ZGY8ayI/AAAAAAAAALw/BFwpwy1Cba8/s1600/window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBSp8KTXNZY/UU2_ZGY8ayI/AAAAAAAAALw/BFwpwy1Cba8/s320/window.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I prefer to think that God, being his omniscient, glorious self, has a special little window in heaven for each of his children. At certain times, the curtain is pulled back, and they can look down and get a glimpse into their family's lives. And maybe there are times when the window is slung wide open, and they can actually be present with us. A birth. A baptism. A wedding. A passing. A welcoming home.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And maybe, just maybe, my dad is looking out his window today. A smile tugs at his lips as his dimple deepens. He whispers a promise. "Not long. It's not long until we will all be enjoying this incredible perfection of heaven together." His face brightens. "Oh, the things I have to show you. The places we will go. The joy we have to share as we spend eternity together. Friends. Family. And most importantly, the One who made it all possible. Our Father. Our Savior. Our Hope."</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_odvzRUO38/UU2_nvn2SvI/AAAAAAAAAL4/dIuE2KPHomk/s1600/heaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y_odvzRUO38/UU2_nvn2SvI/AAAAAAAAAL4/dIuE2KPHomk/s400/heaven.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But, as it is written, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him”—</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">1 Corinthians 2:9</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<br />oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-51753555111815888832013-02-07T09:44:00.001-05:002016-01-21T21:50:35.467-05:00Setting Sail<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VicKiyAdCiY/URO7xCT9jKI/AAAAAAAAALg/XTc483oaqF8/s1600/Gone-from-my-Sight-Ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VicKiyAdCiY/URO7xCT9jKI/AAAAAAAAALg/XTc483oaqF8/s320/Gone-from-my-Sight-Ship.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 21px;">I've</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> had the
honor to be with several people this week who were in labor. Not the joyous occasion
of welcoming a new baby, but rather, the final labor. The
struggle of birthing one’s spirit into heaven. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 21px;">I've</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16pt;"> witnessed families and
hospice nurses provide the warmth and compassion of seasoned mid-wives as
they coach and encourage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">If only we could
see what those who are laboring see. The soldier, ending his war with cancer,
speaks to his departed mother as if she were right there in the room. A lady whose
voice was stolen by Alzheimer’s years ago, looks up from her hospital bed,
smiles and reaches for something in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">It’s as though
they have one foot here, in what we call <i>reality, </i>and another in their future home, their eternal home. If only we could
understand that both are equally real.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If only we could
see. We </span><span style="font-size: 21px;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> grieve in desperation and beg them to stay. We would have
tears of joy, like those bidding farewell, waving as a ship sets sail for a new
adventure and an indescribable, glorious destination.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21px;">Yes, good-byes are still sad. Being separated from those we love is painful, often gut-wrenching, but if only we could see with their eyes. If only we could feel what they feel, experience their miraculous new birth. We would truly grieve as those who have hope.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21px;">I pray that if you are grieving a loss today, you will feel God's tender embrace as He gives comfort to your broken heart.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Gone From My Sight</span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background: #F2F2F0; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-line-height-alt: 13.5pt; tab-stops: 283.5pt; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side, <br />
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts<br />
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.<br />
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck<br />
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: #f2f2f0; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; max-width: 600px; outline: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is
gone." <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: #f2f2f0; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; max-width: 600px; outline: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Gone where? <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: #f2f2f0; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; max-width: 600px; outline: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in
mast,<br />
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.<br />
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: #f2f2f0; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; max-width: 600px; outline: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.<br />
And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"<br />
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices<br />
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: #f2f2f0; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; max-width: 600px; outline: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And that is dying...<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">~~Henry Van Dyke</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sRhfgc7AAUQ/URO7p--Wd_I/AAAAAAAAALY/Jrc3x65Hznc/s1600/sailing+into+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sRhfgc7AAUQ/URO7p--Wd_I/AAAAAAAAALY/Jrc3x65Hznc/s400/sailing+into+sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-86140600675741298152012-09-10T07:56:00.001-04:002016-01-19T21:55:15.265-05:00Broken <br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> Without warning, the unexpected came. Grief wounds once healed were ripped open. The pain seeped into every crevice. Well-meaning friends offered words meant to comfort and encourage, but they fell on her ears as trite and judgmental.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NPW4XQCahtw/Vp7vcnjsOTI/AAAAAAAAAWw/zMSDvBk1qxU/s1600/colored-glass-pieces-652178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NPW4XQCahtw/Vp7vcnjsOTI/AAAAAAAAAWw/zMSDvBk1qxU/s200/colored-glass-pieces-652178.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> In her pain, she grabbed a beautiful vase and slung it against the wall, shattering it. She screamed as she picked </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;">up a blue glass and dropped it on the
floor. She continued to weep as she chose a yellow glass bowl and bashed it against the other
wall. The confusion, the anger, the hurt lay among the broken
pieces of glass. She fell to the ground and released hot angry tears. Her body heaved as suffocating loss imploded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> Finally emptied of all feeling, she collapsed in silence. The sun set. Darkness came. She remained still. Numb. Spent. Exhausted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> Just when she thought the blackness would have her, the sun rose. Love breathed warmth on her cheek. Gentleness caressed her
shoulder. She knew the touch. It was her Creator’s. The all-knowing, forever-loving One. She sighed as He tenderly stroked her hair. Resting her head against his
chest, she gazed at the broken glass that was wet with her tears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> Her Father hugged her and
then gently moved her away. She watched
in awe as He began sifting through the shards of glass, discarding some while rescuing others. He worked meticulously, ever so patient. He
glanced over at her, and without a word, he nodded reassurance.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F07jF2UcxyM/UE3Ux6cV_4I/AAAAAAAAAK0/Om_3CaclYp8/s1600/stained+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F07jF2UcxyM/UE3Ux6cV_4I/AAAAAAAAAK0/Om_3CaclYp8/s320/stained+glass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 200%;"> Transfixed by Compassion, her pain-etched forehead softened. Her lips
slowly formed a hint of a smile. The Comforter continued to work, arranging her
brokenness. Piece by broken piece.
