tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41101701481309355122024-03-23T11:05:00.189-07:00Circle MothersUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-9381825140581721262012-03-29T17:56:00.011-07:002012-03-29T18:16:15.691-07:00SEVENTH WONDER<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjUwfbfalG5BfZcUx9C7vaGHK1PAIuOwPCl1YTQ5Rluv1X5gju69QkYoip9qK8DkuJVg0VXqFSeQ6AxAaT4x6qXC7WpUV1Qu5hAPhnC5O8ChN5rj5AdSA3RuR7fNpaYRck5SWdKxrctCG/s320/296306_10100154030438739_17832041_43835257_710840230_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725488093844779554" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">SEVENTH WONDER</span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">My daughter calls her sister, “The Seventh Wonder of the World.” Another daughter calls her, “Magic Person.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Her creative mind is such that it staggers our minds at every turn. Everything she touches transforms as if she has touched it with a magic wand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When she was tiny she earned the title, “gunk collector,” because, wherever we went, she would gather up odd pieces of scrap “anything,” and bring it home to create amazing artistic sculptures……….She wasn’t home from college five minutes before she had gathered up all her little brothers and sisters and marched into our forest grove to create “something.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I went out a short time later to discover they had built an enormous teepee out of branches and sticks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They had also dug a fire pit and placed log chairs around it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All were happily roasting hotdogs and marshmellows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She then proceeded to create a ten-foot-high wicker chair……….One hour before getting on an airplane to come to her brother’s wedding, she found the bride’s maid fabric that had been sent to her weeks earlier and sewed, without a pattern, a prettier and more creative dress than any of the other dresses at the wedding……….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My brother was about to sell his Jeep to some buyers who were soon to arrive at his house when he discovered the plastic sunroof had been eaten through by rodents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She found something lying around in their backyard and sewed a new sunroof before they arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If it is time to bike to the beach, she has already loaded 8 bikes on the cars, gathered all the helmets and is waiting for you before you tie your shoes. Everything she touches grows into radiant living………</span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmr93LX_mOdVPLxdjbnCcGp9Zm1QObTvUtB2dXUX6K6Juskg9WC0nEGzQHGunKMDlyqE1CSuHEHVsMbxuSKo0-Kz9eWCmSSqMjqXqpa7VMsscrz1vpJy99xgG3buvn_Yns3iwN0rAmVk6/s320/IMG_6666.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725491739739586562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>I looked at what she was “doodling” during General Conference addresses on the television and discovered she had painted a picture of the Savior in the clouds………If you mention, “birthday party,” you turn the corner a few minutes later and behold the most fantastical blaze of everything draping and sparkling – the strangest combination of things dangling and criss-crossing everywhere in an unimaginable combination of spectacular. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is everywhere with her…. </span><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_3L_1CNJE9EPXjjDD_4XZnvAQtwp0Pdu5aOQROIKYneV31gAVQCYpw3ZP0aQOidwtTQyRe6LIsUlrlFlomeDYYT3p1hKyLYhjKf5IH4DUnL2apiipfb2xyhxgnOqK0PzhguWt-7Iir7P/s320/333_570784201899_17832041_35960618_2709_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725488825452691746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px; " /></span>God touched her precious mind in a way that is beautiful to behold at every turn…she is truly, truly a wonder to behold….when you get to experience someone like Cubbie in your lifetime….you can only praise God for the chance be immersed in that wonder – “The Seventh Wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKe5jMCsx2mQygrcmyshYVVkgKfDMTEgZCzstul9V4P2HPFMyEfWeDATPgLSo6NYF1ncvhY7IBtcwl7ftQKrxyPaAmmqaj38B_T2QB2hnl1FHb0JuR8aVfZ3c1uPSeaKVzQY7qToy-JQo/s320/74_525996112589_17832041_32887013_4367_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725490180727834130" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-82581920126904183732012-03-27T20:20:00.003-07:002012-03-27T20:29:18.827-07:00CREATIVE GENIUS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oJM6MzMBY7tEkjpWxzichiUcGJkdDmpm1F3CenFowwMkz3uJKWAZQinl9NfaBy6qc9d_CyMv8kXFB36yosHwH-cfLIDeS0u2G-Pd8TlQz5kjUwTLHDsnOFzYX2RfRVjre4IE2szwyJDa/s1600/einstein.png" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oJM6MzMBY7tEkjpWxzichiUcGJkdDmpm1F3CenFowwMkz3uJKWAZQinl9NfaBy6qc9d_CyMv8kXFB36yosHwH-cfLIDeS0u2G-Pd8TlQz5kjUwTLHDsnOFzYX2RfRVjre4IE2szwyJDa/s320/einstein.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724783662531866722" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span ><br /></span></div> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-family:Georgia">CREATIVE GENIUS<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-family:Georgia">Highly creative minds are gifts from God to this earth. The very special people assigned to house the inspired imagination and creativity of the artistic mind are usually emo</span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 100%; ">tionally intense and driven by their need to express what is singing so loudly in their soul. They cannot help but listen to it and then do something about it…W.H. Auden said, “Geniuses are the luckiest of mortals because what they must do is the same as what they most want to do.” Einstein clashed with school authorities and failed an entrance exam. He resented school regimen and restrictive teaching methods and wrote that the spirit of learning and creative thought are lost in strict rote learning. I watched a child excel beyond possibility </span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 100%; ">in classes that allowed for creative freedom and strugg</span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 100%; ">le in classes that allowed for none. Because of what these gifted people end up giving to all of us, as they proceed through their lives, I believe we should patiently and reverently allow for the emotional space and freedom of movement needed, so they can respond to the rhythm, the song and the “beat of a different drum” that plays loudly in their minds and hearts. Because it is so loud, it must be expressed brightly in every art form imaginable…and we get to sit back on a blanket on the grass and listen, with the expanse of God’s creations surrounding us, to Beethoven’s Fifth being played at the Boston Commons, at the free concert on Friday night…in divine duet.</span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZKgZRZhoS1con5TvHwX_WkYLnmmAQzVOKAMsPC_-8cjp0gA8EdveD4LKh1DaMfz-Sq-e90P9g0Y3PTOcL4AGzOmCyP_-nvAz8kgajGY2m1zOyXm2UlCQZr4d9f0xYoUIjP2xPpEsFk1m/s320/beethoven.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724783658415829954" /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-86899781941860493982012-02-29T07:05:00.005-08:002012-02-29T14:17:41.001-08:00OUT OF THE NEST<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuJOZbMEe6k89ILdU_XBmcoZnwUXg1NRvhUM-PAQjoFGnJBSbsvsMkQAJsProyGTcGiR8jVL9jwdDWH7r8T5LDuKY1PvVTDOCtulIky-NMFZ26_VNqhgwrl2bpVPt0s09IMvN3NLLgXjL/s1600/PICT0242.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuJOZbMEe6k89ILdU_XBmcoZnwUXg1NRvhUM-PAQjoFGnJBSbsvsMkQAJsProyGTcGiR8jVL9jwdDWH7r8T5LDuKY1PvVTDOCtulIky-NMFZ26_VNqhgwrl2bpVPt0s09IMvN3NLLgXjL/s320/PICT0242.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714684969758744978" /></a><br /> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I recently passed a young mother, in a parking lot, who was carrying a brand new baby. One little girl was hanging on to the mother's shirt and the other little girl was hanging on to the mother's pant leg. Then, trailing behind the group was the oldest brother, who was also very young. I saw that the brother was crying. He all of sudden yelled, “I hate babies!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I felt badly for him and thought about how each child has to, inevitably, be “kicked out of the nest.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Whenever a new child was introduced into our home, along with the excitement and celebration, there came an accompanying sadness in the one who was no longer on Mom's lap and heartbreak for the mother who knew her "young must learn to fly."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One day I woke up and looked around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span> Our newborn child was at my side - another had crawled in during the night and was by my other side - and then I noticed there was another child above my head and another at my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The last child just climbed on top of my me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I imagine I was tired enough to not have noticed what had been happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At that moment no one was out of the nest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I wish it could always be that way.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-58028776749438479042012-01-31T07:38:00.000-08:002012-02-02T17:17:47.446-08:00Mother Knows<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J94RbE9vTI2uM5aGaAx95_BJD7E0VayrSO6oC3MkBYm3lagVcUuHbDO8Dlc2eZImGuTGnj6rCD7Dh2SnXGOG02HWOWs-6xgtTjVaY31KfqkYNzqu5RHqavzv4rpSh9UlD8F40B3vwF1S/s1600/bryce.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703843029627376562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J94RbE9vTI2uM5aGaAx95_BJD7E0VayrSO6oC3MkBYm3lagVcUuHbDO8Dlc2eZImGuTGnj6rCD7Dh2SnXGOG02HWOWs-6xgtTjVaY31KfqkYNzqu5RHqavzv4rpSh9UlD8F40B3vwF1S/s320/bryce.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Written by my sister Tamara Marina Summerhays</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Bryce’s Story</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">One day when my son Bryce was eight years old, he came home sick from school. This wasn’t particularly alarming as many of the kids in his class had recently been sick with the flu. Bryce’s symptoms were very similar to the flu so I assumed that he had the same illness. One particular night Bryce complained that his stomach hurt really badly. He had been throwing up all day so I thought that was the reason for the stomach pain. The next day his fever was down, he had stopped throwing up and we even contemplated sending him back to school but then decided to give him one more day to recover. That night his temperature spiked and he was feeling ill again. His face appeared very ashen and he just didn’t look right to me. I was confused by his symptoms and apparently worsening condition. At this point I felt that I needed additional guidance and inspiration so I decided to pray. I knelt by myself and asked Heavenly Father for much needed wisdom to know how to help Bryce. I paused during my prayer and the answer came to me very clearly that Bryce had appendicitis. The prompting was so immediate and unmistakable that I knew exactly what I needed to do. I took Bryce to the Emergency Room and was eventually seen by the Emergency Room doctor. After a thorough exam the doctor determined that Bryce indeed had appendicitis and asked for a surgeon to come and examine Bryce. After another thorough examination the surgeon declared that Bryce did not have appendicitis and that we could go home. At this point I was feeling very confused and conflicted. I knew in my soul that he had appendicitis yet was being told by a trained specialist that he did not. The ER doctor was just as confused as I was and returned to examine Bryce again. She felt that her initial diagnosis was correct and ordered a CAT scan. I was so relieved when we made the decision to run further tests. The results came back and not only did Bryce have appendicitis but his appendix had ruptured. My Bryce was a seriously ill little boy and required immediate surgery.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4zUB7zxwuZnuZNzRB-Q7FEhP7IlfaL5ZxiHjSZPyJQYqgJl2FVWyf-jLP_Ml2hDUhtBr29InbcU8viDnQNuWm-s3d1gTRQm5B2KlgL7wq2P66VJ13SBTnhnBX5N_IvxgUyjR5dNndsDy/s1600/Bryce+Appendix+1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 218px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703843502177868130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4zUB7zxwuZnuZNzRB-Q7FEhP7IlfaL5ZxiHjSZPyJQYqgJl2FVWyf-jLP_Ml2hDUhtBr29InbcU8viDnQNuWm-s3d1gTRQm5B2KlgL7wq2P66VJ13SBTnhnBX5N_IvxgUyjR5dNndsDy/s320/Bryce+Appendix+1.jpg" /></a> We had just enough time for my husband and brother to arrive to give Bryce a Priesthood blessing before he was taken to the operating room. After they took him to surgery it finally came to me how truly blessed we had been. Had I or the ER doctor listened to the opinion of the surgeon only, Bryce would have been sent home, his conditioned would have surely worsened and I hate to even consider the possible outcome. My heart was immediately filled with overwhelming gratitude for the divine prompting that I had received and for the ER doctor that had saved my son’s life. Had she backed down at any point to the surgeon or been too busy on that particular day Bryce would have suffered an uncertain fate. Many times since that day I have pondered this event and been brought to tears. I was so incredibly grateful to the ER doctor who stood up and fought for my son. I felt indebted to her and wanted to thank her but didn’t know how one thanks another for saving a life. I decided to write a heartfelt note and brought it to her with some other small gift of appreciation. I remember feeling at the time how inadequate was my offering of thanks but didn’t know of any other way to express my deep and eternal gratitude. Later, this caused me to ponder more deeply the life our Savior, Jesus Christ. He gave everything for all of us so that we might be saved. The atonement was given freely to all. How I can I ever repay such a debt? My expressions of gratitude also seem completely inadequate yet I give my small offering in comparison by giving thanks and by trying to give love and charity to those around me. I know it is nothing in comparison to the gift of life but the Savior knows my heart and my deep and abiding love for all that He has done for me. And I hope that the ER doctor knows of my deep appreciation despite my insufficient offering. All I know is that my Bryce is with me because of the answer to sincere prayer, Priesthood blessings and because someone else was willing to stand up in his behalf. For these blessings I am eternally grateful.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Written 1/22/12</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-67806180615230813752012-01-19T16:19:00.000-08:002012-01-19T16:22:53.673-08:00DEBRA'S EYES<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTG0720x36QnW-1Z77Z35FgW-5KpX_4cKyCA2LaJTTjMFX2kQUKSz4E6bJ-C95UxVuQbRLt-CT7nj0QcKc87onFJVJEF2MoYqCJcsixXyxGs8WAAYW_fC_7Lfsw43TVmky5Q8CkaI4ne6/s1600/three+dancer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTG0720x36QnW-1Z77Z35FgW-5KpX_4cKyCA2LaJTTjMFX2kQUKSz4E6bJ-C95UxVuQbRLt-CT7nj0QcKc87onFJVJEF2MoYqCJcsixXyxGs8WAAYW_fC_7Lfsw43TVmky5Q8CkaI4ne6/s320/three+dancer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699502651728873218" /></a> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia">DEBRA’S EYES<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia">I have a friend who was a ballet dancer as a youth but had not danced for many years. She was involved in raising her small children but felt like she needed to do something for her “heart.” I suggested she take dancing lessons again. She did, and something changed in her eyes. There was a new glow…she was feeding her heart so she could better “feed” her children. All her burdens seemed somehow lighter because she was filling up an empty place inside her. I have found if I do something each day that is something I love to do - a very personal love – the happiness and fulfillment I gain spills over in to all parts of my life and all are blessed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-23561920998702026332012-01-19T14:58:00.000-08:002012-01-19T15:38:04.580-08:00AWAKE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaw1bl2mYIEaw0T1nvkUPIwBBXO9nqYC0n_soes2TwutVxc6aEPMU2FNrPiKqOOU4dt7iOaqUI9N5d5FvSWTd5UjZSo-ifcj_JMmJVwx0TA6Hsp-pD0QuWoTNNRTHj_2SOsGDoq_5qTXF/s1600/dave+in+plane" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaw1bl2mYIEaw0T1nvkUPIwBBXO9nqYC0n_soes2TwutVxc6aEPMU2FNrPiKqOOU4dt7iOaqUI9N5d5FvSWTd5UjZSo-ifcj_JMmJVwx0TA6Hsp-pD0QuWoTNNRTHj_2SOsGDoq_5qTXF/s320/dave+in+plane" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699483445765673986" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">My Brother-in-Law David M. Nelson</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">AWAKE<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Quote from the movie, “Joe VS the Volcano”: “My father says almost the whole world is asleep…everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He says only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant amazement.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Quote from the movie, “Braveheart”: “Every man dies, not every man lives.