tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83347272260610936422024-03-05T02:26:10.902-05:00TapestryUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger130125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-32847996613767494822015-05-16T10:12:00.001-04:002015-05-16T10:12:31.600-04:00Igor.... It LIVES!The sad thing is, this blog is probably an accurate depiction of my life.<br />
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Moving on, because I've been silent too long and I have things to say! </div>
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Thank the springtime rain. The shift in weather seems to have awakened my deeper sense of the world. Or something. </div>
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Firstly, I stumbled one step deeper into that dark, cavernous realm called "adulthood". I'm pretty sure I stubbed my toe, and what on earth is that dripping sound? Am I the only one who hears something very large breathing?</div>
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My Monday last week started off like this. Yes, that is self-inflicted. Thankfully I'm able to keep the greater life lessons contained to my work place so I at least have someone around to help me pick up the pieces. </div>
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Long story short (because frankly it's embarrassing) I swallowed my tears and replaced the impaled tire with my donut, arranged for and paid to have the tire replaced, and, with the help of a new jack and tire iron, replaced the tire. </div>
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All this with only a little muscle and prodding from my parents. Despite the pain to my pride and my savings account, I'm proud of how I handled myself. (Also, one of my co-workers said I got farther by myself than his wife would have and, coming from him, that's a true compliment.)</div>
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2) We have 30-odd eggs about to hatch. </div>
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Item three: there's also a guinea pig now (not mine). No pictures, though. Chubs is extremely shy. We now have poultry (too many to count), canines, reptiles, rodents, and fish. All we need is a house bird and a pony and we will be complete. (Mom also wants goats. We're holding her at bay for now, but no promises. (We don't even like goat milk.)) Someone may try to add felines to that list. I'm dubious of the wisdom of that plan. </div>
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3.5 - we are also now the hosts of our own hoarde of little cannibals. </div>
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Do not be fooled by their fluffiness. Do heed the warnings of the red light. These are meat birds. Their sole purpose in life is to grow big and fat really quickly and then...! *mimes slicing throat* This picture is a little old and they're already well on their way to the dinosaur stage. They eat, they sleep, they drink, they eat, and if their food isn't constantly full they will turn on your...or each other. If regular chickens are the sharks of bird-kind, these are piranhas. </div>
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Four, as most of you know, is that I have discovered a new artistic outlet which has lasted longer than a month: painting on canvas. Mostly words, because I love those, but a few are just awesome patterns. </div>
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It's all very trial-and-error but I'm catching on quickly. Now master calligraphy.... (More pictures on my Instagram account [the_magicmirror] , because they be many.)</div>
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And speaking of social media and the like, (5) I broke down and joined Pintrest. (That's how I broke into the canvas gig.) No, I will not share. The last thing I need is encouragement. Next up: Etsy!</div>
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VI. I have managed to sustain a houseplant for more than a month! </div>
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It got a little withered at one point but is surprisingly resilient and perked back up overnight with some water. I looked for one labeled "low diffused light" and "light watering". That is the key. </div>
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7) I haven't washed my hair since Monday. Be jealous. I have rediscovered dry shampoo, and it feels a little like cheating, but my temples get greasy. (You're welcome for the random fact you probably never wanted to know.)</div>
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Ocho - my favorite word at the moment is "embrace". Think about it: not only does it mean acceptance and open arms; but is also means safety, arms wrapped tightly. It's a warm hiding place against the world; it's a place of rest; it's a promise of support. *pulls out canvas* plus, it rolls rather nicely off the tongue. </div>
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That really is all I have for now. The goal was to bring everyone up to speed. Can't say as I covered everything, but it's the first step that's always the messiest. I wanted to get over that one quickly. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-42721484929108011712015-01-27T12:07:00.000-05:002015-01-27T12:07:35.502-05:00Bible Heroes<div style="text-align: justify;">
This past Sunday morning I was a substitute teacher for the 1st and 2nd grade class. After Sunday school, all the classes for kids 1st-12th grade are divided into two segments: church kids and bus kids. For my class, the church kids were first.</div>
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I wanted to share some of the life lessons I've been learning lately. Before I got to class, I was thinking my audience would be a little older. When I walked in and saw half-a-dozen 7 and 8 year olds, I hesitated. <i>How am I going to knock this down a notch so they actually get more out of this lesson than my babbling?</i></div>
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Turns out it wasn't that hard, because I also forgot that, after roll call and songs there isn't much time for more than a simple lesson. I dove in with all enthusiasm, though.</div>
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My text was out of I Tim. 4:12, "Let no man despise thy youth". We looked at the youngest kings of Israel (Josiah is the <i>second</i> youngest king, by the way, and contrary to what everyone in my class thought), David, and then the Fiery Furnace.</div>
