tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50864401252107698832024-03-13T22:34:01.949-04:00Random Thoughts from a Missionary WannabeSomewhere, deep down inside, we ALL want to be on some sort of mission. It's just our nature. So, this blog is for just about everyone. It's for the youth looking for direction. It's for the college graduate wondering what's next. It's for the middle-aged who find themselves at a crossroads. And it's for anyone who thinks it's too late.Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-1513191704664174482013-09-24T14:07:00.000-04:002013-09-24T15:29:34.463-04:00On Being Spontaneous....and Refined Like Sea Glass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A few days ago, I was craving a certain restaurant chain's breakfast (you know, that one you can only find off a highway with the fried apples and hash brown casserole that I, if given the chance, will personally request as part of my last supper.) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are only two in my county. One west of my house and one east. The west one is much closer. I could have been there in 10 minutes, seated, and sipping my coffee before I even hit the highway that led to the other one. But I've been going through some things and I didn't want to run into anyone I knew or who knew me. So, I headed east. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's a good 35-minute drive. Normally, I balk at anything over 15 minutes away. I've become such a homebody over the years. But, like I said, I've been going through some things and I've come to enjoy the time alone driving around with my playlist streaming through the Bluetooth. It gives me time to reflect. Time to sing, which is like breath to me. I might dance a little in my seat from time to time. Yesterday, I laughed out loud at something a friend said on the phone and the person in the car in front of me eyed me through their rear view mirror because I was leaning forward, hunched over the steering wheel, smiling so wide and laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my cheeks. Seriously, I nearly wrecked my car. I love my friends. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I digress.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Before I arrived at the restaurant, I felt this tug inside. It was a fleeting moment of spontaneity that I've sequestered since having babies and needing a car load of diapers and gear and supplies and half of Target for two nights away from home. But since my babies are grown now and all that ridiculous packing of items you never end up needing is behind me (thank you Jesus) something crossed my mind as I was preparing to exit the highway for the restaurant. I thought, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I should just keep going and go to the beach. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It came out of nowhere. Like a voice you hear outside your head. Or a backseat driver. But, I was hungry and I love food and so I decided to eat before even remotely entertaining this crazy and unusual thought.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">By the time I got to fried apple heaven, it was lunchtime. On a Sunday. Just after church let out, of course. You can guess the rest. I found one of the last two available rockers and settled in for the 30-minute wait for a table of ONE. Ugh. But I've been embracing the opportunities to just sit and be more and more lately and so I was content to wait my turn, rocking back and forth in tandem with the other 8,000 rockers on the porch that smelled of Sunday perfumes and cigarette smoke. *gag* *hack* *cough*</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They called my name. I ate fried apples. (Ok, I ate a lot more than that. I like food.) I sipped my coffee. I read my book. I paid the bill. I left.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, just so you know, the beach is three hours away (though, admittedly, I was 35 minutes into the drive already.) And I had nothing with me. No computer. No change of clothes. No clean underwear. No toothbrush. This is a big deal for a Type-A-er workaholic who plans everything out to the letter and brushes her teeth if she gets up in the middle of the night to pee. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's true.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After walking out of the restaurant with a belly full of CB goodness and a coffee to go, I sat in my car in the parking lot, contemplating. The force pulling me toward the beach tugged harder as my reasonable self and my emotional self battled for priority over one another. I knew the ocean air would be good for me. Then I considered work and my client who is expecting me to work. Then I could feel my feet in the sand at the water's edge. Then I thought about not having clean underwear. I was obviously conflicted.</span></span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I prayed for an answer. I stared at a tree for awhile. I consulted with a friend, who said I should most definitely go, but only if there was someone there I could stay with. It was true. Going alone at this time in my life would not have been wise. I'm grateful for the wisdom and insight my friends so freely give me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then I remembered. I had a friend. At the beach. She had already invited me for the entire weekend but I had turned her down for prior commitments. I texted her to see if the invitation still stood and if she minded me not having a toothbrush or clean underwear. (Clearly, I have issues.) She was thrilled that I would be there in time for dinner.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Two and a half hours later, I was at the beach with just my book, my phone charger, and the clothes on my back. As my feet hit the sand, I exhaled. And I knew. I had made the right decision. I'm thankful for friends who help me make the right decisions, even when those decisions don't make sense and yet make the most perfect sense at that moment.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The next morning, I got up before dawn and raced to the beach to catch the sunrise. I hadn't seen one since my first morning in </span><a href="http://missionarywannabe.blogspot.com/2013/08/youre-going-where-on-missions-trip.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Andros</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, and you just can't take a spontaneous trip to the beach with just the clothes on your back and not take in the sunrise. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was breathtaking. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I spent the next six hours on that beach. Walking. Reading. Praying. Listening. Breathing. Thankful to be there. Grateful for the people who embraced my act of spontaneity with grace and love. It was worth every mile.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of the things I do when I walk the beach is look for sea glass. A lot of people do. It's rare to find a piece in the first place, let alone one that is smooth and pretty and perfect. But on this morning, I found one. Deep brown, somewhat soft on the face. Still rough on most of the edges, though not enough to cut. Normally, I would throw it back into the water, as it needs more time in the sand and the surf to become worthy of my collection. But I picked it up and resumed my walk at the water's edge, running my fingers on the rough edges of the glass as I went.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not shortly thereafter I found a second piece. It was the same deep brown, quite possibly and very likely from the same bottle. It, too, needs more time in the rough water. I stood for a moment, examining them side by side as if being forced to decide which one I liked better. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Neither are very beautiful. To be honest, I prefer translucent blue or weathered green ones. But today, these two are exactly what I was meant to find and hold more significance than any other piece I have ever held in my hand. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I walk. I have just finished reading Part One of Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott and my thoughts are consumed by something Anne's pastor friend told her when she was considering an abortion. He basically says,"Get quiet for a moment...pay attention to what you hear." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I close my eyes and take a deep breath of crisp, fresh, ocean air. This has become a recurring theme for me over the past five weeks. Deep breaths. And so I listen. I pray. I ask God for his thoughts. And I hear him clearly.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is why I came. The treasures we stumble upon and the moments God uses to reveal things to us is perfect. These two pieces of trash signified a huge leap in my journey. Progress. Forward movement. And I am at peace.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I decide to keep the second one. It looks like a shield and reminds me of the armor of God I am called to don day after day. Keeping it, with its rough edges and yet-to-be-softened color is a reminder that, like this piece of glass, I am a work in progress, and I can still be loved. I am in the throws of being refined by the wind and the tumultuous waves that still crash so forcefully against the shoreline from yesterday's storm. And God is not finished with me yet. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And with another deep breath and all the strength I can draw from within, I resolve to throw the first piece of glass back into the waves, a reminder that there is still work to be done; that it takes a number of outside forces working together to refine the rough edges that still need refining; and that, in the end, those forces will create something incredibly beautiful. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And knowing that, for now, is enough. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, If any one of you says I throw like a girl, I will hunt you down, drag you to my yoga class, and see what you think after ten minutes in Goddess pose. Go ahead. Try me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go be spontaneous. You never know what God will reveal amidst your leap. But try to remember clean underwear.</span></span>
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Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-52355780507910422072013-09-02T15:28:00.001-04:002013-09-02T15:44:40.568-04:00On Facing the StormWhen I was a kid, I grew up spending a lot of time at my grandparents' house. Behind their house was a small creek. Well, that's not true. In upstate NY we call it a "crick." I spent summer after summer admiring that "crick" from the small red wooden bridge my grandpa had built across it. And I would find a long stick and some string and my grandma would give me a safety pin and some bread, and I would spend hours trying to catch a fish the size of a large minnow. In drought, the "crick" was low and a few times I remember putting on some of my grandma's rain boots and walking around in the shallow water. And when storms would come or the snow would melt, I would watch as the water rushed below my feet, catching glimpses of it's fury between the cracks in the boards of the bridge.<br />
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My grandma and I would eat lunch on the bridge and she, no doubt, got tired of me pointing out all the fish and water skippers I would see, over and over and over again. But she never once let on if this was true because she is amazing like that. When we would finish lunch, we would take a walk in the woods just beyond the "crick" and see what treasures we could find. A leaf. A rock. A pen. Nothing impressive but, to a 6-year-old, a treasure nonetheless. And my grandma would always act as though I had found a million dollars. I adore this woman.<br />
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This is one of my favorite childhood memories.<br />
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As I write this, three boys are swishing their way through a swollen creek out back of the porch where I am trying to work. I'm housesitting for a friend for two weeks while trying to get some work and writing done. If I had the money, I would buy this house in a second just for the sunporch and view alone. The 280 degrees of windows gives way to nothing but enormous trees, endless ivy and vines, and the sounds of wildlife. It's a rare serenity you don't expect inside the city limits of Raleigh. I have one week left here and I'm mourning my friend's return already.<br />
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Just two days ago, my daughter and her friend were wading through this same creek in rain boots that probably weren't necessary but fun, nonetheless. <i>Wading</i> probably isn't the right term here. It was more like rock-hopping with an occasional splash. The water level was low; just a small stream of water flowing over and through the rocks that form the curves and bends of the creek. I've spent the better part of the past week enjoying the sounds of this rain forest-like haven. It's like a live version of one of those sound machines that drowns out background noise and helps you fall asleep. Admittedly, though, I have found myself often straining to hear the songs of the live water flowing in the creek below. It's been dry the past few weeks and the sound of a gently rushing water just hasn't been there.<br />
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Then, yesterday, it rained.<br />
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A series of storms with high winds rolled in that dropped rain at a reported rate of over four inches per hour. As it often does during times of heavy rainfall, the local mall parking lot flooded, leaving cars submerged and owners scrambling. I was sitting outside at a Starbucks just a mile away from the house when the rain hit, and made a break for my car with lightning bolts jetting out of the sky all around me. (Otherwise, I would have danced in the rain until I was soaked through.) I made my way to the house and headed for the sunporch that has become my sanctuary.<br />
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As I opened the main sliding door that leads to a deck and stairs down to the creek, I took note of nothing different. Rain drops were dripping off the leaves onto the deck before me, but the rain had lightened and nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No trees down. No plants overturned. Everything was perfectly intact.<br />
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As I was closing the screen to walk back inside, I heard a sound that I can only describe as liquid thunder.<br />
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And it was getting closer.<br />
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And for several moments, with this mysterious thunderous roar growing louder by the second, my mind raced to figure out what was happening...what was about to happen. I literally was scared for my life for the better part of a minute.<br />
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Then...it happened.<br />
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I could see it coming, a huge mix of brown and white churning together, seemingly fighting for who would go first as they weaved their way through the turns of the creek like a bobsled in the Olympics. I literally stood motionless, bracing myself against the deck railing as I tried to figure out if I should stay or run. The deck is a good 20 feet above the creek, and I remember my friend - the one whose house I am at - telling me that even in bad storms and hurricanes the creek had never flooded beyond the line of ivy that was visible along the banks. That gave me a brief sense of comfort and relief and so I set my fears aside and decided to stay and face what was coming my way, hoping for awe and not destruction.<br />
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It seems like such a puny comparison, and I don't mean to minimize it at all, but in that moment, I thought about all the victims of the 2005 Tsunami and how they rushed to get higher as they saw the water approaching and tried to make sense of it. And I wondered if my feelings - the feeling of being entranced by the power and awesomeness before me fighting for priority over a fear of the unknown and a desire to be safe while trying to make sense of what was happening - it was mind-boggling. And I wondered if this was exactly what the tsunami victims felt and was reminded that it was very much the reason for the demise of so many. Their decision to face the storm ultimately cost them their lives.<br />
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Before I could grab my phone to take video, the wall of water came rushing at me with all the power and force of an avalanche and was quickly right below where I was standing, gushing over the largest boulders, completely covering the creek bed and raising the water level several feet. This happened in mere seconds. And the creek I had been straining to hear for the past seven days was now very audible. You would have had to yell to talk to someone standing next to you in order for them to hear you. It sounded like Niagara Falls. And I grew up in Upstate New York. I know Niagara Falls.<br />
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And so I stood. In sheer awe of what had just occurred. Completely mesmerized by the sight and sound of the rushing water that had so unexpectedly and unapologetically descended upon the once-empty creek below me. And I thanked God that I stayed to experience it.<br />
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Today, the water level has dropped and the forcefulness and power of yesterday has subsided for the most part. There's random bits of trash strewn along the edge of the creek bed and I'm fighting the desire to go be a good steward and go clean it up. That's just me. The creek is still very audible, though, and still rushing in some places, and I am enjoying the monotone melody it offers.<br />
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And then these three young boys walk by. They can't be more than ten. They were still in their pajamas on this holiday morning. Two had rain boots, one was in bare feet. They were talking about how far they wanted to go and what they hoped to find along the way, one of them carrying a Halloween pumpkin that once held mounds of candy, I'm sure, just in case he found something worthy of taking home.<br />
