tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18373554872664568612024-02-20T09:03:32.906-06:00Note to Self...."Just Breathe, live, and smile...""And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-38977942691897162332019-08-25T19:23:00.002-05:002019-08-25T19:54:12.568-05:00“Hands....” <div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The young teenage girl sat in the booth of the Coffee Kettle trying to hold back the tears. Her heart was broken because she felt like a failure. A failure of a daughter. A failure of being a human being. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The pain of rejection was overwhelming.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">As she sat there, miserable and feeling so alone, she felt something softly cover her hand. She looked up to see her dads hand covering her own. She continued to look up even further until she was looking in his eyes...and he said very softly “It’s all going to be okay.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And she believed him. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">She loved that hand that had covered her own. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It was rather square and calloused. Rough from years of hard labor. But it was strong; and it could administer correction as well as comfort.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I know, because that hand belonged to my dad. </span></div>
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<span class="s2" style="font-family: ".sfuitext-bold"; font-size: 17pt; font-weight: bold;">“The precision of the human hand allows fathers and grandfathers to do all the things they are known to do.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">”My father’s hand was an absolute marvel—it had to be, because it was modeled exactly after his Father’s hand (Genesis 1:27). Not just his biological father—but the Father of all mankind: God. God the Father, through Jesus Christ, formed (or molded and designed) the first man Adam. He equipped Adam with two amazingly capable and flexible hands; then He told him to use them to tend the Garden of Eden.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Intricately designed</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The hand God designed consists, in part, of 29 bones and 29 major joints. It contains 34 muscles that move the fingers and the thumb (causing them to work together or in opposition) and 30 named arteries. Its actions are dictated by directives from the brain.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">These biological details allow fathers to do what they do with their hands.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">My dad’s hands could twist a wrench tightly......pinch and remove a splinter from my foot and grasp my little hand as I learned to walk. He could run electrical wire through an house and twist and turn and get into every small crevice of that house. He had no problem getting his hands dirty and have no thought to picking up a small child who outstretched their little hands up to his.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Whatever he thought, his hands would do....they did. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Over the years.....specifically the last 2....I have watched those hands slightly wither. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Become more frail. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">As I sat at the hospital this last Tuesday night, I watched those hands. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I watched as they got stuck by needle after needle. I watched as they picked up a cup that had 10 or so pills in it and take them. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And I began to understand something. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">A transition has happened that I didn’t even see....I didn’t feel it. There was no changing of the hands ceremony....no big presentation. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It just happened without me even realizing it. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">My dad has always held my hand and assured me everything was going to be okay.....but now I’m the one holding his hand....assuring him everything is going to be okay. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The big strong burly hand that had always carried me through my toughest times....now needed someone to carry him through his toughest times. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It’s a parents job to always teach us. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">At each stage of our life....we are learning something. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And even though he doesn’t know it....he’s teaching me through his grace. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Those hands have been poked and prodded....but they still grasp onto mine and I’m instantly transported back to being a little girl needing my daddy. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Sometime during the Summer, I took him to his Drs. Appointment at the Cancer Center. I, once again, watched them poke those gently hands and take blood. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Once we were seated in the room waiting on the Dr to come in....I had a question I had been wanting to ask but kept holding off. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I said “Daddy, do you ever get angry? I mean, you’ve been through more than one man should....and you still have a smile on your face. You’ve got to get angry sometimes, right?” </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And his response is one that still renders me speechless. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">He said “Yes baby, I do. But what is anger going to bring me? I have my days like anyone else. I get mad....And sad....but at the end of the day I know what I have to live for.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And I asked him what was that. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">He reached those now soft, beaten, fragile pale hands over and grasped mine....gave it a little squeeze and he said “My family.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Some days are good. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Some days are really good. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Some days are tougher than others. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Some days we are all just barely getting by. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">I never know what each day is going to hold....I can only hope and pray that he draws as much comfort from my hands as I do from his. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">And it’s an honor to hold the mans hands who have always held mine and say “Everything is going to okay, Daddy.” </span></div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-61941517824261279392017-12-22T21:18:00.000-06:002017-12-22T21:18:24.709-06:00 "The Innkeeper..." <div style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.8px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: 12pt;"> With the Christmas season comes the yearly reading of the Christmas story. For some reason this time when I read the story I couldn't help but to focus a little on the Innkeeper. The Innkeeper is seen as a bit of a bad guy. I’m quite certain that he never intended to be the bad guy. His hands were tied. His place was full. As much as he may have liked to help out that poor couple who just rode into town (especially since that girl was big pregnant!) he just couldn’t. He didn’t mean to be cruel or unsympathetic or impersonal… it was just business.</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">It was a busy time. Everybody was in town for the big census that the Romans were taking. Everybody’s inn was full… for miles around. People were everywhere. Too many people. Too many demands. Too many things to do. And all these people were wonderful for the money bag, but bad for the nerves… and his were frazzled.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">That may have been why he was so abrupt with that poor couple from Nazareth. He didn’t really have the time for their story, or their hardship, or their pressing need. Babies are born all the time… even in times like this when everybody is needing and demanding something. Why should their need outweigh the needs of his other guests… who had already paid him for the night? He didn’t have any problem telling them that either. Maybe it was the nerves talking. Maybe it was just that he didn’t have the time (or the inclination) to care about the needs of two more needy people who had just wandered into town. No room meant NO room. No exceptions – even for the “expecting.” They would just have to find somewhere else to go… anywhere but here!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">So “(Mary) gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” (Luke 2:7)</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">I wonder if that innkeeper had known who he was turning away (and Who it was that was being born outside his inn) would he have given up his own bed for the Savior of the world? Think of it… just a few paces away from his closed door, the most important Person to ever walk this earth, came into this world. And the innkeeper had no room (or time!) for him. He was so occupied with his occupation that he missed the opportunity of a lifetime… to see (maybe, hold?!) the Savior of the world. To have the Redeemer of all humanity be born under his roof. To have a small part in welcoming God’s Own Son to this planet. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">What do we learn from the innkeeper? </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">We learn that being so busy can cause us to miss things that are really important. We learn that we can be so occupied with life (and living) that we can miss out on what life is all about. We learn that we can be so caught up with all the “pressing matters” that we can completely fail to see the miracles happening around us. And that we can be doing nothing really wrong and yet miss out on everything that is so right.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">The innkeeper’s role could have been different. His role, in the story, could have been more heroic, rather than apathetic. But he is representative of so many people in this world who are so wrapped up in all their busyness that they miss out on the most important business of all. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;">Ask yourself tonight.....Are you like the Innkeeper? </span></div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-42975757061213284302017-10-01T20:53:00.002-05:002017-10-01T20:53:57.213-05:00"Invisible threads..." <div style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've been thinking a lot about heart strings, invisible threads, and the ways in which people enter your story for a page or a chapter and change the entire ending. Regardless of whether people come into your life by fate or chance, I've always been the kind of person that believes our interactions result in a connection. and so by the end of our lives, we could have an infinite amount of threads linked to other people’s lives, memories, and stories. and although it’s been grudgingly so, i’ve come to accept that not all people are here to stay; i’ve learned that the lesson and impact they bring often requires an ending.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've been thinking about all of the people that come into our lives for different lengths of stay. I like the idea of an invisible thread that links you to all of the people who shape who you become in this life. Perhaps it is a ball of tangled string- sometimes tied complicatedly in knots and sometimes loosely bound together- or an uncountable amount of strings that run parallel to one another. </span><strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">but mostly, i just like the idea of an invisible thread that links one person to another; like somehow, our individual life stories are now part of each other’s. </strong><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">And </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">so i’ve been thinking about the people I am bound to. The thread that taught me not to attach my identity to another person. The thread from high school that formed from an unlikely friendship between a group of teenagers in a church annex. The threads of kindness from people like the man who prayed with me in the middle of Winn Dixie or the gentlemen who left me $100.00 dollar tips when I waitressed at the BBQ house because they knew I was a single teenage mom. A thread that was a lesson in heartache from the boy who taught me about the strength it requires to put yourself back together. The thread to the teacher who didn't give up on you....who knew you were capable of more than you thought. The thread to your father- the first person to show me what it meant to truly believe in myself. The thread to my mom....while our relationship may lack in a lot of areas....Ive learned from that. The thread to Gina....the person who taught me to be the mother I am. She taught me how to love another person more than I love myself. So many people run through my head....years upon years of invisible threads. Tied to one person....that person never knowing how much of an impact they have on your life. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So maybe some people don’t come into your life to stay forever. Maybe we will each go off and do a million separate things and maybe our life paths will never cross again, <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">but the thing about threads is that you can’t undo what has already been formed.</em> I believe that people stay long enough- even if only for a moment- to impact your existence and to help write out your story. Like the strangers in the check-out line that teach you about patience or the ordinary people who do extraordinary things in the corner of their world that teach you about humility. The child in the classroom with an endless amount of questions that reminds you to wonder. The people you see on the street or wandering through the town that teach you about strength and acceptance. And <span style="box-sizing: border-box; text-decoration: underline;">if life has taught me anything, it’s that some people’s stay will never be long enough.</span> I don’t have the answer for that, I don’t know why it is that they sometimes leave before we are ready. All I know is that maybe you don’t get to decide how they leave, but you can choose which parts of them stay with you....and so on those days I remember how important it is to think about the people who have impacted us- both positively and negatively- and to be grateful for those lessons, those threads. We can only hope to experience this life in it’s entirety and so we take in the good and the bad and every little thing in between. Love intertwined with heartache. Loss accompanied by strength, hope, and growth. A million failed attempts and one moment of success. Endings that become beginnings. the people that teach you about self-discipline, motivation, and perseverance. A million words and one set of ears that will listen....and when you think about all of the threads that comprise the person that you are, think about the ways in which you have impacted the people around you. What lessons have you taught? What message did you send? And are your threads ones of love and kindness?</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I can only hope that my thread to you has impacted you in a positive way. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> What I </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">know about invisible threads is that if you give people the chance, they will surprise you. Connections are formed when you put your phone down and lift your head up. When you offer a smile or change someone’s day. When you look someone in the eye on the elevator or really listen to what people have to say. <b>They </b></span><strong style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); box-sizing: border-box;">are formed when you realize that at every given moment, your life is being changed by the people around you.</strong><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Invisible threads link us to unsuspecting people in the most beautiful of ways. You may not get to choose who comes into your life, when they leave, or what lesson they bring, but you do have a say in the way you link yourself to other people in this world.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> And</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> with all of these words, I guess i’m trying to say that i’ve been thinking about how so many parts of my life are not mine alone- and i’m comforted by the idea that so many parts of our lives are experienced together.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> And </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">so this is for every person whom I have attached a thread to and to thank you for letting me be a part of your growth.....and for ultimately being a part of mine. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I like where our stories meet.</span></div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-44757520343323712262017-07-26T13:26:00.000-05:002017-07-26T13:26:57.863-05:00<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: -30px;"><b><i>"We all have thorns in our flesh. All of us. Love is when we stay and help someone pluck out their thorns one-by-one and they do the same for us. Love is also when we pluck the thorns out of our own flesh, one-by-one. But today, the world teaches us that we shouldn’t even see those thorns, that we should only see the petals. As a result, we don’t know how to love ourselves and we don’t know how to love others. Stay with the darkness, and bring that darkness into the light. It’s there, look at it.</i></b>" </span><br />
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In hard times of our lives, in the darkness, we should surround ourselves with the light. We should surround ourselves with close friends and family who do not mind giving out a hug, a conversation or a smile. It’s important that we hold onto the good things when we feel shattered.<br />
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I often find comfort in writing first, because it can be hard for me to talk about my emotions directly to the people in my life, mostly because there are times when I do not understand my emotions myself and I do not know how to talk about them. But while writing helps … I always end up feeling a little isolated. I feel like I do not give myself a chance to be vulnerable with the people that I love, which in the end makes me hurt more, not less.<br />