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Even the "church kids" weren't all that familiar with this story, which was a blow. How do kids not know the staple Bible stories? So I spent my precious 10 minutes pacing and waving my hands and adding inflection when the Chaldeans tattled and the king raged. I threw back my shoulders when the three men, far from home and years removed from any godly influences but each other, boldly and respectfully declared that they would not bend their knees.</div>
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When I was done, I asked the kids what their favorite part of the story was. All agreed it was how God brought Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego through the furnace without a mark.</div>
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I grinned. "That part is cool, but that's not my favorite part."</div>
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And then I showed them something I picked up a couple months ago during a Sunday night service:<br />
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they <i>didn't </i>know God would protect them. They knew He could, but they had no guarantee He <i>would</i> preserve them.</div>
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The most powerful point of that story is not the part where they refuse to bow to the idol, or when God brings them through the furnace. </div>
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Shadrach, Mechach, and Abednego, answered and said unto the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. <u>If it be so</u>, our God whom we serve is able to delivery us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #134f5c;">But if not</span></i>, be it know unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up. (Dan. 3:16-18)</blockquote>
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Those three young men, probably little more than my age when they came to Babylon, and so far removed from everything familiar and godly, stood up to a king and declared that under no circumstances would they bow to his idol. There was no way they stood up to him confident that they would walk away alive and well. On the contrary, they had to acknowledge that they very likely would die that day. From what we know of them, I seriously doubt they stood there in denial of the danger they faced.</div>
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And on top of everything else, look at how respectful they remained toward the king. I know things were different way back then and people in general had better tact, but even so, they called him by his title and politely but firmly told him they wouldn't obey his command. It paints a stunning picture.</div>
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God doesn't promise to bring us through every struggle unscathed. Rather, scars are evidence of the storms we've survived. They're proof of living and overcoming. They're reminders of the lessons we've learned. And some people enter storms they don't come out of except into Glory.</div>
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According to my earnest expectation and <i>my</i> hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but <i>that</i> with all boldness, as always, <i>so</i> now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, <span style="color: #45818e;">whether <i>it be</i> by life, or by death</span>. - Philippians 1:20</blockquote>
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I ended my lesson with a reminder that being a kid doesn't mean a person can't still stand up for God and ushered those kids on their way.</div>
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The second step in the schedule was to pick up the bus kids at their previous class, wait while all 13 of them used the restroom, and bring them upstairs to discover their incentive of a quiet seat prize wasn't available. To their credit, most of them listened well anyway.</div>
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I skipped David and Goliath and took a quick look at Joash. When I mentioned off-hand how his grandparents were Ahab and Jezebel to demonstrate the brilliant legacy he had to look up to, I was met with blank looks on all sides (except those who were staring at the floor). And I hesitated, then asked if they knew who Ahab was.</div>
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Nada.</div>
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Elijah?</div>
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Who?</div>
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Much as I wanted to facepalm and then turn to <i>that</i> portion of the Bible, I brushed it aside and moved on to the lesson I <i>did</i> have planned.</div>
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And none of them knew about the Fiery Furnace, either.</div>
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"I think my brother learned that one," a boy in the back offered.</div>
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So with time winding down, I repeated my enthusiastic storytelling and prayed they were listening. At this point I didn't really care if they took away the deeper lesson, though that was important; I just wanted them to <i>know</i> this story. I wanted them to be able to turn to their friends later and say, "Hey, remember that gold statue that was <i>ninety feet tall</i>? And the guys who wouldn't bow to it and got thrown in the fire?" </div>
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Because we need these heroes. We need stories we know are true about people who stood for God and saw extraordinary things done as a result. The fact that these stories are incredible and also <i>true</i> is in itself an encouragement.</div>
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The Fiery Furnace has come to be one of my favorite old Testament stories. It is not, however, my favorite.</div>
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I had a moment similar to this past Sunday several months ago when I was helping Wesley with his class. This time, none of the kids knew who Ruth was. We were looking at the kings of Israel and Judah, but when I found out none of them even knew about Ruth, I switched gears.</div>
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Ruth is one of my favorite Bible stories. She didn't really do anything amazing. She didn't see anything supernatural happen in her life, apart from God allowing her to have children (and I'm not trying to downplay that, but that's the only true miracle in her story). She is one of those background characters whose presence turns a tide.</div>