When He was done, he winked at her and miraculously all the pieces fused to create
a beautiful kaleidoscope. He raised the stained-glass to the window<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> and commanded the sun to shine through it. The beams poured through the masterpiece. Her Father invited her to dance- a dance of new beginnings. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"> Whatever you’re facing today, please know a loving God sees you. He hears your cries. He is here to hold you as He creates something beautiful from your grief and brokenness. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He hath made everything </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">beautiful</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt;"> in his time.” Ecc. 3:11<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-92218675081024999402012-09-03T09:48:00.002-04:002014-06-28T06:42:33.962-04:00True Peace<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8yjQ24oImr0/UESx3LfMfSI/AAAAAAAAAKM/55G-4sFt500/s1600/shack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8yjQ24oImr0/UESx3LfMfSI/AAAAAAAAAKM/55G-4sFt500/s320/shack.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As I walked up the rotten steps to the pitiful shack, I was
making a list of all the referrals I needed to make to ensure the house was not
just livable, but appropriate for a hospice patient to die in. Thankfully, I
had several dedicated volunteers with carpentry skills. My mind was busy
assigning tasks when the door opened. Mrs. Smith’s arms spread wide, inviting a
warm embrace. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
My only meeting with Mrs. Smith had been in the hospital. She was
adamant to honor her husband’s wish to die at home. Seeing the dilapidated house, I doubted if
that was the best decision.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">We sat on a well-worn couch supported by
cement block on one end and covered in a thread-bare quilt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
Mrs. Smith beamed as she took my hands, “I’m just so thankful to have
Hank home. He’s so much happier.” She
glanced over at her husband who lay unresponsive in a hospital bed. “And look
how comfortable he is in his new bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
I squeezed her hand and we sat in
silence for a few minutes. She gathered
her courage and continued, “I know it don’t seem like he knows, but he knows.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
I nodded in confirmation. “He’s blessed to have a wife that loves him so much.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
Tears filled her eyes. Breathing
in deeply, she refused to let them spill over. “My Hank is a good man. Never
had much, but always had each other. We gots two healthy children’bout grown.”
She sighed. “God’s been good.” She smiled sadly as the tears were released and
she cried freely while I held her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
As I stood to leave an hour later, I knew Mrs. Smith would be okay. In the
midst of her heartbreak, she had that deep, inexplicable peace. The love in her little home was so thick it
was almost palpable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
I stopped on the dusty, gravel road to type the address of my next
patient into my GPS. Looking at the
directions, I realized it was in the most affluent area of the city. What a dichotomy. Cancer does not discriminate between rich and
poor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2chCkR4Y-fc/UESyRUILqjI/AAAAAAAAAKU/dMCm53LZLds/s1600/mansion.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2chCkR4Y-fc/UESyRUILqjI/AAAAAAAAAKU/dMCm53LZLds/s320/mansion.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
Turning on the stately, circular drive, I stopped at the wrought iron gate.
It opened automatically and the home came into view. Majestic white columns stood like soldiers
supporting the mansion of dark red brick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
A housekeeper greeted me at the door and ushered me into the parlor. I could hear voices arguing in the next room. Suddenly, a young woman stormed out the front
door. A few minutes later, Mrs. Wilson
entered the room and introduced herself. She was cold and aloof while stating
she had no need for a social worker. Her
husband was well-cared for by a twenty-four hour nurse on the third floor. In a business
tone, she informed me I could visit with him if I liked, but she didn’t feel
the need to see him anymore since he no longer knew who she was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
Another employee led me upstairs. Mr. Wilson looked like a king sleeping
in an elaborate, antique, canopy bed. A nurse sat in the corner
reading a magazine. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">He didn’t respond when
I took his hand. But did he know I was there? More importantly, did he know his wife
wasn’t?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
Driving home that afternoon, I pondered the two extremes. Obviously, the old saying holds true, “You can’t
buy happiness.” I thought of the secret
to peace that Paul shared over 2000 years ago in a letter penned to the church at
Philippi. <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white;"> “And
the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>peace<span class="apple-converted-space"> of
God, which transcends all<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ
Jesus . . .<span class="text"><b><sup> </sup></b>I know what it is to be in
need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being
content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text">whether living in
plenty or in want.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"></span> </i></span><span class="text"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span id="en-NIV-29456">I can do all
this through him who gives me strength.</span>” Philippians 4:7 and 12-13</i></span><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3jGrWdx0D40/UESzGCGwlFI/AAAAAAAAAKc/1LlTKG9ii6M/s1600/safe_in_the_arms_of_jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3jGrWdx0D40/UESzGCGwlFI/AAAAAAAAAKc/1LlTKG9ii6M/s320/safe_in_the_arms_of_jesus.jpg" height="273" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="text"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> No matter what we’re
facing today, let’s be reminded that genuine joy and deep, unshakable peace is
only found in one place. Whether we live in a homeless shelter, a trailer, a penthouse or mansion, our material home is irrelevant as long as we know our real home, our eternal home is in the unchanging, loving arms of our Father. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-71828350237821483532012-07-28T10:12:00.001-04:002016-01-21T21:49:05.694-05:00The Voice<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I recently shed the worst kind of tears--tears of regret. That familiar inner-voice told me to do
something, to visit someone, but I muted it. A list of other important to-dos
took its place. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The truth is I didn't want to visit this
person. Her husband was a hospice patient and had died months before. While I had visited several times, providing a quiet presence
and trying to comfort, I was weary of the depression, her inconsolable tears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “You need to visit her,” the Voice
whispered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “I know, I know and I will. Not today, I have tons of paperwork and a new patient to assess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The next day, the Voice urged again, “You
need to visit her."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes, but my kids want to go to the pool.