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Quote from “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”: “Life moves pretty fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Quote from Howard Thurman, “Don’t ask what the world needs – ask what makes you come alive, and go and do it – because what the world needs are people who have come alive.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Quote from President Deiter F. Uchtdorf:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Quote from President Howard W. Hunter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Whatever Jesus lays his hands upon, lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If He lays his hands upon a marriage, it lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If He is allowed to lay His hands upon a family, it lives.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My father says, “The only truly “wealthy” person is someone who is able to spend their lives doing something they truly love.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My brother-in-law has flown fighter planes for the Air Force his entire career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He says that he is always amazed when he gets paid for doing this because he loves it so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My daughter just discovered, at age 34, what she really wants to do in life and she says it is the first time she has felt “alive” for very long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We owe it to ourselves, the world and to God to wake up and find out what makes us come alive and “live” it…and God can help us discover what that is – because He knows…because He created us….<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_H-0JVm5_2KX2E0MCGBugQ4shVWE3bfY9aoFnT3a4LQLU4sI1RHRxsXJsfsn_ca7my524Slnz3ewRvN9i9J_xgunoN__nGgrj7jbdHlG8DNOSCXpuCq4A_AbZ8jlUHHVKOLFz4urEtxS/s1600/dave+in+plane" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-80526796321176164432011-12-20T14:40:00.000-08:002011-12-20T14:51:06.595-08:00The Gift of the Child<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXswWRv1IEum-e_51kDNAnQZ1Rk_sWCkc-TA0W43qD_QpOD5Gnf1d8eczdWUqygkPOL2417CJeOXEDvaDlJ0NxVGTmezol4iIkuiTv2g9h7iEJXgbom2DZHm5xjBJb9vN47xM2YKw0w4Ik/s1600/IMG_3302.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXswWRv1IEum-e_51kDNAnQZ1Rk_sWCkc-TA0W43qD_QpOD5Gnf1d8eczdWUqygkPOL2417CJeOXEDvaDlJ0NxVGTmezol4iIkuiTv2g9h7iEJXgbom2DZHm5xjBJb9vN47xM2YKw0w4Ik/s320/IMG_3302.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688345061388408162" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVfgJnRCNic2hW5jKxTytxBBaQAGHipAXV7FpDRV0VK4-px4_EPiuqkXOOWoagdXhPvV-0FwuothQ_TqaY9ZOvuG3XLjDXWqWoE4FUB4YfxOcCRJLQRXTBzd5wZZYbEeZjS4VFfyd6d_uO/s1600/IMG_3310.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVfgJnRCNic2hW5jKxTytxBBaQAGHipAXV7FpDRV0VK4-px4_EPiuqkXOOWoagdXhPvV-0FwuothQ_TqaY9ZOvuG3XLjDXWqWoE4FUB4YfxOcCRJLQRXTBzd5wZZYbEeZjS4VFfyd6d_uO/s320/IMG_3310.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688346307849409154" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><b><div><span style="font-weight: normal; "><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><div style="word-wrap: break-word; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><div style="word-wrap: break-word; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><div style="word-wrap: break-word; "><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"><b><div><span style="font-weight: normal; "><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></span></div></b></span></div></span></div></span></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><div>"THE GIFT OF THE CHILD" "</div><div>"Let us Bring Him Silver and Gold"</div><div>December 10, 2011</div><div><br /></div><div>A Christmas Show where many children were able to give glory to God by sharing their various talents. First, was a Nativity scene with all the children dressed in costume and singing songs of Christmas, followed by individual and family performances. The stage then was filled with pajama-clad children who couldn't sleep because of the "visions of sugar-plums" that were still dancing in their head. Santa proceeded to "tuck them in bed" by revealing to them some of the very special things he always carries in his Santa Bag that remind him of the true meaning of Christmas. He showed them a wreath (eternal love), a candle (the Light of Christ and our own inner light), a gift (giving, sharing, thinking of others), a bow (tied in the bonds of brotherly love), a bell (rings to bring lost sheep home), a tree (the evergreen of everlasting life, pointing heavenward), a candy cane (Shepherd's crook for bringing lambs back to the fold), red (The Savior's sacrifice for all), a star (The Bethlehem star, a sign of prophecy, the light of the world) . . . Santa Claus (The spirit of Christmas, giving and receiving love, caring, sharing, kindness, cheerfulness, happiness, peace, good will to all, Christlike living). The evening concluded with all the children, on stage, gathered around Santa, with the audience, singing "Away in the Manger."</div><div><br /></div><div>I wrote a poem to describe the "hope" for the night.</div><div>The Gift of the Child . . . The Christ Child</div><div>The Gift of the Child . . . Our Child</div><div>The Gift of the Child . . . Their God-given talents</div><div> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">LET THEM BRING HIM SILVER AND GOLD</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The gift of the Child from heaven to earth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Savior, our King<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>-the sacred birth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Brought forth a brilliant burst of light</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Starlight’s bright beam transformed the night</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so it is with each new birth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The moment –the Chance—to see heaven touch earth</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To deep within feel the light</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That transforms our hearts, our souls, our sight</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Gift of the Child—the gift of our child</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So our eyes can see the meek, the mild</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then to watch the years reveal </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In sinew of soul—gifts of God sealed</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The child giving gifts to glorify God</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As they seek to follow the path he trod</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let us hear them, see them- give their praise</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To God for all his starry rays</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That shot down the light from heaven above</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That taught them to sing and dance and love</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like praises from shepherds and kings of old</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let us see the child bring Him silver and gold. . .</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Written by Karen Nelson</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Christmas 2011</p> <!--EndFragment--></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"><b><div><span style="font-weight: normal; "><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-transform: none; text-indent: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; word-spacing: 0px; white-space: normal; border-collapse: separate; "><div style="word-wrap: break-word; "><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"></span></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggec0iPsS3J0jDQQ8EbCUjWgR-iAyDD415Gx1q6K8IjJ_zwJAd2A8eWApgpwY9zs-82UTIP9_9ugq58z6nx6zZoUvj4X3v5Cl4mrnEY2JXM3qjghIn8ZJbH8zul_ZZd_Dzpr0_wEXZ7RwY/s1600/IMG_3304.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; 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margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 115px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABhaEsBDJ1SdRzaFbdd_RjZUFv6g5eFKEKbuCZIrTR8AaEJG2cvNOE2N4bZdW0w1vR7klPxqxYEZRZV5zrVzA4CRif-tbHrX9JAAO6jRVYOeGaKA4tUcbi6k30PfKssoVp75p8Ref10PH/s320/IMG_3301.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688345059656321906" /></a><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYqtk1uXHpHKdIYh0sbMHdM0oWpGpq1nNkbzcWPOd4uGflBYOah9cuRGZ1DbepPmgjxmGZj2KOfFPlMJrYNsCjVPKwg2f7GsADEAesnOGarJg08teIiH7XMUmy5yHbovMEpldBama99CT/s320/IMG_3314.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688346323542685826" /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLUMokpBBMgJqlAiTz74ARe7BwOYN4b3EcURadtDPAzEvavnKB_1RxGPSwXuD8WBuS5jAr7_k5udszexwQkGJbZWAbIZgkNRVm9E8NdFINZ984thM1I7ppDEYld5UpsICORc5LntgHFTP/s1600/IMG_3312.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLUMokpBBMgJqlAiTz74ARe7BwOYN4b3EcURadtDPAzEvavnKB_1RxGPSwXuD8WBuS5jAr7_k5udszexwQkGJbZWAbIZgkNRVm9E8NdFINZ984thM1I7ppDEYld5UpsICORc5LntgHFTP/s320/IMG_3312.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688346313405894482" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMC0hmoVVNnsquVnvRAF79p_h1Vw7knEhcf45ecbxjDxtTYEKE1hM0aQTWEzrAqcuU0oF4m1466gpbr0V7YiAAWFSPWMEzkwM_1tVhaKSOxGmf0sR8MNmWd8s28dc97tBZRO9Hhq8X_hMn/s1600/IMG_3309.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMC0hmoVVNnsquVnvRAF79p_h1Vw7knEhcf45ecbxjDxtTYEKE1hM0aQTWEzrAqcuU0oF4m1466gpbr0V7YiAAWFSPWMEzkwM_1tVhaKSOxGmf0sR8MNmWd8s28dc97tBZRO9Hhq8X_hMn/s320/IMG_3309.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688346314598882066" /></a></span>kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11324946068347339103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-20917711653312445482011-12-05T10:29:00.000-08:002011-12-05T10:34:24.045-08:00Baby in a Manger<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkJQkXCaJzP7yj6cuZ90UaWJBo0QLMsYkOcn-4No4qoaPVcrbqv44zLLYjFSfr_7pGyJTciF5TtwHXI-k2eHoGW6xHCaPLWQDy8GQBupLAwahglWrhe69J9a81ulGZnhrHCYfJyPmHBi5/s1600/270holyfamilyexp.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkJQkXCaJzP7yj6cuZ90UaWJBo0QLMsYkOcn-4No4qoaPVcrbqv44zLLYjFSfr_7pGyJTciF5TtwHXI-k2eHoGW6xHCaPLWQDy8GQBupLAwahglWrhe69J9a81ulGZnhrHCYfJyPmHBi5/s400/270holyfamilyexp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682714039669762306" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>BABY IN A MANGER<br /><br />All ahush in stable below<br />Babe in a manger – all aglow<br />Soft are the sounds, sweet and mild<br />All amazed at the newborn child<br /><br />Heaven, however, could not refrain<br />Responding in music of unearthly strain<br />The angels that night could not be hushed<br />Between shepherd fields, singing, they rushed<br />The Son of God, a king is crowned <br />Music of heaven was heard all around<br />Loud proclamations of His birth<br />Announcing arrival… the Christ Child to earth<br /><br />All sounds surrounding that sacred night<br />Were holy…some soft… some brilliantly bright<br />Angels above were singing and singing<br />As Babe in a manger lay dreaming and dreaming….<br /><div><br /></div><div>Poem by Karen Nelson</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-18193427236637902062011-11-21T15:16:00.000-08:002011-11-21T15:19:53.504-08:00SWEET SIXTEEN<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT1gBYyCm0_Lqid-cMPVzb5P1Mlcb-SPmryKUPbgt7xxWb9wNuly9SohBUDuMzR6NVgf6UdW0eKF7hIhBbuNS_V2M6DpZba2J3W9REjaQ0L6g3OaswwlqBtS9OJc3iZFYRKlOK812_D60/s1600/tommom.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT1gBYyCm0_Lqid-cMPVzb5P1Mlcb-SPmryKUPbgt7xxWb9wNuly9SohBUDuMzR6NVgf6UdW0eKF7hIhBbuNS_V2M6DpZba2J3W9REjaQ0L6g3OaswwlqBtS9OJc3iZFYRKlOK812_D60/s400/tommom.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677592781742554914" /></a><br />My son, Tommy, who is sixteen years of age, was assigned to give a talk for "Standards Night" for the youth in our church...<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-style:italic;">My father grew up in McLean, Virginia, not far from Washington D.C. The year he went away to college at BYU was the same year that my Mom’s family moved to McLean. My dad, as he was away at college, got to know Mom’s brother, Jeff, but had not yet met my mom. Then, in November of his freshman year, my Dad decided to come home from BYU for Thanksgiving. On Mutual night, Dad and Mom saw one another in the foyer of the Chapel but didn’t recognize each other. That night my mom’s Laurel Advisor taught a lesson on Temple Marriage. In part of her lesson, she said, “You never know. The person who you are going to marry may be right in this building tonight.” My mom remembered that when she and my Dad got to know each other a year later. Dad went on his mission. They consistently wrote back and forth, and then were married a year after he came home.<br /><br />The same could be for us. For all we know the person we will marry could be in this room right now. Whether that’s the case for us or not, one thing is certain, for most of us, our future spouses are somewhere in this world today with the same types of trials that we have. Lately I have been thinking a lot about where my future wife may be and what she might be doing. It is my hope more than anything that she is learning the habits of living righteously, just as I hope all young women here are trying to do, so that you may all participate in the spreading of the Lord’s kingdom.<br /><br />My mother worked in the Young Women’s Program for many years. Two of her young women were sisters that were slowly becoming disconnected from the church. She said that they started to attend church less and less and their clothing became increasingly immodest. My mom has always felt that spirituality is intricately connected with modesty. From years of experience, she knew the signs, knew that these girls were slipping away, so she essentially “went after them.” For months, the leaders and the young women made loving efforts to reach out, include and encourage them in deeply caring ways. Gradually, the girls started to regain the light in their eyes and how they clothed themselves began to change dramatically to reflect the regained spirituality in their lives.<br /><br />I am sure many of you have heard the saying “modest is hottest”. We use it in kind of a joking way, but it’s true. I have had many conversations with friends about how girls dress and we all are greatly appreciative of the efforts young women make to dress modestly. My mom has always said, “You get what you dress for.” She is essentially saying that those who dress immodestly will attract those who take you for less than who you are. Dressing modestly will attract those worthy of an eternal relationship. I believe that immodest dress can actually be a disservice to young women because it is harder to find the real you with the distractions caused by wearing something revealing. Another thing is certain: anyone who is modest is much less likely to do anything that isn’t morally clean. It is my hope that the young woman I will one day marry is today making modesty a priority in her life as a sign that she is a devoted daughter of God.<br /><br />Among all the programs in the church; church itself, seminary, Young Mens Young Womens, scout and girls camps, etc., we have been told that none has a more powerful effect on a person’s testimony than personal scripture study. I believe this is because when you are alone with God, as you read, you can hear his voice just for you. The power of that connection is what changes you and directs your life.<br /><br />One of our family mottos is: “Be There!” It means that it is important to attend “everything” that the Lord has prepared for us. My mother and father were each raised this way and over time, by being immersed in the programs in the church, their testimonies grew and grew. Another thing I also hear around my home, and some of you may have heard my family members say, is– if you don’t go, you must think that you are smarter than God…. And then my mom’s classic saying, “even if the activity at Young Mens is just painting your toe nails purple – you should go– and you will always be blessed for doing so.” I believe that for all young men and young women it is important to attend all church functions that are available for the youth so our testimonies will remain steadfast and immovable.<br /><br />Technology has made connecting of lives so easy. With the press of a key we can write or talk to people all over the world. There is one thing easier than this, though, and it is prayer. All one has to do is close your eyes and you can connect with God on high. Prayer is still, and has always been, the easiest way of communication. I know, for myself, that there is no life without regularly making that connection with my Heavenly Father. I hope that all young women realize the importance of prayer and how it will, not only help guide you to an eternal companion, but guide him to you as well.