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I’ve learned one very important thing. If you are surrounded by the right kind of people, they’ll understand the fact that you might feel confused. We have to be open with the people that we love and that love us, because only by having true conversations can we realize that other people are flawed and confused as well.<br />
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You shouldn’t fake a smile when you are hurting. You shouldn’t ignore your emotions. Focus on yourself, your mental health and embrace the fact that it’s OK not to be OK. We forget that so many times. We supress our anger, sadness, loneliness, because it feels “wrong” to feel dark. You should be able to feel the darkness, as long as you do not forget about the light.<br />
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As I sit here and type this, I can't help but to think about the fact that I should be planning a 3rd birthday party. I should be buying balloons and picking out the perfect birthday cake. I should be getting ready to celebrate another life. Often times, on these occasions....these monumental events...and I feel so overwhelmed with sadness....I feel silly for even trying to express it. I miscaried at 13 weeks. I never held this sweet angel in my arms....I never got to kiss her forehead....I never got to whisper the words "I love you" in her perfect little ears and hold on for dear life to her tiny perfect fingers. This is an unspoken truth of so many miscarriages....we mourn and we don't speak of it again. We aren't supposed to feel sadness....because we never held our angel. But it hurts. She was my child. I dream of her sometimes.....and I really don't even know if she was a girl honestly.....but in a dream that God once blessed me with....she as the most perfect little girl in a pink dress I could have ever imagined. So this week, I mourn for the beautiful little life that ended to soon. I mourn for all the little moments that I won't get to celebrate. By sharing this… I hurt just a little less. I let myself feel the darkness … But I embraced the light in it. I need to mourn, yes. But I cannot let the darkness rule my life.<br />
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Maybe it feels unfair to you that I am describing this moment. There’s more darkness out there in other things, other people, other circumstances. But let’s not argue on that. Each and every darkness matters. Because if we start defining what’s “worth” of being defined as darkness, we will supress people’s feelings, which in the end isn’t fair to them. What matters is that whenever I feel dark inside myself, for whatever reason, I have to search for the light. And I encourage you all to do the same. We all have bad days, sometimes the sadness just overcomes you for different reasons … But you have to embrace whatever you’re feeling and say “It’s alright.” Even if it doesn’t feel like that and even if you do not quite understand it.<br />
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You need to have opened conversations. With the love of your life, your siblings, your parents, your friends, your kids … It’s OK to be flawed. Writing can be a resort, of course, but it won’t make you feel complete.<br />
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Tomorrow is another day … And there’s light in it.<br />
“When life leaves us blind, love keeps us kind.” I’m learning to be vulnerable with the people that I love … I’m learning to stay kind.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-16236686146593927832017-07-05T20:20:00.004-05:002017-07-05T20:23:01.524-05:00"I bet you didn't think I could do that." <div class="graf graf--p" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border: 0px; color: #404040; font-family: 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Last summer, I was walking in a park and something very bizarre happened.</div>
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I had been sitting at a picnic table reading. It was a beautiful day — one of those days that brings a small smile to your face whether you notice it’s there or not.</div>
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After reading for some time, I decided to go for a walk around our walking trail behind the park before heading home. I stepped on the sidewalk near the picnic table and began walking through the park toward the trail. </div>
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An old black man was on a stroll on the sidewalk about ten feet in front of me. He must have been in his upper 60’s or early 70’s. His shoulders bent forward naturally and he walked slowly. I found him interesting and as I often do, I wondered what his story was. </div>
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I wasn’t in a hurry so we were walking at about the same pace. As the man walked, he glanced back and saw me casually walking behind him. He looked forward, took a few steps, then looked back again. A part of me was thinking, <em class="markup--em markup--p-em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">why does this guy keepl looking at me? </em></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px;">Then he did something completely unexpected.</span></div>
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The old man stopped walking, put his hands above his head, then DID A CARTWHEEL on the sidewalk!</div>
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I was so taken aback I stopped walking and just stared at him. My small smile turned to a look of confusion as my brain was trying to put together what had just happened.</div>
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He stuck the landing, and we stared at each other for a brief moment, him with the small smile that had previously belonged to me and me with a look of bewilderment. After just staring at each other for a moment, he smugly broke the silence. All he said was:</div>
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"I bet you didn’t think I could do that.”</div>
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I didn’t know what to say. It was too strange. I was caught off guard. I managed to just say, “Nope. I sure didn’t.”</div>
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He gave a nod and a smile, then turned and continued walking. Within a minute or two, he turned to go a different direction and I finished my walk and then headed toward my car.</div>
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Have you ever been completely by yourself and laughed so hard you cried (then hoped no one was watching you)? This is what happened as soon as I closed my car door. I felt like the <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3yRv5Jg5TI" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: #278dbc; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Chewbacca Lady</a> video that had been floating around social media. The encounter was so random, it just got the best of me.</div>
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To be honest with you, I just wanted to tell you this story because it was a little crazy and I don’t think it happens every day. But when I think about it, there are some cool takeaways that can be drawn from it.</div>
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I’m sure you could come up with some of your own, but my takeaways are these:</div>
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· You have the ability to brighten others’ days</div>
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· Age may not be a choice, but “Old” is a choice. Stay youthful!</div>
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· Random acts of joy may be just what we need now and then</div>
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I’m going to chalk this up as a bizarre, once-in-a-lifetime moment, but a part of me wants to believe that this old man spends his days walking around parks doing cartwheels for unsuspecting bystanders — bringing joy into the world one cartwheel at a time.</div>
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It’s not a likely scenario, but who knows? The world needs a few more cartwheels and maybe this old man knows it.</div>
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So if you happen to see an old man doing cartwheels in a park, please walk up to him with a small smile on your face and casually say, “I didn’t think you could do that,” then simply walk away.</div>
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(and also let me know because it would make my day).</div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-1945065444297527632017-05-04T11:42:00.000-05:002017-05-04T11:42:47.886-05:00"The Stand Upper..." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
I dread the doctor’s office. I dread showing up on time and then sitting through the long wait. I dread the paper thin gown with the white strings in the back that inevitably rip off before I can tie them. I dread just about every last thing, but you do what you go to do.</div>
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So I showed up, I waited, I tied and I dreaded.</div>
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And inevitably accidentally eaves dropped on a conversation that was happening between two women that sat behind me…and when I say accidentally, you know what I mean. Ears are hard things to close.</div>
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The one was talking about a mutual friend and it was <strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">NOT </strong>pretty<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">. “</strong>She this,” and “She that.” Had she known I was going to write about the whole thing, I am sure she would have changed her tune, but that’s ok because a helper was on the scene. She was sharing with one who I’ll just gloriously crown, “<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">The Stand Upper.”</strong></em></div>
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This other woman was amazing. It was like she paid the words of her friend no mind. She was rock solid, didn’t miss a beat and didn’t jaunt in defensively; to save or to fix, but rather meandered slowly but surely.</div>
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She was matter of fact.</div>
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She <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">PRAISED</strong> the poor woman her friend was bashing till a wealth of treasure was bestowed upon the invisible woman’s feet. There was no face to the name, but I pictured her…</div>
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“Thats never been my experience of her. In fact, she is extremely dedicated and loyal. She has always been there for me when I needed her. She is incredibly encouraging. She has a full plate and manages the best she can.”l</div>
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I sat there, wanting to turn around and shake her hand. I wanted her autograph, a picture, anything…and if I could be 100% honest, I was so incredibly attracted <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">TO</strong>her in all the right ways. This other woman had something I wanted to possess; her ability to stand up and stay steady rather than being swayed and staying silent drew me in.</div>
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She was a needed breath of fresh air.</div>
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I sat in my seat waiting for my name to be called and thought about all the times I have been a <strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">giver</strong> and a <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">taker. </strong>Since I can only assume that I’ve been the recipient of someone else’s side conversations, I’ll share about my first hand knowledge of how I have dished out my fair share of negativity towards others unbeknownst to them and have felt validated in doing so. Yes, I have played innocent.</div>
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I can honestly say, <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">EVERY TIME</strong>, it’s a sure tell sign the issue is mine.</div>
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Jealousy*Comparison*Pride*Arrogance</div>
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Insecurity*Anger*Offense*Rejection</div>
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Which can pretty much be summed up in one word, right?</div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">*FEAR*</strong></div>
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So what are my issues then if I just sit back in my seat and refuse to stand up when someone begins to drudge another through the mud and the muck? Are the issues really that much different? I think not.</div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">*FEAR*</strong></div>
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I think the woman who stood up today was confident in <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">WHO</strong> she was. She wasn’t afraid to disappoint and wasn’t out to people please. Fear of man was not a forethought and if it was, she was secure enough to push through the trembling and the best part was…she didn’t do it in a way that was ballsy or brash. She was loving and kind and steered the ship into a peaceful harbor. I appreciate accidentally eavesdropping…so very much.</div>
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It made me wonder what I would look or sound like if <b style="box-sizing: border-box;">FEAR </b>were not an option. If I removed <strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">THAT…WHO</strong> would I be? I want to be <b style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">ME, </b>but I want in large parts to be the other woman too.</div>
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Stand Uppers are one of a kind, in fact they are one in a million. They cannot be swayed by your opinions and are not afraid to go against the grain and form their own. They are tried and true friends.</div>
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Everyone doesn’t just <strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">NEED</strong> one, they need to <strong style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;">BE</strong> one.</div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-74118582732310069862017-04-17T09:13:00.001-05:002017-04-17T09:13:54.353-05:00"It's not about me...." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: inherit; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1.75em;">
I love stories. About almost anything. And almost all kinds of stories.</div>
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I love telling stories, even though I might not be the best at it. I have the tendency to ramble, to add too much detail, to drag it out a little longer than I should. But my friends listen to me anyway. Bless you.</div>
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My favorite stories are the ones people tell about their lives. Of family, childhood stories, testimonies. Real stories–the good ones, the bad ones, the ugly ones, the messy ones. All of them. Because most of them usually have the best climax.</div>
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I’ll give you an example. Here’s my story: I am a mess, but God picks up my mess.</div>
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Beginning to end in one sentence. Boom. That is my story. But the best part of that, to me, is that my story isn’t about me. My life isn’t about me.</div>
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Sometimes I forget that. I forget that this isn’t about me. My goal in life is not to bring people to me. My purpose in life isn’t to make ME known. Why does anyone need to put a spotlight on a mess?</div>
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My purpose in life is to let people see the second part of my story. I am a mess-got that. But God fixes my mess. Every day. Every minute of the day, He is making me less and less of a mess. He is tidying me up. That is the story to be told.</div>
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I’ve been taking part in a daily prayer challenge. I pray out loud. I say all the things in my heart that I am afraid of. All my doubts. All my insecurities. I pray for my friends. My family. I call them by name. There is no better way to realize how big your mess is. How much you cling to that isn’t Jesus. How much of a mess you’ve been making of yourself instead of letting Him remove your clutter.</div>
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Today I cried. I am not unaware of the fact that I am train wreck without Jesus. But it really hit me hard this morning. This week has been the toughest of the challenge. I’ve been trying to believe more than I ever have. Trying to hold on to the promises more than I ever have. I lost sight of that somewhere along the past couple of days. It felt like they were never coming. That there wasn’t really anything else to believe in.</div>
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What a fool. To not believe that the promises are on their way. To not trust that His ways are so much higher than mine. To not trust that everything has already been planned out, and that it is for my good. To not believe that God has already gone before me and set everything out in its time.</div>
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Here’s a secret: He hears us.</div>
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I always knew that. I’ve experienced it before now. I’ve had it spoken to me, over me, drilled into me since I became a Christian. But y’all. How quickly we lose sight and grasp of the truth when things aren’t going according to OUR plans. Do you know what happens when a mess of a person makes life plans? More mess. Bigger mess. Catastrophe.</div>
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I can’t even imagine how horribly things would turn out if they went how I wanted them. But God, thank you Jesus, knows what I need–not what I want. He gives the things we need, I need, to make this story all about Him.</div>
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Because He is worthy of all the stories. And then some.</div>
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I read an article about a football team that had a theme for the season. The team walked around with shirts that had the letters “INAM” all over them. INAM–it’s not about me. The more I think about it, the more I want that be a summary of my story. “My” story.</div>
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I want the story I get to tell be less about me and more about how He saves me, walks with me, guides me, hears me, answers my cry, delivers me, fights for me, frees me, etc. The list will never end.<br />