I need to get home early. I’ll go on Friday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The Voice was silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I called her on Friday morning but she
didn’t answer. Relief, I’m off the hook. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> A few hours later I received the call
telling me she had died the night before, in her home, alone. </span>Tears of
regret, self-loathing and remorse erupted. Guilt rose from the pit of my
stomach. The Voice was silent. Guilt tightened its grip, I cried out to the Voice to assuage my pain, to ease my conscience. The Voice was silent. Guilt smothered me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> </span> Co-workers offered reassurance, “If you were supposed to have visited, you would have, God was in
control.” The words fell on deaf ears as hot tears continued to fall. I was
inconsolable. I could have seen her one last time. More importantly, I could
have the confidence of knowing I listened to the Voice. I knew I had failed. I hushed
a Voice that I should have heeded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Now, a week later, I am released from my
guilt. The Voice has finally spoken. He gave me the image of my
patient and his wife dancing in each other’s arms. She looked over her shoulder
at me and grinned. I knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t care less if she
saw me one last time. She knows it wouldn't have changed her fate. It has,
however, changed mine. Next time, I will refuse to mute the Voice. I will
listen. I will obey.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-6081959917219485722012-07-09T16:27:00.001-04:002016-01-21T21:58:20.462-05:00I Feel So Used!<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span>
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I’m embarrassed to say that at times I can be a bit of a whiner. One
day, in my not too distant past, I was wallowing in self-pity. “I feel
so used! God, why do you keep putting me in situations where people are
using me?” It was a pretty pathetic display, but thankfully, I was the
only one invited to the pity party. As I sat at my kitchen table, tissue
in hand to sop up the free flowing tears, I remembered a sermon my
pastor preached a few years back and I had to laugh at my stupidity.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">
It was during a winter season of my life. You know the times when God
is silent. Well, there I sat, arms crossed, feeling dejected, not
expecting to hear from God. My ear perked up when I heard the pastor
describe me in perfect detail. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Many
of you, from an early age, have prayed ‘God use me, no matter the
cost, I simply want to be used by you.’ You cried, your mascara ran,
and you meant it, and God heard you. Now you same people sit here,
years later. You’re whining, ‘I feel so used. . . Why is everyone
always using me?’ People aren’t using you! God has simply answered
your prayer. You are being used!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"> Ouch,
the truth hurts. My pastor went on to question me, “Do you now have a
right to say, ‘This is too painful. You know I really don’t want to be
used after all. What I meant to say was, please use me only if it’s
fun, or if it’s rewarding or if it offers some recognition.’ No, you
prayed the prayer and God has answered.” </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"> I went home with a different perspective. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Now
obviously I don’t believe in being a door-mat. I’m a big advocate of
personal boundaries, self-care and all that other stuff we social
workers teach. But unlike a lot of my counseling peers, I don’t think I
should put me first. In fact, I’m pretty sure Jesus teaches us to put
ourselves last. Dead last. A big fat zero.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"> I’m learning to extend my prayer a little. It’s no longer a simple “God use me.” </span>Instead, I pray, “God use me to show others YOUR grace and compassion. Give me a pure heart that desires, above all
else, to be a servant as you were. Crush all selfishness. Use me . . .
use me up until there is nothing left but your love shining through
me.”</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> So the next time I say, "I feel so used," it won't be a complaint but an answer to prayer.</span></span><br />
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-55057097355142588912012-06-10T08:56:00.001-04:002016-04-30T06:56:50.600-04:00Phooey on Graduations<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Graduation. For most, the word conjures up feelings of excitement and a sense of
accomplishment, the end of one chapter and eager anticipation of the next. Am I
in the minority when I admit that I hate the word? Even in high school, I
dreaded the day of convocation. I loved school. I never wanted that season to
end. I’m one of those creatures of habit who fight change, the ticking of the
clock, the page of the calendar being ripped off and thrown away. The thought
of my little ones leaving the nest makes me crumble.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vbIH8XTJiww/T9SW6k6da0I/AAAAAAAAAJU/395f1hV4BMg/s1600/DSCN5509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vbIH8XTJiww/T9SW6k6da0I/AAAAAAAAAJU/395f1hV4BMg/s320/DSCN5509.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In case you haven’t guessed, I’m still
wiping the tears away since my second, Jess, graduated yesterday. She’s such a disobedient
young woman. I told her repeatedly, “You are not allowed to grow up!” Alas, she
did in spite of my command, and even took joy in the journey to breaking
her mother’s heart. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">See how she mocks me with her cake? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As I reflect this morning on all the “graduations”
in life, I’m making a resolution to try and embrace them. After all, it’s
worthless to fight the inevitable. You can’t argue
with the old saying “The only certainty in life is change.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I’ve found King Solomon’s words to be true.
Imagine that. There really is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to
plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear
down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn
and a time to dance . . . Get the picture?
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The good news is if you’re going through a
valley right now, a time of grief, tragedy and heartbreak, it will
end. The cold, lonely night won’t last forever. Eventually you will feel the sun's
warmth, and your joy will return.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Brace yourself for some bad news: If your
life is filled with so much happiness that it's just one big party, that won’t
last either. As sure as the sun rises, it also sets. The pain, sadness and
confusion are coming. No one can predict the intensity or duration, but something
is going to happen. So goes life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Anyone else feeling melancholy? Before
we sink into a desolate pit of despair, let’s rethink this. I’m a look-at-the-worst-case- scenario type gal. My dad used to say, “Plan for the worst. Then you’ll
be prepared if it happens and relieved if it doesn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Worst case scenario? Death. I’ve been to several
funerals where the bulletin read, “Graduation Celebration for ___________.”