<br /><br />Throughout my life I have realized that the most attractive thing to me about any girl is her confidence, not the kind of temporary confidence that comes from being cute, talented, or even smart. It is the kind of enduring confidence that comes from understanding our relationship with Heavenly Father. I believe that if one has confidence through the Lord, all temptations and worldly desires can be rid from them, and they will find joy in all they do and know how to better serve the Lord. As I have said before, whenever I go to school, a game, a party, or some other function, my father always says, “Remember who you are.” As I think of him saying this I realize how great he thinks I am and how proud he is of me. When he says this I remember that I am a son of god. When I remember this it makes me wants to be clean in my actions, words and thoughts. He has a better perspective and high hopes for the kind of man that I might one day become. He wants me to remember my responsibility as a disciple of Jesus Christ. If my dad or your dads have that kind of perspective, imagine our Heavenly Father, as he sent us off to our earthly experience saying, “Remember who you are.” We are His children. He has high hopes for us and His hopes go far beyond what even our earthly fathers thoroughly comprehend. Above all other things, I hope that my future wife is being taught who she is and will remember it.<br /><br /><br /><br />All the hopes I have for my future spouse are the basics of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is by “small and simple things” that great things are accomplished.<br /><br />All of you young women are futures wives and mothers and will participate in the spreading of the Lord’s kingdom. Remember who you are. You are daughters of a Heavenly Father who wants you to have everything that he has—just as your earthly fathers do. This is my prayer for you—and for myself as well, because I know that I have the same responsibility that you do to prepare myself. My prayer for you is that you will love and serve everyone, and that you will be pure—letting virtue garnish your thoughts,<br /><br />Then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God. The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth. And thy kingdom shall be an everlasting kingdom and without compulsory means, it shall flow unto thee forever and ever.<br /><br />I bear my testimony that God lives and loves us, and that through Christ’s atonement we can and will create eternal families with confidence through the Lord. And I leave this with you in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.<br /><br /><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-59996148696152659462011-11-15T11:27:00.000-08:002011-11-15T11:31:57.842-08:00Treasures<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT87H4EkWSx_48LhCFYDeFxFdnnoCGDaADfUt2T97NsU-wh9nAuY-DBxGh0NRlsBUgPaIqMQ5i9-6Obb6hB2jlnN8psRnr7iN_LzNRoivJAd9tgZKHyRdkkKf9yiJeEEP_3q60-WlotRJ/s1600/sun.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT87H4EkWSx_48LhCFYDeFxFdnnoCGDaADfUt2T97NsU-wh9nAuY-DBxGh0NRlsBUgPaIqMQ5i9-6Obb6hB2jlnN8psRnr7iN_LzNRoivJAd9tgZKHyRdkkKf9yiJeEEP_3q60-WlotRJ/s400/sun.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675307199120981570" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">TREASURES<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I was a young girl my Grandma Bessie told me a story about a dear neighbor friend who passed away. After several years her husband remarried. Grandma Bessie and her friends noticed, as they became acquainted with their new neighbor, that all the treasures, heirloom linens and valuables that their friend had stowed away for years, because they were too valuable to use or keep out, were all being used on a daily basis and displayed everywhere in the home. As they watched the new wife enjoy all the things they knew their friend never allowed herself to enjoy, while she was alive, they determined that this was not going to happen to them! So out came everything. They started using all their fine china and linens and once hidden keepsakes were now placed where they could see them. It no longer mattered that they might break or get worn out. All around them, now, were beautiful things that gladdened their hearts and filled their minds with sweet memories.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You can probably imagine, as the mother of ten children, that I have seen amazing amounts of broken, crashed and destroyed - and because of the lesson learned at a grandmother’s knee, I have probably provided opportunity for more things to break than a seemingly wiser approach would have allowed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was reminded of my long-held determination to be true to my Grandma the other day. I have a smiling sunshine plate that was painted by my seven-year old daughter, Annie, twelve years ago. It makes me happy everyday. I noticed a few days ago that it had been broken and then carefully glued back together. It was not perfect anymore – but the sunshine of my Annie was still smiling back at me – and the beautiful thing about this is - I haven’t missed a day of Annie’s sun shining into my heart for twelve years.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRYj2zhK8DdxRsMGFCb9PwW5nbLSQdKerAWFDYh3a-X90RMfcIPkiHQYMrzx3EWoFbGXYOhGOb12al96q3N_olf28yJQ7t7XgzqthZL9N3AfaR2yYWnDo-YUy3ynXcB023jQWUAS8pXeZ/s1600/anniebaby.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRYj2zhK8DdxRsMGFCb9PwW5nbLSQdKerAWFDYh3a-X90RMfcIPkiHQYMrzx3EWoFbGXYOhGOb12al96q3N_olf28yJQ7t7XgzqthZL9N3AfaR2yYWnDo-YUy3ynXcB023jQWUAS8pXeZ/s400/anniebaby.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675307198253493618" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-54479904757304489032011-11-10T14:17:00.000-08:002011-11-10T14:23:48.001-08:00Cars<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvftILLfQE38T25TK6fVvEjrF_soDF4EtMxazIlXdpZgxXK_DsDga_JAr4cq0hP80ZpODm891868ayP0kDwfZN_tJiAyU7G8Hf6XThaLaB7N7Vy4t_j2xzLTEWh2owqoefRS6X2j52m-t/s1600/jeep.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvftILLfQE38T25TK6fVvEjrF_soDF4EtMxazIlXdpZgxXK_DsDga_JAr4cq0hP80ZpODm891868ayP0kDwfZN_tJiAyU7G8Hf6XThaLaB7N7Vy4t_j2xzLTEWh2owqoefRS6X2j52m-t/s400/jeep.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673496406688869842" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 18pt; ">CARS<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">HE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I was sixteen, I crashed our brand new car into our family station wagon. I went to tell this to my father, who was lounging around a pool with the family. He calmed my tears and told me to not worry…“It is just a car,” ---- and then he didn’t even get up to go and look at the damage. He wanted to make extra sure that I knew I was more valuable to him than a car.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">GLAD YOU WALKED THROUGH<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One night I walked into the house after midnight, after crashing our brand-new car out on the freeway. I had fallen asleep, hit the guardrail and totaled our car.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had hitch-hiked home in the snow with our new 3-week old daughter. When I walked in and told my husband what had happened, he said, “I am just glad you walked through that door.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">DON’T LET ME HEAR YOU <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I was describing the car crash I had been in, that caused our car to be totaled. A woman, who overheard me, came up to me and said, “Don let me hear you talk about your car. Last summer, I fell asleep at the wheel, rolled our RV, and killed my 14- year old son. Don’t let me ever hear you talk about your car!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the midst of difficult situations it is important that we keep in mind what is most important.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-25243934714207848532011-11-04T08:04:00.000-07:002011-11-15T11:33:56.036-08:00Sometimes it takes an Angel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qWK6_4Q3aqgbkG1gcX_JE8e6nOKLgtyQJl7HAaYXdtonK8yHwORt6BCUy-5hHZ12v4YC-O1kUpo17aVHCsw_G2CAIXqOOSBPEVihqz8lH_Ulnd1_EGEgF3FFyhIYiejnRP2UVbdJHZgG/s1600/jackbaby.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qWK6_4Q3aqgbkG1gcX_JE8e6nOKLgtyQJl7HAaYXdtonK8yHwORt6BCUy-5hHZ12v4YC-O1kUpo17aVHCsw_G2CAIXqOOSBPEVihqz8lH_Ulnd1_EGEgF3FFyhIYiejnRP2UVbdJHZgG/s400/jackbaby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671157044329328498" /></a><div>SOMETIMES IT TAKES AN ANGEL</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My son Jack, when he was 7 years old, was playing on our neighborhood playground equipment with several friends. They, all of a sudden, discovered a beehive and everyone scattered - except for Jack, who in the panic of the moment, slipped and fell into the vice grip of a wedge that his head had slipped into. His legs were flailing around, in an attempt to find an escape, but he could not move his head. He was strangling. My friend, who was supposed to already be at the church with me for a youth activity, was still at the park with her grandchildren. She had told them twice that it was time to leave, but they begged to "just stay a little longer." That "stay a little longer" is why my son, Jack, is alive today. She dashed to him and was unable to find a way to help him - but then figured out a way to use the strength of her legs to manage him, since there was nothing her arms could do to help. Miraculously she was able to release his neck from the grip of the wedge. Jack did not come home and tell me about this. My friend, Kara, did not tell me either. A few days later, when I was at her house, she told me that for three nights she had been unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what would have happened if she had not been there. She said she could not tell me because she did not have the strength, yet, to be able to speak of it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I think on this - and wonder - perhaps this situation needed an angel friend, and not a mother. Perhaps only she could have heard the voices of "stay a little longer" and heavenly instructions about how to save a strangling child, reminding me of Esther - "Yet who knows whether you have come ... for such a time as this." Esther saved her people. Kara saved "my people."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Since writing poetry has been my friend in expressing the depth of my feelings, throughout my life, I wrote:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>SAVING JACK</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><p class="MsoNormal"><i>She happened to be at the playground one day<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Dreamily watching the children at play<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Merrily they danced through the grass and the sand<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>From climbing to swinging, they gleefully ran<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Then….. all of a sudden, a bee was in sight<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>And all the young ones ran away with their might<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>But one small, blond boy was not part of their flee<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>There was one left behind…he could not get free<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>She desperately ran to the struggling boy<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>His neck wedged tight in the jungle-gym toy<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Giving her all…with her strength, did create…<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>An inspired rescue, quite changing his fate<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Gently she worked with the young, distressed one<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Her friend’s small son that would run in the sun<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>She brought him to safety…sent on his way<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Knowing he’d see, now, many anew day…<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>And in the night…her eyes would not close<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>As she pondered the miracle, that just arose<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>She could have been most anywhere<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>But Kara… of light… was… “right there”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Stirrings within… sent her to the grove<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>And now we see Jack through neighbor paths rove…<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>And her friend, not knowing how to express<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Her heartfelt thanks of deep, deep depth<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>…Picks up a pen, a silly old pen…<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>And tries to describe what she feels in her heart<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>How to thank Kara for playing the part…<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>In God’s saving plan on that warm, sunny day<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>To give back to Karen her Jack to still play<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>“No tongue can express, nor can it be written”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>The joy of escape from a possible smitten<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>From mother friend… to mother friend<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>I beg you to know… that to the end<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>I will bless your name forevermore<o:p></o:p></i></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; "><i>For giving me back…… my Jack….my last-born…</i></span><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCX2SRV6OU1FbVwe0qhuiVZaqH7h4S_M-tAJR9xsDYxUCMzSPzksU-XnQGZappTZBZfRQS9e6ZHv0Yeqf6lJ2wX4L0TzapWN6EFjO60u33OuZZScavXHyZU_cIwYmf3Qb5RsAWAv5OHJm/s1600/boogie.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCX2SRV6OU1FbVwe0qhuiVZaqH7h4S_M-tAJR9xsDYxUCMzSPzksU-XnQGZappTZBZfRQS9e6ZHv0Yeqf6lJ2wX4L0TzapWN6EFjO60u33OuZZScavXHyZU_cIwYmf3Qb5RsAWAv5OHJm/s400/boogie.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671693085443585666" /></a><br /></div><div>This last summer, years later, when we were together, she rehearsed the event to me, showing what she had done to save my son.</div><div>Afterwards, we held each other and wept.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU2nYXHF0uXPNoVILkzjZsh6Km7rbfaVPQro87ohq2T90beLkgvvJrfR5bly2X_80nKw7gV6I1WjR8zcvaDjGQ52bd7Y8BeMJYIKJFx9l_gWPLsuFSOoZlHOHZ9-6RNHxHmo7wOCaVYNB/s1600/kara4.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU2nYXHF0uXPNoVILkzjZsh6Km7rbfaVPQro87ohq2T90beLkgvvJrfR5bly2X_80nKw7gV6I1WjR8zcvaDjGQ52bd7Y8BeMJYIKJFx9l_gWPLsuFSOoZlHOHZ9-6RNHxHmo7wOCaVYNB/s400/kara4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675307959599491922" /></a><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Kara Davis</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-25320534769113564032011-10-30T11:54:00.000-07:002011-10-30T17:46:54.143-07:00Of Course We Are<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCQ00aT237Mh2vLD1n5kEiCzByYZiBfEJJdQ0Riv8IhFgaxVIz9_LdKvOUWZhyae74q_2KO4yo7TyaouSGYq-ScQ1m8vxnTdAK94eXqS-v5c-j0Ho_rUWsDr3m6Yyhfg7LbbZ8QM56LlZ/s1600/girldar.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCQ00aT237Mh2vLD1n5kEiCzByYZiBfEJJdQ0Riv8IhFgaxVIz9_LdKvOUWZhyae74q_2KO4yo7TyaouSGYq-ScQ1m8vxnTdAK94eXqS-v5c-j0Ho_rUWsDr3m6Yyhfg7LbbZ8QM56LlZ/s400/girldar.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669363879899110818" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Darci, my daughter</div><br />This is a talk my daughter, Darci, gave in church, which I entitled:<br /><br />OF COURSE WE ARE<br /><br /><br />I skipped work this week and went to Disneyland for a day. I love Disneyland. Where else can you go where it snows bubbles, where people break into song in the streets, and where no matter how small the child, they can still defeat the menacing Darth Vader.<br /><br />I especially love going at Halloween when all of the kids come in costume. Every girl is a princess and every boy a gallant hero. And when you’re child, why shouldn’t you believe that birds’ can help you get dressed for the day or that you have the power to pull a sword from a stone to claim a regal inheritance?<br /><br />Although life is not a Disney fairytale, what is true is that WE ARE THE LITERAL spiritual offspring of an HEAVENLY KING, heirs to a royal inheritance and with infinite potential. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhgb2K_A4N3H9eMCawwZlSJ7CXhlo79g4YQ6YJUb8oMY976EQK3mmYVa-5Zp1pO7c_siCQj_3EaIPfYBw4aWs9FKPaSuSIInzMnWaUrDnZQAvzuA6J-j5qzvPaEYwEFr6zBvovHxM_6FD/s1600/girl5.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhgb2K_A4N3H9eMCawwZlSJ7CXhlo79g4YQ6YJUb8oMY976EQK3mmYVa-5Zp1pO7c_siCQj_3EaIPfYBw4aWs9FKPaSuSIInzMnWaUrDnZQAvzuA6J-j5qzvPaEYwEFr6zBvovHxM_6FD/s400/girl5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669362650111579698" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Darci</div><br />There is a reason we are told to become as a little child. They believe it when they sing the words “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.”<br /><br />My first niece was born yesterday – little Vivienne. It makes me think of Wordsworth, who our general authorities so often quote, “But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home. Heaven lies about us in our infancy!”<br /><br />I think Wordsworth is also right though when he continues: “Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.”<br /><br />As we get older I think it becomes easy to we forget the significance of our divine heritage and what it should mean for our lives – and perhaps in the forgetting we do become a little more Malificent and a little less Cinderella.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Case in point being perhaps that my go-to Halloween Costume is Medusa, while my mom’s is Cruella D’Ville.