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My prayer is that as my list gets longer, my praise is louder. And that it drowns out the lies of insecurity, of insignificance, and of the need to keep it to myself. And I pray that for you, too. <br />
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Because every story where God is involved is a story that deserves to be told. So let’s do just that.<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-17932539446112681412017-02-15T19:31:00.001-06:002017-02-15T20:38:33.946-06:00"Adulting is hard....maybe I should buy a raincoat..." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: inherit; color: #404040; font-family: 'Quattrocento Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px;">
Let’s be honest, we’ve all laughed at a good <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">adulting</em> meme that so adequately describes the difficulties of trying to <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">be a grown up and do the responsible thing.</em></div>
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I will be the first one to admit that the majority of the first half of my twenties has been a complete train wreck. I didn’t own a rain coat for most of it. A rain coat. Even small children own rain coats. I also literally did not understand the phrase <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">take it with a grain of salt</em> until like two weeks ago. Okay....maybe it was more than 2 weeks ago but I spent a good bit of time not really knowing what that phrase meant. You can also add "Dont count your chickens before they hatch" to that. So you know, there’s a lot that I have yet to master about adulthood.</div>
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But I have become so incredibly annoyed with a generation of people who keep complaining and making t-shirts about how hard it is to <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">adult</em>. Adult is not a verb. It is an adjective. <strong style="box-sizing: inherit;">It describes the stage of life that you </strong><strong style="box-sizing: inherit;">are in</strong><strong style="box-sizing: inherit;"> and will continue to be in.</strong> You don’t get a choice about that, my friend. <strong style="box-sizing: inherit;">You are an adult</strong>. You will never be a child again and it is time that you just get past that fact and accept that this, in all its glory, is not a choice.</div>
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Your adulthood is just a fact.</h3>
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When we treat adulthood like a choice we create a lifestyle of really horrible habits. We justify and make jokes about our really poor choices because <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">adulting has </em>become a thing we <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">do</em> or <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">don’t do</em> today.</div>
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I love you enough to tell you this because <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">I was the person doing it like eight and half seconds ago. </em>Eating doughnuts for breakfast every morning and watching Netflix until 2 PM in your bed when you’re in your twenties is not cute. It is not worthy of a “like” on Facebook or Instagram.</div>
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Being a human is hard sometimes, but the hard parts about it are not your laundry, making your bed, or taking a shower. Difficulty is not looking at your bank account and being sad that you can’t buy more Starbucks.</div>
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When we say it out loud, I think we can see how selfish it is: I’m feeding a culture that says life is hard because I want to be able to eat Oreos and not gain weight, or have the luxury of walking into Target and spending $200 on pointless crap. </div>
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We are a product of our choices, the things we do and the things we say. If I keep telling myself that <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">the struggle is real</em> <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">at Target</em> and everyone spends this kind of money because <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">adulting is hard</em> and <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">budgets are hard </em>when I wake up without any money for my future, at least I can laugh about it. I can post about it on Instagram and get a few hundred nods of approval.</div>
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Those things are not the hard part about adulthood and if you actually believe that they are, you live in a very small world. You live in a bubble known as <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">entitlement</em> and it’s a really dangerous place to stay. It’s a dangerous thing to joke about. It feeds bad habits. It’s a bubble that I’ve known well and it has caused more grief in my adulthood than maybe anything else.</div>
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You know what I love about my grandmothers’ generation? Those women got out of bed every morning, got dressed, took on the world, and sometimes never left their own home to do it. They’d wrangle seven kids looking like they just stepped out of a magazine. I never understood it and I actually thought it was incredibly pointless. But throughout the years of listening to their stories when I wasn't younger.... I finally started to understand why.</div>
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They did it because getting out of bed, looking presentable, making breakfast, and getting things in order is good stewardship. It is being thankful. It is loving themselves and others well. It is taking care of what God gave them. It is living a lifestyle of worship, of having a grateful heart. It is saying to God: I love and cherish this sweet life that you’ve given me and it is way way more than I deserve. I’m going to take care of it, I’m going to treat it like the gold that it is.</div>
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That’s not to say that some of them didn’t have careers. Both of my Grandmothers worked. They showed up for themselves, their kids, their husbands, and worked outside of their homes. They kicked butt (am I allowed to say that about my grandmothers?). They were moms, wives, workers, church members, community members, and more. They were not <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">adulting, </em>they just accepted the fact that they were adults. Most of their generation accepted this a lot younger than I did.</div>
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The point of all of this is not to say that we have to be perfect. I will have times of rest. <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">I will also still have some days where I wear sweatpants and watch a few hours of Really bad tv. . </em>I will have times of eating pizza (every Friday) and wishing that it didn’t have so many calories. But that’s not an acceptable daily lifestyle and it’s not a culture that I want to encourage.</div>
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God handed me adulthood, sometimes it’s hard, in fact....it's really really hard. ....but the fact remains that I don’t get a choice. But how I honor this gift of life and how I choose to respond my God-given responsibilities is entirely up to me.<br />
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And In true adulting fashion, I am writing this as I just handed my child a bowl of M&M's for breakfast, it's raining outside and I still don't own a raincoat at 33 years old. </div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-74432643736781304262017-01-15T21:50:00.000-06:002017-01-15T21:50:51.447-06:00"Romanticize your life..." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; color: #383838; font-family: 'PT Serif', Georgia, serif; font-size: 17.007999420166016px; margin-bottom: 1em;">
I saw a quote posted on social media that has bothered me. It was something to the effect of "There is beauty in the broken....the depressed....blah blah blah....."<br />
Let’s make one thing clear from the start: <span style="font-weight: 700;">there is nothing pretty about depression. </span></div>
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Whoever told you that either was lying to you or has no idea what it means to be at constant war with yourself.<br />
There is nothing poetic about feeling broken, exhausted, useless; nothing graceful about it.<br />
No one will see you, hollow and shattered, and think “wow, this is gorgeous”. And when you look at your reflection in the mirror, the person you’ll see staring back at you won’t believe that either.</div>
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Depression is a monster eating you from the inside. It’s thick dark smoke filling your lungs until you can barely breathe anymore. It’s unfamiliar voices inside your head turning every thought into a gun and leaving you there to wait for them to pull the trigger.<br />
Depression is ugly and it’s scary and it’s lonely.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: 700;">Depression is not who you are.</span></div>
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So change your perspective and learn how to romanticize healing instead.<br />
Start small. Begin by celebrating the days you can get out of bed long enough to wash your hair or to take out the trash; the days you feel like answering your phone when it’s ringing and end up talking to that friend you haven’t heard from in a while.<br />
Begin by appreciating the nights you spend sitting on the couch watching bad TV with your kids; the songs you sing at the top of your lungs (very very badly) during long drives, with your windows down and fresh air hitting your face.<br />
Romanticize the third cup of hot coffee of the day; that first sip of the morning. the piece of chocolate you allow yourself to eat before going to bed. Romanticize the kind of love that makes you feel like you belong; the friends who tell those silly jokes that make you laugh until you cry; the days you can stand in front of the mirror with no clothes on and not be ashamed. Those mornings when the world is quiet and you get to see the sunrise witnessing Gods art work first hand. </div>
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Romanticize that little giggle from your 4 year old when you tickle her and she wraps her arms around you so tightly it feels like she will never let go. Those moments your son asks "How was your day, mom?" And he genuinely wants to know. </div>
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<em>Slowly, step by step, learn how to let go of everything and everyone that makes you feel like you are not good enough. </em></div>
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<em><span style="font-weight: 700;">Because you are.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></em>And there is hope for you.<br />
You are not your dark days; you are not your scars. You are not broken and you deserve to be alive....to live each day with a smile.....just as much as everyone else.<br />
It will get easier. It will get better.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: 700;"><em>And healing, oh, healing will look beautiful on you....Romanticize that. </em></span></div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-87812688868199475642016-12-26T21:28:00.002-06:002016-12-26T21:28:59.344-06:00"An old friend...." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; color: #383838; font-family: 'PT Serif', Georgia, serif; font-size: 17.007999420166016px; margin-bottom: 1em;">
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Hello little blog. It's been a while. </div>
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What I'm about to write isn't easy. I've gone back and forth and started and erased a thousand times. I've shut my computer off and cut it back on and back off again. Ashamed. So very ashamed. Although I don't know why. I can't answer that. </div>
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2016 hasn't been easy. There's been a lot of changes for me personally and those changes left me questioning myself on a deep level. And it really liking the answers my mind answered with. Soon it wasn't my mind answering those questions....it was a deep dark old friend. A friend I fought for years to break ties with. And I did. For a while. But given the opportunity.....he weasels his way back in.....taking up space in your head and heart....leaving no room for oxygen....he starts to suffocate you and makes it near impossible to breathe. </div>
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Depression. </div>
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That's his name. </div>
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Before I started suffering from depression whenever I thought about mental illness, a certain image would always come to mind.<br />I pictured the Depressed person to look drained in every sense of the word. I imagined someone thin to the point you can see their collarbone showing beneath the collar of their too-big t-shirt; I imagined messy hair and cold hands; I imagined no make-up and worn-out (grey, for some reason) clothes.<br />So when the symptoms started showing, I was confused. How could I- someone who spends at least an hour in the bathroom every day to do her hair, who doesn’t go anywhere without her favorite lipstick, who always wears heels, even to go to school – be depressed? That didn’t make any sense. Pretty, well put together girls can’t have that kind of problem. My life isn't that bad. Honestly, what do I have to be depressed about?<br />Well, it turns out they can. <span style="font-weight: 700;">Also, it turns out depression has many different faces, not just the stereotypical one that society has instilled in our minds since the beginning of time. </span><br />And while it can look like that sometimes, it can also take a lot of other shapes.</div>
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Depression can look like the woman you see every morning on your way to work, taking her little kids to school and carrying their colorful backpacks; it can look like the elegant businessman who always wears expensive suits and ties and drives a Mercedes around town.<br />Depression can look like the funny teenage boy who makes everyone laugh during class with his jokes, the one that teachers love just as much as anyone else; it can look like the fit girl you see at the gym, with the ponytail and abs of steel.<br />Depression can be a family father, a rockstar, a nun; it can be black, asian; straight, gay, bisexual; it can be religious or atheist.<br /><span style="font-weight: 700;">Depression can take any shape and form it wants and that’s maybe what makes it so scary. </span><br />As sad and negative as that may sound, though, it also means that you are not actually as alone as you think you are. Just because you don’t see anyone looking like what you imagine a depressed person should, it doesn’t mean that the people surrounding you are not struggling with their own demons. They might be fighting a battle just like yours.<br />And most importantly, if <em>you</em> don’t look like what you think a depressed person should, it doesn’t make what you’re feeling any less valid or real.</div>
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Some days are good. Some days are bad. Some days or weeks.... I'm quiet. And some days it's easy to smile while others....the smile has to be forced. Some days I'm withdrawn and some days I'm a social butterfly. It a process. And it took me a while to understand this process. And I can honestly say, I have more good days than bad here lately. </div>
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<span style="font-weight: 700;">In the end, I like to think the ultimate solution to this problem is kindness.</span></div>
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Be kind to yourself, first and foremost: respect your sadness, your bad thoughts, your dark days and don’t be ashamed or scared of the idea of asking for the help you need and deserve. And be kind to others as well, because they might be going through something equally as hard as you are.<br />Kindness is certainly not a cure, but it is the first step to a more empathetic and understanding attitude towards depression and those who suffer from it.</div>
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But always be kind to yourself. </div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-9906686301502027592016-11-09T11:40:00.002-06:002016-11-09T11:40:35.037-06:00"Don't be "that" mom..." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; box-sizing: inherit; color: #6a6c6e; font-family: Lato, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; padding: 0px 0px 1.5em;">
Teenage pregnancy. </div>
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This is going to be a touchy subject. But I wanted to do a post about all the things I went through when my son was born and all the things I hated about how people treated me. But that would be impossible because there was just so much that, quite honestly, ticked me off. I have forgotten most by now. But a few weeks ago, I saw a teenager with her baby at the doctors office. And it took me back to a very lonely and sad time in my life, a time I didn’t think would ever pass. But eventually it did, and here I am, alive and well on the other end, and dare I even say quite happy too. So here’s to all the teen moms out there bravely battling on each day despite all the dirty looks in public, the criticism and uglyness that our messed up society so cheaply offers. Here’s my take on teen pregnancy and why people should get off their high horses about it.</div>
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Oddly, this girl keeps looking at me, do I have something on my shirt or a piece of food in my teeth? Or a booger hanging out my nose? I look up but what I see is myself a quite a years ago, and I instantly know why she looks at me like that.<br />
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I am what she hoped to be, instead of herself. <br />
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I know, because I was once her. You see, today I am the 33 year old mom, with the wedding ring on my finger, my beautiful baby girl sitting quietly on my lap.....with my nice put together outfit......while I chat to the other moms about pre-school and cute monogrammed clothing and the price of a good family vacation. She, on the other hand, does not get spoken to, instead, people give her a look of sympathy mixed with a little “you should’ve known better”. She doesn’t get asked about her opinion on teething or diapers or anything, because she doesn’t know anything right? I mean she’s what? 17 or 18 maybe? She’s just a child herself right? And she shouldn’t even have a baby yet right? “We shouldn’t feel sorry for her, but for that baby” someone whispers. And suddenly all the rage I used to feel towards these judgy moms comes rushing back.</div>