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Ruth was just a Moabite girl who married an outsider when his family left their home because of a famine. She didn't see God do amazing things and come to Him as a result. Her father-in-law, her brother-in-law, and her husband all died on foreign soil, leaving penniless widows behind. But for whatever reason, when Naomi heard that the famine was over and decided to go home, Ruth went with her. Ruth stayed by her, despite the shame of poverty and the burden of now being the foreigner.</div>
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She wasn't too proud to gather the leftovers when the harvesters worked the wheat fields. She didn't complain when a day's labor in the sun yielded barely enough to eat. And for Naomi's sake she sought out Boaz to be their kinsman redeemer. (By the way, Boaz is pretty cool, too.)</div>
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She traveled, yes, but it was to a place far from home with no hope of returning to what she knew. She didn't perform miracles or command nations with her words. But she has a whole book int he cannon of Scripture dedicated to her. God honored her quiet faith by giving her a son and placing her in the lineage of King David and of Christ. I have to wonder if, when David was a boy, he talked to his great-grandmother about her life, or if his parents told him stories?</div>
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And my lunchbreak is winding down. I'll be back!</div>
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<i>Plank Update: </i>Day 10 and I'm still alive and able to walk. Yesterday my abs were absolutely killing me but I feel better today. Also, my legs no longer give out when I stand up, so that's a plus.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-56989432068911823822015-01-20T12:03:00.002-05:002015-01-20T12:03:36.546-05:00The Truth Behind My Name (Also: Planking)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was sitting at my desk this morning wondering what I was going to blog about today, since it's Tuesday and I'm trying to make that a post day. I have a few posts "in the works", but they're either in-depth or extensive rants and aren't ready for sharing.</div>
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I don't believe in karma. I do, however, hold a great appreciation for coincidence and irony. A few minutes after pondering this blog dilemma, I received a voicemail from a customer. It started out, "I was talking to a young lady at your office yesterday," and ended with, "could you please have that young lady call me?" I called her back, and the first thing she said was, "You said Amber? I couldn't remember your name when I left the message, but it's such an unusual name I should have been able to."</div>
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Thus contradicting my life-long belief that "Amber" is a fairly ordinary name.</div>
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(Counts number of Ambers I know....)</div>
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Congratulations, Dad. Not only did you help in choosing nine names collectively for your kids, you managed to pick ones that were relatively unique! Who knew? I certainly didn't.</div>
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I suppose now is a good time to share with you the history of my name. Wesley's name story is Mom, Dad, and friends in a car shouting out boy names until they hit upon one they thought sounded nice. Mine? I have the honor of being named after a character in "The Running Man".</div>
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Y'know? The Arnold Schwarzenegger movie?</div>
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Imagine my delight when I learned <i>that</i> tidbit.</div>
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At that point I had never seen "The Running Man". A couple years later, I walked into the living room while Mom and Dad were in the middle of it.</div>
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All that hard work learning to appreciate and accept my name started to peel around the edges.</div>
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This is why:</div>
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Don't even get me started on the suits. Nah, what gets me is that my namesake (or am I <i>her</i> namesake???) spends a good portion of her screen time screaming.</div>
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I mean, I probably would spend most of my time screaming if I was in her shoes, but.... Just no. It doesn't help that she plays in a Schwarzenegger movie. (For those of you who can't sense sarcasm through the screen or who haven't already learned this of me: I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger very much. The fact that I've had to spell his name three times already isn't helping.)</div>
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I actually had thought of another topic to amuse you with before the aforementioned phonecall, so since I have the time I'll move on to that!</div>
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In the wake of my first post of the year, I sat back and reevaluated several aspects of my life. The conclusion at which I arrived is no surprise: certain things need to change. And unlike some people who are rational and tackle on thing at a time, I've gone for the overhaul approach.</div>
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I have a working budget in place and am trying to remain aggressively dedicated to it because, if nothing else, I need a car. I'm already doing OK with my eating habits but they could stand to be adjusted. And I'm trying to stay fit.</div>
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Since I miss my 1/2 mile jog at work every day because of the snow, I was starting to get worried about what to do in place of that (not to say a 1/2 mile jog everyday is all I need to do to keep fit, but it's a start). Browsing facebook around the New Year, I came across a post for the 30-day Plank Challenge and thought, "That looks my speed. I <i>do</i> need to strengthen my core. Why not?"</div>
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I actually started it Sunday morning, and this is what I have learned so far:</div>
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1) My thighs are already killing me. Everything else feels fine so far, so either it's too early to for the rest of my body to get on board the "good kind of pain" train or I have my form all wrong. Possibly both.</div>