<br /><br />Nothing can change the fact, however, that we truly are children of a loving and DIVINE Heavenly Father.<br /><br />Paul declared to the Athenians that we are the “offspring” of God.<br /><br />And in the Doctrine and Covenants: the “inhabitants [of the worlds] are begotten sons and daughters unto God.”<div><br />And the Pearl of Great Price God teaches Moses this important truth: “For behold, this is my work and my Glory to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>The God of the universe, the Creator of all things, stands at the ready to help us reach our full potential “for the worth of souls is GREAT in the sight of God.” And oh, what we can become under God’s loving stewardship.<br /><br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFHAgnytWk2tMPWp8u9KETnJYwVoK-_7DX8ViPowkdo_0wPScUxJ3krUF_0KU0b_llGWFkIEJvpRvtdhRKLPXaYLnfOeH-rA8haA862LXPWS2MiFG2VEyoVSpcAAh_Tx1J6-QXheagrbR/s400/girl1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669362615558781074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px; " /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Annie</div><br />But Satan, the Father of Lies, seeks to distort our view of our great individual worth.<br /><br />The adversary seeks to make us believe we are less than we are.</div><div><br />We see evidence of this as we look to Moses, who after communing with God on the Mount of Transfiguration is visited by Satan, who immediately challenges Moses’ spiritual lineage by calling him, “Moses, son of man.”<br /><br /></div><div>He tries to separate us from the Love of God and convince us that God is not mindful of us. Isn’t that the grossest lie of all? That God, in his heaven, is not mindful of his children.<br /><br /></div><div>God is ever mindful us. I was reminded of this when I was set apart as a missionary. After the blessing, my grandma came up to me with a small slip of paper with words she had dictated from the blessing that spoke the simple truth that “God is personally aware of you.”<br /><br /></div><div>My parents are nick-name givers and all 10 of us have a random assortment that we answer to. Among the more interesting are Bernaldo for Katherine, Spikapoo for Jack, DeGailing for Jimmie, and they get even weirder. And although I also have my fair share that sound like jibberish, my mom also often calls me her “first born in the wilderness” me, being the first born while my parents were in their wilderness of starving student life.<br /><br /></div><div>I remember an experience a few years ago when I was feeling far removed and forgotten by the Lord. I turned to the scriptures. However, like the bratty daughter I was being, I begrudgingly put forth minimal effort, merely flipping the book open at random.<br /><br /></div><div>The book fell open to 2 NEPHI 2, and I began to read and in the 2nd verse I read – “Jacob, my first-born in the wilderness . . . thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain.”<br /><br />I knew in that moment that I was not forgotten by the Lord, and it was, as Elder Bednar calls them, a tender mercy for a suffering daughter.<br /><br />On the other end of the spectrum, the adversary seeks to distort our view through PRIDE.<br /><br />PRESIDENT UCHTDORF explains that to some, “the great deceiver appeals to their prideful tendencies, puffing them up and encouraging them to believe in the fantasy of their own self-importance and invincibility. He tells them they have transcended the ordinary and that because of ability, birthright, or social status, they are set apart from the common measure of all that surrounds them.”<br /><br />Pride would also have us seek after personal glory rather than the glory of God. In the recent movie, “Tree of Life” by Terrence Malick, a father who struggled for years in business comes to realize that his focus was misplaced and states: “I wanted to be loved because I was great; A big man. I'm nothing. Look at the glory around us; trees, birds. I lived in shame. I dishonored it all, and didn't notice the glory. I'm a foolish man.”<br /><br />A prideful heart focuses inward, giving little regard to the Lord’s hand or the worth of others.<br />There is a funny sketch the comedian Brian Regan does where he talks about being the “ME-MONSTER,” which essentially means someone who is prideful and self-obsessed. In the bit, he says, "Me myself right and then I and then myself and me me me me me. I couldn’t tell this one about I cause I was talking about myself and Me.”<br /><br /></div><div>The scriptures teach us plainly that it is the meek who will inherit the earth and that “every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.”<br /><br />Another way, the adversary challenges our view of our individual worth is by convincing us that the world’s view is the right one. And face it, the world’s view of worth splashed on magazines, in crazy reality TV shows, and hundreds of other mediums has strayed far from what the Lord values in us.<br /><br /></div><div>SHERI DEW shared the following: A 45-year-old mother of six told me recently that when she stopped pouring over magazines that plagued her with images of how her home and wardrobe should look, she began to feel more at peace. She said, “I may be chubby, gray, and wrinkled, but I am a chubby, gray, wrinkled daughter of God, who knows me and loves me.”<br /><br /></div><div>The world would have us believe that we are not pretty enough, good enough, smart enough, successful enough, and that we need more and more and more and more to fill our well of worth that could never possibly be filled with such things, until our faces are puffed up with collagen and our chests are puffed up with pride.<br /><br /></div><div>I worked in DC for 10 years, and I love it there. It’s alive with education and opinions, and everyone’s got one. Amidst all the things I love about it however, it is very much a culture based on the idea that “YOU ARE DEFINED BY YOUR CAREER.” In fact, I have some colleagues who wore their failed marriages as badges of honor, claiming that they were sacrificed for THE JOB.<br /><br /></div><div>While there, my career gave me the opportunity to work among world and political leaders, business gurus, media and sports personalities and people who have received the greatest accolades, honors, and recognition the world has to offer. It was interesting to note, however, that success by the world’s standards didn’t mean these people were more happy or more fulfilled or by any means BETTER people. In many cases, it was just the opposite.<br /><br /></div><div>PRESIDENT UCHTDORF -- The Lord doesn’t care at all if we spend our days working in marble halls or stable stalls. God knows that some of the greatest souls who have ever lived are those who will never appear in the chronicles of history. They are the blessed, humble souls who emulate the Savior’s example and spend the days of their lives doing good.<br /><br /></div><div>I love the movie THE LEGEND OF BAGGER VANCE. It’s a sentimental movie set during The Great Depression. In it the main character, who is a professional golfer, is talking to a young boy who idolizes him. The boy is complaining that he is embarrassed and being made fun of because his dad, who once had a thriving business is now sweeping streets to make a living.<br /><br /></div><div>The main character responds with wisdom that could instruct all of us: "Oh, grow up Hardy. Your daddy's out sweepin’ streets because he took every last dime he had, and used it to pay up every last man and woman he owed instead of declaring bankruptcy like everyone else in town, including your best friend Wilburs' dad, which is why he's able to sit around all day long on his 'dignity.' Your daddy stared adversity in the eye, and he beat it back with a broom."<br /><br /></div><div>I know that it means more to GOD that we are good, than what worldly “dignity” we carry with us.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKdHE67PCS6xaP-a2vKX-YTLIWtFNET8ApZz7jVW_WKo37NOx_W5mD-_q5_p3wqF4hbYvteIdywTmmldHasHsjBoR0F9rj5J2OY94FVhN-oUTGE7gwPWAL1-YC82teRW9eqrmYDf-lrR9/s1600/girl4.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKdHE67PCS6xaP-a2vKX-YTLIWtFNET8ApZz7jVW_WKo37NOx_W5mD-_q5_p3wqF4hbYvteIdywTmmldHasHsjBoR0F9rj5J2OY94FVhN-oUTGE7gwPWAL1-YC82teRW9eqrmYDf-lrR9/s400/girl4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669362635096419122" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cubbie</div><br />That’s not to say, however, that there is anything wrong with achieving or doing many things that the world finds praiseworthy. In fact, we are encouraged to be industrious, to pursue education and careers, to develop talents and to share them. And certainly since we are commanded to support one another openly, receiving praise from the world and from others is not bad in and of itself. It’s what we do and how we feel about such recognition. Do we crave it, depend on it, seek after it or do we Glory in God because he has given us “all that we hath.”<br /><br /></div><div>The movie “Chariots of Fire” which is about the 1924 Olympics is also, in part, a biography of a Scottish runner and rugby player, Eric Liddle. Besides being a world-class runner, Eric was also a devout theological student studying to become a missionary. In a particularly poignant scene, Eric is speaking with his sister Jenny, who is concerned with his decision to put his missionary work on hold to compete in the games, fearing that he’s seeking for personal glory. Eric says to her, "I believe God made me for a purpose; but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel his pleasure.”<br /><br /></div><div>God is happy when we pursue our talents and live up to our potential, but how important it is to acknowledge Him, from whom all such blessings flow and through whom all things are possible.<br /><br /></div><div>I love this thought from English author John Ruskin “the first test of a truly great man is his humility. I do not mean, by humility, doubt of his own power. But really great men have a curious feeling that greatness is not in them, but through them. And they see something Divine in every other man, and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.”<br /><br />Once we truly come to understand who we are and to what source we look to for our individual worth, we understand that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God and the worth of others becomes great to us as well.<br /><br />Scottish essayist Thomas Carlyle said that one of the most Godlike of virtues is the appreciation of human worth as shown by the hearts of men.<br /><br />How much more secure and free would we feel to live up to our divine potential if we treated one another like the cherished children of God that we are.<br /><br />Eliza Doolittle, the pupil of Professor Henry Higgins in the play My Fair Lady says, “The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins because he always treats me as a flower girl and always will. But I know that I shall always be a lady to Colonel Pickering because he always treats me as a lady, and always will.”<br /><br />We have such an opportunity and indeed an obligation to help one another recognize and fulfill our potential on this earth. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBRX1Cl7Z64ZFz9I5qHKdJUuzr7s47kYCrnQgXKT4LY-SlXTVSzDPHF6_x6dCNcq78v7kd-q5sZ2gO6hLS_8t4CGT4q5mMM4oFBDm6fQQnE0VNg0tSqE66X9FgDwoAEFUNikFUJggpsC1/s1600/girl3.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBRX1Cl7Z64ZFz9I5qHKdJUuzr7s47kYCrnQgXKT4LY-SlXTVSzDPHF6_x6dCNcq78v7kd-q5sZ2gO6hLS_8t4CGT4q5mMM4oFBDm6fQQnE0VNg0tSqE66X9FgDwoAEFUNikFUJggpsC1/s400/girl3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669362632277185170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Kim</div><br /><br />One of the lessons I cherish most that my parents worked to teach all of us was the principle of what they called “being for” people. They taught us that it was important to REJOICE in the success of others, to be in their corner 100% and that our actions should always be to support, encourage, and love.<br /><br />Elder Glenn Pace said, “I am convinced that when we obtain a witness of who we really are and possess healthy feelings of self-worth because of it, our joy in the accomplishments of others is magnified. When that joy is felt, we should share it.”<br /><br />ALMA is a great example of this. After being reunited with Ammon and his bretheren, he says, “I do not joy in my own success alone, but my joy is MORE full because of the success of my brethren.”<br /><br />We should take every opportunity to rejoice in one another. Understanding the worth of souls should guide our behavior even when others have disappointed us or turned away from what we know to be true.</div><div><br />We may at times feel justified to speak ill of people who have exhibited bad behavior but how much clearer is their path back if paved with love rather than criticism. And since all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, we will each have times when we hope that path is clear for us. How much wiser is it then to hold our tongues and to keep people’s names safe in our keeping.<br /><br />JOSEPH SMITH taught, “Nothing is so much calculated to lead people to forsake sin as to take them by the hand, and watch over them with tenderness. When persons manifest the least kindness and love to me, O what power it has over my mind, while the opposite course has a tendency to harrow up all the harsh feelings and depress the human mind. The nearer we get to our heavenly Father, the more we are disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls; we feel that we want to take them upon our shoulders, and cast their sins behind our backs.”<br /><br />Isn’t that beautiful?<br /><br />JOSEPH SMITH also teaches us that “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUA5do0uROqa8JfzXZBYKQq-Aykb7KKTRFGGr-PD1T3h605F3d8ovwraiG5xSXDWDob_lIOxUQ_Ba2ENvlKeAuzZ9z2sjyEvRooJslK1O3noO7LgaT0GuHwceWMnQnJAfDq4SWidR2L1r/s1600/girl2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUA5do0uROqa8JfzXZBYKQq-Aykb7KKTRFGGr-PD1T3h605F3d8ovwraiG5xSXDWDob_lIOxUQ_Ba2ENvlKeAuzZ9z2sjyEvRooJslK1O3noO7LgaT0GuHwceWMnQnJAfDq4SWidR2L1r/s400/girl2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669362616402595506" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Kate</div><br />We have a dear family friend, Anita, who we met in our ward when we lived in England who is just this sort of person. She is a true example of someone who “mourns with those who mourn” and seeks to “comfort those who stand in need of comfort.”<br /><br />We lived in England in the 80s while there was famine in Ethiopia that received wide news coverage. Anita felt such anxious desire to help the people of Ethiopia, she figured even though she couldn’t offer much, she could still do something. At the time, Anita was working as a nanny for Bob Geldof, of the British band the Boom Town Rats. Hoping to take advantage of the opportunity afforded her by living in the home of a rock star who boasted other rock star friends who frequented the house, she placed a poster in the kitchen with a jar underneath that said, something like “HELP THE STARVING IN ETHIOPIA.” Bob Geldof was inspired by Anita and her poster, and said to her, “I think there is something more we can do about this.” He went on then to organize Band Aid, which produced the song “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” attracting such artists as Sting, Bono, Phil Collins and others and raised 8 million pounds. That led to the Live Aid concert and the recording of “We are the World” in the US the following year, which included artists like Michael Jackson, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross and countless others. It was considered an historic event and the proceeds for this recording reached over $50 million in only one year. In 2005 Geldof again organized a series of concerts to raise money and awareness for Africa, and millions more were raised and Geldof was knighted by the Queen for his efforts.<br /><br />My mom once asked Anita if she would ever write about this experience, but she simply dismissed the idea. “So,” my mom said, “we’ll be the only ones who ever know what you inspired.” “Yes”, she replied, entirely content with that idea.<br /><br />Because of one jar on one counter, and one heart who felt so deeply the worth of souls that she had to do something, millions of people have been blessed and even millions more touched by the spirit of love that began with one humble follower of the Gospel of Christ.<br /><br />Indeed, “the worth of souls is great.” And of this I testify . . .<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-73622487175487638442011-10-24T16:50:00.000-07:002011-10-24T16:59:28.567-07:00Where Heaven and Earth Meet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXwXzP-g1gijMb3zK60alvKYixI3FhY2-VLeGobPxDfAS1wh4gWW7V6yzknr94Acb2IHeWlIXHJKl-HfDskPmhbB6uxcO9sdqgjuC_Me73WoSJt5hLdCZ9sf6PGaXP-p-UT5w7nR502Pk/s1600/kimbaby.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXwXzP-g1gijMb3zK60alvKYixI3FhY2-VLeGobPxDfAS1wh4gWW7V6yzknr94Acb2IHeWlIXHJKl-HfDskPmhbB6uxcO9sdqgjuC_Me73WoSJt5hLdCZ9sf6PGaXP-p-UT5w7nR502Pk/s400/kimbaby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667211059604234130" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">How often are we able to capture the ultimate essence of "new" . . . this rare and sacred chance was made possible two days ago . . . with the birth of my granddaughter</p><p class="MsoNormal">I asked my daughter to allow us to look into her window . . .