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Yesterday, I finished reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. (Check it out <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Million-Miles-Thousand-Years-Learned/dp/1400202981/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378144259&sr=8-1&keywords=a+million+miles+in+a+thousand+years" target="_blank">here</a>). A dear friend recommended it to me and I went out and bought it that day and couldn't put it down. And I am changed forever because of it.<br />
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It's all about creating your story. And that your story is made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of little stories throughout your lifetime. And that it's not one story that will make your life meaningful, as we so often think is the case. It's all the little stories that make up the epic adventure that is your life. Your legacy. It's about embracing opportunities to write even just one sentence. Or maybe a paragraph. A page. A chapter. One word at a time. One adventure at a time.<br />
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I think having this book - these thoughts on what makes a good story - so fresh in my mind is what drew me to listen for the boys' return up the creek. I heard them coming and I raced down the steps to talk to them. It was as if I wanted to say to them "Good for you for getting in the dirty water and taking an adventure! Don't ever forget this day." As they walked past, I called out excitedly from the deck landing.<br />
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"Did you find anything exciting?"<br />
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"No ma'am," said the boy in front, carrying the halloween bucket, now with something dirty inside. He must have found <i>something</i>.<br />
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"Nah," said the boy in back, dragging a long piece of green plastic behind him.<br />
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Then the boy in the middle looked up with a huge smile on his face and held up a small football.<br />
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"I found this!" he exclaimed. "It was stuck under some branches but I got it out."<br />
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"That's awesome!" I hollered back. "Have fun on your adventure!"<br />
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And they went on their way, splashing through the deepest parts of the water that still remained in the curves of the creek. And I smiled knowing this is exactly the type of thing Donald Miller was talking about. And it reminds me of my childhood. And I realize I have written this same story, over 30 years ago.<br />
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Who knows how long that little boy will carry that football with him throughout his life? At some point, it will probably start to disintegrate and get tossed in the trash. But he has a story to go with his find, and that story will probably last a lifetime. He will undoubtedly go home and tell his parents and maybe his siblings and friends. And someday maybe his kids. And then his grandkids.<br />
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It amazes me how a story that might seem so insignificant now, is one that has potential to come back 30 years later and flood you with emotion and realizations and epiphanies that just make your story that much more meaningful.<br />
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The storm yesterday, these three boys today, and the memories I have as a child playing in a creek, gave life to this thought.<br />
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In life, storms come. Sometimes we might see or hear them coming. Sometimes they catch us by surprise and send us running for safety. Often times we are afraid of them. Though sometimes our knowledge or the presence of others helps us overcome our fears.<br />
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And with the storms comes muddy water and swift-moving currents and trash left on the banks of creek beds and it can leave your mind racing to figure out what just happened. But when we choose to face them head-on with the knowledge that they always pass and the sun always returns, it is easier to endure them amidst the wind and the rain and the uncertainty. And when they do finally pass and the muddy water recedes, if we look hard enough, or remember back far enough, beautiful things can be found in what's left behind.<br />
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For one little boy today, it was a football. All because he had the courage to put on his rain boots and get into the trenches and find something worthy of taking back with him.<br />
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For me, it's the realization that it's not the story ending we are living for. It's the story we create to get there. And the way in which we choose to face the storms of life head-on and make our journey - our story - more meaningful every day. And embracing the little-known fact that this can take us for the ride of a lifetime on our way to the story's end is what really matters.<br />
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Go find some rain boots, my friends.<br />
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<br />Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-41713749461370110242013-08-05T16:35:00.001-04:002013-08-05T22:45:50.248-04:00You're going WHERE on a missions trip?<br />
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It's happening. I almost can't contain myself. In six short days, I will do something I've longed to do since one cold November night in college over 20 years ago when I handed out bagged lunches to homeless people in the poorest (read scariest) parts of New York City in the middle of the night. From that moment, when their grateful looks with humbled eyes melted my heart and awakened an awareness to a world that existed outside of my own, I've wanted to be part of something bigger. Now I have that long-awaited opportunity. It's going to be pretty amazing. I might not come back.</div>
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I've done my share of serving those less fortunate than I over the years. From raising or donating money for other people's mission work to regularly serving meals at a rescue shelter, leading our American Heritage Girls troop in collecting thousands of diapers to packing school supplies in backpacks for kids in the projects of Durham, NC, I've been blessed to have the opportunity to serve and personally get to know the meek and the poor. I cherish this part of my life, and I believe God calls us all to do these things (<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2025&version=NIV" target="_blank">Matthew 25: 31-40</a>). Probably more for our own sake than the sake of those we are serving. There's something eloquently humbling about loving on those in whatever ways they need at the moment. I think Jesus called us to do these things for our own hearts, because the meek are already going to inherit the earth anyway (<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%205&version=NIV" target="_blank">Matthew 5:5</a>).</div>
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And now, at the age of *cough* <b>for-</b> *choke* <b>-ty</b> *gag*, I will embark on an adventure I've dreamed about for the better part of the last decade. On Saturday, I will set comfort aside and head to the poor (and stifling hot) island of Andros on my very first-ever missions trip. Our mission for this trip is hosting a youth camp (along with any other ways we find we can serve while we are there.) Nathan (my 18-year-old son) and I will be leading worship and our team of 10 will be putting on a Vacation Bible School and sports camp for the week. I'm super excited to be able to share this journey with Nathan, and am excited for him to be able to experience this at a young age in hopes that it will change and mold him to become an even better servant than he already is. </div>
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So, where is Andros, you ask? (It's okay if you have to look it up. I did. And I taught world geography to middle schoolers last year.) I'm a little afraid to tell you, actually. When most people hear "missions trip," they usually think of desolate places in third world countries far away where kids are living in squalor and are lucky to eat once in a day. And that IS where the majority of mission trips take place. But when I tell you that Andros is in the Bahamas, you're probably going to change your vision of what this trip will be like. Don't.</div>
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Before you go rolling your eyes and leaving this post in disgust, let me give you some facts about this little-known island. (The fact that you probably had never heard of it until now should tell you something.)</div>
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Andros:</div>
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*5th largest island in the Caribbean (largest in the Bahamas)</div>
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* 90% of the landmass of the Bahamas but only 2% of the population (around 4,000 people)</div>
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* Main source of income: Commercial fishing and crabbing, mostly for export to markets in Nassau</div>
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* There is very little infrastructure, very few jobs, and no elderly or hospice care.</div>
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* Farmers live on less than $9,000 per year (the maximum amount the government will pay them for their crops.) Most quit farming for the year as soon as they reach this amount.</div>
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* If you aren't a fisherman, a farmer, or employed by one of two of the island's "big" companies (The Bahamian government and the Navy's AUTEC base), you likely don't have a job and thus don't have any income. This is the reality of most people living on the island of Andros.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farmland. Not what you think of when you think "Bahamas."</td></tr>
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There are no resorts. There are no hotels. There are no steakhouses. There are no big grocery stores. There won't be any tourists or tourist gift shops. If we want to eat "out," we'll likely have to find a family-run "restaurant" where they will probably have to go catch our dinner first before they cook it for us. We could wait up to two hours to eat supper from the time we order it. This, apparently, is life in Andros. I might not come back.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach in Nassau</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach in Andros</td></tr>
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We're staying at a "Bed & Breakfast" run by Mrs. Beneby, a native woman with a heart for helping the people of Andros. Her daughter sends food and goods from Florida about once per month for her to sell or distribute among those in need and she runs this little inn for the comfort of the few visitors that do come to the island. We will have air conditioning. I've heard we'll have to run around in the shower to get wet. (I might not be washing my hair the whole week.) I won't have phone service. We <i>might</i> have internet. Ms. Beneby will make us breakfast every morning and I'm sure be filled with stories and tales of island life. I cannot wait to meet this woman. I really might not come back.</div>
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I do feel a wee bit guilty heading off to such a beautiful place on my sponsors' dime (er....thousands of dimes. And, thanks to ALL of you who supported us, whether financially or in prayer!) At any given moment, there are permanent missionaries and people on short-term mission trips alike facing dangerous situations in unheard of living conditions. Their lives and their health are at risk. They likely spent many hours (if not days) on airplanes to get to where they were going and have, or will, experience a tremendous amount of jet-lag on both ends. I didn't have to get any shots, get to remain in the same time zone, will be at my destination in less than six hours, and can walk down the street at night without worry. Oh, and with this view on my way:</div>
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Yep, feeling guilty.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQq4-uZMj9TXmiej4JRS5_9O1O4MkG5NpJEKOSDYh0EWLt5Jn5cflZgAqAJeGrFxYT73ygUg2gPzBo8fUZq5qLZXZ7dWpn46OFf3FlVUXWyo4ImACofI6elWUbUs0LMfAz-u_M9CH6m0/s1600/blue+hole+aerial+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQq4-uZMj9TXmiej4JRS5_9O1O4MkG5NpJEKOSDYh0EWLt5Jn5cflZgAqAJeGrFxYT73ygUg2gPzBo8fUZq5qLZXZ7dWpn46OFf3FlVUXWyo4ImACofI6elWUbUs0LMfAz-u_M9CH6m0/s1600/blue+hole+aerial+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of thousands of "blue holes" in Andros.</td></tr>
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But just because the location looks like this from the air does not mean the people living there are any less in need or deserving of help or the love of Jesus. In fact, I would venture to say they are in even more of a need than places with regular mission team visits. There are currently no missionaries doing work in Andros, nor have there ever been. The island has been largely overlooked; it's existence forgotten since Jacques Cousteau first explored its "Blue Holes" in 1970. I get to be part of an inaugural team who hopes to bring a little bit of Jesus to the people of this island. That is coolness.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijykK7Boy2RDHODgapkps6Lr2j68px-uhcfNIu09arCU_9xnme-qw2SU7XFr_chdsABkLELHzay5WwqEUXdF_UwXuSKei3waXh5PE1rQwTQZ5vNO16KvY1XVtkDInCKBg8LY3vVczBAMU/s1600/Blue+Hole+aerial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijykK7Boy2RDHODgapkps6Lr2j68px-uhcfNIu09arCU_9xnme-qw2SU7XFr_chdsABkLELHzay5WwqEUXdF_UwXuSKei3waXh5PE1rQwTQZ5vNO16KvY1XVtkDInCKBg8LY3vVczBAMU/s320/Blue+Hole+aerial.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Holes are a vertical cave, of sorts. Largely unexplored, their depths are widely unknown.</td></tr>
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In a place where life is slow, people are poor, and the world apart from the island likely feels like a galaxy away, it is probably not hard to feel forgotten or ignored. My hope is that I can show the people of Andros that the world and its attention are meaningless. That the One who matters most will never forget them, never forsake them, and loves them more than they know. And that, though the destination may be beautiful and enticing, it's not the reason we're there. The occasional tourist may come and go; but we hope to remain in their hearts forever.<br />
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Guilty feelings....gone.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJ0-UOmRAGhPKJMQAB3a9csxyR13L467sBR6sFbFsATNKKZQK1bqkc5uZ80B74JP3oGXaYe_n7ew6t1w0A5RDPoeOiwVgMdZp2mQG99APj-xTtUzLlloiHl9Do_8eaBmQEK0qyajmsWU/s1600/Beach+Resort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJ0-UOmRAGhPKJMQAB3a9csxyR13L467sBR6sFbFsATNKKZQK1bqkc5uZ80B74JP3oGXaYe_n7ew6t1w0A5RDPoeOiwVgMdZp2mQG99APj-xTtUzLlloiHl9Do_8eaBmQEK0qyajmsWU/s320/Beach+Resort.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'll be journaling and blogging throughout the trip. You can also follow our <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AndrosMissionsTrip" target="_blank">Andros Missions Trip Facebook Page</a> for updates and pictures throughout the week. I'll be hashtagging on Twitter under #androsvbs. We'll be gone 8/10-8/17. I'll post when I have internet....and energy. And, hopefully, I'll come back.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>For more information on the non-profit I'm teaming up with for this trip, go to the </i></span><a href="http://10eighteen.org/About_Us.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>10 Eighteen Website</i></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>. My friend, Jennings, heads up this organization. She's awesome in more ways than I can count. Check her out </i></span><a href="http://jenningswright.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>here</i></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i> and be inspired. And maybe buy one of her books.</i></span></div>
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<br />Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-91304564111520023392013-01-16T15:46:00.000-05:002013-01-16T23:40:18.923-05:00On Liars and Hypocrites, Jeff Foxworthy style.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"If you've ever made change in the offering plate, you might be a redneck." - Jeff Foxworthy</span></blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well....have you? It's okay to admit it. I won't judge you, nobody can hear your answer, and God already knows, so....</span></div>