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About this teenager. There are a few facts we should get straight. She is as much motheras me, or you, or any other twenty or thirty-something mom. Because she, long before having given birth, made one of the most difficult decisions that a young girl can ever have to make, she chose to deal with the consequences of her actions despite all the difficulties it brings. She’s not dirty, or wrong or slutty for getting pregnant. She is one of the unlucky few to have gotten pregnant, but she is not the only one who was at risk of getting pregnant. Fact is, if you all are completely honest......you all were doing exactly what we were as a teenager....we are just the ones who got caught. But our double standard society makes us believe that only the pregnant teens are those who were sinful enough to have sex. All the thousands of others who didn’t get pregnant, or those who rather opted for abortions, we don’t think or speak of them. We channel our disapproval only toward the pregnant teens. They take the heat for the whole world’s sexually active teens. They get all the judgement on behalf of all the others who, yet not visibly wearing their sins, did exactly the same thing. Girls who opt for abortions do not have to wear a t-shirt reading “I had my child aborted” they get to carry on with their lives and their ended pregnancy is something the can either choose to hide or to share. Likewise all the other sexually active teenagers do not have to wear a t-shirt stating their exact number of sexual partners or how old they were when they started having sex. They too get privacy and dignity when it comes to their sexual activities and habits. But pregnant teens, oh no, they can’t hide it for very long can they? So what happens is, they get all the judgement. All the dirty looks. All the “you should’ve known better” looks. Not fair is it? Well I don’t think so anyway. So let me rant about how unfair this is for just a bit. And let me point a few things out. </div>
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As a mom now in my thirties, having had a baby as a teenager, and having had one as a married twenty something year old, I have had both experiences. Now I want to ask a favour from all the other moms. You already know how challenging motherhood can be. You know what it’s like to multitask getting dressed and packing a diaper bag and feeding a little human his breakfast while you go hungry and have your coffee cold an hour later. You know going to the bathroom can be a rare luxury and even a shower is somehow something you ask permission for as your husband has to watch the baby while you do it. You know what it’s like to be so tired you cannot think straight. You know that serving froot loops for dinner is sometimes the best you could do. And let's not forget the M&Ms youbletthem have for breakfast. Now imagine doing all of that (and everything not even mentioned above) as a teenager. Imagine it without the help and support of a husband. Imagine all of it, while constantly being judged. Imagine your opinion and instinct over your child constantly being undermined by everyone simply because you’re young. Imagine people taking pity on your baby as if you were a meth-addict living on the streets simply because you’re a teenager. Not a fun thought huh? So my request to all the non teen moms reading this is simple : Don’t be that mom. Dont judge these girls. These girls are also just moms. Moms who have it so much harder than you do.</div>
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They may be young, but age has never been a measure of how good of a mom you can be. They are in the same boat of minority as the forty something year old moms who, for whatever reason, only had kids many years after all their peers. Let’s have compassion for these ladies, whatever their ages. Motherhood is so difficult, and one of the best feelings is having a friend who understands what you are dealing with. Having a baby in my twenties made me realize this, because this time I’m not alone. I was also very fortunate to have a amazing support system behind me. My family stepped in and the saying "It takes a village" is so true. And still true to this day. Some days, even as a 33 year old mom, I don't know how I would survive without the help of my parents and in laws. </div>
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I guess all I’m saying is that it’s not fair to judge a teen mom unless you are going to judge premarital sex altogether. And it is not fair to judge a young mom, if you are not going to judge older moms as well, for both have their fair share of pros and cons for the child. Unless you are willing to take on a huge debate on all the sides to this very complicated topic, just let everyone be and try not to be "that" mom. </div>
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Perhaps we feel there should be some sort of winning recipe to raise a good child, and it’s frightening to consider that maybe our kids will be whatever they’ll be regardless of us and how old or rich or whatever we were when we had them. Maybe thats why we judge so easily. Maybe not. But let us just try and support one another. Parenthood is not easy and everyone brave enough to face it head on everyday deserves whatever support they can get. Aaaaaand that is all. End rant.<br />
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Life is hard, y'all. Let's be a shining light to someone today. </div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-67485651903509878292016-10-04T21:51:00.000-05:002016-10-04T21:51:56.517-05:00"Tell your story....." <div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: proxima-nova-1, proxima-nova-2, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1.5em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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Have you ever read a book to a small child as you are getting ready to put him or her into the bed for the night?</div>
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It’s a basic story with a beginning, a middle and an end. You’ve read it a thousand times and, at this point, you don’t even need to read the words. You know those words by heart. And, honestly, so does the child.</div>
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Yet, that’s the story the child picked. It’s the same story that you’ve read for two weeks straight.</div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span id="more-3113" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></strong>Nothing in the story changes. The outcome is always the same. The characters are still the same characters.</div>
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And when you get to the end of reading it, you hear something along these lines: “One more time!” or “Do it again!”</div>
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Even from a young age, we love stories. We love to hear stories. We love to watch people read them or tell them.</div>
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We still love them when we grow up. Sometimes, we even love to change the story over time. The fish always gets bigger. The win becomes even more improbable. The surroundings become even more scary.</div>
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We love stories because they entertain us and connect us. We love stories because our story is our way of sharing who we are with others. Those stories connect us and bring us together.</div>
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Every story, <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">yours included</em>, is a story <strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">worth telling</strong>.</div>
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<span id="more-95" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span>In various stages I n my life, I’ve had the chance to listen to a lot of people talk about the story of their lives. Many of those stories I encountered began with a statement along these lines (and admittedly, I’ve said this about my own): <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My story isn’t very interesting. Why would anyone care to hear it?</em></div>
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But the truth is that you and I have stories. In fact our stories are filled with the elements that make up an exceptional story. I came across this list of seven elements of good storytelling and I thought I’d share these with you so that you and I can understand that we do, indeed, have a life story.</div>
<ul style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: proxima-nova-1, proxima-nova-2, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em 3em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story has a central premise</strong>: There is a theme to your life story. Maybe it’s that “good overcomes evil” or that “family matters.” But the individual pieces of the puzzle of your life story will point to a theme if you are willing to find it. If you could describe your life story in a single statement, what would it be? If you can answer that question, you are well on your way to knowing your central premise.</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story has characters who change over time</strong>. In your life story, you have changed. That goes without saying, right? Your beliefs have changed, your assumptions have changed. You’ve learned to adapt and to grow over time. In your story, the changes that have occurred in you have also brought changes to others around you. When you compare your life to 10 years ago, 5 years ago, a year ago, etc., what has changed?</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story has a crucible</strong>. A crucible is a place in your story where the heat turns up and where it brings a change in you or a chance in the way you see the world. Life stories can be defined by many crucibles over time. It’s what happened to you in the early years, the school years, the college years, the work years, the family years, the challenges you faced in the short term and long term. Where has life turned up the heat on you and how has it changed you? Those are your crucible moments.</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story has a protagonist who is on some sort of quest. </strong>The protagonist is the character that carries the story — the central character. You are the protagonist of your own story and the quest for you is the life that you live. Some might say that the protagonist is the “hero” of the story, but in the future, we’ll look at how there is a bigger hero in our stories.</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story has an </strong><b>antagonist of some sort bent on stopping the central character. </b>Along the way, you encounter something that or someone who stands in the way of you completing your life mission. Maybe it was someone who said, “You’ll never make it,” and you decided to prove them wrong. Maybe it was the medical diagnosis, the family challenge, the work challenge. Maybe your story has a nemesis. Somewhere in your story, you’ve had to overcome the odds.</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Every story includes conflict. </strong>Maybe, at the heart of it, we’d like to avoid conflict and drama in our life story, but it is there. It is the conflict and our ultimate response to it that lead us to the changes in our stories. The conflict in our life story gives us an opportunity to say or do something important. When we share that story with others, they can hear our life lessons in response to the conflict that we endured and overcame.</li>
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This isn’t a new concept. Life stories show up in so many ways in Scripture. They are a huge part of what Jesus shares in the Gospel and those stories show up in interesting ways.</div>
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Take for instance, this encounter from Matthew </div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="text Matt-9-27" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="versenum" style="border: 0px; bottom: 1ex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 9.75px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 0px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;">27 </span>And as Jesus passed on from there, two blind men followed him, crying aloud, “Have mercy on us, Son of David.”</span> <span class="text Matt-9-28" id="en-ESV-23408" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="versenum" style="border: 0px; bottom: 1ex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 9.75px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 0px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;">28 </span>When he entered the house, the blind men came to him, and Jesus said to them, <span class="woj" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Do you believe that I am able to do this?”</span> They said to him, “Yes, Lord.”</span> <span class="text Matt-9-29" id="en-ESV-23409" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="versenum" style="border: 0px; bottom: 1ex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 9.75px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 0px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;">29 </span>Then he touched their eyes, saying, <span class="woj" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“According to your faith be it done to you.”</span></span> <span class="text Matt-9-30" id="en-ESV-23410" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="versenum" style="border: 0px; bottom: 1ex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 9.75px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 0px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;">30 </span>And their eyes were opened. And Jesus sternly warned them,<span class="woj" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“See that no one knows about it.”</span></span> <span class="text Matt-9-31" id="en-ESV-23411" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="versenum" style="border: 0px; bottom: 1ex; font-family: inherit; font-size: 9.75px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; height: 0px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;">31 </span>But they went away and spread his fame through all that district.</span></strong></div>
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Do you see those elements there?</div>
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It’s two guys who have been blind and they hear about Jesus and start chasing after him. They see a possible chance to be healed? The heat is turned up in their life crucible and Jesus becomes an agent of change in their life stories.</div>
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On the basis of their belief, they are healed. And, despite, Jesus’ warning not to tell anyone, these two hit the street and start sharing their story of what has happened. And, in the end, more people learn about Jesus and who he is.</div>
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Two men. A lifetime of living without the ability to see. Two men who had told the same story over and over again. Then, everything changes in an encounter with Jesus. A new life story begins and it is one they can’t keep to themselves. They see their stories as ones that are worth sharing.</div>
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Do you see your story that way? Have you had your eyes opened to something in you? Have you experienced change, love, mercy, grace, forgiveness, etc.?</div>
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Yes, you have a life story. We all do.</div>
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And, yes, your life story is one that is worth sharing with others. Your life story is unique in many ways and, yet, when you tell that story, you will find that it connects with the stories of others.</div>
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How could you share your story today? How could your story make a difference in the life of someone else?</div>
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Who might hear your story and ask you to simply, “Tell it one more time!”</div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-37313225994208858732016-07-26T11:35:00.001-05:002016-07-26T11:35:47.188-05:00"Prideful vs. Being Proud"Is there any difference between being prideful and being proud? or dare I say ...."Boastful"? <br />
<br />
As a coach in a gym, I regularly have conversations with women (and men) about becoming
the best version of themselves; often talking about advancing in their
gifts and talents. For many women there is a huge discomfort
surrounding success and advancement. The idea that they would feel proud
enough of themselves to share their wins...their successes....
hinges on the fear that they may appear too prideful. For many, having a
humble posture often feels much more comfortable. But does that quest
to appear humble stand in the way of being successful? Does quality
success always lead to a prideful attitude?<br />
<br />
I have a few thoughts.Actually, I have a of thoughts but will simplify them to just a few. Humility doesn’t mean downplaying your
talents, accomplishments, or gifts. The challenge comes when we feel
our talents, accomplishments, or gifts far out way those of our
peers or the ones surrounding us. A healthy humbleness is evident when we are able to celebrate
the good talents, accomplishments and gifts of those around us as
well. It’s important to find satisfaction in who we are, in who God
made us to be and in the things we do well.<br />
<br />
Be proud of who you are! Perhaps you’ve started a business, written a
book, started a charity, earned a degree, mentored others, raised an
amazing family, have learned a new skill, lost 5 lbs, having a great hair day, woke up feeling great.....whatever it may be.....be proud of it.<br />
<br />
C.S.Lewis has a great quote, <b>“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”</b><br />
<br />
So, what does a prideful person look like?<br />
<br />
As a general overview:
<br />
1. They feel entitled
and show a lack of gratitude.<br />
2. They tout their title and interject their accomplishments whenever
they can giving little or no credit to those who have helped along the
way.<br />
3. They feel they have arrived and are no longer teachable. They
tend to feel they have all the answers no longer needing input.<br />
4. They crave the spotlight, the accolades. What may have started
out with sincere motives has now become hollow; has now become a source
of identity.<br />
<br />
Celebrate who you are and what you have to offer to this world.