</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Where Heaven and Earth Meet</p><p class="MsoNormal">A New Mother’s Thoughts…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Holding my new baby girl fresh from Heaven two days ago and crying. So overwhelmed in every way. Overwhelmed that she is mine…that I am so blessed to be the one who gets to be Vivienne’s Mom. Overwhelmed at my responsibility… taking care of this gift from Heaven, making sure her every need is met emotionally, physically, intellectually, spiritually. Overwhelmed by the feelings of love I have received from friends, family, strangers, and my Father in Heaven. Overwhelmed at her perfection…you can feel Heaven in the room when you look at her, everything is peaceful and bright.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When my Husband Sam and I were in the delivery room I felt this overwhelming desire to keep this space sacred. It wasn’t something I consciously decided, but I kept the TV off and didn’t get distracted by things that didn’t matter, it was just Sam and I receiving this new life into the world. The room was mostly filled with laughter while I was laboring, until the epidural wore off:) Then it was filled with breathing and pain, and holding my partner's beautiful, strong, careful hand. I had never experienced those really horrible labor pains before since I am one of those women who admit proudly to loving epidurals, they are Disneyland! It was amazing though to see what comfort just the hand of a loving partner could do to ease my burden. Just when I thought it wasn’t possible to endure any more pain here comes my princess Vivienne out of my womb and onto my belly. So beautiful in every way. Sam and I took turns warming her skin to skin. So connected. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next few days were filled with snuggling, cramping, laughter, visitors, crying, nursing, shuffling kids from one generous friend to the next, changing diapers, figuring out this whole business again… but, throughout it all, there was always Peace. Even though the life of a Mother is a hard path, and maybe some might look at my life with 3 boys (and now a girl), juggling our busy schedules, wading through the tornado that usually is our house, the poop, the throw up, the general high volume of children playing/fighting, and think it is too much…but, at the end of the day there is peace, peace in knowing who those children really are and that what you are doing reaches much farther than the walls around you.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Written by Kim Nelson Hirt (a daughter)</p><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLVKQsHlrTsY-cpfQus6nWhPkpq1xH0zWK3SpsAbR9dxfuX4UDPX7WxfwVAKLoC9rlSTD9ME4IJYyeduYTJy08DCc2xajeRF76jPyvxH19NCN80YTFwzb0lF6R8dtpwx-aV6VdjDJxx5f/s1600/sambaby.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLVKQsHlrTsY-cpfQus6nWhPkpq1xH0zWK3SpsAbR9dxfuX4UDPX7WxfwVAKLoC9rlSTD9ME4IJYyeduYTJy08DCc2xajeRF76jPyvxH19NCN80YTFwzb0lF6R8dtpwx-aV6VdjDJxx5f/s400/sambaby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667211499180598402" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-44974641605132408652011-10-19T06:52:00.000-07:002011-10-19T07:44:14.009-07:00OCEAN<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">Go to the ocean whenever possible ~~~ clears the mind ~~~ opens the heart ~~~</div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">.... allowing for "gone with the wind"</div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UtgcWv6xC1Fs3wf0t_Y4VBj312X1y_ZE8YXjBUQym88av-OOMEN1XYZY9XFvrAg6JpwtjmrAG4FPPzASuLxaZCqWQvFoj9OMA6oN1cltW-ggEdRLz8MKTbpqutXzEPk_LdYFwFNusn-9/s1600/ocean.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 309px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665201766016792450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UtgcWv6xC1Fs3wf0t_Y4VBj312X1y_ZE8YXjBUQym88av-OOMEN1XYZY9XFvrAg6JpwtjmrAG4FPPzASuLxaZCqWQvFoj9OMA6oN1cltW-ggEdRLz8MKTbpqutXzEPk_LdYFwFNusn-9/s400/ocean.jpg" /></a><br /><h2></h2><h2><span class="Apple-style-span" ><h2><br /></h2></span></h2><br /><br /><br />SHE IS THE ONE…<br /><br />She looks into beyond…what can it be<br />Rolls of white foam in bright turquoise sea<br />It keeps coming and coming, to her pure child glee<br />She stares at the wonder, sensing how free<br /><br />After her eyes melt into delight<br />She steps slowly forward to feel the sight<br />Over her toes, over her feet<br />Climbing her legs up to her knees<br /><br />She looks back to gather a sense of belong<br />Then smiles turn to laughter when crashing grows strong<br />All of a sudden she’s racing the waves<br />They dance with her soul in ecstasy’s rave<br /><br />Finally she’s come…the sea seems to be speaking<br />We’ve waited for her… the one we’ve been seeking<br />When she alighted upon our shore<br />We knew she’d arrived through heaven’s door<br /><br />She is the one…bright blond like the sun<br />We knew in our waters she one day would run<br />The one who knows truly of God’s beauty gift<br />The one who knows surely of how we can lift<br /><br />She knows our power… the power to heal<br />She knows our spirit brings one to kneel<br />Only she senses with full heart and soul<br />The gift of the ages from our ebb and flow<br /><br /><br />And now she is here…she will tell them at last<br />That waters of heaven can heal the past<br />And move one full forward…the feel of surround<br />Bringing remembrance…how His love abounds<br /><br />Dance with us child…tell us your story<br />Sing to us now…how you came from glory<br />To bring to the earth the gift of the sea<br />An offering from God to help children see<br /><br />That waters of love pouring over a heart<br />Can mend and tend, create a new start<br />For all broken children not knowing how<br />For those who’ve forgotten how to bow<br /><br />Tell them dear child to run in our waves<br />Tell them to come to the sea to pray<br />Tell them to dance with us…we’ll sing our song<br />And soon they, again, will know they belong<br /><br />To God above who loves them, so dear<br />The love that you see and know… is clear<br />Tell them, oh tell them, to come to the sea<br />And we will teach them how to be<br /><br />You are the one… flowing hair like the waves<br />You are the one to teach them He saves<br />All that God hath…it’s beautiful…you know…<br />Bring them dear sea-child… bless their soul<br /><br /><br /><br />Little blond child runs in pure delight<br />Blessed, sacred, holy sight…<br /><br />Poem Written By Karen NelsonUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-87112076537393420352011-10-19T06:41:00.000-07:002011-10-20T19:48:47.332-07:00APPROACH<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYgvahLFkh3Is34FqOAqyaDXQI8tu9odZ5iiWAfter_Z9WwuQ6CvBw269o24Geb4zMXFJKESheRd-ciDe_S_RVGwlqzXjkVwyhIpQrZx4fZyYfDMamUjBh9lHTOiB5iT3x5v2ADZTlKHj/s1600/marym.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYgvahLFkh3Is34FqOAqyaDXQI8tu9odZ5iiWAfter_Z9WwuQ6CvBw269o24Geb4zMXFJKESheRd-ciDe_S_RVGwlqzXjkVwyhIpQrZx4fZyYfDMamUjBh9lHTOiB5iT3x5v2ADZTlKHj/s400/marym.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665199395375064466" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">APPROACH</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We each “approach” life differently for a reason.<span> </span>It is a necessity.<span> </span>“That all may be edified” together, we have been given different talents and propensities.<span> </span>We use these to create our lives and brighten and bless the lives of those we have the privilege to have in our life.<span> </span>I call this “style.”<span> </span>We each have a style uniquely our own.<span> </span>To the degree we are true to our created “style” is the degree to which we can be effective in influencing others and making a difference in their life for good.<span> </span>We have the ultimate superb opportunity as mothers to accomplish this.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I watch my mother friends and glory in their difference in “approach.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Summers:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">One friend is raising five children, one of which has Angelman Syndrome.<span> </span>She shows me her hour-by-hour schedule for the summertime months, mapped out in startling, perfect detail…and I see the match up.<span> </span>Brilliant, intellectual, creative, driven, artistic mama with a host of children with varying interests and challenges.<span> </span>They each thrive expansively under her dedicated, inspired “reign.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another mother spends her summers in the backyard on a swing full of daughters to talk to --<span> </span>laying by the pool with lemonade and flowers and cookies and crafts.<span> </span>Creative, magical, bright, lacy, crafty mama.<span> </span>Every child thriving in sweet peace and bonding creativity.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another mother, with two autistic children, takes her six children to Disneyland over and over again and lets the color and delight of magic fill their fantastic souls.<span> </span>Sunshine, indominatable, mama.<span> </span>Each developing in unimaginably beautiful ways.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another mother hikes and bikes and runs and exposes her children to the wonders of the outdoors that can only be truly felt and explored in ways that involve the unity of feeling the joy of all that the human body can do joined with trees that can only be seen atop an unreachable mountain, or wild flowers that only can be found on hidden trails – and only for certain days, if you happen to catch them.<span> </span>Outdoor, rugged, insightful, spiritual mama.<span> </span>All thrive with the song of nature in their hearts, and minds and bodies.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Each mama … her own approach to life, to summer… for a reason … that all may be edified…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">MARY AND MARTHA<br /><br />Mary seeks light, sits at His feet<br />Head held high, hoping eyes to meet<br />Steadies her gaze upon His face<br />Enthralled by His love, His peace, His grace<br /><br />Martha seeks light, stands at His side<br />Captures each word, as through the room glides<br />Hopes her devotion He still can see<br />Seeking to serve, though not by His knee<br /><br />Both seek His light…at His feet, by His side<br />One sees, one hears… their souls to Him tied…<br />“Mary and Martha, Come unto Me…<br />Bring “each” your hearts…see eternity”…<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">(Poem by Karen Nelson)</p><div><br /></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Play this scene out in your mind</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Mary and Martha approach the Lord in very different ways … as we do…each of our unique offerings graciously accepted … evidence presented that we have honored the gifts He has given us to work with on earth to beautify and bless and “Come Unto<span> </span>Him.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Play the scene out in your mind….your “approach” – your offering before the Lord.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-67564314302380498182011-10-14T06:25:00.000-07:002011-10-16T18:56:36.166-07:00Growing<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUSaHkxnSTou0zdXhbTCDcRfEwL9Q6_aUiuYbceCnaDukXuZmfoaezatskoNPHc6l9cZFR_nUFVhGs1ZkTqmfneSmyq70rfnp-pWUFJ27vArAM309TTz1PuUU8KmFt3S5SQLPFNFrk36E/s1600/audrey.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUSaHkxnSTou0zdXhbTCDcRfEwL9Q6_aUiuYbceCnaDukXuZmfoaezatskoNPHc6l9cZFR_nUFVhGs1ZkTqmfneSmyq70rfnp-pWUFJ27vArAM309TTz1PuUU8KmFt3S5SQLPFNFrk36E/s400/audrey.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663365187111946706" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span>MOVIE STARS<!--?xml:namespace prefix = o /--><o:p></o:p></span><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span>I read an article in a magazine that featured movie stars that were now in their later years. <span style="font-size:+0;"></span>Although their stories varied there was one thing that stood out as common among them. They each said that they would trade all the fame, money … the glitz, the glamour … everything… to be able to grow old with someone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p></o:p></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span>GROW OLD GRACEFULLY<o:p></o:p></span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaaPUxr9_iKH1eZwXOLBojGqiR-9y3xeFVX5bsMHfG99FQAq2fjJq7M2tx_nnrLAJPCQwdyKjUfSruJVq9n9Fmq0nFsYExtNUMUHkS5N4UFAZRF8EkUeqQOIDSxUbogMu-ldEE6lCYHVai/s400/photo.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664271645459074082" /><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ9QGo94lIu3ok_CCza6h7Ql1JnnYfSYuQi8D-NGp01d-7ywJcUUG8otFfu4x65Y6HyFwd6Fz_SmTrVqmlei4xw4C6mazVj-XABjj9fQ7hirIPcKb_BHKaHK26r3gxRSkN875z801H2bz/s1600/photo1.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ9QGo94lIu3ok_CCza6h7Ql1JnnYfSYuQi8D-NGp01d-7ywJcUUG8otFfu4x65Y6HyFwd6Fz_SmTrVqmlei4xw4C6mazVj-XABjj9fQ7hirIPcKb_BHKaHK26r3gxRSkN875z801H2bz/s400/photo1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664273704320241058" /></a><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span>I believe we should grow old gracefully. Developing habits that support the goals of mental and physical health are, of course, important. </span>I believe, however, there are many things that the world offers that upset the natural flow into growing older. There are emotional and physical needs that can require alterations but I believe we should, whenever we can, “leave our beautiful bodies alone.” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I watched my Grandma Bessie<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>“grow old gracefully.”<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Right up until the time she passed away, at 93 years of age, she was doing yoga, jumping on her mini trampoline, making her green drinks and reading every book she could get her hands on, keeping her mind bright and body heal<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0px;">hthey tttttt</span>thy. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">She once told me that, when you are old, what becomes most important to you is that you are “useful.”<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>She was able to “use” her beautiful, old body to bless the lives of us young’ins until her very last day; nursing relatives through illnesses, helping in the home when granddaughters were bringing new ones into the world, working tirelessly wherever there was a need.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>She was “gracefully” able to make her “needed” dreams come true.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-42158658319858302602011-10-07T19:14:00.000-07:002011-10-10T16:06:23.100-07:00<div align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgzO3FzQ1yi9kuy97rNRhyFISYgDiSgP1qhvh50O35pl9UhyphenhyphenoVN9knmgzVBx5py-WeOyD7myXxbzTc7A1xg8ebnrHjccVif98wdN6VUyGyxkQsDnFwmJtwfS2ca51xJQzSe5A9nKXcMpz/s1600/dr-seuss-book-cover1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 298px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660942570865907906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgzO3FzQ1yi9kuy97rNRhyFISYgDiSgP1qhvh50O35pl9UhyphenhyphenoVN9knmgzVBx5py-WeOyD7myXxbzTc7A1xg8ebnrHjccVif98wdN6VUyGyxkQsDnFwmJtwfS2ca51xJQzSe5A9nKXcMpz/s400/dr-seuss-book-cover1.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">MOVING<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Growing up, I moved from California to Washington DC to Arizona to Washington DC to Venezuela, for two years, to California to Washington DC (three weeks before my senior year) and California. Since we have been married, we have moved from Utah to Washington DC to Utah to Massachusetts to Utah to California to Massachusetts to England, for two years, to California to Washington State to Utah and, for the third time, to California. My great discovery, from all these opportunities, has been that God is mindful of every person involved in moving from one place to another. We have moved our children irrespective of age or stage or grade, as did my parents. It wasn’t without tears, but the wealth of experience and expansion of mind that has come from “ripping and dragging” children “here, there and everywhere” has been worth all the short-lived heartache. When I would pick a child up from school, after that first day, after a new move, it seemed as if there was no hope for recovery. I would then wait patiently to hear the words, “I am SO glad we moved here!” These words always came with emphasis and gratitude as they watched new opportunities grow in to experiences they could not have had in any other way or in any other place … people they would never have met that have become eternally dear. They have all remarked that it has all, most definitely, “worked for good” in their lives.</span></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once, when we were about to move, I was expressing to my daughter how sad I was to be leaving. She quoted Dr. Suess to me, “Don’t cry because it is over, smile because it happened.” In the final scene of “Last of the Mohicans,” the Mohican father looks out over the vast cavern and talks about all the people that will soon come in and struggle and fight to create a new life … and then he says…. “but once we were here …” Loved ones pass away, we leave homes and friends we love, beloved pets grow old, children grow up …. everything keeps going away … but we get to keep it ALL and we find that moving, leaving, passing, changing has nothing to do with losing and everything to do with gaining. It is all held in our hearts; memorized, remembered, held sacred, forever.