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2) Never judge a workout routine based on the pictures. I should know this by now. I really should.</div>
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3) Never do anything like yoga with my dog around. The moment I lie down on the floor she's in my face. Either she's worried about me; she sees a perfect opportunity to snuggle; or, in her twisted way, she thinks I am finally submitting my authority to her. In any case, I have to ban her from my room when I do my morning stretched.</div>
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4) "The secret to getting ahead is getting started." - Mark Twain</div>
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5) Half of my problem must surely be the face that I'm trying to plank on a laminate floor.</div>
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I've never been very fit. (I ceased being able to touch my toes when I was, like, ten.) The idea is exciting, but I tend to lose my drive pretty quickly. We have Wii Fit and for a while I was going pretty strong on that, at least with a bit of yoga. But have any of you ever had the Wii give that shocked little "Oh" when you wobble on the board? Yeah, I got sick of that. I was walking my dog pretty regularly, but then winter hit and I'm at work sunup to sundown. So planking it is, until I break something or find a better alternative.</div>
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I'll keep you posted.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-19995483486766069282015-01-13T11:39:00.003-05:002015-01-13T11:39:46.278-05:00Amber vs. Ditch: The First Time I Got Towed<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another lunchtime post. This one will be less philosophical than last time. My brain can only handle so much deep thinking before I get overwhelmed.</div>
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As most of my friends are aware, I work an office job for a family-owned business. This business's office is located on the family's property, in a building 1/4 mile from the house and the only available restroom. (I quickly learned it was a bad idea to have milk or smoothies for breakfast.) During the summer this distance works to my advantage because I get a 1/2 mile run in on my break. With the arrival of winter, however, I've started driving to the house instead of risking the cold and ice.</div>
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The driveway is paved, but thanks to 12-odd feet of wetland in the way it was not built in a straight line. There are three significant curves in that 1/4 mile, with the one closest to the office being the worst. </div>
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Some of you can see where I'm going with this.</div>
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Per usual, I took my car. Coming back I hit the last turn too tightly and slid right off the edge of the drive. I didn't even have a chance to try and correct before I was sunk.</div>
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Commence 5 minutes of trying to rock the car. This only got me in deeper. I jogged the few hundred feet to the office and grabbed some cardboard to stick under the front tires. This didn't work. So I called my boss. "Hey. I'm stuck in the ditch off the drive."</div>
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She said she'd be up with her truck as soon as she finished her work.</div>
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Did I sit around to wait? No. I thought I'd give it one last try on my own. Make things a little easier for the truck, you know? After all, I'm a Royce: I can fix anything with enough sheer determination.</div>
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Many of you have seen that my driver's door is something of a mess from my wreck last March. Before that unfortunate left turn, the door handle took some work to open. Now it takes lots of leverage and jiggling, especially in the winter, to work at all. A lot of the time I'm climbing over the passenger seat to get in.</div>
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I had gone into the ditch passenger side-first. Gravity pulled my driver's door down and I couldn't work it open from that angle, so I climbed through the passenger side. I tried once to rock the car and gave up. And climbed through the driver's door. And didn't check the locks.</div>
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I kicked at some snow around the tires and decided I should quit while I was ahead. But when I went to open the door to turn off the car, I discovered it was locked. Ok, fine. Wait. Not fine.</div>
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Peering through the window, I realized the passenger door was locked. In my frustration I probably tripped around the snow and tree roots to test it.</div>
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Yup. All locked except the one door I couldn't muscle open.</div>
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I debated for a good 3 minutes before I called Mom.</div>
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"My car got stuck in the ditch at work and I can't get the door open. It's still running."</div>
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And then I lost it. I'd been laughing at that point, but you all know what happens as soon as you call Mom: the lost, helpless child in you comes out.</div>
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Thankfully I didn't collapse in hysterics in the snow, but I did cry.</div>
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Mom said she'd be up in a while with the key. I went back in to try to force down some of the lunch for which I now had no appetite.</div>
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Before Mom arrived, my boss came up with her truck. I had left her a message saying to hold off until Mom came and we could get into the car, but she hadn't got it.</div>
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To condense, Mom arrived, got the driver's door open before she even tried unlocking and climbing through the passenger door, and we tried pulling out the car. My rear bumper (y'know, the one held together with blue tape?) creaked and groaned, but no good that way. It didn't even budge when we tried pulling it forward, and the truck just spun its wheels.</div>
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So we called a tow truck.</div>