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<a href="http://missionarywannabe.blogspot.com/2013/01/on-jesus-and-zoloft.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My last post</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Jesus and Zoloft,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> apparently resonated with a lot of people. I've gotten e-mails and comments and private messages from people all over the world. In the first 48 hours, it was up to almost 200 views. (Up to now, I'd be lucky to get 20 views on any single post since starting this blog last year.) As of today, the page view count is up over 350. Craziness.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I had the post drafted for over a year. For 12 months, I pondered its relevance. It's usefulness. It's necessity. I just couldn't bring myself to publish it. It was probably fear. And pride. Mostly fear.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last week, I got the courage to finish and publish it thanks to one of my favorite bloggers, </span><a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jamie Wright</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, (aka Jamie the Very Worst Missionary.) She posted a nearly identically-titled post to the one I had drafted. Coincidence? I don't think so. You can find that post </span><a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2013/01/jesus-or-zoloft.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. It's worth reading. And she's worth following. I promise.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sadly, the most common theme in the comments and messages I received (and also in Jamie's comments on her post) was that the person suffering from depression and/or anxiety had been chastised by someone...</span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in their church</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">...for having it. Even more so if they were taking something for it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I read comments like, "They told me I wasn't praying hard enough" and "They insisted there was some sort of sin in my life I wasn't dealing with properly" and "They told me my faith just wasn't strong enough and I needed to repent" and "Depression is just anger turned inward; Jesus is the only medicine I need."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*sigh*</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I get migraines. With them, I usually get severe nausea. I have a prescription for both the pain and the nausea because, otherwise, I'm in the ER getting IV treatments to make them go away. If someone came up and told me I was getting migraines & puking my insides out because my faith wasn't strong enough, I'd probably clock them upside the head with my bible. Ok, I wouldn't really do that...but I'd imagine myself doing it and then I'd feel better for a while.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I absolutely love this comment on Jamie's </span><a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2013/01/jesus-or-zoloft.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jesus or Zoloft</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> post: </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Why do we continue to treat depression as anything else but a chemical imbalance in need of treatment? No one would even consider that having diabetes is a sin."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So. True. Why are prescription medicines acceptable for migraines but not for depression? Cancer but not anxiety? High blood pressure but not panic attacks? What gives anyone the right to say that one is medically-justified and the other is not? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm actually not surprised though. It doesn't surprise me one bit that people...in the church...have these opinions. Churches are full of people who have no clue about what it means to live and love like Jesus. Churches are full of hypocrites. And liars. And thieves. And adulterers. And the self-righteous and arrogant. But, quite frankly, if they weren't full of these people, churches would be </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">empty. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that includes the stage or podium from which the ones we might hold in the highest regard stand.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But before we go chastising those people and their wretched way for criticizing us for being depressed or anxious, guess what? I'm part of that crowd, too. And I'm willing to bet, whether you're a church-goer or not, or a follower of Jesus or not, so are you. Don't believe me? Well then, let's ponder this a moment, Jeff Foxworthy style.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you've ever argued with your spouse on the way to church, and then smiled as wide as you could smile when you stepped into the building and told everyone who asked that you were doing "great".....</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you might be a liar</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you've ever found yourself imagining life with someone other than your spouse....</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you might be an adulterer</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you've ever told your kids to stop yelling at you...while yelling at them...</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you might be a hypocrite</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you've ever looked around your church and judged the gay couple in the back row....</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you might be self-righteous and arrogant</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Want to keep going? No? Me neither. But I've done all of the above and I'm heartbroken over every single one of them. But don't be too quick to judge me here. Because my guess is you've probably done them, too. (It's okay to admit it. Nobody can hear you and God already knows.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Back to the medicine soapbox. I do believe that not everyone on medicines to treat depression or anxiety should, or needs, to be on them. Our Western-world medicine approach is so freakishly fast to offer up a pill to solve everything it jerks a knot in my stomach. Pharmaceuticals are more overused and overprescribed in the United States than in any other country in the world. And I do think Jesus is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a large part</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> of the answer for every soul battling these demons (among every other demon known to man...and God.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The problem is we have become a society of "believers" who think it is our job to put people fighting battles different than ours, or out of our realm of understanding, in their biblical place. But guess what? It's not biblical of anyone to do that. In fact, it is quite the opposite. So who are we really serving when we condemn someone for their battles? Whose interest do we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">really</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> have at heart here? And, why? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am so saddened by all the people who think it's their right to tell someone what's wrong with them and how they should go about fixing themselves. I'm even sadder that it's the people who are supposed to be the least judgmental and the most loving (i.e. our brothers and sisters in Christ) who do this the most. That's not love. That's not compassion (both of which we are called to exemplify in the name of Christ.) Nope. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That's judgment with a capital J. </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." - Matthew 7:2</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The truth is, the people who are so quick to judge those of us with depression or anxiety (or any other condition </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">they</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> deem un-Christian) are the ones who need the most grace. People who think Christians shouldn't "struggle" with depression or anxiety or anger or homosexuality are grossly misguided and misinformed. And they only make matters worse with their "Jesus is all you need" approach. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But instead of allowing the judgments of others to eat away at us and bring us even further down in our struggles, let us consider this:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just because someone, Christian or otherwise, says it, DOESN'T. MAKE. IT. TRUE. It doesn't make it noble. It doesn't make it biblical. And it doesn't make it right.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We cannot control what others think of us or say to us or about us. But we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">can</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> control our response to them. And we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">can</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> have grace on them. And we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">can</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, amidst the hurt they may have caused or the struggle they may have unknowingly intensified, remember that, like them, we are liars and hypocrites, too. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">AND...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you've ever loved your enemies and prayed for those who persecute you....</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you might be like Jesus</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> trumps anything anyone could possibly say or do to you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Love and peace to you, my fellow depressed or anxious or angry or self-righteous or arrogant or gay or lying hypocritical followers of Christ. You are LOVED, no matter what anyone else says or thinks of you. Don't forget that.</span></div>
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Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-90021116334093592682013-01-09T20:04:00.001-05:002013-01-16T17:19:40.676-05:00On Jesus and Zoloft<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.792969); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 19px;"></span><br />
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I'm totally depressed.</div>
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There. <i>I </i>said it<i>.</i> </div>
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Oy. My mom is so going to call me over this one. </div>
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I was, in total honesty, sitting in my office tonight, weeping, when I saw a post by one of my favorite bloggers come across my Twitter feed. Like...hands on my head, rocking back and forth, sobbing into my sleeve, weeping.</div>
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You can find her post <a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2013/01/jesus-or-zoloft.html" target="_blank">here</a>. It's worth reading. More importantly, it has given me the courage to write <i>this</i> post that has been drafted and on my mind for over a year. Because I know I am not alone. I have a feeling most of you are depressed, too.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end.” </blockquote>
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― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4370.Elizabeth_Wurtzel"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818;">Elizabeth Wurtzel</span></a>, <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/892616"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818;">Prozac Nation</span></a></blockquote>
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I was supposed to be at my monthly dinner tonight with my bible study girls, eating wings and drinking a glass of Malbec. But I was reminded of a deadline I had long missed that needed my attention, and when I became a blubbering emotional mess over it (and other things) I knew I couldn't go anywhere. I'd be crying my eyes out for sure, in the middle of the wing ding place, over my onion rings. Lovely.</div>
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Three weeks ago (and unbeknown to my doctor...and my husband) I weaned myself off of my 8+ year love/hate relationship with Zoloft. I know how to taper but I'm still feeling the effects of withdrawal. I honestly didn't think it was working anymore. Until now.<br />
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For years, I've hated myself for being on it. I hated myself for regularly forgetting to take it two days in a row and remembering only when my lips would tingle. I hated the emotional roller coaster I would find myself on when I would forget, then remember, then forget again. More than anything, I hated the sarcastic little remarks I would get from various people about me needing this little "happy pill" and what a hypocrite I had become; this so-called "Christian" who leads 2500+ people in worship on Sunday mornings.<br />
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The truth is, it didn't make me happy. I realize now it was doing something, but it didn't make me "happy." It just eased the anxiety and lessened the depression I knew was always hanging around in the background, waiting for me to forget to take my pill so it could forge its way back in. But I was never happier because of it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLUcF8FLOqQycmLPeZ0ULUfAfmsicT8s9uNnKWzHgooNUKhZiNjuT2jWNBOm1uLb10rZOKeeLz4QYDbm3BuRdFy6nbU6917fyNnSNYniKSiyThizPsIMoyLofyElJNQEDxdnO__hBmLk/s1600/lonely.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLUcF8FLOqQycmLPeZ0ULUfAfmsicT8s9uNnKWzHgooNUKhZiNjuT2jWNBOm1uLb10rZOKeeLz4QYDbm3BuRdFy6nbU6917fyNnSNYniKSiyThizPsIMoyLofyElJNQEDxdnO__hBmLk/s1600/lonely.jpg" /></a></div>
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I have always been a very happy and outgoing person by nature. Ask anyone. I am optimistic to a fault, and can find the positive in every situation. But now, having been off of my medicine for a few weeks, I have become quite the emotional wreck (my apologies to everyone at last Friday's 7pm showing of Les Miserables.) I'm crying at absolutely everything. Some things are justified of my tears. Some are questionable. But my life seems more of a disaster than usual (which has been mostly tolerable until now.) I find myself considering drastic measures to rid myself of how overwhelmed and depressed I have become. (Drastic as in major career moves and relationship assessments, not as in jump-off-a-bridge, suicidal drastic. You can stop worrying, mom.)</div>
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Now, I'm left to wonder if the only reason I was able to do everything I have done for the past eight years is because of the skewed reality this little pill offered. And I wonder if I should try to get that skewed reality back, or if these realizations are a blessing of some sort and I should work to set my path straight before entering that easier form of reality again. Regardless, I'm making an appointment with my doctor first thing in the morning. (You're welcome, mother.) Cuz this crying-all-the-time thing is for the birds.</div>
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As I sit here, out of Kleenex, dried tears stuck to my cheeks, I am reminded of what my doctor first told me when I was considering going on this medicine so many years ago. If I had cancer, I wouldn't refuse chemotherapy. If I had diabetes, I wouldn't refuse insulin. God wouldn't want me to forego any treatment that could make me better, and that includes treatment to be a better version of this daughter he created. </div>
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Thanks for the post, <a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/" target="_blank">Jamie Wright</a>. For the reminder that being Christian doesn't mean we have it altogether, on the inside or the out, and that's okay. And for helping me remember that God does not want me to feel guilty over the person he created. He loves me. Zoloft and all. Just as I am. And <i>that</i> is all that matters.</div>
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Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-42666817549854402752013-01-09T02:35:00.000-05:002013-01-09T03:44:18.664-05:00On Roads Not Taken.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Change.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some embrace it like an old friend. Some fear it like a terminal disease. Regardless of who you are or what your stance, one thing is for sure. Change is inevitable. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was a kid, I used to rearrange my room often. Being the night owl that I am, this usually occurred well into the evening. One minute, I'd be sitting on my bed listening to Heart, and the next minute I'm sliding my bed across the room. The first few times, my mom came into my room, a concerned look on her face, and she would ask me why in the world I was doing this at this hour. I had no explanation other than I just felt like a change or I couldn't sleep or why not now? After a while, she knew better than to ask anymore; I'm sure she just rolled her eyes at the familiar sounds of change coming from my room above. I loved changing my room. This change, I welcomed. This change was always good. This change...I could control.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unexpected change, on the other hand, is not something I - and probably you - generally readily embrace. Just when we think we're on the right path, going in just the right direction, the winds change and we're forced to choose something different. A new road. An uncharted course.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New paths are scary; treacherous. We take inventory of their cost and we search for their meaning. The direction is unknown; the terrain questionable; what lies along the way, and at the end, a mystery. And mysterious unknowns are extremely intimidating. They make us exponentially vulnerable; they open us up to new opportunities for failure or a regression of progress we once fought so hard to make. They put us at risk of losing things that are important to us. Like People. And Pride.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But like a once well-worn path no longer trod, roads not taken will, eventually, become overgrown. So overgrown, in fact, that when we find ourselves upon them once again they may seem completely impassable; impossible to venture down. And it is likely we will inevitably regret not taking them the first, or second, or third, time around, when it might have been easier. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Roads, however, that continually come into view over the course of our lives; roads that we once passed by without attention or much notice; roads we may have seen but not have been ready or mature enough or wise enough to know how to investigate each time they came into view; those roads are still worth being explored. We might need a machete by the time we decide to take it, but at least the road is still there. Waiting. Calling.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We cannot experience the beauty of a new road if we are resistant to change. And we may, one day, be filled with regret over our resistances and weep over roads not taken. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Embrace the changes that come, whether welcome or unexpected. They define you. They refine you. They create your story. And t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ake the road that's calling you. Take it before it's too late</span>.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- Henry David Thoreau</span></div>