</span></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My Dad, who taught me, better than anyone else, how to “move” through life, would often expose us to the wisdom of Dr. Suess. </span><a href="http://homepages.ius.edu/harrisla/places.htm"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">“Oh The Places You Will Go,”</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> was, for obvious reasons, a favorite of his in his quest to open the hearts of his seven children to all the possibilities for “wonder.”</span></span><br /></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have written a poem that I dedicate to my Father who was successful in that quest.</span><br /></p><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIsBOAVvyG9Iyr7rTlf-BbIrAjIWC6eBXuUWoNKMAmxbNNMipBMzThhpmTNrT-vbQtjGqqMAdvG5rV7jpxl2ZkD5Y6VrDTK5Jb92uee_-foYpw2PZqsmIqBpV3r3EissBGXDrrGHEaOrt/s1600/gpamom.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 303px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660939955877414994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIsBOAVvyG9Iyr7rTlf-BbIrAjIWC6eBXuUWoNKMAmxbNNMipBMzThhpmTNrT-vbQtjGqqMAdvG5rV7jpxl2ZkD5Y6VrDTK5Jb92uee_-foYpw2PZqsmIqBpV3r3EissBGXDrrGHEaOrt/s400/gpamom.jpg" /></span></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIsBOAVvyG9Iyr7rTlf-BbIrAjIWC6eBXuUWoNKMAmxbNNMipBMzThhpmTNrT-vbQtjGqqMAdvG5rV7jpxl2ZkD5Y6VrDTK5Jb92uee_-foYpw2PZqsmIqBpV3r3EissBGXDrrGHEaOrt/s1600/gpamom.jpg"><span style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">me with my father</span></span></a> </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">LET’S CLIMB OUR TREE …<br /><br />…Don’t want to grow up …. Please Daddy please<br />Let me still be the child at your knee<br />Let me still hear your lullabyes sing<br />Let me still sail upon your wings…<br /><br />Daughter dear… but can’t you see<br />Come with me…we’ll climb our tree<br />Look out there at mountains high<br />Look straight up and see the sky<br />Look at forests… and oceans beyond<br />And at the soft meadows and lily-filled ponds<br /><br />You will want to see the world<br />Watch God’s plan for you unfurled<br />You’ll learn to dance and sing and think<br />Be all grown up before we blink<br />You’ll breathe in all God’s hopes for you<br />And breathe out love in all you do<br />You’ll learn, then teach…you’ll save mankind<br />You’ll bless the earth with ties that bind<br />I’ve taught you well and you will know<br />Just what to do and where to go<br />You’ll love the Lord with all your soul<br />And bring His lost into His fold<br /><br />And one day Heaven will reach down<br />And bring new ones …jewels in your crown<br />And you will bring all life within<br />Into their hearts….teach where they’ve been…<br />And where they’ll go …like you and me<br />You’ll climb our tree…show them the sea<br /><br />And round and round our circles go<br />Oh, daughter mine… you’ll one day know<br />That searching far and wide will bring<br />More than any song can sing<br />You’ll love life…its gifts…its days<br />And seek always His Name to praise…<br /><br /><br />Dedicated to My Father<br />Written by Karen Nelson </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-87836561096215597372011-09-30T16:13:00.000-07:002011-09-30T17:03:49.798-07:00QUEEN<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQjK5dA5GDADUEWfcgQUOP_TNnh2LceUtS-g2mz7H2FTxBO8NbjFCPss9DuoIDTpLKEUv8o4PYGC0nH65EU6wxcZP0tLulfMuLA4RDwlkkc6cZ_gT9naJtdEIuTzT_60NYpkynHwg3CFF/s1600/kasgrapes.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQjK5dA5GDADUEWfcgQUOP_TNnh2LceUtS-g2mz7H2FTxBO8NbjFCPss9DuoIDTpLKEUv8o4PYGC0nH65EU6wxcZP0tLulfMuLA4RDwlkkc6cZ_gT9naJtdEIuTzT_60NYpkynHwg3CFF/s400/kasgrapes.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658295967131447170" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >QUEEN</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >THE BIRTH OF A QUEEN</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >On a frosty night in Boston the man I married walked into our family room and said, “We could move to England for a few years, if you would like.”<span> </span>My Humanities graduate mind and heart felt like they would explode with happiness at this new possibility - and then we were there! <span> </span>– <span> </span>leaving behind the place we had determined we would live and be happy in forever.<span> </span>After living north of London for two years and then moving to California, Washington, Utah and now Santa Barbara, I now, finally, know why.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Katherine the Great, my Katherine the Great, was born there.<span> </span>“Could it be” that she, who has been called, by her family, since she was born, “Queen of the Universe,” had to be?<span> </span>Did she have to literally be born on the land where Queens have ruled for centuries, as a symbol that would breathe up into her soul forever; a place that has called to her ever since, and continued to bring her back, as a student and as a traveler, to her “homeland.”<span> </span>Did she need to know that her name was shared by three of King Henry VIII’s wives, the French Queen, Katherine de’ Medici, two Empresses of Russia, one of the first Christian Saints, Catherine of Alexandria?<span> </span>Did she need to find out later in her life that she is actually a descendant of King Henry VIII and Robert the Bruce? <span> </span>Did her middle name, Rushforth, an Ole 7<sup>th</sup> Century English surname, “river crossing by the rushbeds,” <span> </span>help her find the hidden path she would have to take in her life? <span> </span>Did her first name need to mean “Pure’?<span> </span>Did her English surname need to mean “Champion?”<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >THE JOURNEY OF AN AMERICAN QUEEN</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Shakespeare’s Polonius said to Laertes, “This above all: to thine own self be true.<span> </span>And it must follow – as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man…my blessing season this in thee.”<span> </span><span> </span>We all knew, from the very start, that Katherine had the God-ordained responsibility to the world to be “true to her queenly self.”<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A day in the life of the Queen:<span> </span>Four sisters are playing princesses. Katherine is two years old and smaller than most two years olds. She is informed by her eldest sister that she will be playing the part of Princess.<span> </span>She furrows her brow and loudly proclaims across the “land” of our livingroom, “I’m the Queen!”<span> </span>All the sisters immediately agreed that she, indeed, must be The Queen.<span> </span>This is how it all began and Katherine has remained true to this God-ordained mission, to come to earth and forevermore, wherever she is, be The Queen.<span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBmapsCclrBVV86QqSxOT0ckjRooyAPUrzqyAV5MLyjKXB5n7oZJbgK-vL_Gl4HoRASFiKImXVU-5s4HIo7kxwJesZp6YaKBfAahi3JUJQhUWRgOf1B4psbcN8VwPbAZsmnAe7-nstuEh/s1600/3dresses.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCBmapsCclrBVV86QqSxOT0ckjRooyAPUrzqyAV5MLyjKXB5n7oZJbgK-vL_Gl4HoRASFiKImXVU-5s4HIo7kxwJesZp6YaKBfAahi3JUJQhUWRgOf1B4psbcN8VwPbAZsmnAe7-nstuEh/s400/3dresses.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658299518085342466" /></a> </span>Her parents and nine other siblings can testify, most assuredly, that she has been “true to herself” all her days.<span> </span>We have been taking royal commands from her since she was tiny and have all been blessed by her power wielded across the years of our lives.<span> </span>Her father said once,<span> </span>“I never have any problems with Katherine because I always do what she says.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Among friends:<span> </span>There was no toleration for bad language, immodesty or signs of lack of devotion to God.<span> </span>She had the courage to reprimand and encourage in an effort to bring out the best in others.<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Going Back:<span> </span>In the sixth grade, Lady (one of her appropriate nicknames) all of a sudden discovered she could not read.<span> </span>Not possible … remember …”I’m the Queen!”<span> </span>Through sacrifice and diligence and a God-sent friend, Katherine began to read.<span> </span>She grabbed hold of her dyslexia and put it out in front of her and “commanded” it to serve her – and it obeyed.<span> </span>This forging through, however, was not done without significant collateral damage---self esteem plummet.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKSE4QblvaOw6r8R0wGtnxXyi9OoXuXioVzxgzPLCpA3P4YqWwOktIdwj3RWEL4PFr7W9U2LZ97ixfR2BHnrzT3zBr6J3U0HJENlQZlNFermIfU5MgBpXwe8Qxcd-RrU0ziLVqRxx3RB7/s1600/kaschin.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKSE4QblvaOw6r8R0wGtnxXyi9OoXuXioVzxgzPLCpA3P4YqWwOktIdwj3RWEL4PFr7W9U2LZ97ixfR2BHnrzT3zBr6J3U0HJENlQZlNFermIfU5MgBpXwe8Qxcd-RrU0ziLVqRxx3RB7/s400/kaschin.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658298827807463394" /></a><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Another “could it be?” - “Could it be” that Katherine needed to have her Queen’s place in the world securely in her heart and emblazoned into her soul to make it through what would be a rocky climb through paths of astonishment and discouragement as she forged her way over the next sixteen years?<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >… and then I find myself sitting next to my son, whose academic achievements were accomplished with comparative ease, at Katherine’s graduation from college.<span> </span>He looks across at his sister, in a huge field of graduates, and says, “What Katherine has achieved is monumental and makes anything I have accomplished pale into insignificance.”<span> </span>A Bachelors of Fine Arts in English, which would have frightened off any other dislexic mind<span> </span>-<span> </span>but not hers - because she allowed her queenly mind to overrule the voice of the people who were looking up at the castle and saying, “Not possible!”<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1fbBk7zELqh-SxbcCpPhXNwGfHyLlUJKsmTvqfNtZ8OlZNMB92x2u95nbXvsH4T4eXh_6if1wk80yA0iCkzacAC-NZxmnmpfJaCRZ0KaP6NYFx4BMNPbl6kupuin8JwmowZh8RBfibif/s1600/kasgrad" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1fbBk7zELqh-SxbcCpPhXNwGfHyLlUJKsmTvqfNtZ8OlZNMB92x2u95nbXvsH4T4eXh_6if1wk80yA0iCkzacAC-NZxmnmpfJaCRZ0KaP6NYFx4BMNPbl6kupuin8JwmowZh8RBfibif/s400/kasgrad" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658296406830733010" /></a><span> </span>- <span> </span>and now she is conquering new territories to be able to teach English and let her “story” and “champion” spirit bless the lives who will be honored to enter her river crossing through the rushbeds.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Now:<span> </span>Powerful everything.<span> </span>Powerfully influential, powerfully righteous, powerfully bright, spectacularly entertaining, an inspired and inspiring artist, a highly perceptive confidant, deeply loving, endlessly devoted to God and perfectly “true to herself.”<span> </span>Whatever there is to do or be in life, she does it with, and “is” the essence of Magnificence.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It has been our family privilege to watch what can happen when, just “as the night follows the day,” <span> </span><span> </span>a child is true to God, herself and all mankind.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >THE MOTHER’S QUEST</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >To find out all the “could it be’s”- symbolically and in reality - in our children’s lives – and to look for the miracles and angels – and all that continue to announce into our hearts that the hand of God is everywhere as we strive to teach young ones to find the “self” that God is continually opening “all” our eyes to see.<span> </span>(“Could it be” the entire reason we moved to Seattle was so Katherine could one day be playing with the daughters of Rojean Garnica, a renown reading specialist/therapist.<span> </span>“Could it be” that we moved to England to meet Anita Debney, a revered and trusted friend who is a champion for the betterment of children’s lives, who was first to reveal to the world the reality of Katherine’s great soul.)<span> </span>Could it be, Could it be….</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Katherine – Rushforth <span> </span>– Nelson<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Pure - Path Finder - Champion<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >American Queen<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5kCklylp-Ju2IxO3CQuKhA76FXHgY8LvMTkWZMdPxky4vIHcYMp0DJxYMO-xYia7tYGDLVUl4pHxP-ERg8qJQfBeCnsQrhMhvgEwkpwXUXkrlTq5KUh_GdVZwUagDx4pNZSQRD8rda_O/s1600/kasbeach.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5kCklylp-Ju2IxO3CQuKhA76FXHgY8LvMTkWZMdPxky4vIHcYMp0DJxYMO-xYia7tYGDLVUl4pHxP-ERg8qJQfBeCnsQrhMhvgEwkpwXUXkrlTq5KUh_GdVZwUagDx4pNZSQRD8rda_O/s400/kasbeach.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658307448118018498" /></span></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-16059758794472718342011-09-27T20:31:00.000-07:002011-09-27T20:35:18.930-07:00Moon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZW0jzMiwQGdiwTioxEReA5PhnPH6CUEmp__ofX4tethqIgsMKzCzqF_OAbMoOSHx6CmqfD5zMJfnOukVGxMaHUwt3prm7Ad9-Y_8FOr3Ma_wq32emc1turqWR0Msp8DQujXD8j3J-cL7/s1600/moon.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZW0jzMiwQGdiwTioxEReA5PhnPH6CUEmp__ofX4tethqIgsMKzCzqF_OAbMoOSHx6CmqfD5zMJfnOukVGxMaHUwt3prm7Ad9-Y_8FOr3Ma_wq32emc1turqWR0Msp8DQujXD8j3J-cL7/s400/moon.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657248807149885682" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >painting by Yin Ping Zheng</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span >MOON<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" >Etched in the heart of the Moon are the many moments my children and I have stood at a bedroom window, before going to sleep and said, “Moon, Moon!” and as they grew older, “The Moon is shining!,” which opened their hearts to speak of all the wonderful things that were important at that time in their young lives.<span> </span>Decades of children’s hearts have now passed through my heart and I still, before going to bed, look up and proclaim, “The Moon is shining on us tonight!” Recently, after a year long trial, with no apparent end in sight, I looked up at the Moon, and said, “The Moon is not shining on us anymore…”<span> </span>I then closed the blinds and went to sleep.<span> </span>The very next day the year of “Faith’s struggle to rise above Fear,” ended.<span> </span>I think the Lord did not want me thinking the Moon was not shining on us….even for one night…I will never close my blinds again….</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-20523140811935555202011-09-23T18:41:00.000-07:002011-09-23T18:54:12.403-07:00Signs of Life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeR_8n33wfPXwbFta2bCzZuXuHDFzh_7qMEJJL9RpheepiDhQvDVD1RIZzhU5amE69iqLbUjT9rsZ58n1JiOZJJaBxGKT7Ne_XxWb7OrMlu8Ew-WZDngd5MPK0aUNdghGD3bvQ5a0FoMW/s1600/freddiecake.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeR_8n33wfPXwbFta2bCzZuXuHDFzh_7qMEJJL9RpheepiDhQvDVD1RIZzhU5amE69iqLbUjT9rsZ58n1JiOZJJaBxGKT7Ne_XxWb7OrMlu8Ew-WZDngd5MPK0aUNdghGD3bvQ5a0FoMW/s400/freddiecake.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655738407786994594" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><!--[if gte vml 1]><o:wrapblock><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_s1028" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'position:absolute;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Hirt\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg" title="Fred eating cake" croptop="21163f" cropbottom="17749f" cropleft="15059f" cropright="24229f"> <w:wrap type="topAndBottom"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span> </span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" align="left"> <tbody><tr> <td width="38" height="0"></td> </tr> <tr> <td></td> <td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><!--[if gte vml 1]><o:wrapblock><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_s1029" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'position:absolute;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Hirt\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg" title="Fred eating cake" croptop="21163f" cropbottom="17749f" cropleft="15059f" cropright="24229f"> <w:wrap type="topAndBottom"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span> </span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" align="left"> <tbody><tr> <td width="38" height="0"></td> </tr> <tr> <td></td> <td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >R</span>ejoice in the “signs of life” around you.<span> </span>You walk in the door and<span> </span>see shoes,<span> </span>coats and backpacks …you walk in family room and see books, papers and toys ….you go in the kitchen and see dishes and food strewn around…. beautiful signs that people are “living.”<span> </span>The abundant life is filled with these “signs.