Allow yourself to grow in influence and reach by utilizing all the
talent and resources you have. If you have a skill that can be
life-giving for others, let them know! Whether in business or personal
issues; let people know what you have to offer.<br />
And then, remain grateful and honored for your gifts and talents,
appreciate the many people who have come alongside you to help you
become the person you are today, and be a cheerleader of others who are
excelling in their gifts and talents. Never be ashamed to state your accomplishments. Never.<br />
<br />You will never know if you are being an inpiration to the people you are around, the people you work with....or people you don't even know.<br />
<br />
One of the best feelings as a coach is seeing that joy on a person's face when they do what they once thought was impossible. Share it with the world. Shout it from the rooftops. If you can't revel in your accomplishments...then who will?<br />
<br />
Be proud of who you are. Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-795405554654147772016-07-18T10:16:00.000-05:002016-07-18T10:16:36.488-05:00"America Divided...."<br />
<b> “The only real prison is fear, and the only real freedom is freedom from fear.” </b><br />
<br />
<br />
This weekend I viewed a video clip of an intense moment between
police officers and a young man they viewed as a suspect. There was a
lot that disturbed me as I watched. There was one thing that stood out
above the rest. It was the fear. The officers seemed to be acting
fearfully and that is understandable when they face such danger on a
regular basis. The young man reacted fearfully and that is
understandable when he was approached in what appeared to be an
aggressive manner. Fear ruled. It called the shots. It escalated the
moment. It made matters worse.<br />
<br />
Fear, in my opinion, has become our common enemy no matter where we
stand politically, racially, nationally or religiously. Fear is, I am
sorry to say, also our common denominator. It is what we have in common
and it is also the division disturbance.<br />
<br />
There seems to be more to divide us than ever in this time of social
media and information overload. I was thinking just the other day how
very few people I agree with across the board. What I mean is if I have a
friend that I agree with when it comes to child rearing we may be
divided when it comes to politics. If I have a family member that I
agree with politically we may differ when it comes to matters of faith.
If I agree with a fellow church member concerning matters of faith we
may differ when it comes to racism. I could go on for pages and pages.
You get the idea.<br />
<br />
It bothers me when I don’t agree with people I care about. I waver
between feeling that if I explained my position carefully enough they
would surely agree with me and resisting feeling offended and
condescended by those who seem determined to convince me of why my
position is obviously wrong.<br />
For a long time there have been some major divisions in this country
(and many others) that most are fully aware of. One is racism, another
is gender, the other is poverty. We have come a long way in addressing
these divisions. I’m not saying we have arrived, but we have made
progress.<br />
<br />
Now, it seems every day there are new ways to divide us, to sort us,
to categorize us, to put each other in a box and label each other
accordingly. See her, she believes differently than me so she must go in
that box over there. Mark it ignorant. No, that’s too harsh, let’s mark
it under-educated. That way we can feel pity for them as we disagree
with them and we will not only know better, we will be above such things
as labeling others.<br />
<br />
There is likely no greater division among the American people right
now than that of politics. It’s a whopper. Families, friends, churches
are seeing things vastly differently and everyone has an opinion. Thanks
to social media, everyone has a megaphone handy to voice that opinion.
Whether done in a gentile manner with fancy words that really only
emphasize how stupid you believe the people who disagree with you are,
or blurted out in crash and rude words that really only emphasize how
much you disdain anyone with an opinion different than your own,
everyone can speak their mind.<br />
<br />
This morning I was reading in the Bible and came across the verse
below. Jesus was teaching, preaching and yes, dividing. We don’t like to
think about that aspect of His teaching. The fact is, He spoke truth
and people did not want to hear it.<br />
<br />
<b>“So the crowd was divided about him.”John 7:43 NLT</b><br />
<br />
<b>
</b><b>“Thus the people were divided because of Jesus.” John 7:43 NIV</b><br />
<br />
So, here is what I want to say to you and to myself today. If you are
struggling with division disturbance, don’t be discouraged, you are not
alone. Resist the urge to label other people. Avoid the temptation to
convince everyone to agree with you. Refuse to be labeled or label
others. Admit that we are never going to all ‘just get along’ and try
hard to respect other people’s opinions and their right to have them.<br />
<br />
Above all, abandon the fear that would have the hearts of us all.
Uproot the fear of those who are different. Believe what you believe and
stay true to your convictions, but don’t allow fear to rule your life.
Fear, when it is planted in soil that is ripe for growth, springs up
eagerly to bloom division and result in hate.<br />
<br />
That, my friend is a
division disturbance. Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-67968938569652000442016-06-27T15:09:00.003-05:002016-06-27T15:11:21.687-05:00"Jesus wept....."<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space"> John 11:35, the shortest verse
in the bible, reads, <b>“Jesus wept.”</b> In context, Jesus is weeping because
he has come to the home of Lazarus, finds out he has died, sees Mary
and Martha despairing over the loss of their brother, and sees Lazarus’
dead body for himself. In this moment, Jesus isn’t numb to the hurt
surrounding him; He feels emotional pain and deep sadness.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>“Jesus wept.”</i></b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">This striking statement, just two words, reveals so much about the humanity of Jesus.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, while feeling a bit helpless and at a loss for a situation that is beyond my control, I did what I always do. I grabbed my bible..closed my eyes..and let the page flip through my fingers until it stopped on a page. With my eyes still closed tight...I laid my finder down on an unknown part of the page. Before opening my eyes, I prayed. I prayed over the verse that I was about to read...whatever it may be. I prayed that it would speak to my heart in a way that calmed me. When I opened my eyes....there it was. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"Jesus wept"</b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had always heard the story of Lazarus...but I never read deep into the <span style="font-family: inherit;">story as a whole</span>. I started at the beginning and read. I let it speak to my heart. There is so much more to this story that I didn't realize.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"Jesus wept"</i></b> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the Bible, Jesus
is revealed to be both fully man and fully divine, but a lot of times I
tend to forget that being fully human means that <b>Jesus felt real pain in His life, just like we do.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space">His humanness ensured that He
was not immune to pain, anxiety, stress, anger, or heartbreak. He felt
every emotion that we do, which I find to be very comforting. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space"><i><b>"Jesus wept."</b></i> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space">When
I saw this, my heart felt so much lighter; I realized, or rather, was
reminded, that <b>Jesus literally knows exactly how I’m feeling.</b></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space">So often in my prayer, I tend to focus on the power and greatness and
success of Jesus. These images of Him are great for examples of how we
can strive to live our lives and give us inspiration to revel in His
glory and saving power, but sometimes, we just need to be reminded that
someone else feels our pain. We need to feel hope from someone who has
felt as low as we do and has risen to joy.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus weeping is a powerful image. You don’t weep because you’re
having a bad hair day, your coffee spilled, or because your wifi isn’t
working. Weeping doesn’t come from getting our feelings hurt or even
when we suffer a physical injury. Weeping is a pretty rare, significant
action in our lives, reserved for the times when simple crying just
won’t suffice. <b>We weep when we experience heart-breaking, passionate, emotional pain.....Jesus felt just that. </b><span class="redactor-invisible-space">His divineness didn’t take away His human tendency to feel hurt and despair, so He knows exactly how we feel.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="redactor-invisible-space"><i><b>"Jesus wept." </b></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’re not alone in our struggles or our triumphs. Reflecting
on the humanity of Jesus and His emotions has helped me to see that my
emotions are not only natural.....they are beautiful.....necessary, and even
shared with Jesus. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I closed my bible and I wept. I prayed. And then I wiped my tears away and smiled. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">My prayer had been answered. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"Jesus wept." </b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-21224048333306745052016-06-23T11:38:00.001-05:002016-06-23T11:38:13.943-05:00"Nonpareil...."<div class="reader__full-post-content">
<h4>
<b>[Adjective / Noun; ~ Pronunciation: /non-puh-rel/]</b></h4>
<ul>
<li><i><b>Definition:</b> Something, anything, that has no
equal, that is unique in its kind.</i></li>
</ul>
<i> </i>"You. Me. Everything we do, like
singing in the rain. Or if you’re like me (a terrible singer): smiling
in the rain....Because nothing compares to taking a walk in the rain,
making it a nonpareil experience."<br />
<br />
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I am a words person. I love them. There is nothing better to me than
being able to express exactly how I am feeling or thinking through the
perfect set of words, phrases, quotes...whatever it may be....I love
them. I constantly am looking for new words to use. I believe it opens our mind and makes us think beyond just our casual and usual wording....plus....it just makes you sound intelligent. <br />
<br />
The weather lately has been rather hot here lately, after all, this is Alabama. With temperatures hitting triple digits on the regular on any given summer day. Sun beaming down...humidity sucking the life out of you as sweat trickles down your back and every little crevice on your body. But then....just when you thought you can't stand the heat any longer....a summer thunderstorm pops up. The breeze starts to blow...the rain cools the scorching asphalt down....the smell of the rain hits your nose...and as quickly as it starts...it ends...and the humidity is worse than before.<br />
<br />
This is Alabama.<br />
<br />
A couple weeks ago, on a rainy day....Bailey and I were stuck inside at home. We couldn't go outside to play and were both tired of sitting in the house. I looked out the window and it was coming down....no lightning...no thunder...just rain. I had some errands I needed to run and really didn't feel like getting out in the rain....but when her sweet little voice said "Mommy, can we go get some ice cream?" I couldn't say no. <br />
<br />
So I threw on my rain jacket and she grabbed her rain boots.....and out the front door we went.<br />
<br />
First stop on list was Wal-Mart. I needed to pick up some things and she of course wanted to look at the toys. We stepped outside of the car and ran as fast as possible to the front entrance....she giggled the whole time. She said "Mommy, lets play in the rain!" I explained to her that we couldn't play in the rain right now...and in the middle of the walmart parking lot certainly was not the place. She got a bit of a disappointed look but it quickly disappeared when I mentioned a small toy...and maybe some chocolate. After all.....she is my child.<br />
<br />
We did our shopping and toy looking....and an hour later, we were finally ready to leave. As her and I were walking towards the door, she asked me "Mommy, can we play in the rain?.....Please". By this time we had reached the front entrance and I was putting our rain jackets on....and I stopped and looked down at her tiny hand holding mine, her big green hopeful eyes and that smile on her face.....I looked to the right of me and their was a little old lady watching us with a smile on her face.<br />
<br />
She looked at me and said "Teach them to dance in the rain when they are little and they won't forget when they are adults."<br />
<br />
I looked back outside...back down to Bailey....and told her "Absolutely."<br />
<br />
We walked slowly back to the car....rain still pouring down. I listened to her giggles all the way to the car.....and couldn't hold back my own smile. The rain felt good....refreshing....cool....and much needed. It filled me with an energy that I had not had in a while. She helped me put out groceries in the car and put the buggy up....and then ran back to the sidewalk at the front entrance of walmart. <br />
<br />
We found a huge puddle of water and jumped in it...ran around...looked up at the sky and tried to catch the raindrops in our mouth. we played for a good 10 minutes. We were soaked from head to toe. <br />
<br />
I forgot my feet
were wet and really enjoyed the sound of the rain hitting my covered up
head. A smile had spread over my face and I couldn’t get it off, no
matter how hard I tried or how strange the looks people were throwing at us. Playing in the rain is truly a nonpareil experience, as I felt so
at peace with myself, so full of life and watching my daughter with not a care in the world...just dancing in the rain.<br />
<br />
During our play session, I saw people running to and from their cars, covering
their heads and shrieking as if they were melting. The world around me
seemed in distress over the wet weather, whereas I was enjoying myself
to the fullest. The air was clear and fresh, and there weren’t many
people about which I thought was just fine.<br />
<br />
My feet were wet, my clothes drenched....hair plastered to my forehead.....but I didn’t mind. The exterior
of my 10 dollar walmart raincoat was in dire need of some dry
surroundings, but I didn’t mind. Baileys clothes were soaked... but she didn’t mind. In that moment, nothing else mattered.....Because if I had been blessed with a good singing voice I would have been standing in the front of wal-mart, singing in the rain.<br />
<br />
Her and I walked to my car and got my wallet out...went back into the store and bought a towel. The cashier told us that she was so sorry we had gotten caught in the rain....and I responded by saying "We didn't get caught in the rain....we had been blessed by the rain".....and we left. <br />
<br />
We did not get ice cream that day.....but I think I gave my daughter something better than ice cream. And she gave me a new perspective.<br />
<br />
I have thought back on this experience often over the last few days....<br />
<br />
Life is not always about doing what others do. Life is not always
about complaining about bad weather and hiding from it. Life is about
accepting what comes onto your path and swinging bad situations around,
turning them into an enjoyable experience.<br />
<br />
Sure, having rain for days doesn’t do much for your mood. But neither
does sitting inside all day long. The rain won’t stop until it stops,
there’s no button to press or remote control to grab hold of. You simply
have to sit it out.<br />
<br />
Don’t let negative external factors throw you off your personal high.