What an awesome outlook. Passing from this temporal world and graduating to a
perfect, eternal life with our forever-loving Creator. The ultimate commencement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> One problem: I hate graduations. Remember?
<i>(At this point, I have to pause, eat
breakfast and figure out how I’m going to finish this post.)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Thirty
minutes later, I return. <i>Sigh</i> . . . There has been
no Eureka! moment. <i>Groan</i> . . . The light bulb
above my head is still turned off. <i>Whine</i> . . . What to do? What to do? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I collapse on the sofa. I hear a quiet voice welling up from within. "Trust Me. Know that I will walk with you through every graduation. I will carry you as I lovingly cradle you against my chest. Don't lose sight of your final graduation when I say, '</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well done, my good and faithful servant.'"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> The best news? There are no graduations in
heaven. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-67114871383576412042012-03-23T11:27:00.005-04:002014-06-28T06:44:37.911-04:00Chronicles of the Agape House: Crabbit Old Woman<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .1in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
Just like teachers, healthcare workers are told that it’s dangerous to have favorites, but I think it’s inevitable. Surprisingly, my pets seem to be the spunky, “non-compliant” ones. I knew as soon as I met Betty that she fit the bill . . . a defiant and rude priss-pot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was of utmost importance for Betty to maintain her regal appearance at all times. Her bushy wig was always in place. The staff couldn’t figure out how she kept it in place even when she slept. Her bright red lipstick and painted eyebrows were artistically applied as soon as she woke in the morning, and her ear-rings, matching pennant and necklace were all in place before breakfast. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To the naive observer, she appeared relatively well, but she had an aggressive cancer that she labored to keep hidden. She had a strong opinion about everything and although she was demanding, she was never cruel. That is until she graduated to the dreaded stage of grief-- anger.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Loudly barking orders from her chair, she didn't mind throwing a hairbrush or cup in your direction to make a point. Nothing we did even came close to pleasing her. In fact, the more we tried to caudle and reassure, the more hostile she became. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The staff quickly grew tired of dodging, and then, sweeping up broken glass, so I gave each a copy of the following poem. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<i>Crabbit Old Woman<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>What do you see nurses, what do you see, </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>What are you thinking when you look at me?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>A crabbit old woman, not very wise,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Who dribbles her food and makes not reply</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>When you say in a loud voice, ‘I do wish you'd try',</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Who seems not to notice the things that you do,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Who, unresisting or not, let's you do as you will,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Then open your eyes, you're not looking at me.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>As I move at your bidding, as I eat at your will.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Brothers and sisters who love one another.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><i>A young girl at sixteen with wings on her feet, </i></i></div>
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<i>Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>A bride soon at twenty - my heart gives a leap<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>At twenty-five now I have young of my own, </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Who need me to build a secure happy home.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>A woman of thirty my young grow fast,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Bound to each other with ties that should last.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>At forty my young now soon will be gone,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>At fifty once more babies play round my knee,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Again we know children, my loved one and me.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><i>I look at the future, I shudder with dread,</i></i></div>
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<i>For my young are all busy rearing young of their own,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And I think of the years and the love I have known.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ewhTGOV5SsQ/T2yTUXwrGyI/AAAAAAAAAGM/Uo89LcjucKw/s1600/lonely-old-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ewhTGOV5SsQ/T2yTUXwrGyI/AAAAAAAAAGM/Uo89LcjucKw/s200/lonely-old-woman.jpg" height="200" width="157" /></a><i>The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And now there's a stone where I once had a heart.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And now and again my battered heart swells,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I remember the joys, I remember the pain,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And I'm loving and living life over again.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>I think of the years all too few - gone so fast,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>So open your eyes, Nurses, open and see,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Not a crabbit old woman, look closer - see me. <span id="goog_1821143929"></span><span id="goog_1821143930"></span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I had read the poem in a geriatric magazine years before. It was written that the poem was found among the possessions of an elderly Irish lady who had died in a nursing home. She was unable to speak but was often seen writing. The poem so impressed her nurse that she sent it to the local newspaper. It has since become famous among health care workers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As we continued to treat Betty with respect, we gradually, ever so slowly, witnessed a softer Betty emerge. When she became bed-bound, we hung bird feeders and brightly colored hanging baskets in full bloom by her window. Her last command was to make sure we watered the flowers and kept the bird feeders full.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thanks for the life lesson, Betty. Sometimes we have to look deep to find the essence of a person. It may be hidden under layers of hurt or buried in years of stubbornness. But it’s there. All we have to do is be persistent and open our eyes and see.<o:p></o:p><br />