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><o:p> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; white-space: pre; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; ">SIGNS OF LIFE</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><o:p> </o:p>Open the oven…a bright red ball</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">No one will answer any phone call</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Swimming in milk dumped on the floor</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Coats and shoes bursting out the door</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Laundry piled high upon the bed</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Paint bucket spilling on top your head</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Mud tracks across a bright, clean floor</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Open a door…hear music roar</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Glass window broken by thrown baseball</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Wrestling children end up in a brawl</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Rubbing the butter all over your face</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Stepping in honey all over the place</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Applesauce flung up on the walls</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Hide and seek players up and down the halls</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Chaos and crashing and breaking and sighing</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Life at its best is both funny and trying</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">The “signs of life” are bright and wild</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Accompanying the gift of every child</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Witness of their stirring soul</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Creating stories to be told</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Of brilliant life lived full and free</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Expanding all possibility</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">And when life’s song is sung at last</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">The “signs of life” will bless the past</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Treasures rare in the behold</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">That bless the lives of young and old</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">….Songs to sing, souls to grow</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span></span><span></span> Hearts to <span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">love as life unfolds…</span><span style="font-size:8.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:8.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">by Karen Nelson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:8.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><br /></span></p><span> </span><!--[endif]--><!--[if gte vml 1]></o:wrapblock><![endif]-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-89501393556388404882011-09-20T11:23:00.000-07:002011-09-29T12:08:16.789-07:00…If they cry there is a reason…<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20FF0ZZsG6ld4ISy-IH_I8VjSpvwha1bgaXfJNXjszsK_kJIclhB0FWptM0xgE6hldZPZK3v0XdsNqCL2JBY8390YmwZ9lYQn6Rw7YzXqyHa52sRdefZm0ycI8Nrexumczo_2twtIymfa/s1600/Jack.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; display: block; height: 261px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654511128443989458" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20FF0ZZsG6ld4ISy-IH_I8VjSpvwha1bgaXfJNXjszsK_kJIclhB0FWptM0xgE6hldZPZK3v0XdsNqCL2JBY8390YmwZ9lYQn6Rw7YzXqyHa52sRdefZm0ycI8Nrexumczo_2twtIymfa/s400/Jack.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">…IF THEY CRY, THERE IS A REASON…</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have never been able to let my babies “just” cry.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>All my life I have been exposed to opinions, spoken or written, about how “crying at night” helps babies get used to sleeping through the night,<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>at nap time – or in times of distress.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>I do not believe a parent should deprive little ones of feedings and other forms of care to achieve a goal, heralded by many, that can cause psychological, emotional, physical and mental distress or trauma.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If a baby cries there is a reason. A child has limited options.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Regardless of what the problem may be, the form of communication between baby and parent is singular…crying. I often find it hard to sleep at night. When I have a bad dream, I get up and walk around and say to myself, “It wasn’t real,” until I believe it.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I am hungry, I make toast.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I am uncomfortable, I roll from one side to the other. When I can’t turn my brain off, I read.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I am in pain, I take medicine. When I itch, I scratch.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I am lonely, I snuggle up to someone I love.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I am depressed, I ask people who love me to listen to me. When any of these things happen to a baby, they cry. Until a child is old enough to make it “their job” to take care of these things – it is “our job.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I do not believe that a tiny infant, or even an older child, is trying to fiendishly manipulate, control or enslave a parent by expressing their needs or wants. I believe that children have real needs and wants – real ones. Their cry is their voice – their only voice.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">An experience:<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>My husband and I were required to travel for his business for a couple of days.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>We left our child, who was a little under one year of age, with someone we trusted. The people we left our child with had little ones of their own to care for and, because of that, were unable to care for our child as we had hoped.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>To my dismay and horror, when I returned they told me that our child cried the whole time we were gone.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>They said they finally laid him in a playpen and “just” let him cry because they didn’t know what else to do.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>This child, upon our return, glued himself to my body and “soul” for years after that.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>He literally had to be next to me every second. When I would drive, I would have to set him as close to me as was possible.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>When I would cook, he would be on the counter, cracking eggs open for me.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>If we were in public, he would never leave my side and did not want anyone talking to him.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>For his emotional security it was required that we become one person.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>I remembered, gratefully, my mother’s advice to “wear your babies on your hip for two years and saturate them with love.”<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>This was not just a good idea. In this case, it was a necessity.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know that this one experience changed my child’s life forever.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Imagine the fear – all of a sudden away from the familiar arms of his mother - now in a foreign land – an unfamiliar playpen -deprived of the love and care, and perhaps even the physical nourishment needed<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>– with no evidence that his present situation would ever change.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>It must have felt like a hopeless eternity in the dark. This was damage that would never be undone. As the mother, I have seen the negative effects even into his adulthood.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>My personal heartache is something that has never been undone, either.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fear is the outcome of unmet needs and wants in a small child.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Making a small child secure by meeting his wants and needs, at a very young age, relieves the fear and allows the child to be able to devote his life to learning and growing.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>He does not have devote all his attention to wondering if someone will come, as he lays there, completely helpless, on his back, waving his arms and legs around, crying.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>He knows his mother or father will always be there for him.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>He then can stretch and work and learn and laugh and become a child of wonder and joy, relieved of the burden of fear – full of faith in a bright future.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Love is the answer.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>How can deprivation of love in the form of withholding the care we should give be the answer?<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Despite all the literature or talk show opinions, or fad-parenting ideas, there is not one person alive that doesn’t know, deep down in their soul, that letting a child “just” cry is wrong.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>I have heard of mothers going to other parts of their homes, curling up in a corner and plugging their ears<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>--- crying – trying to adhere to the newest, most popular idea being circulated among new mothers.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>God gave your child to you – not to “them”.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>He gave you the keys to raise your child. We should trust our hearts, listen to our own inner voice, listen to God. Every child has different emotional and physical needs.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>The freedom that comes from trusting yourself and God while you raise a child is a liberation of the heart and soul that can only bless the lives of your children and family.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If they cry, pick them up.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Look into their eyes. Listen to your heart.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>Your will discover your child’s voice speaking to you.<span style="font-size:0pt;"> </span>You will hear and respond and be able to raise a secure, loving and happy child. </span></p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-25277893650692466632011-09-16T18:36:00.000-07:002011-09-21T11:14:35.745-07:00A Mother's Journey<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCGEZVIb9HuhtxghN1DvWBZpTvOYrPLfV13LZRagtKmM4Fe8hDFBPicmqTGqVjmxU6MjeYEp3Tns-JTCexqbYB-Tlqruh_ASv2n3NEzRXBLeUCuVKPrSfPsngp6JUjX5M4iabxokvt3Ky/s1600/darcijim.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 282px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653143016047768162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCGEZVIb9HuhtxghN1DvWBZpTvOYrPLfV13LZRagtKmM4Fe8hDFBPicmqTGqVjmxU6MjeYEp3Tns-JTCexqbYB-Tlqruh_ASv2n3NEzRXBLeUCuVKPrSfPsngp6JUjX5M4iabxokvt3Ky/s400/darcijim.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></span><br /><em><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is a talk I gave for my Church Congregation. I thought I'd share it with you as well...<br /></span></span><br /></em><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I grew up in Santa Barbara and we returned a year ago, after living twice in California, twice in Boston, Washington DC, Seattle, London, and Utah… But I would like to talk about our real journey. Shortly after my first child was born, I looked at my beautiful bab<span class="Apple-style-span">y daughter, Darci, and felt paralyzed with fear.</span></span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline" class="Apple-style-span"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653140861678659298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQU2hBLWDCVAl-TEH9gKsypivhIEDx-5gxr4772A2BNquqLalHGoHcsRgL7Kjs3Uj_dlEzCply9kjnjmuUKMut6hiZIAX-5HgJbMjQ3MI1558otcstmJBb0rhNl03s3Pbx1HRUcQ7x4WJ/s400/dadand+baby.JPG" /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I had been reading every book I could find on child-raising, I had been listening to advice from family and friends and then---all of a sudden ---I realized there were so many voices in my mind telling me what to do, that I did not know which to listen to. So I went to my husband and told him how I felt. He looked at me, in the eyes, and said, Karen. Who did God give this child to? Did he give her to Sally or Carol or Wendy. No, he gave her to you. That means that he trusts you to raise this child and has given you everything you need to be able to do it. When h</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">e said this I felt the spirit grow within me and confirm to my heart that this was true. It felt like I had wings to fly with. From that moment on I knew God and I could raise this child together… I trusted what was deep inside my heart – the small voice that spoke of the subtleties of the soul. It made perfect sense. Who has the history? From the very first breath taken we love them, anyway, watch them carefully, laugh </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">with them, cry with them, pray over and for them, spend time with them, deal with them and work with them at 3 a.m. in the morning on the science project they forgot to tell us about that was due yesterday. The stories of their lives and the essence of who they really are – are the writings on walls of our hearts …..and I look to God and realize that these tiny, inadequate histories held within our souls are dwarfed to almost insignificance by the eternities of history written on the palms of the hands of our eternal parents….My husband’s life-changing “opening of my mind“ taught me to reach up to heaven and join the h</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">istories that could then guide and direct a child’s journey - and the freedom I was emancipated into was exhilarating. I felt like God and I had literally joined hands to tend his sheep. I continued to listen and learn, not to the “current parenting fads of the day- voices” but from inspired teachers and writers – but I knew that God was counting on me - -to make the final call about what was uniquely best for each spectacularly different child. His work and his glory to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man – was also my work and my glory.<!--?xml:namespace prefix = o /--><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></o:p></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline" class="Apple-style-span"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 282px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653141004826568690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdco7-I_cDkEHis-9PAd1k_-aSUZSTj7r8mObVcL4CY6_oFIZY10fEuHNmpw-17qdbvy7c1PQJFbqfgtvMxn7P3BAHisGMzWw0zqpqxcNXNSYvY_ScT0ye8mYkh-ExyveYgyzGofuFmdU/s400/slide.jpg" /></span> </span><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was once asked what the best advice I could g<span class="Apple-style-span">ive about raising children. I immediately knew. It is to study your child. Find out who they really are so you can help them discover and value all the gifts that are uniquely theirs. I have a son who is a gifted artist and I was forever reaching into the trashcan and uncrumpling beautiful works of art to frame on the wall. I asked him why he did this and he said --0h – anyone can do that – and I assured him not anyone could. I found that I was forever teaching my children that what they could do was very special and not just a gift from God --but a sacred trust between them and their Heavenly Father to develop, value and use to bless others --all their lives. Every parent, if they did not know better, would absolutely testify that each of their children came from different planets. …and this was always proof to me of a preexistence. Each child so uniquely themselves – and if allowed to truly explore that uniqueness, be free to spend their lives honoring God by becoming all they can be. It is one of my favorite things about my whole life – watching them figure out what God was talking about when He stood back and said…Oh look at my Vivian – isn’t she magnificent – she is going to bless the lives of so many with her boundless energy and creativity when she goes to earth… Oh look at Henry – he is going to help others find their way back to me with the sunshine of his devoted soul. God loves what he creates. In the movie, “Enchanted,” a man asks the prince if he likes himself – he looks side to side and then answers, “What’s not to like?” That is how God wants us to feel and He works tirelessly to help us see what he sees in us. He keeps pulling out our crumpled papers keeps hanging them on the walls of heaven….and then says –Look up! I heard beautiful words spoken by a new niece at her wedding dinner. She said, “ I am so grateful to Debbie and Preston for raising Jarom to be such an amazing person…and then she said--- and I want to thank my parents for doing such a great job raising me – because I think I am pretty amazing, too. I know that made God happy.</span></span></span></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Through the years I have kept certain words very close to me- in my mothering. They are: “there’s always a story” --- and ----“don’t take it personally.”