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It would have been one thing if I had actually been on the road and skidded on ice or something. But at work? One a driveway I drive every day of the week? That's kind of a blow to my pride.</div>
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The tow truck arrived a couple hours later. Oh, yeah. When Mom came, she turned off my car for a minute, but upon trying to restart it to get out of the ditch we discovered that it wouldn't start. So Mom told me to test it before the tow truck driver left.</div>
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I pointed the man to my car and mentioned it hadn't started last time. He told me to get in and try it before anything else so he could hear it.</div>
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The car started up on the first turn of the key.</div>
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I wanted to kick that impudent Chevy.</div>
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Raising an eyebrow, the man asked if I could manage to steer it as he directed. So he hooked up the winch, waved his hand to indicate the desired direction of the tires, and - with my boss's boys staring as they walked up from school - my car was pulled free.</div>
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The man had quoted $50-55 for the tow. When I told him I had a card or $49 in cash, he said the cash was fine, bid me a good day, and left.</div>
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I thought it was over there.</div>
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Famous last words.</div>
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Our driveway at home is prone to snow drifts. I know this because I've nearly got stuck in them several times this winter turning my car around to park it. Sunday night, the drift got the better of me.</div>
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Allenna said tight-lipped in the passenger seat as I tried to rock the car. Finally, shaking my head, I told her she might as well go in side. Heather, who had come home first, came out to see what the deal was. Knowing my recent track record with snow-stuck cars, she helped herself to the driver's seat and tried her hand at getting my car out. No such luck.</div>
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Then she turned it off while we debated what to do.</div>
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My car hasn't turned back on since.</div>
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We tried jumping it, but no good. It's probably a starter or something. And since I was half-way through turning it around when it got stuck and then quit, parking around the Royce house has gotten kind of creative. I used Heather's car yesterday because she had off, but now I'm stuck with the van until my Chevy dilemma is resolved.</div>
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So that's my life. People ask me what's new, and I shrug and say not much. I'm thinking either people need to stop prodding me for details or I need to come up with something else to say. "I'm writing a book" or "I'm getting a lot of reading in" or "I tried this new flavor of hummus". Anything except, "Nothing. My life is boring and uneventful and not worth discussing." Because then that isn't true.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-86098489671584032642015-01-06T13:30:00.002-05:002015-01-06T13:30:49.879-05:00But God<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've lacked blogging inspiration in my surroundings lately, so I'm turning to the scatterbrained musings of this 20-odd-years head to maintain what little momentum I can muster. As I'm writing on the last half of my lunch break and am short on time as well as inspiration, it works out pretty well.</div>
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There is a phrase in the Bible that always gives me chills when I read it. (Hint: it's in the title of this post.) It's like a light that bursts on in a place crowded in darkness; a small smile given to someone who's too weak to press on, as if to say, "Watch this."</div>
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I know a lot of people who have "life verses". Yeah, I tried doing that. The verse changes depending on the stage of life I'm in. Years ago when I first tried this, the verse of choice was Romans 5:8. It's still a favorite. Here's the context:</div>
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For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. <i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">But God</span></i> commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. - Rom. 5:6-8</blockquote>
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There we were, wallowing in the mire of sin without a light or a hand to help us out. We had intentionally turned from God. We were without hope, utterly lost and blind. Man couldn't save man. No man is that good, that righteous, that powerful. Man would barely surrender his life for a good man, let alone the whole stinking mess of the human race.</div>
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<i>But God</i></div>
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See? Chills.</div>
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While we wandered that darkness, unable to carry ourselves away from it, God stepped in. He found us worthy of His love. He deemed us deserving of His blood. Man couldn't fix the mess, but God could.</div>
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When I'm wandering around in a daze wondering how I'm going to do something with my life that counts, I'm reminded that <i>I </i>am not. I don't have that strength. I don't have that wisdom. And I don't need to. God can use anyone, with any education, from any walk of life. We don't bring anything to the table but our hearts and our faith. Isn't it easier to hand it over to Him? He gave us all the talents we possess. It seems He would know best how they can be used.</div>
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For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. <i><span style="color: #134f5c;">But God</span> </i>hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God had chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are. - I Cor. 1:26-28</blockquote>
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The enemy is waving his fist crying, "See what I've done? Fix that if you can." To which we can calmly reply, "Yeah, that's nice. But God."</div>