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-39561375979751788252012-03-18T11:38:00.005-04:002014-07-12T08:49:37.849-04:00Chronicles of the Agape House: The Longest Night<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .1in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> <span style="line-height: 200%;">Shortly after opening the Agape House, my nursing assistant called out sick so I had to work the night shift. I’m embarrassed to admit that I was inexcusably short-tempered and rude to our first patient, Jim. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> Jim was 6’3”, 280 lbs and bed-bound, no small task to change his depends, pajamas and sheets while he remained in the bed. In fact, it was similar to a Houdini trick. This dreaded night was even more difficult as he had diarrhea and the trick had to be mastered many times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> Blame it on fatigue, about 4:30 in the morning, as I heard the bell, <i>again</i>, I staggered to Jim’s bedside. I tried to keep my voice steady, “No, really it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Roll over to your side please. Your bottom’s really getting red. Let me get you some cream. . . Okay, now for some fresh sheets. . . ” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> It was a long process, a repetitive routine. Jim must have noticed my annoyance because he began apologizing. I tried to assure him that I didn’t mind. But the truth was, I did mind. And worse, it showed. I thought I would vomit if I had to change one more diaper. Jim sensed this in my touch and in my tone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> After tucking him in, as I walked back to the office, hot tears surfaced. I had never experienced such fatigue. Every muscle ached. My body seemed to scream, “Enough !” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> My prayer for strength quickly turned to whining, which deteriorated into bellyaching and collapsed into an absolute pity party. Fortunately, I was the only one invited<i>. I have a graduate degree. I’m a professional! Why am I cleaning dirty butts? I’ve been awake for over 24 hours and nobody cares! Woe is me. . . woe is me. . . I’m the only one on earth who cares. . . <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"><i> </i> In the middle of my pathetic droning, I remembered a poem I had read years earlier. I was so touched by the poem that I created a pattern and cross-stitched it with the hope of one day hanging it in my office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">I Wonder</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">You know, Lord, how I serve you<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">With great emotional fervor<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">In the limelight.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">You know how eagerly I speak for You<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">At a woman’s club.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">You know how I effervesce when I promote<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">A fellowship group.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">You know my genuine enthusiasm<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">At a Bible study.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">But how would I react, I wonder<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">If you pointed to a basin of water <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">And asked me to wash the calloused feet<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">Of a bent and wrinkled woman</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">Day after Day<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">Month after month<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">In a room where nobody saw<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;">And nobody knew.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> Ruth Harms Cakins <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> Sitting at my desk after my disgraceful breakdown, I recalled the poem in detail. A poem about an anonymous servant . . . how ironic that I cross-stitched it with the intention of spotlighting it on the wall of my office. Self-defeating and hypocritical. God must grow weary of my stupidity. As I prayed for forgiveness and sincerely asked God to give me a compassionate attitude, Jim’s bell rang . . . again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> This time my voice was lighter and my touch softer as I changed and repositioned him. I made a joke about his derriere favoring a bright red candied apple. He retorted, “Well then kiss my aa. . . ple.” We both laughed and as I tucked the quilt around him, he touched my hand and whispered, “Thank you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> I kissed his forehead. “No problem, if I am ever as old as dirt like you, I hope someone will be there to clean my aa. . . ple.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 32px;">He smiled.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> As I checked on other patients, a quiet inner-voice reminded me that it’s not about me. Jim had been a successful engineer. He built bridges and traveled the world. Now, he was helpless, completely dependent. As hard as this was for me, it was clearly far more difficult for him. How challenging it must be for a patient to be courteous when he is slowly losing his pride and dignity. It’s obviously more difficult than being a caregiver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> I would like to say that through that long night with Jim, I learned my lesson once and for all. But sadly, I’m a slow learner, and so I’m constantly being mashed and put back on the Potter’s wheel. At least I’m a little more pliable for the Master’s hands now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"> Just so you know, Jim remained kind and warm until his passing. He modeled how a strong, respected man should face his last days . . . with grace and dignity, and even a little humor. I still can’t see a candied apple without smiling and remembering sweet Jim.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-36501739395013289592012-02-05T08:34:00.001-05:002014-10-24T17:14:37.381-04:00Praying for Me?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.1in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large; font-style: italic;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: black;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I didn’t choose hospice, it chose me. Okay, not really, God chose it for me. As a person who cries during sentimental commercials, I knew I could never work around dying people. But, two months into my job as a home health social worker, my manager asked me to see a few hospice patients. Death, pain, grief . . . . What crazy person would choose that? No, don't think so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> My manager was persistent because she was short a hospice social worker. Trying to flatter me, she went on about all the reasons I would be great at hospice. All I heard was “yadda, yadda, yadda.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Saying no was not an option and I found myself sitting at the table of Joshua, an elderly gentleman. I was crying more than he as he recounted the details of his wife’s seven year battle with Alzheimer’s. Francis lay in a hospital bed, immobile, unable to communicate. Her nails were polished, hair curled and she smelled of floral perfume. Lipstick was smeared on her drawn lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> As Joshua glanced at her from the table, he asked, “Isn’t my bride beautiful? I try to keep up her morning ritual.” He chuckled, “Can’t do it as well as her, of course.” His face softened as he continued to stare at her. “Sixty-eight years, it has all gone so fast . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I listened as Joshua reminisced about the joys and sorrows of a lifetime spent together. He spoke of God’s comfort and grace. He whispered, “Susan, there really is a peace that transcends understanding.” My trembling lip showed my skepticism. He patted my hand in a paternal way as if to reassure me, “God has indeed been faithful.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> He rose and went to the stove to stir the soup. Even with his stooped posture, he still towered over me. His movement was slow and deliberate. Curled arthritic hands gripped the pot as he spooned out a small portion for Francis. He asked me to join them for supper, and though I wanted to escape the intense sadness welling in my throat, I couldn’t say no.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Joshua asked me to help myself, and I did as I watched him place a bib around his bride. He prayed a simple blessing and then patiently coaxed in a small bite. “Come on Francis, open a little for me, please sweetheart, just a few bites . . .” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I wondered how many times this routine had been repeated. She made no effort to turn her head or open her mouth. He sat the spoon down. “Well maybe we’ll try later. You just rest.” He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and kissed her forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I wiped my tears as he returned to the table. “I pray my sweet Francis will be in heaven soon. Oh, but I will miss her smile . . .” Joshua continued recounting their love story as I tried to eat my soup. The lump in my throat made it impossible to swallow. And as the nausea grew, I tried to discreetly push the soup aside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> “Are you okay dear? I’ve rambled on for hours. You must be bored to tears.