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Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-72741337225115327782012-12-11T00:29:00.000-05:002012-12-11T00:29:31.259-05:00On Finding My Christmas Spirit...O Christmas Tree<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wrote this post several years ago but have only ever shared it privately with family and friends. However, I read it every year as I settle back into the annual struggle of holiday busy-ness, Christmas delivery deadlines, and the temptation of (and subsequent fall into) the materialism we 1st world peeps have come to know so well. I read it as a reminder that I </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">can</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> lift myself out of the commercialism that tends to suck the true meaning of Christmas right out of me, and I think the message is important enough to now share with you. May you find peace and rest amidst the societal to-do lists that plague us all during this...joyful?...season and most...wonderful?...time of the year.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Over the past several years, I've gotten real big on the "why's" behind things. I guess it's a desire to be sure I'm not falling into carrying on some man-invented tradition that "conveniently" coincides with bringing God some (relatively small amount of) glory.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was really (and I mean, REALLY) unmotivated this year to put up the tree (or any Christmas decorations for that matter). I've had a very hard time, overall, getting into the Christmas spirit, which is completely and totally out of character for me. Perhaps it's because I've felt so incredibly awful the past six months (tired, achy, icky, blech.) Or perhaps the older I get, the quicker Christmas seems to sneak up on me, and it just doesn't seem "time." I mean, really, weren't we just hitting the pool in 90 degree heat for swim meets? When the heck did it get to be December?!?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So last night, about a week and a half later than usual, we finally got our tree. After an impromptu trip (unfortunately, a necessary one, we realized, when we got the lights out of the attic) to Target to get two of their last three boxes of tree lights, we managed to get the tree lit. No energy for ornaments by that time, but at least the lights were on.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today was no exception in the fight to attain some resemblance of Christmas spirit, but after much prodding and tugging (quite literally) from the kids, I finally got up enough energy and desire to put ornaments on the tree. I'd like to say it was because the spirit to decorate finally hit me, but in reality, it was a Type-A desire to fix all the "clumps" of ornaments the kids had already managed to create. Because, let's face it, if I don't the tree just might fall over from its unbalanced-ness. That was my excuse...I mean reasoning...I mean story, anyway. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I dug into the ornament chaos my kids had called "decorating", I couldn't help but huff and puff in my frustrated and grumpy state of mind. And a</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">s I found a Christmas station on Pandora and was singing (loudly) along with it, trying to force myself into feeling all Christmas-ey, I was consumed with three thoughts:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1.) Who decided we should bring a TREE into our homes to decorate this time of year. I mean, really, there's a </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">TREE</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> in my living room.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2.) Why do we put lights on it in the first place? I know, it was originally candles (to mimic the flickering stars in the sky, I now know), but that would be absolutely foolish in this day and age (and probably was back then, too.) But who thought getting your hands all scratched up forcing strands of lights onto tree branches was a good idea? And why so many choices? White, colored, large, mini, all blue, blue and white, blinking, bubbling-the options are ridiculously endless.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3.) And finally, ornaments. How did we go from nuts and figs and paper flowers to Santa Claus heads and nativity scenes and "New Home 1997"?? Why do some people go the all-ball route and others of us are set on hanging every single ornament we've ever made since we were three?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I couldn't help but marvel at how this tradition has exploded into a ridiculous amount of time and work for just a few weeks of enjoyment. As I started unfolding the tissues and opening ornament boxes, though, the Christmas spirit began to envelop me, little by little, with every ornament I unveiled. A</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">s I started to put each ornament on the tree, those three thoughts bouncing around in my head, I came to two very monumental realizations.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">First</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, (and it seems quite obvious now) there's no real right or wrong color choice for lights or ornamental theme. Every tree is an individual reflection of those who are decorating it. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For some, it's a beautifully symmetrical tree where all lights and ornaments are of the same color, shape, size-like one you might find in the Biltmore or the Capitol Building or a Macy's picture window in New York City. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For others (and this includes us), your tree tells a story. For me, there are ornaments from just about every monumental occasion in my life, my husband's life, and my childrens' lives. There are ornaments that my kids made in kindergarten and preschool and there are ornaments that I made in kindergarten and preschool (some of which I remember making.) There are ornaments from marriage, births, moves, achievements, hometowns, vacations, hobbies (lots of musical notes and song quotes on ours), jobs (lots of airplanes and gifts from old bosses), ornaments that were my mom's and used to grace the trees of my childhood and ornaments that used to hang on my husband's grandmother's tree. Every year, our tree is a living chronicle of over 100 collective years of memories. From the moment we unwrap an ornament and place it on the tree to the moment we take it down and carefully wrap it back up again, we are continuously reliving some of the sweetest moments in our lives.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps one of my favorite ornaments is a small, ragged stocking. On the white cuff, torn bits of paper from what used to be a question mark that had been glued on. Sticking out of the stocking is a paper note from my mama, explaining how she made the stocking when she was young and pregnant with me.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Which leads me to my <b>second</b> realization. Probably more important than what you put on your tree is the actual act of decorating it in the first place. What good are all those ornaments if you don't experience the sweetness of the fond memories that accompany them? And what good is it if you don't relive those sweet moments in life with the ones you love? With each ornament we revealed tonight, someone would say "Oh, I remember making this one with Shelby," or "I remember when Nathan made this in Mrs. Monza's kindergarten class," or "This one was made just for me by my Aunt Annie in 1982."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With each ornament, I realized that I almost missed the opportunity to pass onto my kids the most important history lesson they will ever learn. Their own. And that of their parents. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. There is a legacy on that tree that is like no other.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So while the origin of the Christmas tree may have started out secular, I believe it has become one of the most important and imperative traditions in keeping with the spirit of Christmas. Because of Jesus' birth, we have the opportunity and freedom to worship him in so many ways this time of year. Because of those who came before us; who shared with us their stories; who risked their lives to tell the world about Christ; and those who came before them or would come after them, we have the opportunity and freedom to relive that history each and every year.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of the many ways we can bring glory to God is by spending time with the ones God has put into your life, continuing with the tradition of passing your history and the history of Jesus from generation to generation, and allowing his spirit to enter into your heart even when you don't seem to have the energy to receive it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How great it is that we have the opportunity and freedom to be able to keep our history and that of our savior alive. We are, in a sense, creating our own legacy with each and every light we burn, song we sing, ornament we hang, and moment we share.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May you experience the spirit of Christmas that God has intended all along.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-91605607471961987482012-07-30T15:48:00.001-04:002012-07-30T15:48:32.258-04:00On Accepting Help.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I had surgery recently and my recovery has taken way longer than I expected. This has been a big (like, Mt. Rushmore big) problem for this Type A, always-on-the-go, homeschooling troop-coordinator business-owner mother of two. The doctor said total bedrest for a week, then up and about, slowly, as I can tolerate (which, in hindsight, I interpreted as "back to life as I knew it" when I should have interpreted it as "1 hour up and about, 23 hours in bed, for the following few weeks.")</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Aahhh bedrest. At first I welcomed the idea. A whole week of lying in bed, watching TV, someone bringing me three square meals a day, the puppy snuggled at my side. Like vacation without having to pack! One doctor-odered, fully-justified week of being waited on without guilt. A busy mom's dream, right? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wrong. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first week is a total blur. Pain, drugs, no appetite, more pain, nausea from the meds cuz I couldn't eat because of pain, no appetite, more drugs. Total. Fog.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm no stranger to surgery (and it's subsequent recovery.) I have a heart condition that required a pacemaker at the age of 21 and have had three surgeries for that alone thus far, plus I've had my gallbladder and appendix removed (on separate occasions.) Granted, this surgery was a little more intense (abdominal, not elective, emotionally troublesome) but I'm an old hat at surgery and recovery. I thought, "I got this. Bring on the vacay in my bed!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wrong again.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm currently 18 days post-surgery, still in pain most hours, and committed to the couch the majority of my day. What the heck?!? Is it because I'm older now and recovery is slower? Probably. Did I set my expectations too high for how soon I'd be back to normal? Most likely. Was I passively dismissive when the doctor said six weeks recovery time? (Six weeks? Pssshhh. I'll be back at it in three.) Ok, fine. Yes.</span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Being on bedrest gives you ample time to think about all the things that need to be done that aren't getting done because you're the only one who does them</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> (notice I didn't say "because you're the only one who CAN do them." More on that later.) The laundry is piling up, the sheets on my bed need changing, and there's pink slime growing in my shower. I've spent countless hours the past two weeks watching these things take shape and mourning the fact that I can't fix them right now. I'm definitely a fixer.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's not that my house is </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ever</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> perfect. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'm surprised my husband has stuck around as long as he has with my messy-ness. He must really love me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The truth is (humble hat on), I'm no stranger to the laundry piling up or pink slime in my shower. That is, in fact, quite the norm around here. I'm busy. If given the chance, I will most definitely choose to bake or Tweet or play a game with my kids over a date with a shower brush and some Scrubbing Bubbbles. </span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The issue isn't the fact that these things need to be done. </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They ALWAYS need to be done! The problem I am having is that, right now, there is nothing I can do about them. I physically cannot scrub my shower or change the sheets on my bed. And. It's. Killing. Me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But, it's also showing me how much I don't usually let others in to help when I need it. If given the chance, I'm first in line to bring a meal or shop for someone else. But when it's my turn to let others bless me, I resist. Why? Is it because admitting I need help means work on someone else's part and so I feel guilty? Probably. Is it because I don't think they will do the laundry the way I want it done? (Whites on hot, colors on cold, bleach with the towels.) Absolutely. Is it because I'm too prideful to let them see that my house is in utter disarray and I worry what they will think of me? Most definitely. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's not that I'm the only one who does things around here. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's that I'm the only one I allow to do things around here. </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Others CAN. Every single one of my friends run perfectly fabulous homes and have perfectly taken care of families of their own (and probably all have pink slime in their shower, too....ok, maybe not ALL of them.) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What these past 18 days have shown me (well, the coherent ones anyway) is that it not only takes a village to raise your children. It takes a village to help YOU be the daughter of a King. One who loves but also allows herself to be loved. One who gives freely but also receives graciously. And One who serves but allows others to wash her whites on cold.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go let someone help you. It's actually quite freeing.</span><br />
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<br />Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-57939160256558570502012-07-07T14:54:00.001-04:002012-07-07T14:54:18.067-04:00On being a phony.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I admit it. I'm a total phony. But don't judge me too quickly. Cuz you're a phony, too.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're all hypocrites on some level. Come on, you know it's true. We've all found ourselves </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">yelling</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, "Stop </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">yelling</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> at me/your brother/your sister!" We argue with our spouse or are children (or both) on the way to church only to turn our frown instantly upside down the moment we step inside. We smile and tell others we're "great" when they ask how we're doing when what we really want to do is vomit our true feelings all over them. Yep. We're all on the phony list.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On any given day, you might walk past my house and hear me hollering at my kids to put their dishes in the dishwasher; or, you might hear me and my husband engaged in a very "spirited" conversation about the bills. If you were a fly on my wall for a day (or an hour), you might just think I had an alter personality who has shoved the woman you know and love aside and taken complete control of my body and mind. Trust me, you really might.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For me, the magnifying glass exposing my phony-ness feels even more amplified because I lead others in worship. From the stage on Sunday mornings, I often struggle between helping others step into communion with our LORD and savior and, well, stepping into communion with him myself. Most Sundays, I'm so preoccupied with my own sins and failures that I forget to connect with those listening. Selfishly, my purpose on that stage is to make my way through the internal war that rages on inside </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, not you. Alas, someone will inevitably find me after a Sunday of singing and comment about how much they love it when I sing or how much they enjoyed the music that day. What they don't know is most times I'm choking back tears because I feel like I'm so not worthy of being on that stage leading others. I can hardly lead myself.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, there's a beautiful side to being a phony. Without our phony-ness, we can't recognize the truth and we can't help others through their own phony-ness. Without our hypocrisy, we can't experience the beauty of repentance or restoration. If we were perfect to begin with, what would be the drive to become more like Jesus? Love like Jesus? Witness for Jesus? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hypocrisy should serve as a sort of self actualization, reminding us we are all equal at the foot of the cross. Change in our phony-ness comes when we realize our fallibility, and the fallibility of others, are one in the same. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I probably won't ever stop seeing my phony self in the mirror every morning (and again every evening) I will fight that alter personality until the day I die so "she" will never be able to take my heart. My heart that belongs to Jesus, despite my sins and struggles and total failures on a day-to-day basis, does not belong to the world. This heart of mine that God says is His gets torn in pieces regularly, so much so I want to run away and hide or put up a wall that can't be broken down. But despite feeling one way yet portraying myself another, my desire is to never stop fighting no matter how defeated I feel. And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that's</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> what matters to Him.