Keep going, keep your head up, and learn to enjoy yourself through
every situation. Because that’s what makes you truly nonpareil; seeing
the good in every apparent bad.<br />
<br />
I just keep having to remind myself to dance in the rain every chance I get....even on the bad days....even on the days where I feel like the rain will never stop....even on the days where I feel like I can find no joy....no peace.<br />
<br />
Those are the days that we will look back at. Those are days where lessons are learned. Those are the days that we have a nonpareil experience..... :) <br />
</div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-5661858502146950922016-03-26T21:32:00.001-05:002016-03-26T21:32:36.219-05:00"Saturday's......"<br />
<br />
Good Friday is over. Now it’s Saturday.<br />
<br />
Saturday. As Jesus’ friends awoke, the day after they watched their dear friend violently die, I imagine it took some longer than others to remember. As the morning sun streamed in the windows, bringing the promise of a new day, their memories of the night before caught up with them. The morning sun no longer held promise. Just defeat.<br />
<br />
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.<br />
<br />
How could Jesus leave them like this?<br />
<br />
Where do we go from here?<br />
<br />
I’ve been there. I’ve lived through a “Saturday” filled with hopelessness. My life wasn’t supposed to look like this. I was supposed to have purpose. Things weren’t supposed to look this way. It didn’t feel as if I would ever find joy again.<br />
<br />
Let me ask you, Are you stuck on Saturday? It looks different for all of us. Depression. A soul-killing job. Loss of a job. Illness. Divorce. Death. But one thing is the same, we feel as if God has abandoned us. He’s stopped speaking. Or at least, we’ve stopped hearing. He’s silent. Maybe even…dead.<br />
<br />
I will be honest with you here. I have always been honest with my readers. My life has been filled with many Saturday's in the last several months. More than I care to admit. There have been day's that I have made myself smile through the tears....day's that I have ignored texts messages and phone calls because I didn't want to have to pretend. Didn't want to have to lie. Didn't want to have to explain. <br />
<br />
I have prayed for guidance. I have prayed for answers....Prayed that God would help me find my purpose in life. Often times in life, when you are looked at as an encourager...you don't want to let the ones that look up to you for inpiration...for that encouragment down. You just don't want to admit that you just don't have it all together. That your life feels like it is falling apart and you are left standing there trying to hold it all together. You are simply holding on by a thread. <br />
<br />
You don't want to admit that you, in fact, have no clue as to what you are doing or what you are even supposed to be doing. <br />
<br />
As I sit here and type this...I think back on that Saturday after Christ was cruxified. I also can't help but to think the best part of this story is that I know what happens.......The truth is that no day lasts forever. Even Saturday. As Sunday dawned, so did the hopes of the world.<br />
<br />
The women came to the tomb. The only ones strong enough to face what had happened. Women, look in the cracks of history, and you will always find us. Doing hard things. Being present at the most glorious moments. <br />
<br />
"<em>He isn’t here, he is risen! Go, tell the others."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
He is risen!<br />
<br />
Everything I believe hangs on this historical fact. He. is. no. longer. dead.<br />
<br />
Sunday brings life. Sunday brings hope. Sunday brings the answers to Saturday.<br />
<br />
God will not remain silent. Death could not contain Jesus. Sunday will come. And when it does, you can look back and praise him for his faithfulness, even on Saturday.<br />
<br />
My Saturday's aren't over. I know there will be plenty more as I learn what my purpose is. I have to remember that through this time of uncertainty in my life.....This time will end. There is a reason for this and he is preparing me for something bigger than I can imagine. He is molding me.....making me lean on my faith...making me trust in him....and only then will he show me the way. <br />
<br />
His love is relentless.<br />
<br />
Easter is coming, my sweet friends. Let us rejoice in this. Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-67544892107643569762016-01-22T16:24:00.001-06:002016-01-22T16:31:56.604-06:00"Just keep pedaling..." <div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 27.2px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><b>“People who’ve never read fairy tales, the professor said, have a harder time coping in life than the people who have. They don’t have access to all the lessons that can be learned from the journeys through the dark woods and the kindness of strangers treated decently, the knowledge that can be gained from the company and example of Donkeyskins and cats wearing boots and steadfast tin soldiers. I’m not talking about in-your-face lessons, but more subtle ones. The kind that seep up from your sub¬conscious and give you moral and humane structures for your life. That teach you how to prevail, and trust. And maybe even love.” </b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 27.2px;">I have been thinking an awful lot lately about lessons I wish I could teach my kids but that, in reality, I know they have to learn on their own – through their own life experiences, by succeeding and failing in their own endeavours, by falling down and getting back up again, over and over and over.</span></div>
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Still, even though there are certain things in life they will come to understand in their own time and on their own terms, maybe if I write something down and they take the time to read it, either now or in the future, while I’m on this earth with them or long after I’m gone, they’ll recognize the lessons more easily when the time comes. Or, at least maybe they’ll know that I love them enough that I wish for them to have this knowledge and the peace that it brings.</div>
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So here is the first in what will likely be a series of posts on what I wish my children could know about life right now.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You can do it.</span></em></span></div>
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From the time each of us is very little right up until (I imagine) the day we die, we have goals and aspirations ranging from small to big. And, for some reason, there is a voice inside our heads that sometimes convinces us that we can’t accomplish something we want to.</div>
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I think the voice has a different volume in each of us and is kinder (or harder) at different times in our lives, but it’s there in all of us.</div>
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Khristian, <span style="line-height: 27.2px;">I remember when</span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> you </span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;">were learning to ride a bike…you said, at least once,</span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 27.2px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“I can’t do it!”</em><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;">and you</span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 27.2px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">really</span></em><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;">believed that you couldn’t. You needed to be convinced that you</span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 27.2px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">could</em><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;">do it. You needed to be coaxed and encouraged....mainly from PawPaw. And, eventually, you did it…and, well, Bailey the time is coming that you will do this very same thing....I'm pretty sure it will also be a loud call of encouragement from PawPaw that drives you to take that first ride on your own. That feeling of shocked pride and accomplishment that radiates from your glowing eyes and huge smiles was worth the hours of pushing you on your bike and begging you to</span><span style="line-height: 27.2px;"> </span><em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 27.2px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">just pedal</em><span style="line-height: 27.2px;">.</span></div>
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As we get older, the things we want to do get bigger and the voices in our heads that say we can’t, get louder. Unfortunately, there’s not always someone pushing us along telling us that we can do it if we just keep trying. So, I guess what I want you to know is that, as long as you’re pedalling, as long as you’re trying to move forward and progress, <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">you can do it.</span></em></div>
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It really doesn’t matter what it is you want or need to do. Maybe it’s a school assignment that seems to be so much more than you think you’re capable of. Maybe it’s a cartwheel on the balance beam. Maybe it’s making a decision about your future. Maybe it’s a fitness goal that you think you’re just not built for. Maybe it’s saying goodbye to a thing or a person that you know is just not good for you. Maybe it’s beating the bad guy on your new video game. Maybe it’s cleaning your room. It doesn’t matter what it is, and it doesn’t matter what that obnoxious, mean-spirited, doubtful or insecure voice in your head is trying to convince you of… trust me: <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">you can do it.</span></em></div>
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The most important thing is to start trying. Sometimes, starting is all it takes and you surprise yourself at how easily you accomplished what you set out to do. Other times, it’ll be harder and you’ll get frustrated and that voice will get louder.<br />
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Don’t. Give. Up.</span></div>
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You may need to ask for help, and that’s ok. It’s more than ok. It’s brilliant. Don’t ever be embarrassed or ashamed to ask for help. The smartest, most accomplished people in this world know how to ask for help. I know I can’t always be the one you go to…and that’s ok…but it’s important that you ask <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">someone</em> if you need help or guidance or support. And, if that person can’t help you, ask someone else. And, so on and so forth.</div>
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Don’t decide not to start something because you’re afraid you can’t finish. Don’t decide a dream is too big before you’ve given yourself the chance to nurture it. Don’t do a poor job because <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">that voice</em> is telling you a good job is beyond you.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Start. Try. Dream. Do.</span></div>
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You will be happier for it. The world will be better for it. And, I’ll be here cheering you on, having known the whole time that ....<em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">you can do it.</span></em></div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-5516430075664752612015-11-20T11:52:00.003-06:002015-11-20T11:52:42.978-06:00"In the stillness..." <div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28.8px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">Last night, I went to check on Bailey.... I do most nights when I randomly wake up at all times during the night. So at 2 AM I peeked into her bedroom. But unlike other nights, I sat next to her bed on the floor and watched her sleep for a while. During the day, she is a whirlwind. She never sits still for long, and even when she is sitting, she isn’t still. </span></div>
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Tonight, there was something about her face I couldn’t make myself walk away from, and it took me a few minutes to figure it out. I could see baby Bailey in her face tonight. Something about her expression and the way she was laying, she just didn’t look like her normal three-year-old self. She looked younger.</div>
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And any parent knows, your kid looking YOUNGER than they actually are is a rarity. Older, sure! But not younger.</div>
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So, I sat and I watched her. And I thought about how when she was a baby I was always so excited about the next milestone, wondering when she would crawl, walk, talk, and on and on. I thought about how it used to just be the two of us during the day, and how much time we would spend cuddling on the couch or playing peek-a-boo.</div>
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I thought about how heartbroken I was to go back to work. I remember about much I worried about leaving her...scared of even missing one moment with her....scared of leaving her period.....and I remember how much she absolutely didn't care that I left her that first day because she had Pawpaw and Mawmaw there to dote on her every move. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">I realized that at some point I hav</span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">e stopped looking forward to milestones. I am still delighted by them when they happen..</span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">. But milestones make me sad, too. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">Because I know that tomorrow I will wake up and both of my babies will be a day older. I will have one day less of them being babies in my future, and one day more of their lives will be in the past. </span></div>
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My sweet girl has grown<span style="line-height: 28.8px;"> and changed so much in the three short years I’ve had the privilege of being her mommy. And Khristian's milestones are coming quicker than I can keep up with. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">As I sat by her bed and watched her sleep so peacefully, I think about our world today. About 9/11. About Paris. About refugees and suicide bombers. About school shooting and theatre bombings. </span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">About what we as Americans are facing in our country today. She knows nothing of hatred and cruelty. She knows nothing of this world and the evil that lies beyond our front door. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">I think back to a couple night ago when she runs into my bedroom claiming that there is a monster in her bedroom....In my mind, </span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">I can her wide eyes looking up at me in panic </span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">believing that I can keep her safe from anything. I scooped her up into a big hug and smoothed her hair...reassuring her that there was no such thing as monsters. I picked her up and sat her on my bed....put some cartoons on to occupy her mind and headed to her room. </span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">The monster turned out to be a spider that had crawled under her bed....and despite being completely creeped out by this tiny 8 legged demon spawn....I killed it and became the hero she believes me to be. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">So last night as I sat by her bed and watched her chest rise and fall, her soft curls sweep across her forehead and her tiny hands that wrap around my neck every morning in a hug.....how do I tell this beautiful angel that monsters do exist in our world? They aren't big and scary....with razor sharp teeth. They look just like me and you....nice and put together....but what makes them a monster lies within. There is a inconceivable evil that I can't even begin to explain to her...and it terrifies me. It terrifies me for both of my children. No matter how much she looks at me as the hero....I can't protect her from the monsters of the world. </span></div>
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So last night, <span style="line-height: 28.8px;"> I sat by her bed and let all the sweet memories play through my head....and soaked up her innocence in that moment. </span><span style="line-height: 28.8px;">And then, just before I got up off the floor, I kissed her nose, right between her eyes....and I prayed. Because in a world where I am terrified of what my children will face on a daily basis....of what our country will face on a daily basis....praying is the only thing that makes sense. Our country needs to fall on its knees and remember what it was founded on. </span></div>
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I stood up kissed her again and she snuggled deeper into her pillow and smiled in her sleep, and my heart melted.... So I kissed her again. She frowned and rolled away from me with a little huff…and I had to stifle a laugh, because even in her sleep she is a sassy little thing. </div>
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Before I closed her door behind me, I looked at her one last time and smiled......She had snuggled back into her pillow and was still.....I looked down the hallway into Khristans room...and he was snuggled into his pillow as well.....I was reminded to hold onto the precious moments of stillness. For in a couple of hours the sun will rise, the day will begin....and they will be a day older. </div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-78105557430580162672015-11-04T11:09:00.001-06:002015-11-04T11:09:39.575-06:00"Strength is often found most in the hardest times..."<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28.8px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
My Sweet Bailey, </div>
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I hope your view of your Mother is that of a strong, confident woman who has stubbornly shown you how women can achieve whatever they want to. This is not a letter to you about feminism, or equality, or anything else socially or politically driven, sometimes I think those things put an added pressure on us all, men, women, adult and child alike.</div>