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> “No, you’ve just had such a beautiful life together and now . . .” my voice cracked. I tried to exhale but the air escaped as a tearful whimper. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Joshua laid his hand over mine. “God never promised it would be easy. He did promise that he would carry us. He does you know, even through this valley of death, I can feel him.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he could see straight through to heaven. “Don’t ever forget, my dear, God carries us through the trial.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I bit my bottom lip and didn’t answer. Joshua patted my hand and we sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Much later, as I stood to leave, he gave me a warm, tight hug. He pulled back, keeping both hands on my shoulders. He looked in my eyes and said emphatically, "Susan, I will be praying for you." His withered lips curved into a half smile, “Often, I might add.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Ironic, I thought. I was in my mid-twenties, the prime of my life, going home to a well husband and two healthy children. Why would he feel the need to pray for me? <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> He patted my back as he escorted me to the door. “You’re going to make it my dear. You just wait and see.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Then I realized his insight. He saw the fear, the dissipating faith, and as a man who had witnessed incredible tragedy through two wars and suffering the death a child, he knew I was at a crossroad. He had the wisdom to know I needed the prayer more than he.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> I’ve thought of Joshua often over the past twenty years. I don’t think it’s any accident that my first hospice family was one of a profound faith. I know he kept his promise to pray, and while I don’t know what he said to his Father, I know his prayers were answered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Has there been a time when you knew God placed the right person in your life to lift you to the Father? Better yet, have you been that person? I would love to hear your story. You can share it here or feel free to e-mail me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit;"> My prayer today is that each reader will be covered in God’s grace and wrapped in His love with the realization that He does, indeed, carry us through the trial.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-51709049362022354372012-01-28T10:10:00.005-05:002018-12-31T07:32:00.298-05:00Wide Open Door<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 200%; margin-left: 0.1in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">“When God closes a door, he opens a window.” I hate that saying. So I searched the web, seeking the origin of such a half-baked remark. Did it really come from the Sound of Music? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Yes, I know the intent is to encourage us to see the silver lining. But, really? A door is tall. It’s easy to walk through. You remain upright as you saunter on through. But a window, it’s small. You probably have to climb, crawl and wiggle to get through it. Doesn’t sound like a logical trade to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Seriously, closing a door and opening a window isn't representative of a loving God. In my opinion the saying should be “When God closes the wrong door He opens the right door” or better yet, “When God closes a window, He opens a door.” Yes, I definitely like that better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> A big part of my job as a hospice social worker is reminiscent therapy and facilitating a therapeutic life review (Gotta love the way everything has to sound so clinical). Basically, it’s encouraging my patient to tell his life story from the earliest childhood memory to the present. The goal is to give value to a patient’s life. No one wants to die thinking that it was all pointless and that he didn’t make a difference. So I affirm, validate, and praise. This is the best part of my job, especially when it’s a war veteran. I love thanking him for his sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Usually I can reframe any bad experience or crisis in a positive way, because simply surviving a tragedy takes courage and resilience. Patients often confirm the old saying, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” It’s been my experience that most can look back at their lives and acknowledge that there was meaning and purpose in spite of life’s heartbreaks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But what happens when this isn’t the case? Mark was my most challenging patient, challenging in that I couldn’t find any “good” in his life. Yes, I know that sounds harsh, but it’s true. He was in and out of detention centers from an early age. He grew into a drug addict, wife beater, and well, a not so pleasant man. His children described him as mean and bitter. How do you reframe that in a positive way? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When I first met him, I have to admit, I was intimidated. Big, burley, unkempt and foul- mouthed, I think intimidation was his goal. But over the weeks, as I slowly built his trust, he began telling his story. His journey was one of many closed doors. He didn’t like windows much either. He smirked one day as he told of throwing a chair through a window in a moment of rage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Staring into his cold eyes, I realized his life had been a series of closed doors. Crashing a window seemed almost poetic, in a morose kind of way. I gathered my courage and asked if he ever felt trapped. He looked down and mumbled, “Still trapped.” Such an incredibly sad tragedy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I was able to share that no one is ever truly trapped. Yes, we can feel imprisoned, like we’re incapable of change. Mistakes and regrets may hold us captive, but by accepting our Creator's unconditional love, we can be freed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I would love to say that Mark accepted this agape love, but I’m not sure. He didn’t respond that day and died shortly after. What I do know is that there was an open door and he had the choice to walk through it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> That’s the awesome thing about God. He opens the door to all, regardless of our past. The ugliness, the hurt, the pain, He washes it all away. You get a fresh, clean start through a wide open door. Oh, and by the way, on the other side of the door is sustaining Grace and a Joy that’s indescribable.<span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-59079530757495573832012-01-14T09:52:00.002-05:002014-06-28T06:47:19.950-04:00Sweet Serenity<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .1in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I want to live in Serenity. I hear it’s a peaceful place with rolling hills, quiet streams and plush pastures. There’s one problem; I don’t have a clue how to get there. In spite of this, I begin my journey . . . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I hike up a mountain, and as I reach the top, pride blossoms. I pause to bask in my accomplishment. Closing my eyes, I lift my chin and savor the warmth of the sun on my cheeks. A cloud dances by and covers my sun. I open my eyes. No, as sweet as it is, this is not Serenity. I continue my journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I cross a river . . . still searching. Anxiety grows. Rain pelts down as the thunder claps. There is loss. There is sadness. I trudge forward, but Serenity is out of my grasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Then . . . an intersection. Indecision. Nausea churns in my stomach as I fret over which way to go. I crave to dwell in Serenity, but how do I get there? What if I make the wrong decision? How much will a mistake cost? Fear engulfs me and the storm still rages. I doubt if Serenity really exists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I press forward, but soon I descend into a valley. I look up but the apricot sun sinks into the horizon. As the darkness gradually consumes me, my heart grows cold. I remain still. No desire to move. Apathy paralyzes me. I collapse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Then, a tender whisper, “I love you.” He caresses my cheek. “Quit searching. I am here. Rest. I will take you to Serenity.” He picks me up and cradles me to his chest. I feel his warmth. Peace consumes me. Joy begins to bubble from within. At last . . . Serenity is mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. </span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He makes me lie down in green pastures, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">he leads me beside quiet waters,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="apple-converted-space">he refreshes my soul.