--- “Signs of Life” – which means- enjoy the backpacks thrown on the entry way floor and cereal bowl and nachos everywhere --because they are happy signs that people you love are still all around you -----“ At least you are not giving birth to a baby in a tree” – which actually happened.…---my Mom saying –“wear your little ones on your hip for the first two years of their lives and saturate them with love.…” My Dad saying - “if it works- do it…”------“Bunny Box Behavior”—which are the every day tussles between little ones that make them strong enough one day to leave the safety of bunny ---…or “age appropriate behavior” which is what you say when you don’t want to be responsible for the ridiculous behavior of a child..------and “come unto me”– written upon my heart. But there came a time when all of a sudden – all the voices and words all went away and I could only hear one sound….my own voice, in a closet, sending tears and anxious words up to heaven in a desperate plea to save the spiritual life of one of my children. I had read in the scriptures about the wolves coming after the sheep and I remember, after a year of doing every thing I knew to help my child –I found myself once again in my closet asking the Lord – how can I save my sheep. I then felt words that made me remember something deeply important….the words were: “These are not your sheep – they are our sheep.” All of a sudden I had a vision of heavens hosts surrounding my child and I knew I was not alone in my battle against the wolves. I was magnificently not alone. I stood up and felt like there was an entire army behind me – that were just as interested as I was in the salvation of the soul of a loved one – bringing to mind the words of Elisha to his servant that transformed a heart of fear to faith when faced with the armies of Syria surrounding Dothan - “Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: left; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 273px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653141745224312434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5k59qaH9lXK3XKddRr1s8-ICKfEpfdi9aquV-MzSCDFIo1EmQNsj-kDwZksnIDvkKpJQPwdl3ZRUUsakzurxELBtvYd7DNQrAWNrL6NAFphokset_xkDrvB50Rw3EJxzjH7X6GvIQrHj/s400/Little+Annie2.jpg" /></span> </span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My mother’s journey from two many voices and not enough voices brought me to another voice that spoke words I feel shining in my heart everyday. We were blessed to be able to pull down from heaven ten of God’s masterpieces. With that blessing came the inevitable and outright chaos of raising a large family. I noticed that all the beautiful energy of young ones was somewhat manageable, at times, in large spaces- but was completely unmanageable on a hard church bench for three hours. My husband travelled a lot with work and church callings. So, it was usually just me with the cheerios and toys and legs and arms flying through the air. Being at church was something I began to fear and dread – a place where I walked the halls for three hours with children in my arms and around my legs ---year after year after year– walking the halls. One time, in the hall, I looked up to heaven and I said, ”I better get something good out of this – this is really, really hard and I am always, always here-- I never miss – ever – so I want some serious blessings out of this! A few years went by and I found myself once again, in the hall – and I had a voice come into my mind that said, “The blessing you will receive is that all your children will be true to the Lord all their lives.” My very next thought was – I would walk these halls for ninety years to have that blessing upon my children. So whenever I see young mothers in the halls – I tell them --“keep walking” ----</span></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My husband and I have now been on our parenting journey for 36 years. When we contemplate these years we find ourselves often saying, “Well, we did our terrible best” ---it may not have been that great – but our best is all we had. This makes me grateful for the gift of highest value that any of us have ever received….interestingly enough – the gift of a child – our Heavenly Father’s child to mend the damage and heal the heartaches from our “best”– the power in the love created in the treading of the winepress alone -making it so we are not left at the bottom of the ocean with our millstone crimes. The balm of Gilead pouring over our children’s hearts to sooth the sorrow and allow us all, parents and children alike, to receive the brightness that comes from the healing of hearts…..all our hearts…..</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><br /></div><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="left"></p><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="left"><br /></div><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></o:p></p><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /></div><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I had an experience that taught me of healing. In the book, “The Art of Mending,” by Elizabeth Berg, I read something that I have treasured ever since. Quote “My relatives still make fun of me for my love of things domestic, especially my Aunt Fran, who, whenever we visit, always tells me she’s saved her ironing and mending for me. As for mending, I think it’s good to take the time to fix something rather than throw it away. You get to see the whole process through, beginning to end, nothing abstract about it. You’ll always notice the fabric scar, of course, but there’s an art to mending: ---if you’re careful, the repair can actually add to the beauty of the thing, because it is a testimony to its worth.” I had an experience that made me understand this idea personally. I have a favorite painting that I found while we lived in Boston. It is easily over 100 years old and over the years has become ever more dear to me. One day someone was playing ball with our dog, near the painting. There was a candle burning on the table below it. The ball hit the candle and hot wax sprayed all over the painting. I grabbed my painting and my daughter, who was in the next room, and dragged them both into my bedroom. Through tears, I looked up into my daughter’s eyes, holding my ruined painting and plead, “Tell me my painting is just a “thing”, Please!” She consoled me in an inspired way and we went on with the evening that involved entertaining, with a smile, a house full of relatives and friends. Later that night, in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, I brought my painting out and laid it on the counter under bright lights. I worked, for hours, to lift the wax off the painting. Finally, I had done all that I could do. I stood back and looked at it….it wasn’t the same…. But it was still beautiful, and in light of what I learned about “the art of mending,” it had become more beautiful, because now it had all the marks of my efforts to restore it, which was in the end, a “testimony to its worth.”……and I realized that this is what the Lord does - looks at his masterpiece, --beaten, battered and bruised by life….and through tears of compassion, under the bright lights of His love, works tirelessly, in the garden, on a tree…to ultimate victory…His work and His glory…carefully, painstakingly peeling the wax away – and there we stand –tended and mended - even more glorious – His work to restore us emblazoned into our soul – the ultimate testimony of our infinite worth. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We are each very uniquely ourselves for a reason and if we open our hearts and the hearts of our children and learn to look to God and live – we will all, by being true to ourselves and God, make the difference on earth God wants us to make. We are here for a reason. I am grateful we can help each other discover those reasons.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /></div><br /><br /><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-3233033421107721332011-09-13T08:13:00.000-07:002011-09-13T08:18:22.357-07:00No Defense Against Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASmJKR4YYDBTN9F27X7IyK7yoXR8jEnvnHtmHCS32sFe3ndBA6o2mvikNMlmkMw2eMZyP56ebVIkHi7geu23PxgE27PMPLyiZx-XJANlXHJ5AZ6agEVy2bxNac2-Oyb7mg34wuXLe2xjS/s1600/unclejack.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASmJKR4YYDBTN9F27X7IyK7yoXR8jEnvnHtmHCS32sFe3ndBA6o2mvikNMlmkMw2eMZyP56ebVIkHi7geu23PxgE27PMPLyiZx-XJANlXHJ5AZ6agEVy2bxNac2-Oyb7mg34wuXLe2xjS/s400/unclejack.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651863767089342722" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">NO DEFENSE AGAINST LOVE<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">Since there is no defense against the greatest power on earth, if you keep at it, you will win.<span> </span>If you have offended someone beyond imaginable repair…begin imagining…it may even take years, but you will break them down with the determined, unwavering demonstrations of your love….the power is too great…the human spirit will succumb.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">HOLD BACK<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif"">In the movie, “Always,” there is a line, “The love we hold back is the only pain that follows us here.”<span> </span>When we choose not to love, we lose and regret.<span> </span>When we choose to love, we gain and find joy.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4110170148130935512.post-80189605828955468452011-09-07T08:22:00.000-07:002011-09-07T08:51:27.202-07:00PIECES OF OUR LIVES<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28knnOvNC3bKX2G906yRrv8pXU96yfaiCcgp2EdsudTurrRj8c806NmZnuAXWFutxHp_P1HTQ8PdiqqfKt0wOteoPOVyE-oYjuGbi2fMpI4qr6zRQptc2H_lH5xFxerNlghZ5iDmuv1g6/s400/quilt.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649642134487224610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px; " /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu77oKGmF4BsdhtPeFmxmXGfQNcGLxJJENWNZFUxgqep0yN5X310jgVhK-unLlTRt4kSW9u7kxCKaACQqgrCsmhJaC8tzN6WWiy76R2__-FvxrLTXQoLR8Qwzz1cnm6X5Jbox69lmHDgRO/s1600/quilt2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu77oKGmF4BsdhtPeFmxmXGfQNcGLxJJENWNZFUxgqep0yN5X310jgVhK-unLlTRt4kSW9u7kxCKaACQqgrCsmhJaC8tzN6WWiy76R2__-FvxrLTXQoLR8Qwzz1cnm6X5Jbox69lmHDgRO/s1600/quilt2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkk5n4iUe5Qno0Gmda56tCyNzX3Fuf9G6z2XEtoED_FaAbIQ1bHExoAgl-ly9KDTi4t-g7fxp2lF635qAwEb2ijRkV8QHQJa1971d7dBseEx3VG5VFrFvHTVHkKBSIbhD3gjxUaUm7nVr/s1600/quilt3.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkk5n4iUe5Qno0Gmda56tCyNzX3Fuf9G6z2XEtoED_FaAbIQ1bHExoAgl-ly9KDTi4t-g7fxp2lF635qAwEb2ijRkV8QHQJa1971d7dBseEx3VG5VFrFvHTVHkKBSIbhD3gjxUaUm7nVr/s1600/quilt3.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdAu5O35aVcjtnTpYI2OfLe-yktDrCExFflasXU-gkyNLyS0YXtDxBvhxy0lH5Ec08HkyvVUrAJH81E1mTAVC8RKrnLklXbeB7rnPNBCdmVV4Mtca5jm46iviykWmokVl3yNatvGxeaD-/s1600/quilt4.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdAu5O35aVcjtnTpYI2OfLe-yktDrCExFflasXU-gkyNLyS0YXtDxBvhxy0lH5Ec08HkyvVUrAJH81E1mTAVC8RKrnLklXbeB7rnPNBCdmVV4Mtca5jm46iviykWmokVl3yNatvGxeaD-/s1600/quilt4.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My great grandmother sat there all alone</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" >In her room filled with pictures and clutters of home<br />I asked her one day of her long blessed life<br />And she began a long story of her joy and her strife<br />But before she began she reached carefully behind<br />And pulled out a quilt with her strong aged hand<br />This quilt I had seen in pieces and parts<br />But I never had asked what had been at the heart<br />Now I could see it was magnificently whole<br />And that each tiny section was a part of her soul<br />There was linen and lace, there was denim and cotton<br />There was chintz and muslin, crepe, silk and satin<br />Each tiny piece was so carefully stitched<br />Into patterns and sections with colors so rich<br />She told me of hundreds of quilts she’d created<br />How each’d served a purpose – and how many they’d aided<br />Some were to celebrate a birth or a wedding<br />Some for harsh winters, a warm, comfort bedding<br />And still others were quilted for dear ones passed on<br />A grandmother, a father, or an infant child gone<br />But this one was special – she had saved it for last<br />To finish when old, to record the past<br />Each little section told of her special journey<br />Each tiny piece had its lesson and learning<br />But before she embarked on her precious life story<br />I had in my mind one curious query,<br />“Why was each quilt such a work of art, {I asked}<br />When so beautifully done, such an enormous task.”<br />Then great grandma spoke words I’ll never forget,<br />“We created the beauty so our hearts would not break.”<br />In an instant a chord was struck in my heart<br />One I never had heard, one that never will part<br />The beauty created from the dust and the ashes<br />A weave of life pieces into radiant sashes<br />From bits of this, from pieces and parts<br />Creating in the end the fabric of hearts<br />And the beauty that’s left behind us will tell<br />If we endured to endure or if we endured it well<br />With my finding so new and my heart all aglow<br />I sat at her feet now – her voice soft and low<br />And heard her sweet story, the quilt in her hands<br />I saw pieces and parts as across her hand ran<br />Over mountains so high, through darksome valleys so low<br />Through the sorrow and heartache, through the joys of her soul.<br /><br /><br />Then satin and lace, a bride to be<br />Eternity stretched past all she could see<br />She forward must go, leaving family of old<br />To build her own family, her new love to hold<br />At the crossroads of life, she sang a new song<br />Love’s joys bittersweet … as new joy came along<br /><br />And then a new dawning took place in her soul<br />All of life took new meaning, when new life she did hold<br />A baby, amazing, how could God give such gifts<br />And toward heaven, in gratitude, her babe she did lift<br />And promised the Lord he would someday return<br />That she’d teach him and love him, and of God he would learn<br />Then tenderly she rocked him and taught him of light<br />Singing songs of the angels all through the night.<br /><br />Then all at once my great grandma was crying<br />Then laughing, then reeling, then giggling, then sighing<br />The quilt story now was progressing through children<br />The parenting portion that was always bewildering<br />And, oh, the great stories she told of those days<br />Of wrestling boys and all their rascally ways<br />And of angels and fairies and princes, princesses<br />Of costumes, surprises and pink girlie dresses<br />She spoke of uniqueness, that was etched in each soul<br />Of magnificent traits that created the whole<br />And how direction and guidance were part of our charge<br />But how children, being preexistent, were like moving a barge<br />How predicting their outcome, one always could try<br />But ultimately you throw up your hands with a sigh.<br /><br />I watched her hands now move across some dark colors<br />I saw she was trembling, saw her eyes grow much duller<br />She spoke of the hardship of day to day living<br />How hard it was sometimes to keep giving and giving<br />She said she was strengthened each day from on high<br />Until all at once she felt her heart die<br />Her daughter, so sweet and still oh so young<br />Was taken away before life’s song was sung<br />It was then that she wondered how to cope through the black<br />It was then that she wondered if God had now turned his back<br />But gathering her all she reached deeper and higher<br />And found He was there, a light brighter than fire<br />That warmed her and healed her and taught her new strength<br />Brought peace to her soul and joy at length<br /><br /><br /><br />And then a huge section of sunrises and sets<br />That brought on a myriad of joys and upsets<br />There were marriages, grandchildren, the joy of posterity<br />A fulness of life, a time of great gaiety<br />College and missions, children coming and going<br />Then suddenly it stopped, without anyone knowing<br />They kept going and going ‘til no one was left<br />And then much too quiet was the empty nest.<br /><br />Then bright color patches, a weave of friends<br />A lifetime of loved ones – bonds that never end<br />The sharing together – the strengthening power<br />Of friendships that deepen hour by hour<br />And how in the end when all is said and done<br />It’s the memories preserved from those days in the sun<br />That brought light to the eye and a tear of gladness<br />And a strange sort of happy, along with a sadness.<br /><br />Finally we came to the end of her story<br />And I looked at great grandma, her countenance of glory<br />And I knew in an instant she had a message profound<br />After such a great life, I knew she had found<br />The answer to living, I knew it was there.<br />So I quietly asked her – her soul to bare<br />She got so excited, for of this she was sure<br />“It’s the moment,” she said, simple and pure<br />It’s the moment, each moment – one by one<br />To be lived to the fullest – like a race to be won<br />Each moment the greatest, the greatest of all<br />And that was her message, her final call<br />And there it was before my eyes<br />Written in her quilt, her message so wise<br />There they all were, moments lived so well<br />A brilliant life – such a story to tell<br />So right then and there I took the secret to heart<br />And vowed that my quilt would right from the start<br />Be filled with great moments - each blessed one<br />The fabric of my life woven in the sun.<br /><br /><br />Written by Karen Nelson</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0