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Go embrace your phony life.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-83402397777266537882012-06-06T21:07:00.001-04:002012-06-06T21:07:56.668-04:00On Egalitarianism, Submission, and Boundaries in a One-Christian Marriage.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's a topic running rampant on the blogosphere (and Twitter) right now, thanks to one of my favorite bloggers, Rachel Held Evans and her hashtag #mutuality2012. I've spent the past several days mulling over some of the posts, my favorites so far being Pam Hogeweide's "My Failed Christian Marriage," found </span><a href="http://www.pamhogeweide.com/2012/06/04/my-failed-christian-marriage/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, and one by Addie Zierman, found </span><a href="http://howtotalkevangelical.addiezierman.com/?p=647" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> (which I will quote from a few times because I love it so much.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The notion of egalitarianism in Christianity (that men and women are equal before God and in Christ and in relationship with one another) is a controversial one that varies in its perceptions and interpretations across an expanse of generations and denominations and theological backgrounds. One's view on submission generally follows based on their view of the former and its place (or lack thereof) in the church (and, subsequently, their marriages.) </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I first became a Christian in 1998, I relied heavily on the ideals and theology presented to me by those whom I had quickly come to respect in the church I was now part of. Having grown up in a denominational church with little talk of God outside of Sundays and holidays, I was completely unaware of what it meant to have a genuine relationship with my creator. All I knew was this set of rules I was supposed to follow and when to sit or stand or kneel during mass. Tagging on the heels of someone else's faith came quite natural to me when I was a kid, and it's what came naturally to me back in 1998. To some extent, I still find myself hitching a ride from time to time.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Along with this new-found "relationship" came the desire to fit in with my new Jesus-loving friends, and I was desperate for their approval. At first, it felt a little like high school all over again, albeit without the caddy games and name-calling of my past. These people genuinely loved me and cared for me and wanted what was best for me; and I, in turn, trusted them. I longed to please them with finding success in my faith, although admittedly at the time I had no idea what success looked like or how it was measured for someone of my new-girl-in-the-pew stature. So when they proposed to me the idea of submission in my marriage, I took their words to heart and did everything I could to find success in the role of suitable helper.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My husband was not a Christian, and I have no doubt that without my church and the women in my life at that time, my marriage would have failed. I don't say that to place blame on anyone or to make anyone think I was a victim. Quite the contrary, I was a total mess; A young mother who married even younger and felt as though she missed out on life despite vowing she would never have changed a thing. I am confidant if it weren't for these women (and the amazing grace of God), I would have failed my marriage miserably a long time ago.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I listened to the "wisdom" of these women I had come to idolize and had entrusted my faith to. I relied heavily on their direction and interpretation of scripture. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wouldn't say I wasn't "allowed" to think for myself. I was encouraged to read and study and pray. But being a new Christian with no firm biblical foundation meant I asked questions and sought advice...lots of it...and trusted their answers wholeheartedly and without question. When it came to being a wife with a non-Christian husband, they quoted scriptures like Ephesians 5:21-23 and Colossians 3:18, and encouraged me to put 1 Peter 3:1 into practice so that I could win my husband over "without words."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I tried. Often. Over and over.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I failed. Miserably. Over and over.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My husband was, and still is, a very devoted husband and an incredible father to our children. Despite his baptism in 2004, (which was NOT to the credit of me being a 1 Peter wife) we have struggled to find a balance in our marriage with God at the forefront. We have both spent the past decade muddling through what it means to be a Christian and love God. And for the better part of that decade, I was definitely not egalitarian. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My view of submission during that time was that it was a one-way street. As long as my husband wasn't asking something ungodly of me, I was to submit. If he wanted something done, I did it. If he didn't like it, I didn't wear it. If he didn't want me to do it, I didn't even think about it. And, to be clear, this wasn't because it was the way HE wanted it to be. I doubt he never even knew about this standard I was holding myself to. Nope. I made this bed all by my little self. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With this way of life came a complete lack of boundaries. I held, on my shoulders and on my heart, the weight of my husband's faith (or lack thereof.) I felt responsible for his salvation. (I must watch my behavior so I can win him over.) I felt guilty when he didn't want to go to church. (I must not have been submissive enough.) I lamented over his not wanting to be part of our small family group. (I must not have been loving enough.) After a while, I felt totally hopeless...and, slowly, I found myself tangled in a sticky web of mismanaged submission. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fast forward ten years. Where had my independence gone? My individuality? My faith? Had I ever even had a faith I could really call my own? Was this the way God intended my marriage to be? A complete loss of the identity of this daughter he created with gifts and talents and desires for the sake of a biblical directive obviously (now) taken out of context? For the better part of ten years I lived to echo this man I called my husband, rather than what I later discovered was my true calling....to "echo the wild love of God." (Addie Zierman) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It took uprooting myself and my family and leaving my decade of relationships behind when we made the decision to change churches for me to realize my view of submission was all wrong. It's not, as I had thought for so many years, a one-way street. God wants us to "submit to </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">one another</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> out of reverence for Christ" (Ephesians 5:21) not out of duty or some misguided theology. It's about loving one another so deeply that your greatest desire is to put them before you, "not by default because you don't know who you are, but on purpose, precisely because you do." (Addie Zierman) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Recently I watched an episode of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cold Case</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> where detective Lilly Rush (I heart her) was investigating the death of a woman killed in 1919 because of her activism for women's rights. I remember a scene during the backstory where the mother and daughter are arguing over women's roles in marriage and politics. The mother said, "A woman's first obligation is to maintain domestic harmony." (To which the daughter later called her mother out for being content to live in a cage where men decided how she should live. Score one for daughter Francis!)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But what the mother said really got me thinking about the phrase "domestic harmony." Aren't we called to pursue peace and harmony with </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> people in </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> places and in </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> circumstances (not just our domiciles?) Shouldn't the reason be far greater than because its what the bible tells us to do? And is a woman who is constantly sacrificing herself and the individuality given to her by God - her gifts and talents and abilities to think and contribute and persuade for the kingdom - really capable of keeping such "domestic harmony?" Speaking from experience, the answer is a resounding NO. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I believe God created each of us equally with our own set of unique gifts and talents, and he desperately wants us...or, rather, he </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">expects</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> us...to use them for his glory. I'm pretty sure he rejoices when we do so. But he doesn't get any glory when we tuck them away deep inside out of our own fears or misunderstandings.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At it's core, egalitarianism is about understanding the true biblical definition of submission and how it relates to boundaries; boundaries within the church, within your relationships, within your marriage. On the other hand, dutiful submission is without boundaries and can lead to resentment, bitterness, and the potential destruction of one's relationships (particularly when you spend ten years of your life living one way and then decide to swing the pendulum the other direction. Ask me how I know.) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Regardless of how biblical a woman (or man) thinks dutiful submission might be, "domestic harmony," whether in her household or in her heart, will eventually be replaced by war. It may be a silent internal battle or a full-on cavalry invasion that pushes her over the brink but, at some point, resentment and bitterness take over and domestic harmony goes flying out the window (sometimes literally. Don't ask me how I know </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">this</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.) </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The boundaries you set for yourself (with God as your director) ultimately protect your individuality and relationships with others and sow the seeds for reverent submission. When we add wisdom and the decision and desire to love all people in all places wherever they are on their journey, these seeds grow into beautiful relationships, mutually beneficial and filled with respect for others regardless of gender, race, or religion. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the interest of full disclosure, I still don't have this submission thing down perfect and I don't expect I ever will. I'm an utter mess on most days and I struggle daily to find and maintain a balance between submission and self-preservation. But I find peace in knowing that, in the end, we are all equal at the foot of the cross. And I believe there is great redemption to be found when we put that over what I believe is a greatly misunderstood and less-than-perfect biblical hierarchy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go find some harmony.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-47146938197776729432012-05-17T23:13:00.000-04:002012-05-17T23:13:35.082-04:00On Doing What You Love<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A few weeks ago my 11-year-old daughter and I were having a conversation about my at-home business and how much I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">don't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> love doing it anymore. The conversation went something like this:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "Mom, why do you work so much if you don't love it?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Well, I have responsibilities and we rely on the money."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "But if you could do something else, what would it be?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Writing. And Singing."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "So why don't you just do that?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Well, it's not that simple."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "Why not?" (At which point I thought to myself, 'What's with all the questions? Is she two again?') </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Well....uh......you see.....uummmm...I just can't...."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "Mom, you tell me all the time that when I grow up I need to do something I love."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Yes, I do."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her: "So why don't you just start doing what YOU love?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ugh. Busted. I was so totally overwhelmed by this you-need-to-practice-what-you-preach speech that I really was at a loss for words. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's true. I tell my kids almost daily that when they are deciding on a career or life path, they need to do whatever it is that they love; whatever gets them out of bed every morning; whatever makes them feel the happiest when they are doing it; the thing they can brag about doing that they actually get <i>paid</i> to do; the one thing they feel they were created to do. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And yet, I am a horrible example for this. I fell into the trap of doing what I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">had</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to do (aka what someone else thought I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">should</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> do because what I really </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">wanted</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to do was "risky," or "unattainable," or "completely unaffordable" or "do you know how many people try to make it on Broadway and fail?") I was never encouraged (by the people paying the tuition, anyway) to go for my dreams. My true dreams. I settled for something less (and an aimless wandering road for several years) because I was convinced my dreams were out of my reach before I had even really tried. I ran the minute I felt resistance and went on my people-pleasing way, at a college I didn't love, with people I definitely didn't love, pursuing something I allowed myself to believe was what I <i>would</i> love if I just tried hard enough. But to no avail. And, on my way out, I vowed to never be that kind of parent.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's a very common conversation in our household. My husband and kids know what my dreams were as a young adult and they know how much I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">don't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> want them to follow my very poor example. Perhaps it is because I want them to learn from my mistakes. Perhaps it's that I don't ever want to hold them back from doing something they <i>really</i> want to do because I think <i>my</i> way or life plan for them </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">seems</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> better. So I tell them to figure out what it is they want to do every day of the week and to cater their lifestyle to the money <i>that</i> will bring them, NOT the other way around. And I've made it very clear to them that if they don't know what it is they want to do or if they don't feel college is for them, I don't want them to waste my money because they think it is what they HAVE to do. I mean, who really and truly knows what they want to do at 18 years of age? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success in life is not defined by the money you make, but by the satisfaction you get when you are doing whatever it is you love to do. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because of that conversation several weeks ago, the very moment following the publishing of this post, I am writing a business proposal to sell the majority of my (largely-successful) at-home business to a friend and colleague in the industry. It's time. Time to listen to the words of my very-wise daughter. Time to focus on a different kind of success. Time to take my own advice. Time to move on to a much more personally-fulfilling destiny. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What's keeping you from doing the same?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go find success in doing what YOU love.</span><br />