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Psalm 23:1-3</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-50817994783594010792011-12-30T08:37:00.004-05:002018-12-31T06:44:16.822-05:00The Small Stuff<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">As this year fades into history, I’ve been thinking about my New Year resolution. Unlike past years when I’ve concentrated on three or four, I only have one for 2012. It’s simple and probably sounds cliché. I’m going to live each day as if it were my last. Before you roll your eyes at the piety of my goal, it’s not what you may think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">When I was with an elderly gentleman during his final days, he cautioned me that life goes fast until you’re 30. Then it flies until you’re 50 and in a blink you’re 90. Like so many of my patients, he didn’t have regrets about not “achieving success”. He said the one thing he would do differently is that he would simply appreciate the small things more and not take everyday joys for granted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Last week, I was with a young mother who only has a few weeks left. Through tears she said she wishes she had more time to hug her children. She didn’t want time to sail around the world or make a name for herself. She shared that the thing she is going to miss most is her sons’ smiles.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">So for me, it’s no longer about a lofty spiritual goal or making an unforgettable memory. Instead of coming up with a list of changes I’m going to make or the great things I want to do for God, I’m simply going to bask in God’s love and grace as I appreciate the little things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I want to savor the daily routine, what seems mundane. I want to relish the laughter of my children, cherish time with friends and treasure the closeness of my mom, sisters and brother, because life is fragile. Life is short.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-49498298327868773982011-11-23T07:45:00.002-05:002016-01-21T22:07:59.457-05:00Master Untangler<div style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I had to complete a task that I'd been dreading for weeks. It was a tedious job that would require keen eyes, steady hands and tons of concentration. I finally decided that I could procrastinate no longer, so I tackled the mammoth challenge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Okay, maybe mammoth is a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, the ball of necklaces could fit in one hand. Allow me to explain. We moved a couple of months ago and my daughter, whom I love dearly (just for the record), packed her jewelry in a container with no thought of the consequences. She had varying lengths of silver chains, each with their own charm-keys, crosses, penguins (don't ask), as well as a few chords with pendants. I had no way to tell how many there were. All I knew is that it was a blob of . . . of . . . sheer frustration!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know, moms, I could have made her untangle the mess herself . . . but . . . Okay, I have no answer. The bottom line is I decided it was my job to free the bound jewelry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At first, I decided to shake the mass and pull a couple of the dangling chains, hoping they would all magically fall apart. No such luck. I then pulled tighter on one that looked like it was rebelling against the pack. This only angered the ball and the others clung tighter. As I sat, trying to decide whether or not to throw it in the trash, I came up with a plan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Magnifying glass and needle in hand, I formulated my strategy. Each chain was slightly different. I would choose one, slowly trace it's path, untangling it along the way until I freed each one individually. I knew it could take hours, but there was no other way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I went about the meticulous chore, there were times I wanted to change my focus and choose another chain but I stayed the course. When the first necklace was freed, I gained confidence. Five minutes later, a second was rescued and so it went. I discovered that the job got exponentially easier with each release. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sigh . . . With pride, I lined the twelve necklaces on the table to present them to my daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I opened my Bible for morning time with my Father and glanced over at my proud accomplishment. I remembered my desperate prayer the day before. I felt like there was a tight ball in my stomach, a mass of stress, tension, regret, fear . . . I smiled as a quiet, still voice reminded me that the Master Untangler is at work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">His vision is perfect, His hands ever-steady as He loosens what needs to be released, tugs at the perfect time and creates something beautiful from a mess. He won't give up until all is free . . . so neither will I.</span></div>
oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-59259236391813204342011-11-08T00:15:00.001-05:002014-07-12T08:53:52.221-04:00My Daddy's Loving Legacy<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The year was 1970 and I was three. As the sun crept into the horizon and the house became quiet, I skipped to my most favorite spot, baby doll in tow. I climbed into my dad's comfy recliner. He scooched over and wrapped his arm around me. I giggled, cooing to my doll as he watched a John Wayne movie. It was a night-time ritual for years. The old recliner formed to our bodies. It was a perfect fit . . . a safe sanctuary. I never wanted to grow up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As a child, there's no better feeling than snuggling with your daddy, your protector and provider. It saddens me that many don't have happy childhood memories. It's heartbreaking to know that some have difficulty accepting the love and grace of their heavenly Father because they've never experienced it from their earthly one. I am eternally grateful that my dad modeled God's compassionate love in such a profound way that I had no difficulty understanding God's agape love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today my dad would have turned 73 so I thought I would share his legacy. Well, a tiny bit of his legacy, to tell his whole story would easily fill a book. My daddy grew up in poverty, had little education, yet built a successful business through hard work and dedication. He constantly found ways to show his wife and children how much he adored us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was a child and got a boo-boo, he never said, "don't cry" or "chin up". Instead, he held me and whispered, "I wish I had a magic wand and could take this pain out of you and put it into me." As I looked into his eyes, I knew it was true. I always felt his deep, sacrificial love.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I was a sophomore in college and told him I decided to major in psychology, he bought me a huge trophy that read, "Susan Dulin: Best Psychology Student in the World." Whenever I doubted myself, I looked at the trophy on my desk. Knowing he believed in me gave me confidence. That was the type of daddy he was . . . always affirming, my biggest cheerleader.