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Instead, this is a letter to you to tell you that although I hope to be a strong role model throughout your life, sometimes I am weak. Hopefully I keep that from you and you will grow to be confident and self assured, but also kind, and compassionate. But you should know there are some days when I am, frankly, an emotionally mess. I have worked my way from a single teenage mom, who was a waitress and begged to work every free hour she had to take care of your brother..... to working in a office environment as a Secretary for the last 8 years. I take pride in knowing that I have never been handed anything in my life...I have worked and worked hard for everything that we have. </div>
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As I sit here and type this, I find myself in a gray area again. I don't know which way my life is going. Change is in the air. I am searching for another job....and to some that seems so trivial to worry about...but for me, Its a shake up in the foundation that I have worked so hard to lay for our family for so many years. I do not have a college degree. I do not have much experience in many fields....and I do not qualify for many of the jobs available on the market. I feel like I am once again back to square 1...wondering where this wind of change will take me. </div>
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This pressure sometimes gets to me. I know what I am good at. I know what I am passionate about....but I also know that although I love these things, it will not give me the security I need to raise you and your brother and afford me with the benefits I need to take care of myself in the future. </div>
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Your dad and I are very lucky, we get to spend a lot of time with you even when we are working. I was hired at my current job because of my knowledge, experience and based on merit. My worries are based on my own insecurities. While I work my full time job, I also have a part time job. That is where my passion truly lies. In helping people....In seeing their eyes light up with absolute joy of realizing they can do the impossible. And while I am off making this dream of mine come true....your grandparents are a God send. You see, I have had so many people that have helped in this area of my life. I will never be able to repay the gratitude I feel for these family members and friends. They know who they are. I am beyond blessed that you have such a close relationships with your Grandparents and other close family members that live near by. Do I still feel guilty for the efforts your Grandparents need to make so we can thrive in our chosen work fields? Yes of course I do, I can only hope they know how appreciated it is and how much of a difference it makes. It has enabled us to get where we are and carry on providing you and your brother with a certain quality of life. Do I still feel the pressure of our heavy workload? Of course, but I count my lucky stars that we have the opportunities that we do. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">So which side is the lie? Is the happy highlights a myth? Or is the self doubt, struggles and hard work the illusion? The truth is, they’re both my reality. The self doubt sometimes keeps me grounded. The precious moments I share on social media keep me motivated and the struggles remind me it’s all worth it. </span></div>
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The definition of a strong, confident person does not mean one that never doubts themselves, it doesn’t mean someone who never has a bad day or find their choices difficult. Strength is often found most in the hardest times. Someone who has constant success or continual highs has no need for strength. Someone who has never had bad times, has never needed to overcome them. As your Mother, I will fight to my last breath to keep you safe and give you and your brother as idyllic a childhood as I can but the truth is, as you grow up, the lows will be just as important as your highs for getting you where you need to be.</div>
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So I hope the view of your Mother is that of a strong and confident woman. I will be sure to tell you about each and every person that has helped me along...... But for you, my highlights reel will be accompanied by at least a sneak peek of the backstage pass, the parts you can learn from, the bits that could give you strength. The struggles that so many like to keep hidden. I'm sure there will be some days when you will feel weak, when you will question if you are making the right decisions, you will probably even have seasons in life where change blows in like a hurricane; in those days I want you walk the course with a understanding that you are not walking that path alone....that your mother has often felt that way in so many steps of life. But she wasn't a quitter and neither are you. So my beautiful girl, in your weakest days, remember that you are strong. In your most insecure days, remember that you are confident. Remember these things when you can’t remember why you’re doing whatever your doing, and know that through all of it, you are unquestionably, and unchangingly loved.</div>
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All my love,</div>
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Mommy </div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-19165455317329689732015-09-22T11:42:00.000-05:002015-09-22T13:38:37.793-05:00"The view from the top of the stairs...." <span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b><i>"When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny....” </i></b></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">I entered through the double glass doors and made a slight turn to the left and started up the first set of stairs......I could fell the sunshine warming my face as I came to a small platform that lead into another set of stairs.....I stepped onto the first step and then the next....with each step I took a slow, small smile started to spread across my face. I could feel the sunshine coming through the window and lighting up each and every step I took. By the time that I got to the very top step....it was a full blow, confident, I'm so proud of myself smile. I turned and gazed out the large window laid before me....looking out over the quad of Troy University. </span></div>
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That journey up the staircase was 8 years ago. I was scared...I was young....I had skills that had not yet been established and sharpened....I still felt like a little kid inside an adults body. I felt like I was playing dress up in my new dress and high heels that I bought just for this day. My first day as a Troy University employee. </div>
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I stood at the top of that staircase....looking at the view through the window and thought to myself with tears in my eyes <i>"I have finally made it.</i>" I heard Dr. Hawkins step off the elevator and I turned and was immediately tongue tied as he asked me if I was lost.....I finally responded <i>"No Sir....I am new here and today is my first day. I was just admiring the view at the top of the staircase."</i> Dr. Hawkins responded <i>"It's quite breathtaking at times. I am pleased to have you come work for our great University and we are happy to have you." </i>And thus began my 8 year journey at Troy. </div>
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Last week, unexpectedly, I was told that my position with the Troy University was being terminated due to budget cuts. I felt like the breath was knocked out of me....like my blanket of security was being yanked away. I've been on this floor...at the top of the stairs with the view through the window...with my colleagues that have become family for the last 8 years. We have watched each other have children, get married, laugh, celebrated birthdays, small successes, failures, ready to throat punch one another one moment and in the next second asking what it is we can do to help them. These people are my family. </div>
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I took a couple days to myself last week and reflected on the change that was about to take place in my life. I was given 3 months to find another job and was assured that I would be helped and I had a whole slew of people in my corner to make sure I was taken care of. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 28.8px;">While sitting on the beach Friday afternoon, looking out over the beautiful water and watching a family play in the water....I thought about how life is a journey. Often times our story takes unexpected turns and we find ourselves in places we never thought we’d be. That’s the beauty of life. Uncertainty, although scary, is what gives life meaning.</span></div>
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Think about it. Love comes unexpectedly. Children sometimes come unexpectedly. Job promotions, raises, friends and even death. All the things that make life great come as a plot twist in our story. We don’t know what lies ahead. That’s the way an author likes it. That’s what makes for a good story.</div>
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Life is an amazing adventure. We will have good times and bad, but our attitude makes the difference in how we come through those things. A good attitude even in the worst of situations will take you a long way. Will it be easy? No. It’s not supposed to be easy. We wouldn’t need God if it was. We have to be totally dependent on him. He’s the author. When you read a book, you trust that the author is going to weave a good story that will leave you longing for more. Trust him. Surrender everything to him and know that no matter what you’re going through, he has put together an amazing story that is all your own. No one else has your story.</div>
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Allow yourself to experience life. Don’t close yourself off. Don’t put up walls. We tend to do that when we’ve been hurt or when we’ve experienced great loss. When you hide yourself away, you are telling the Author that the story he wrote for you, isn’t good enough. Turn the page. Know that he has your best interest at heart and that he will come through for you.</div>
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So as I prepare to leave my job of the last 8 years....and my future with Troy University is uncertain. I want to take a moment to appreciate what the view at the top of the stairs has given me. </div>
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It gave a former teenage mother that had worked tooth and nail to find some form of stability in her life the platform she needed to build on. It gave me a hope that someone like me could make it....could struggle and strive and make it. I gave me the opportunity to work on myself....to watch people of a higher standard and to learn from them. It gave me the best work family I could have ever dreamed of....it gave me a girl that I am honored to call one of my best friends...and I can't tell you how hard it will be to not be right across the hall from her. Most of all, it gave me a sense of pride. I stood at the top of those stairs....and I was proud of myself for once. I was proud to be a Troy Trojan. </div>
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So, Thank you Troy.....Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for the view at the top of the stairs. It's been a great view and one I will never forget.</div>
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You were right Dr. Hawkins.....It is quite breathtaking at times. </div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-63395568624193254662015-08-18T11:36:00.001-05:002015-08-18T19:59:54.260-05:00“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?..." <div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><i>“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?” </i></b><br />
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lynyrd skynyrd said it best didn't they?<br />
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This morning, I stood in the place where I do most of my deep thinking–the shower– thinking about life and, oddly, thinking about death...</div>
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Death isn’t something we like to think about, which makes sense. But isn’t thinking about death what sometimes puts our lives into perspective? Don’t we sometimes lose focus of our priorities because we feel like we are Edward Cullen and will live forever (minus the sparkling skin, of course)?<br />
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I have been re-reading one of my favorite books...<i>"Tuesdays With Morrie"....</i>If you have never read this book, I recommend you stop right now and purchase it. It is well worth the money and time to read it. Morrie Schwartz says in <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tuesdays With Morrie</em> that he actually felt lucky to have the chance to face his death; he knew it was coming, so he had to prepare. He even says, “When you learn how to die, you learn how to live.” Remembering death can make life that much more vibrant and valuable...<br />
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In the same vein, there was a movie a few years ago called "<em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Evening" </em>in which an elderly lady reflects on her life as she passes away. It was a terrible, boring movie . . . but the concept was riveting, and it is something that I’ve never forgotten. It's just one of those things that has stuck with me for some reason. Essentially, both works ask the question: if you knew you were dying tonight, what would be the most important things to you? What would you remember from your life?<br />
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While lathering up the shampoo in my hair and watching Bailey dance around the bathroom, I got to thinking about this question for my own life. If I were to die tomorrow, what would have really mattered in my life? What moments would comfort me? What moments would stick out?<br />
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Clearly, there are the obvious. My wedding, the birth of my children, etc. But, as I thought about it.... these actually weren’t the things that were the most prominent. We always live for the big moments.... tracking our lives by our achievements and major moments. We throw parties, celebrate, and announce our big victories......But what about the little victories? What about the small moments?</div>
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For me, when I think about my life so far, they are what stick out. The moments that seemed insignificant.... almost forgettable at the time....tend to be the ones I come back to time and time again.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 600; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My moments (not in any particular order)</span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mrs. Bias Speech class in high school....when I finally got up enough courage to stamd in front of the class and read. It was 3 minutes of absolute terror....but I did it...and I haven't shut up since. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The big snow storm of "93". I was in the 4th grade and I was covered from head to toe with the chicken pox. As I watched out the window with tears rolling down my face....my older brother and sister filled the bathtub with snow so I could play. I don't have many memories of my older siblings....but that one makes me smile. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The very first writing contest I ever won. It was in Mrs. Harris 3rd class and I wrote about a green witch. It was then that I discovered my love of writing. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mr. Stevens College Prep English class......We gave that man so much grief over his wife dressing him everyday....but he is the one who taught me to "Pick and choose your battles.....decide what hill you want to die on....and make it a good one." </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The day in the hospital room after I had Khristian.....and I asked him what it is he wanted me to do. He grabbed my finger with all the strength of a newborn....and chose me. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The first date Travis ever took me on. I was sitting in the passenger seat as nervous as can be....and ready to jump ship at any moment. All the sudden I heart him sing "Lay you down" by Conway Twitty....and instantly my heart melted. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The day my step-mom and I ran our own race. 13 miles mapped around Troy....my dad and uncle following in the car behind us with water and a "You've got this." No medals waited for us at the finish line....but a hug from each other that said "WE did this." </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I love old records. There is something about the sound and feel of it that you just can't get from an Ipod or radio. I can remember dancing around the house to old 50's music with my mom and grandmother. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The week after I had Bailey....my little brother Adam came over and watched Bailey. Just sat and played with her so I could get a good long shower....and clean my house. It gave me a sense of normalcy....something so simple....but it meant the world to me. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My dad meeting me at the door with a Dr. Pepper everyday when I was a little girl. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The day I started my weight loss journey, I vowed I would go into the same swimsuit shop that I couldnt find a swimsuit in and buy anything in that store. Exactly 1 year later, I went in and the lady remembered me....and we picked out a beautiful bathing suit that fit me perfectly. She cried when I stepped out of the dressing room....because she had seen my cry in pure disgust with myself 1 year before. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Listening to Khristian and Bailey fight over "Whos song" Travis is going to play next. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">A day this summer when I literally spent all day in the yard reading</li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Laying on the beach all day with my parents...and waking to the smell of coffee that I know my dad has started. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My very first 5K....my time didnt matter.....thats when I fell in love with running. </li>