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<br />Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-84004568364554169602012-02-25T19:46:00.001-05:002012-02-25T20:20:47.371-05:00On Choosing A Mission<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's a common phrase you hear on every airline flight during the safety demonstration. I remember flying </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">before</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> they added the second half of this phrase. It's the phrase about the emergency exits where they say, "Please take a moment to locate the nearest emergency exit, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">keeping in mind it may be behind you." </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first time I flew and heard them tack that onto the end, I thought to myself, "Well that's completely obvious. Why do they feel the need to point that out?" </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I remember when I was about 15 or 16, I came home and announced I wanted to be a "Big Sister" at the local YMCA after school. I don't remember where I got the idea, but somehow, somewhere, I had learned about it and I just knew I wanted to be involved. The thought of befriending and ministering to and being looked up to by an underprivileged child appealed to me. I was so excited to share what I desired to do with my mom.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In discussing this volunteer opportunity with her, however, I was completely taken by surprise at her resistance and apparent disapproval. I didn't get it. This was a great opportunity that I felt led to participate in. I could have been out galavanting around town after school and getting into trouble. But instead I was trying to be part of something good and positive. How could she be so blind to my fantastic heart?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then she said something I will remember forever. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"You're already a big sister. Why don't you try doing something with your own little sister right here at home?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Those words hit me in the stomach. It felt like I had just swallowed a grapefruit. I had no response. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was so true. My sister was almost nine years younger than me and always wanted to be around me. I already had someone who needed me as a friend. I already had someone close I could minister to. And I definitely already had someone who looked up to me as if I were the next Princess of Wales.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps it was my age or the opportunity to do something on my own without the watchful eye of my parents. Perhaps I just didn't know how to filter through those years of discovering what it meant to be outwardly focused. Or perhaps it was the fact that I had spent year after year taking care of my little sister like a parent while my mom worked nights and weekends that I had completely lost the desire to spend quality time with her. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Regardless of my reasoning, my mom had a very good point. And being fifteen, I despised the fact that she was right. Nonetheless, I dropped the idea and never thought about it again.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Instead, I spent more time with my little sister. Being in high school and nine years her senior, I'm sure it lasted only a short time. I'm sure my life got busy with school activities and homework and friends. But the lesson had been learned. You don't need to travel far to be on a mission. Sometimes the mission you could (or should) be focusing on is right where you are; perhaps even right under your nose. And while your focus on, or choice of, your current mission will inevitably change as you grow and change, it's important to seek out the opportunities God has placed before you, remembering you may just find them in the closest, most obvious of places.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go Choose A Mission, and keep in mind</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> it may be behind you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-12183948785574857902011-11-01T23:30:00.000-04:002011-11-01T23:30:05.420-04:00On Hindsight<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[This post was originally written in August, but, ironically, I've been too busy to edit and finish it. Ha!]</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I write this, I am soaring through the clouds at 32,000 feet and 454 knots on my way to Phoenix for a conference. Flight is amazing, isn't it?</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So once again it's been a while since my last post. There's a very good reason for that. I've been...well...busy. For those of you who know me, I know that's hard for you to take in. I mean, I always have so much time on my hands [insert sarcasm here].</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In a matter of 10 days, I had four major events happening, each within a few days of each other. I've been busy before. In fact, some people tell me I define busy. But it has never been anything like this. I should be zonked out on this 4-hour plane ride right now. But, alas, I've had this post muttering around in my head for a few days and I can't rest until I get it down.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here's what that ten-day span looked like. Brace yourself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Monday - Drive 11 hours with the family, puppy, and injured elbow back to NC from Florida. Dread the upcoming week.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tuesday through Sunday - Jam packed week with planning for upcoming events and meetings/rehearsals/coordination for said events.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Monday - Prepare and host leader training for American Heritage Troop I just started (Think Girls Scouts on spiritual steroids - check them out </span><a href="http://www.ahgonline.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tuesday through Thursday - Final planning/rehearsals/directing for Thursday night event. (Which was awesome, btw. You can see pics </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2309547902319.135211.1357981149&l=db22461606&type=1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.) Oh, and squeeze in two trips to the car dealership, having only one car for a few days, making a visit to the doctor for the injured elbow, and bringing a meal to friends who spent a horrible weekend at two different hospitals. (Remember that part.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Friday through Monday - Friday was my anniversary and my husband and I managed to enjoy an incredible dinner out, thanks to a gift card. It was about the only down-time I had in this madness. Then cram in final planning and host first troop meeting on Monday night (remember this part, too.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tuesday and Wednesday - Cram in final lesson planning for the high school health class I am teaching at our homeschool co-op. I've never taught before (except my own offspring.) It was....a challenge. And showed me just how much planning I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">don't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> do for my own kids. (Yikes.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thursday - Teach said first high school health class; race home at 3pm, throw stuff in suitcase, kiss the dog, wipe away the little one's tears, and here I sit...at 32,000 feet.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm exhausted all over again just writing everything I've done the past ten days. (And putting it into words in front of me makes me wonder how it is I'm still walking upright.) See why I haven't posted in a while?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I do have a point. Hopefully you haven't collapsed from reading about my crazy self.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My husband knew better than to comment on the past few days. He just shook his head (well, mostly he just shook his head.) I have no idea what I was thinking. It wasn't a conscious decision to schedule all this madness in one fell swoop. Some things were on the calendar already when others came up and there was no changing any of them. After all, none of them revolved around me. I was just the one in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">charge</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> of most of them.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The only thing I added after the fact was taking a meal to friends. (Remember, I asked you to remember that part?) But I had meals in the freezer and they had a great need. How could I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> respond to God when he puts that on my heart? As crazy busy as I was, and as little time as I had that day to thaw, cook, gather, and drive a meal to someone, loving on people in need fills my tank. It forces me to focus on someone else, even if just for 30 minutes. It forces me to spend some time away from the madness, loving like Jesus. I. Love. That.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, that other part I asked you to remember? That one led to this blog post. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm sure you've heard the old saying that says something along the lines of "He who thinks of it gets put in charge." I'd heard about American Heritage Girls from a friend two years earlier. I had looked into Girl Scouts but never felt led to enroll my daughter despite her deep desire to be in a scouting program. I couldn't really put my finger on the reasons for my hesitation (I was a Girl Scout growing up); it just never seemed a good fit for our family. I had looked for an AHG troop in our area but there weren't any in our whole county at the time (and I live in the biggest county in the state) and only three existed in the state of NC! I decided to wait and check again the following year. I did, and though there was now ONE troop in my county, it was clear on the other side of the city and I wasn't willing to make that driving commitment every week.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But I really wanted my daughter in AHG. It was a program I felt, wholeheartedly and without hesitation, was exactly what I was looking for in a scouting program. I checked with the home office and there were no applications for upcoming troops in our area. No one even had a rumor of one on the horizon that I might pursue.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So.....what's a mom to do? Well, he (or she) who thinks of it...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fast-forward eight months and here I was...watching all the leaders and their daughters file in for our very first troop meeting. 54 girls in their uniforms with excited looks on their little faces...many of them knew who I was and greeted me with a hug or waved and yelled, "Hi Miss Cheri!!" But I was getting pulled in a hundred different directions. Everyone had something they needed or a question they wanted an answer to and I was the only one who could provide it. Girls were running around waiting for their rooms to be ready (and this is in a small office!) Parents were dazed and confused at the chaos as more and more girls arrived. It looked as though we hadn't done a thing to prepare. I was a little overwhelmed, to say the least.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I went into the storage room to get one of the many things the leaders were asking me for, and I stopped and just stood there. I wanted to cry. In fact, I'm pretty sure I did cry for about 30 seconds. I wanted to run out the back door and go home where it was peaceful and quiet. For a moment, I stood there...frozen. And I seriously thought to myself, "</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What have I done?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">" I mean, really, what did I get myself into here?!? Admittedly, I hate chaos! I don't respond well to it at all, physically or mentally. And lots of different noises going on at the same time and at ear-piercing decibel levels puts me into auditory overload and I must retreat quickly and fervently to avoid a migraine headache. So....What on earth was I thinking?!? Hindsight is 20/20.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I snapped out of my little pity party for one and headed back into the chaos, planning my immediate resignation and choosing a successor to take my place along the way. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then, something remarkable happened.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Drop-off had finished and the girls were all sitting together in rows, waiting patiently for the meeting to start, a look of excitement and anticipation on their little faces. Our troop shepherd was about to start the welcome and prayer. The leaders lined the perimeter of the room. Most of the parents had gone. The moment I had been waiting for over the past two years (and planning for over the past eight months) was upon me. I watched as our troop shepherd hushed them into complete silence. Their eyes were upon her. All attention was turned to her. She welcomed them. Smiles were on their faces. And I heard a voice whisper something in my ear.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Look! </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Look what you've done!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I started to cry. This time, tears of joy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All the things I wanted in a scouting program for MY daughter were exactly the things all these girls' moms wanted for THEIRS. And because no other troop in our area existed, I was led to be "put in charge." If I hadn't taken that leap of faith, none of these girls would be sitting here in front of me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I didn't start the AHG troop without prayer and consideration, counsel or research. And, in hindsight, had I known then what I knew standing in that storage room, I might not have been so bold as to jump in with both feet. But </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">then</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I wouldn't be staring at all these sweet faces who </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">need</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> this troop. And, in hindsight, what a lost opportunity </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> would be!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If we waited for the times when serving would always be convenient for us, or when our vision is completely clear, we'd wait for quite a while. In fact, we would probably never be able to fully experience the joy of serving. Whether it's a last-minute meal for friends or months of planning something big, there is always a component of faith involved. If we knew every detail or outcome, we might never take the risks that lead to great things. And when we only do things that will serve ourselves, we miss out on incredible opportunities to fill our tanks and feed our souls and the souls of those we may or may not know. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They say hindsight is 20/20. But, I think, it depends on the glasses you are wearing when you look back.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go check your vision, and see what opportunities God has waiting for you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</div>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-55998396621604853332011-06-28T19:56:00.000-04:002011-06-28T19:56:05.138-04:00On Why We Do What We Do<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wow! It's been a while since I last posted. Honestly, I haven't had time to do laundry let alone think about my next post. But this post has been mulling around in my brain for a while, and after catching up on some blog reading this afternoon, it was obvious the timing for it was right. (And I'm going to link in a few of my favorite bloggers' posts, too! Thank you Tara Livesay and Gwenn Mangine for the opportunity to work your posts into mine so perfectly. Not that I asked you...) ;)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Why do you believe what you believe? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Why do you do what you do?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was a kid, I was really naive. I mean....really, REALLY naive. Naive to the point where I believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny until I was...well....<i>way</i> older than any kid I knew. I believed my cousin when he told me there was a swimming pool on the roof of our high school (and I went to look for it!) I believed a group of "friends" who told me they were all meeting at a certain time at a certain place after school on the football field and they wanted me (ME!) to come, only to show up and find no one there. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yep, I believed whatever anyone told me. You'd think I would've learned my lesson after a few of the above humiliating moments, but no. Everyone was better than me, smarter than me, prettier than me, funnier than me, and worthy of being believed. I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I believed everything the priest said, everything my Sunday school teacher said, everything my friends said, and especially everything my mom said....it was all TRUE! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fast-forward 30+ years and boy oh BOY was I oblivious (er...uh....ok, more like DUMB!) For the most part, people actively took advantage of my obvious naiveté. But, in hindsight, I realize a lot of what people did say was really them just passing on what </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">they</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> had been taught all their life. In reality, they didn't know half of what they were talking about! (Sorry mom. You got </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">most</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> things right.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was in college, I heard the following story, as told at my cousin's wedding. It put everything into perspective for me, and I hope you enjoy it's message as much as I have all these years. (The story is below. But come back later and click </span><a href="http://www.betterwaymoms.com/articles/parenting-are-you-still-cutting-off-the-end-of-your-ham"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> for a GREAT article that incorporates this story into parenting.)</span><br />