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't want to romanticize his memory, he wasn't a perfect man. But he had a passion for life. I think he was the happiest when he was racing cars with my brother or riding horses with my sister. His eyes sparkled when he surprised my mom with breakfast in bed or bought her a new car. On Valentine's day, he didn't just send my mom roses, he gave flowers to me and my sisters as well. He looked for ways to pamper us, to show us his love.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j3bi7mHngtY/TrfRS9O3pWI/AAAAAAAAADU/yj1rBIBZowI/s1600/dad+laughing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j3bi7mHngtY/TrfRS9O3pWI/AAAAAAAAADU/yj1rBIBZowI/s320/dad+laughing.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Today, as I remember him, I choose not to dwell on the years when Alzheimer's slowly stole his memories, changing his personality, hiding his smile. I choose to remember who he truly was. A beautiful man, strong and vibrant, dimpled smile, caring eyes and compassionate heart. He loved spoiling his children and would do anything to see us laugh. What an awesome example of my heavenly Father.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If you didn't receive this type of love from your dad, know that God, your heavenly Father, loves you beyond measure. He wants to shelter you, protect you and give you wonderful gifts. He loves to hear you laugh. He wants you to know and experience him. To top it off, He's preparing an awesome home just for you. It's as easy as accepting His son, His ultimate gift to you.</span><br />
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-64487900941786918802011-10-15T08:20:00.005-04:002018-12-31T07:15:49.769-05:00Too Much To Bear?<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> For as long as I can remember, I've heard, "God won't give you more than you can bear." I think this may be the greatest misconception, the most misquoted scripture in the Bible. It's taken from 1 Corinthians 10:13, but it says ". . . he will not let you be <b>tempted</b> beyond what you can bear." It says nothing about daily struggles and crises. Facing sin and overcoming temptation is different than coping with life's heartbreaks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> There have been many times that God has given me more than I can bear. And working with hospice, I am continually aware of patients and families who have more than they can bear. They face a raging storm that they can't withstand alone. </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6PtGPjyu75w/Tpl3ZXFeWHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-23JBBH4M8I/s1600/dreamstime_xs_1480501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" oda="true" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6PtGPjyu75w/Tpl3ZXFeWHI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-23JBBH4M8I/s320/dreamstime_xs_1480501.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">What about the lady who is caring for her mother with end-stage Alzheimer's and finds out her husband has a glioblastoma, an aggressive, malignant brain tumor? Or the man whose son is dying of leukemia just months after his wife was killed in a car wreck? Do you think they feel they have been given more than they can bear? Single moms, bankrupted businessmen, broken marriages . . . more than they can bear? I think so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Thankfully, I've got some good news. God never intended us to bear our stress, our problems, our heartbreaks. David understood this as he wrote, "Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who <b>daily bears</b> <b>our</b> <span style="color: black;"><b>burdens</b>." </span><span style="color: black;">Psalm 68:10. Jesus, himself, implore</span>s us to give him our worries. "<span class="woj">Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.</span> <span class="woj">For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."</span> Matthew 11:29-30. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Whatever you are facing today, I encourage you to trust God. Don't waste your energy trying to muster enough strength to face your crisis alone. Give it to your Father. Let him carry your burden . . . let him carry you.</span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-55467044098718271562011-09-14T06:18:00.000-04:002014-06-28T06:50:39.210-04:00He Made It!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>Just a quick follow-up to "Through His Eyes". My friend has been released from his broken body and is now perfect and whole with a strong voice and smooth skin. He fought the good fight (and what a battle it was), kept his faith (that inspired us all) and finished his race (in first place, I might add). I'm celebrating with his family. . . Oh, happy day!</i></span><br />
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071430706811632660.post-37703770856893973312011-09-03T02:51:00.002-04:002014-06-28T06:52:35.237-04:00How Green is Your Grass?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“The grass is always greener on the other side.” The well-known English proverb is true, literally. I won’t try to explain it, primarily because I don’t fully understand how the optical illusion works; but, turns out, our brains perceive grass at a distance as being more vibrant than the grass under our feet. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s fascinating, but what’s more interesting is how true it is in other areas of our lives. Why is it that we often value what’s just out of reach more than what we already have? I’m certainly not against having dreams, goals . . . a vision. That’s not the point I’m pondering. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m wondering about the discontented person who is always searching for the next best thing. What causes a person to have the wander lust, to even walk away from God, from faith? Why do the long arms of restlessness wrap around some, wooing them with empty promises? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tW5vDQbrq9k/TmHIIZQMdPI/AAAAAAAAABk/BuXpenTjQUs/s1600/Kozzi-blades-of-tall-weeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tW5vDQbrq9k/TmHIIZQMdPI/AAAAAAAAABk/BuXpenTjQUs/s320/Kozzi-blades-of-tall-weeds.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe it’s not just that the grass over the next hill seems greener, maybe it’s because the grass in their own yard is dried up, crunchy, and dead. I don’t know about you, but I want to ensure I do everything in my power to keep my hubby and children so blissfully content in their own backyard that they are never tempted to stray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, what kills our beautiful lawn? Weeds? Lack of rain? Smoldering sun? All of the above? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Weeds may be those irritating naggings. "Did you clean your room?" "You’re late!" "When are you coming home?" Of course, these <span class="Apple-style-span">aren't</span> said in a concerned or even neutral voice. It’s that grading, whiney or demanding voice that drives our teens away. Then there’s the drought . . . the pouting, silent treatment that drives good husbands to drink. Finally, the blazing sun, not sweet, warming sunbeams, but the unrelenting heat bearing down that melts self-confidence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D20MkghfynA/TmHNT-4HVhI/AAAAAAAAABo/EEcrqsuVoA4/s1600/Kozzi-colorful-trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D20MkghfynA/TmHNT-4HVhI/AAAAAAAAABo/EEcrqsuVoA4/s320/Kozzi-colorful-trees.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What if we commit, as wives and mothers, to nourish our lawns? Heap on that manure! Scratch that, let’s call it fertilizer. We don’t want to be accused of being full of poo. Seriously, let’s commit to compliment, hug, affirm and gush until our kids roll their eyes and our hubbies beg us to stop. If we put our energy into keeping our own grass green and plush, maybe the grass on the other side won’t look so great after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a final thought, I’m going to concentrate on the One who leads me and my family by the still waters and teaches us not only to stay in our own yard, but to lie down and rest in green pastures. How could any of us ever want to leave?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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oodlesofgracehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03321916433511682210noreply@blogger.com4