<li style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The first time I saw the light in one of my friends eyes that accomplished something she never thought she could. I cried for her that day....because it was a "Big" moment is her life....and I knew it. </li>
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I could literally go on and on....but I will stop.<br />
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Hopefully, I won’t die tomorrow. First of all, I still have a lot of big and small moments I want to experience. Second, There is a big world out there....and I feel like I am not finished making my mark. But I think the point is that we never do know.<br />
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Life is short. Remember to take in every moment. Remember that even the small, mundane moments can become big moments. And most of all, remember that most of the time, it isn’t what we are doing in life but who we are doing it with that matters. The people....the connections are what make every moment special.<br />
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What are your moments? Do you have a bucket list? Is it hidden in a box that is collecting dust?<br />
If so....dig it out....rediscover yourself....and start living. Life is meant to be lived full force....not quietly getting by,</div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-87836151318191029152015-07-20T11:45:00.002-05:002015-07-20T11:45:28.229-05:00"Between big and little..."<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: 28.7999992370605px;">My sweet little Bailey, </span></div>
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I see you across the room. Sitting in your chair coloring the pages in your coloring book. I see you looking upon your task with such fury, purpose, and passion. I see you pouring all you have into that one piece of art. How you get so excited over choosing just the right color to fill between the lines. How you bite your lip with such a look of concentration. How when you are finished with your project....you run over to me with pride shining so much from you that when you smile it reaches your eyes....with a grin you say "Look Mommy!" </div>
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I see you on the playground. Climbing. Swinging. Jumping. Sliding. I see you giggle as the water splashes up at you when you jump in the puddle. I see you try to hide under the very large bridge. I see you try to run into the green field and enter into your pretend play. I see you gazing at the larger slide....contemplating in your head whether you should take the risk. Choosing between the safer slide and the unknown fear of the larger one. Ultimately, you choose the smaller slide....over and over again...all the while looking at the large one....wondering. When right before we leave.....you climb to the top....hesitate....big breathe....and then giggle all the way down. Overcoming your fear of the unknown. </div>
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Oh, dear sweet innocent Bailey. I see you gaze into the distant horizon. Looking, pondering, and mesmerized with this life. I see you ponder all that happens around you.</div>
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I see you try to brush your own teeth. I see you try to dress yourself. I see you helping yourself to food from the fridge. How you step on the inside of the refrigerator and try to get sweet tea out you love so much. I see how you open the door to the laundry room all on your own and grab your favorite color juice. </div>
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I see you.</div>
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You’re growing. You’re growing up. You’re growing out of your baby skin.</div>
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And then, I see you. I see you stumble on the stairs on the front porch. I see you skin your knee on the sidewalk. I see you use way too much toothpaste for your own good. </div>
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I see you.</div>
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You’re still little. You’re still a child. You still need help.</div>
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But, you don’t know it. You’re somewhere caught between big and little. You’re caught between growing up and being a baby. You’re caught somewhere between running fast and snuggling tight.</div>
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Oh, my dear sweet innocent Bailey. How I want to sit and show you a movie of my life back in the old fashioned form, with the speckles of light and gray and white. To show you, in life’s urgency, all the lessons there are to learn. How I want to protect you from this world. But, instead, I sit and watch. I see you. Living life. In it’s fullest. Living life for the ups, for the downs. And I am proud. And envious. You see my dear sweet Bailey, you teach me on a daily basis that life consists of the small joys. That running through the sprinkler is whats its about. I fear that as you get older that I will forget to enjoy things. I cherish this moment. Somewhere between big and little.</div>
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-21294723396837305072015-07-14T16:31:00.000-05:002015-07-14T16:31:05.605-05:00"How do you celebrate a life that didn't get to live?" <div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 28.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 24px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><i>"Grief is strange....</i></b><br />
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<b><i>It's Unpredictable.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>It never fully goes away, but comes in waves that just get spaced further apart over time. </i></b><br />
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<b><i>Grief Changes...."</i></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b5d67; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15.6799993515015px;">The Mamas who had walked a mile in my sorrow, they told me to expect the extra heart weight and heart ache on my due date…and when any of my girlfriends announced a pregnancy…and when a friend gave birth to a baby…and on the anniversary of my baby’s death.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And those sweet grieving Mamas, they were correct. All of those occasions hurt, some more than others.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">But nobody prepared me for what it would feel like on the day I should have been hosting my baby’s first birthday party or the weeks leading up to it. That party would have been "<em style="line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">should have" been in two weeks. </em></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">If you have known me for any length of time you know I’m all about my babies’ first birthdays....or really all birthday's for that matter. Birthdays are my favorite.....it the one day out of the year that we get to celebrate your life. We get to celebrate you. But the very "1st" birthday is something special. Every other birthday is all about celebrating the child, but the FIRST birthday is about celebrating the child’s mama, too. Because we both “made it” through the first year. That first year feedings and burpings and snuggles and growing pains. All those milestones that flood life one after the other. The first birthday is a chance to celebrate all of those hard and wonderful, irrepeatable things....</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Unexpectedly, this month has been full of grief for <a href="https://littlebitofparadise.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/remembering-my-baby/" style="color: #7f1d1d; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;">the child I lost</a>, for the little one whose first birthday would have been in two weeks. Not being able to host a first birthday party reminds me, I suppose, of all the milestones and memories I do not share with my sweet girl…all the things we didn’t get to experience together.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">It’s a strange sorrow, because even as I yearn to know and hold the baby I lost, I fully realize that my sweet baby girl is playing on the streets of Gold awaiting the day that we can play together. And so it makes my sorrow for my Little One in heaven all the more…confusing. Strange. I don’t know how else to describe it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">This last Sunday in church was our Homecoming. As a church we remember all of our past members and loved ones that have passed....and we light a candle for them. Oddly enough, I was asked to stand up front and light the candles. After all the names were read...the congregation was asked if there was anyone we had missed. In my heart I wanted to speak up and say yes....but something held back the words...and instead while standing in front of the congregation and lit a candle....a candle for the baby girl that I so longingly want to hold in my arms. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I sat down in the pew and grief settled back in my heart. The grief that I have fought so hard to overcome. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">My sweet Bailey turned 3 a couple weeks ago.....my handsome Khristian turned 14 last week....and I was supposed to be getting ready to celebrate my 1 year old...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">So how do you celebrate a life that never got to live? Do you eat cake? Do you take flowers to a grave that doesn't exist? Do you release a balloon? Do you light a candle?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I feel like I should do something...I want to celebrate her life. This is unknown territory for me....I always make a huge deal out of my children's birthday....but again, How do you celebrate a life that never got to live? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I don't know right now....what I do know is this...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Don’t let anyone tell you when the hard times will come. Yes, it may be extra hard around the baby’s due date or anniversary of death. And then again it <em style="line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">might not</em> be hard for you. Either way, it is fine to feel any and every emotion that you do. But know that <em style="line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">sometimes your grief will come and knock you over, completely by surprise</em>. The “red-hot jab of memory” will seer your heart and consume your thoughts. And that’s okay too. Life is hard, and so is remembering the ones we’ve had to let go.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"> Sweet Little One, you have my heart forever. And <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnPdlpfL1bU" style="color: #7f1d1d; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;">I miss you</a>. </span></div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1837355487266456861.post-63277150099609498842015-06-19T14:35:00.001-05:002015-06-19T14:54:00.472-05:00"You know you are my Hero, right?" <span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b><i>"Heroes didn't leap tall buildings or stop bullets with an outstretched hand; they didn't wear boots and capes. They bled, and they bruised, and their superpowers were as simple as listening, or loving. Heroes were ordinary people who knew that even if their own lives were impossibly knotted, they could untangle someone else's. And maybe that one act could lead someone to rescue you right back...” </i></b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">Let me talk about the man who first stole my heart for a moment....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">I am not sure what the very first moment was that I fell in love with this man, maybe because I was too young to even know at the time.</span><br />
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When many people see this man, they see a guy in a T-shirt, jeans, and more than likely flip flops. They see a man who they assume works outside due to his sun burned cheeks and his tan line around his neck. They may notice his hands, calloused and cracked from hours of hard work. And they will most likely see his infectious smile and his want to cook for everyone he meets. But what I see when I look at him…</div>
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I see one of the only men in my life who has never lied to me, and who faithfully shows me he loves me. I see a man who taught me how to pray, watching him bow down to his knees to pray more times than I can count, never once becoming too big or too prideful to drop to his knees and ask the Lord for help. I see a man who built several businesses from the bottom up, with integrity, honesty and his own blood, sweat and tears and turned into into a successful lively-hood for not only himself, but a whole crew of guys. I see a man who has worked countless hours behind the scene to make sure everyone in his life was taken care of. Yet you would never know it because he is too humble to speak of his accomplishments.</div>
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For as far back as I can remember, I have been a daddy’s girl. My dad, in my eyes, is the best dad a girl could ask for. When some people think of a daddy’s girl they think about a daughter and father dancing in the living room or dressing up having tea parties… Which I am sure he probably did… But that’s not what I remember...</div>
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I remember my dad coming home from working long hard hours and stopped at the store every single day to bring me home a glass bottle of Dr. Pepper...having only taken 2 small sips out of it so that he could give me the rest. I remember walking into his shop one day to discover his biggest and nicest tool box was gone....when I asked where it was he said he didn't need it anymore. Only years did I find out he sold it so that my brother and I could have Christmas. I remember sitting in the Coffee Kettle scared out of my mind...he grabbed my hand and said "I know you are pregnant." and when the tears started flowing he said "We will get through this....together....as a family." I remember the day I got married and standing outside the church with my arm in his waiting to walk down the isle and he asked me "Is this what you want? Are you truly happy?" and when I said "Yes Daddy"....he said ok and looked at me with a smile I had seen many times in my life and he said "I am proud of you." </div>
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I remember him always making up nick names for each of us kids, which always made us feel special, and most of which still remain now even as adults. I remember the silly songs he would always sing on road trips.... To this day I can't get "Round Round Ole Joe Clark" out of my head. </div>
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I remember being woke up at 2 AM and told to get in the van....and when I woke up we were sitting at this 50's style diner in Panama City Beach where we would always eat breakfast....and we spent the rest of the day on the beach....eating a sand filled bologna sandwich and potato chips....coming home sunburned and tired. Ice cream was always a treat on the way home. I remember as I got older, I would sit with him quietly in the kitchen, choking back a cup of coffee just so I could be like him. I remember when I was about to step up to the start line of my 2nd marathon and I was so disappointed because he had never missed one of my big races....Him, Gina and I always say a prayer right before we start.....and as I stepped out of the bathroom he was standing there. He got up early and drove 3 hours to see me for 60 seconds before he waiting again for me to cross that finish line 4 hours later. </div>
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I remember siting beside his hospital bed when he had open heart surgery....and Gina would go outside to get a bit of fresh air...I held his hand and when he was asleep from the pain medicine, I would repeat the same words he always told me..."We will get through this....together....as a family." </div>
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And several, several years later....I remember walking his first Half Marathon with him....and the honor and pride I felt. I wanted to shout from the roof top "That's my Daddy!" </div>
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And even though these are not the traditional “daddy-daughter” moments… they were our moments. They weren’t moments filled with keeping up with the Jones’, or trying to be someone he wasn’t, they were memories that I could only make with my dad. Real memories that made me love him even more.</div>
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Now that I have become a mom, I have found that my favorite part about my dad is seeing him with my kids. He is patient and kind, and never pushy. My kids know they can trust him and go to him, and he will be there without failure of a doubt. I see the way my kids look at him, and I am confident they see what I saw all of these years. A man who will always protect them, will always be truthful, and who will never judge them. He will always be their biggest fan. </div>
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I can't pinpoint down when he started doing it....but somewhere in the last 4 to 5 years after a big race or just a moment when he hugs me he has started whispering to me "You know you are my Hero, right?" He says this me as if I have done something great...as if I am someone he looks up to. I always respond with "I love you too Daddy" .....</div>
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I honestly can tell you that I have no clue why he calls me his Hero.....when all I have ever thought was how much he was mine....</div>
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Thank you Daddy for always being there...for holding my hand....for believing in me...</div>
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You know you are my Hero, right? </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316223807654959308noreply@blogger.com0