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<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A newly married young woman, while preparing an Easter dinner for her husband, cut off the end of the ham before putting it in the pan to roast. The husband, intrigued by this, inquired as to why she cut the end off the ham. The young women replied, "Well, I don't know. I guess because it's just the way my mom always did it."</span> </blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One afternoon while her mother was visiting, the daughter asked her why she had always cut the end off the ham. The mother replied, "Well, that's the way MY mother has always done it." </span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The following Sunday, while visiting her Grandma, the young women asked her why she had always cut the end off the ham before putting it in the roasting pan. "Well," the grandmother replied, "I always did it because my pan was too small!" </span></span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This story beautifully illustrates what can happen when we blindly follow tradition without asking the appropriate questions!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So here is where a few recent posts from some women I greatly admire come in! Their posts show the challenges of re-education of Haitian women who have no (good) idea why they do what they do, or why they believe the things they believe, when it comes to their baby's health. Their situation is the epitome of what happens when we do/believe solely based on what someone told us growing up (or, as adults) or how our actions and beliefs were shaped merely by what we saw people doing/believing, leading us down a road of seemingly irreversible misconceptions.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But it's not just about the new moms living in Haiti. We ALL have been misled and miseducated about </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">something (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">probably</span> lots <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">of things, actually</span>.)</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I think (personal opinion alert) this could potentially be a main reason for much of the conflict in our lives (and, most likely, in our society as a whole.) </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I mean, apply this solely to what we have been </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">taught</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> (whether actively or passively) about <b>God</b> all our lives! Imagine what could happen if we started on a journey</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to discover the TRUTH. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If we are in any position of authority (and we ALL are) we need to be intentional seekers of the truth. Other's perceptions, belief systems, and protocols may depend on it. Allowing ourselves to be misled (or, worse, misleading others by our own uneducated, unresearched beliefs and values) can have dangerous consequences. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.mangine.org/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Click Here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> for Gwenn's post.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/2011/06/teach-teach-teach-again.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Click Here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> for Tara's post. (Also embedded in Gwenn's post above.)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go Find Some Truth.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-46969745643146449622011-05-25T11:09:00.001-04:002011-05-25T11:10:19.554-04:00On the Basic Necessities<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Recently my daughter and I were looking at the prices of things in 1957. Did you know the average rent was $90/month? The cost of a stamp was 3 cents! And a gallon of gas was....wait for it....24 cents! Fast forward 50 years and we're at $800, 46 cents and $3.79 (respectively.) Yikes!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Subsequent to this mortifying discovery, conversation ensued about why things were so cheap back then. And it really got me thinking. Inflation, in my opinion, is just an excuse for somebody to make more money. (You don't have to agree with me, this is just my opinion.) I mean, we are currently the most technologically-advanced society in history. We have automated just about everything. Shouldn't things be getting CHEAPER to produce?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think, overall, they are. But we, as a society, have basically said we'll pay whatever is necessary to have the latest and greatest. And this snowballs back to the producer who, instead of finding an opportunity to pass on savings to the customer, sees this demand as a means to increase their profits.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At what point do we say, "enough is enough?" Certainly, inflation has to reach a point where it is no longer beneficial to raise the price of something (I'm sure there are statistics and data and research and studies with this kind of info but you're not here for that.) Why aren't we there yet?!?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Truthfully, all we really need in life is food, water, shelter, oxygen, and to love and be loved. People for thousands of years survived without laptops and iPads and video games and the DVR. Please don't misunderstand me. I don't say that to guilt you into thinking, "Oh, great. This crazy gal thinks I'm greedy and I should sell all my stuff." I don't mean to imply that's the solution. (Believe me, I've got STUFF! My house is busting at the seams with STUFF. Sometimes I can't see past all the STUFF!) I say that to simply point out that, at our core, we really were created to only need and desire the basic necessities. Everything else is a bonus.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What is it about us that our happiness is measured by such unnecessary things? Is all our extra stuff, and the desire for more of it, truly making us happy at our core? Or is it causing more trouble in our lives and relationships than we want to admit? Are we forgetting the true reason we were created?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">People around the world thrive with just the basic needs of life. They have so much less than we have. Ultimately, deep within, I think they are happier. They have an unparalleled gratefulness that we should long to emulate. The smallest things in life bring them great joy. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But what is our wellspring of life?</span></b><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What would it look like if we threw out our desires for anything that doesn't fall into one of those basic-necessity categories? How happy might we be if we changed our paradigm to just being content with what we already have? What would happen if we put our focus on helping others meet their basic necessities rather than when the next next generation of a gadget is scheduled to be released and how we're going to get it?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm confident the more we have, the more we want. But the less we have, the happier we </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">truly</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> are.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What about you?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go find your spring.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-47004485096558562672011-05-14T16:24:00.000-04:002011-05-14T16:24:44.470-04:00On Listening to Bugs.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's the year of the world's largest cicada brood here in NC (and 15 other states throughout the southeast) and I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that there are literally about one million of these inch-long buggers running around per ACRE! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I had heard this was the year for them, this 13-year "Great Southern Brood" (or, more scientifically, Brood XIX) but had yet to actually hear them singing. Well, today was the day.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was walking to my car in the parking lot of my old church in Chapel Hill, NC, where I had just attended a memorial service for a dear friend's mom. The church campus is surrounded by acres and acres of beautiful woods and, most of the time, peaceful serenity with just the songs of birds in the air. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But there it was. The unmistakable buzz of the cicada. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I smiled at my ability to recognize the sound without a second thought. Memories from my childhood came flooding back. Growing up in upstate NY, the cicadas came out much later due to the difference in ground temperatures. In fact, it usually wasn't until right around my sister's birthday in mid-August when we would spot our first empty cicada shell stuck to the big oak tree in the back yard.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I opened the door to the car, though, something made me stop and listen again. The buzz was still there, but another sound caught my attention. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My mind struggled to identify it. This one was not as easy to decipher as the first, more recognizable, buzz. After a moment, I gave up and hopped in the car. I figured I would come across whatever it was on my trip back home and the mystery would be solved. (I do <i>not</i> like unsolved mysteries.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The route I took to get home took me through the woods along some really gorgeous back roads. I had the windows down to take in the fresh "country" air when I came to a red light and took note, once again, of that unfamiliar noise. It was almost siren-like; a sort of constant whirring. I must be getting close to it, I thought. And I drove on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After a mile or so, it was still so prevalent that I thought for sure whatever it was would be just around the next bend in the road. Alas, I came upon no source.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After about another half-mile, cicadas starting hitting my windshield from all directions. It was like driving through the plague of locusts, 21st-century style. I wasn't surprised, really. I was surrounded by very thick, dense woods, a fishing pond or two just off the beaten path. Perfect conditions for these little insects, I'm sure.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I couldn't take the mystery noise anymore. I pulled over at a greenway crossing, turned off the car, and just watched and listened for a while. Cicadas flew past me. One landed in the road just beyond my car (he later met with an unfortunate death by tire.) A family on bicycles crossed the road from the greenway. The dad was listening to his iPod as his wife and kids rode on ahead and I wondered if they were all completely missing this mystery sound.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My detective hat on, I started reviewing the facts. I was almost half-way home at this point and yet the sound was exactly the same as it had been 10 minutes prior in Chapel Hill. No fading. No change in pitch. No Doppler effect as I got closer or further away. Simply...constant.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then it hit me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The buzzing we hear so prevalently and so recognizably are the cicadas in the foreground. The ones that are relatively close to wherever we are standing at that moment. And that's the noise most people hear and have come to know as the sound of the cicada.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But the sound I was hearing in the background was so much more than that. It is actually the collective whirring of all those cicadas that are in the distance, covering acre after acre, throughout the surrounding woods. The sound didn't change as I traveled because it wasn't just one small group making that sound. It was the sound of billions of them, singing together, in one voice, spanning two entire counties.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Video doesn't capture it nearly as well as listening to it in person. If you are in the southeastern US right now, I highly recommend you get away from the hustle and bustle of city life and find your own place to listen to them, but you can listen to a few seconds of my video of them <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NmNmNmjS-Oc">here.</a> (And you may have to listen more than once to truly hear what I'm taking about. That's ok.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So why was it that I never heard them like this before? I mean, I've been listening to cicadas sing since I was a little girl. Why this new sound? Why now?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps I heard what was familiar and instantly, without realizing it, blocked out whatever else was different in an effort to go on with my day. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps it's because I like a good challenge (and, remember, <i>hate</i> an unsolved mystery) and so I was diligent in trying to figure out what in the world this noise was. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had just come from an atmosphere of retrospection and celebration of someone's amazing life and so I was sensitive to the things around me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Or, perhaps it's because I was in the right frame of mind and in a place conducive to listening.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When we listen for God, whether we're listening for an answer to a prayer or listening for his direction on what our purpose is for being here, are we just listening for what's familiar and blocking out the rest? Do we focus only on hearing what we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">want</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to hear him to say and then instinctively pick up where we left off and go on with our day? </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Or, are we intentional about putting ourselves in a frame of mind and atmosphere that is conducive to truly listening for him and to him? And are we diligent about actually hearing not only what he's speaking to us loud and clear, but also what he might be whispering from the background?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May you not only listen to what he may be saying to you right now, but may you hear it with an open mind and an open heart regardless of the message.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then go listen to the bugs.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-91696052936222890392011-05-10T10:35:00.001-04:002011-05-10T10:36:33.243-04:00On Finishing What You Start<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm not very good at finishing things. My list of "unfinished business"is fairly long and, to my husband's dismay, my attic (and our closets, and bedroom, and bonus room...) show that fact very clearly. I start a project with gusto and fizzle out faster than the soda I was drinking.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm the same way with books. Well, mainly self-help books. I can't ever read one without a highlighter, two different colored pens, and a new journal for all my notes. I can't wait to dive in and be changed! By chapter two I'm usually telling everyone I know they have to read this book.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then life happens.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To my credit, I have walked away more changed and more convicted by reading half of a book than I would have been had I not started it in the first place. So it's never a waste of time. I just realize how much I'm missing out on! Most books build up to something and though the first half may seem like more than I ever hoped for, I realize the second half is probably even better and I'm missing it because I let life get in the way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Case in point: Several months ago a friend suggested </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Crazy Love </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">by Frances Chan. (</span><a href="http://www.crazylovebook.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">www.crazylovebook.com</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">) I ran out to get it, got TWO colors of highlighters, my pens and a journal and dug right in. I was more convicted by the end of the foreword and preface than any book before it. As usual, the first chapter alone was worth my $14.99 (less my educator discount.) I read (with gusto) and took the book with me everywhere. My way of thinking was completely turned upside down by the third paragraph of Chapter 1!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then....you guessed it....life happened. At chapter two.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But this time, I'm glad.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I think God had a hand in it.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This morning, kids still asleep, birds chirping in the crisp morning air, puppy soaking up the sun on the back deck, I sat down with my coffee and bible and highlighters and...what else...</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Crazy Love.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I haven't picked it up since I started this blog. I started over from the very beginning, first by reviewing everything I had highlighted or made a note of, then re-reading the foreword, preface, and chapter 1. And you know what I found? I missed a whole lot the first time around!</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well, maybe not missed it. I'm just taking away a different message this time around. And it's all because of this blog.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Perhaps it's because my paradigm has changed...or, rather, been refined....since the last time I read it. This time, with fresh eyes and a fresh interpretation, I realize that much of what he writes about in the first 5% of the book can be directly related to what I want this blog to be about.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But had I finished what I started three months ago, I may never have realized it.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am committed to finishing this book! It is so good, and so life-changing, I am GOING to get to the end this time! And, through this blog, I'm going to bring you all along.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So thank you, God, for allowing life to get in the way. This time, I think it's the best thing that could have happened.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-24695473868892856912011-04-27T10:27:00.000-04:002011-04-27T10:27:21.240-04:00Mission Therapy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thanks to my friend Jenna for sharing this insight today:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"There is no better feeling than having the means to support missions you believe in, be it through time or treasure, it's a natural anti-depression treatment. :-)"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was the grand ole age of 20, it was discovered that my genetic heart condition was more serious than previously thought, and I needed a pacemaker....like STAT! I had never had surgery in my life (unless you count being knocked out for wisdom teeth extraction) and I was freaked out! </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Detail warning! May not be for the faint of heart!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">When the surgery was over I was in tremendous pain. This was in 1994 (oops, now you know my real age). Pacemakers were larger than they are now, and given the fact I was so young, my world-renowned cardiologist made the decision to place the pacemaker in a "pocket" he created within the muscle just below my collar bone. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">If you've ever seen a pacemaker in an older person, you can practically read the serial number through their skin.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">In order to place mine where he wanted, he had to cut the muscle. But this would hide the pacemaker and give me some cosmetic comfort and, in the long run, allow me to live a more active lifestyle. Needless to say, all I have is the scar to flash at people when they don't believe that I have a pacemaker (works really well with airport security, btw.) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">The trade-off? MORE PAIN!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Have you ever swallowed a piece of food prematurely by mistake and you can feel it move all the way down your throat and into your stomach? Painful, right? Yeah, times that by about 100. Hello! Foreign body where it shouldn't be! OUCH!</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Lying there in the hospital bed awakening from surgery I realized the intense pain. What I got for it was Tylenol with Codeine. What I needed was morphine and a shot of whiskey!! Apparently, insurance companies don't see pacemakers placed within the muscle as a standard procedure and didn't figure it was any different than the old guy in the room next door, so all I got was a wimpy drug that barely took the edge off. I don't even think the nurses had seen this procedure done before. (Remember, my cardiologist was world-renowned.) So they probably just thought I was being wimpy. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">The solution? Touch therapy. My mom, the best take-care-of-you-when-you're-sick person in the world, was at my bedside lightly rubbing and "tickling" (in a good way) my arms and legs. She brushed my hair and traced my face. And it worked. I felt a little less pain and my mom's heart was full because she was helping me feel better, even if just a little.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">You see, the brain can only send out one signal at a time. Either it's telling you you're in pain, or it's telling you something feels good. And while there were still plenty of times when the pain would overpower my brain in the days following my surgery, my mom was there to at least try to confuse it a little so it would hurt less.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Imagine if we applied this principle to our lives and the lives of others in need. When we're in emotional pain, what makes it better? I am willing to bet it's when someone puts their arm around us or gives us a hug and speaks words of comfort and encouragement. Prayer and empathy (and the occasional unexpected card or flower bouquet) can do amazing things.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can honestly say that I am my happiest when I am serving and loving others in need, be it a lonely child at the homeless shelter or my daughter when she stubs her toe. We were created to serve and love on others. Whether locally or globally, community is in our nature. We want to help others feel better!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Imagine if we applied the touch therapy principle to all areas of our lives? (Marriages, friendships, communities, and so on and on.) Emotional connections during times of strife can be just as impactful as gentle physical touch in times of physical pain. And its beneficial to both parties. Imagine that.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 14px;">Maybe we can call it Mission Therapy.</span>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-48160595667019251282011-04-18T19:13:00.000-04:002011-04-18T19:13:08.877-04:00So What is a Missionary Wannabe Anyway?Why, it's anyone who wants to be a missionary, of course. DUH!<br />
<br />
Ok, seriously, this term has so many layers for me, I don't think I can put them all into one single post. (Lucky you!) I'm finding that being a missionary means different things to different people. I don't believe there is a black-and-white definition for it. I'm sure there are people out there for which there is no gray area. (Only if you do ____ can you truly call yourself a missionary.) Yikes. (You've probably guessed by now that I'm here to share my thoughts on why I think otherwise.)<br />
<br />
So let me start with my own <b>personal definition of a missionary:</b><br />
<i>Anyone who is selflessly on a mission to do a good work for the sake of others.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">You can agree with me or you can disagree with me (and we'll just agree to disagree.) I'm NOT here to debate or win anyone over to "my side." I honestly don't think I have a "side." I'm really just here to explore what it means to be a missionary, grow from what I discover, and encourage anyone who finds themselves in a place where I've been (or currently am) by sharing what I've learned (or am learning) so far. </span></i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Now, its really just recently I've come up with this personal definition. I used to think that in order to be a missionary, I'd have to sell all my things and leave my comfortable life for a third world country, never to return. Again, kudos to the countless people who do that on a regular basis (or have permanently made that as a life choice.) I used to want to be one of them! (Deep down I still do, but I have my own family to think about now.)<br />
<br />
I'm sure there are plenty of people who would radically disagree with my definition. (Again, I'm not here for controversy.) There have been a lot of events over the past several years that have made me take a good look at what I <i>thought</i> it meant to be a missionary (more detail on those in upcoming posts.) It really has been only in the past six months I've been truly discovering what <i>I</i> think it really means.<br />
<br />
There are two things I firmly believe (that are related to this post, anyway.):<br />
1. We were ALL created for a higher purpose.<br />
2. Because of #1, we are all missionaries at the core of our being.<br />
<br />
Now, as I said at the beginning of this post, there are a LOT of layers to this, and I'll share my thoughts on those in future posts (so don't forget to follow my blog!) But for now, I wanted to keep it simple for now.<br />
<br />
#1. - I don't think many of you will disagree with Number 1 above. In fact, the majority of the world, despite religion, culture, or influence believes we're here for some greater purpose. The problem is, the majority of that majority don't do anything about it.<br />
<br />
While there are different interpretations (or, in some cases, debates) on what the <i>actual</i> higher purpose is, regardless of your religion, culture, or influence, the bottom line is the same. <b>Our higher purpose has <u>nothing</u> to do with ourselves and <u>everything</u> to do with living an others-centered life.</b><br />
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#2. - So, assuming you agree with #1, that we are created to live out our higher purpose by focusing on <i>others</i>, and assuming you agree that being a missionary can be defined as <i>selflessly</i> <i>doing good works for the sake of others, </i>then wouldn't you agree that we are all truly missionaries at the core of our being? (Yikes. I'm having high school flashbacks of mathematical proofs.)<br />
<br />
So, if you desire to live out the higher purpose in #1, then, really, you're a missionary wannabe at heart.<br />
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Who's in?Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5086440125210769883.post-6005476016052544812011-04-10T00:48:00.002-04:002011-04-10T12:59:14.023-04:00Why am I here?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[Feel free to insert Valley Girl accent here] Hi there. My name is Cheri. I'm a missionary wannabe. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Chances are, if you're reading this blog, you are too. Or, you've been one and now you're the "real deal." (In which case, please follow my blog and share your positive-but-real input!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, I have a whole other post that will answer your questions of what the heck I think it means to be a missionary wannabe. Watch for that to come in the next few days. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For now, welcome to my blog! I'm sure you are wondering w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">hy I started this blog. Good question. I don't really have a good answer. I don't think I truly have the time to devote to regular blogging like some of the amazing blogs I follow (see my growing list, at right!) But something just stirred inside - ok, several things actually - and they have all come together in perfect alignment pointing me in this direction. So we'll see where it ends up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Disclaimer Alert!</i> <i>You should know I am a Christian and I will include scriptures and references to how God is working in my life. However, THIS BLOG IS FOR EVERYONE! Please take from it what is helpful and useful to YOU in YOUR faith, whatever that may be. My intention here is not to "convert" anyone (though I do hope all will see and be inspired by the power of God working through us.) I am NOT here to preach, judge, or rebuke. Everyone is welcome.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm sure you want to know about me. Who am I and why am I here? There's nothing really fascinating to tell you (I'll let you be the judge as we go.) I'm really just an ordinary person, trying to (humbly) be God's hands and feet while sharing his heart (and, simultaneously, keep my head above water.) I definitely don't do it perfectly. I definitely OVER do it at times. Sometimes I wonder if I've caused more harm than good. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the opportunity God put in front of me, and sometimes I feel like I just emotionally broke even. But over the past ten years or so, I've learned A LOT about life in general, and what it truly means to love, be loved, and live your best life. (And now I sound like Oprah.) Again, I don't always do it well!! (Just ask my husband and my kids...and the dog...and maybe the cat.) But I do always remind myself that each day is a new day...a clean slate...and that it doesn't matter where on the journey we find ourselves, as long as we're on it!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I do believe we were created for a higher purpose. But before we go any further, let's make sure we are on the same page:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pg" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 3px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />
</span> </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pg" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 3px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Missionary – noun</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="var" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">Also,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;"> </span></span><span class="secondary-bf" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b;">mis·sion·er.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="var" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="secondary-bf" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><div class="luna-Ent" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: block; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="dnindex" style="color: #7b7b7b; display: block; float: left; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 28px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">1.</span></span></span><br />
<div class="dndata" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">person</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">sent</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">by</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">church</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">into</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">area</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">carry</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">on </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">evangelism</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">other</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">activities,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">as</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">educational</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">hospital</span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">work.</span></span></div></div><div class="luna-Ent" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: block; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="dnindex" style="color: #7b7b7b; display: block; float: left; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 28px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">2.</span></span></span><br />
<div class="dndata" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">person</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">strongly</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">in</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">favor</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">program,</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">set</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">principles,</span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">etc.,</span> </span><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/who" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">who</a><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">attempts</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">persuade</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">convert</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">others.</span></span></div></div><div class="luna-Ent" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: block; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="dnindex" style="color: #7b7b7b; display: block; float: left; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 28px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">3.</span></span></span><br />
<div class="dndata" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">person</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">who</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">is</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">sent</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">on</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">a</span> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/mission" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">mission</a><span id="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">.</span></span></div></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are several "types" of missionaries. And, by far, the definition most people think of when they hear the term "missionary" is #1 above. The simple definition, though, really is "one who is sent on a mission." Now, I'm not saying if I send my husband to three different grocery stores to find me the lowest price on bread that I would classify him as a missionary, even though he might feel (and claim 100 times over) that he was on a mission from hell. I do believe the context must be such that you are on a mission to do a good work for the sake of others. That's my own personal definition anyway.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My point is this: You don't have to leave the country to be a true missionary. You don't even have to leave your state or city or town. If you have a dream about something, if you feel strongly about making a difference for something good, and you go after that with all your heart and soul and mind and strength, you are, for all intents and purposes, a missionary. We were <i>created</i> to be missionaries. Actually, I believe it's our <i>responsibility</i> to be missionaries. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This blog is for everyone who wants to enter into this vast mission field and truly make a difference. As it says above, it's for the youth looking for direction, the college grad wondering what's next, the middle-aged (that's me-though I don't want to admit it) who've found themselves at a crossroads, and for those who wonder if it's too late (for which I have these words of encouragement: If you're still breathing, it's not too late!) </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don't claim to be an expert on ANYTHING. I'm just a regular person with regular problems and regular dreams. I'm just putting them on display for all who read my blog to see. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But my hope is this...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That through this blog, you will find the peace and contentment you need to know that making a difference is not about selling all your belongings or denying yourself the latest iWhatever and moving to a remote village in a faraway country (though super kudos to those who do that!) This blog is about finding out who we really are at our core. It's about realizing our talents and dreams to make a difference, somehow. It's about doing for ONE what we wish we could do for ALL. It's about discovering why we are truly here.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, welcome! Welcome to the journey of being a missionary wannabe. It's gonna be a great ride (I hope!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</span></div>Cherilynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01334784760637747212noreply@blogger.com3