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Here's one more for today because my half hour is winding down:</div>
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And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience: among whom also we all had our conversation in time past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others. <i><span style="color: #134f5c;">But God</span></i>, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) - Eph. 2:2-5</blockquote>
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In Paul's fashion, the sentence runs on for a while longer, but this is the focus here. (Also, "quickened" makes a nice word study.) We used to be like the world, wandering in that darkness. We didn't have anything to live for but fulfilling our fleshly desires, working out the disease of sin in our lives. But then God stepped on the scene. He offered light to any and all, and by His grace and mercy welcomed all who took His hand. He has given us a purpose, empowered us to live for something more, shown us hope.</div>
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It was nothing we did. I know from 20 years of experience that I'm far better at making messes than fixing them. But God.</div>
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<i>(How's that for a lunchtime musing? Also for your perusal, a few other verses: I Cor. 10:13; 12;24; Phil. 4:9)</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-83120465278011067722015-01-03T17:15:00.001-05:002015-01-03T17:20:35.408-05:00Living vs. Existing<div>
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<span style="color: black;">"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist,
that is all." - Oscar Wilde<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">It's been over 6 months since my last post. While I thoroughly enjoyed the hiatus (including the one I took from Facebook), I've developed quite a list of topics I have wanted to blog about. Also, a few southern friends requested I restart the blog so they could keep up with the family. Mom covers the chicken topic enough now, so maybe the reading will be better than before.</span></div>
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For the last few months I've been wrestling with the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I go to work, work 8-9 hours a day at a job I enjoy, come home and try to find something creative for supper, tap out a few words of one of my current stories, and go to bed to start all over again. On the weekends, I sleep in until 7:30, read a book, eat one meal, maybe go to town, and tap out a few more words.</div>
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Maybe it's just a phase. I don't really buy into the whole "young people finding themselves" mentality, but perhaps this is just one of those life transitions where I'm finding my rhythm. Maybe.</div>
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Something with which I have always struggled is being anxious. By now anyone who has read this blog knows this. I worry too much and over-think things and second-guess myself, and I know a lot of what I'm working through is managing that aspect of my brain. But then I sit still and try to count all the things I accomplished in 2014. It doesn't really amount to much in 10 minutes' hard consideration. Drawing it out, my life is pretty colorless. Again, maybe it's just a stage. Maybe I'm in a quiet place where all I'm supposed to be doing is sitting still and learning, listening, developing. Maybe.</div>
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I found the above quote from Mr. Wilde quite a while ago and it often comes to mind when I hit one of these contemplative moods. Much as it scares me to admit, I'm not really living my life so much as muddling through it with as little effort or involvement as possible. I'm so caught up in the personal struggle to find my place, of learning the steps, that I've sunk deeply into myself and blocked pretty much everything else out. (I'll be the first to agree that my social interaction is at a level which is undoubtedly detrimental to my health.)</div>
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And then I pop out of that shell, take one look at the world, shiver, and withdraw again. Back to the anxiety.</div>
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I know I'm here for a purpose. In my family, in this city, as the particular job I hold, in the certain church where we've found a home. In this time, these circumstances.</div>
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Another quote which I hold close is from J. R. R. Tolkien and <i>The Fellowship of the Ring. </i>It's more like my life quote at the moment:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. <b>All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."</b></blockquote>
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God picked me specifically for this location so I could do something for Him. More and more I'm coming to terms with the fact that it may not be very grandiose by the world's standards or even by Christendom's standards. But it's <i>my</i> role. I may be that supporting character who meets one of the key players ten years down the road and has traveled just the right path to know how to nudge them back onto theirs. When I look at it that way, I can't help but get a little giddy.</div>
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It's not about finding a springboard to move one from a quiet town to a big adventure. It's about making the most out of whatever circumstances in which one finds oneself. We can't all be world explorers or geniuses or composers. Those people need the clerks and babysitters and nurses. They need the girl behind the phone whose name they can't remember who relieves one small distraction on their plate by informing them that the timeframe they need will work just fine, and who bids them good day with a smile in her voice and doesn't correct them when they get her name wrong again while saying good-bye. (It's not that I'm bitter, but "Amber" is <i>not</i> an unusual name. I can't count the times I've been Amanda, Amy, Andrea, Samantha, or Heather. At this point I just smile and choke down a laugh.)</div>
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It is about making what I have been given count in more ways than monetary. It's about loving sleep a little less and hanging out with a lonely friend instead, or meeting for a Bible study. We're here to interact. We're meant to touch, to see, to hear, to speak to, to sing, to guide, to hold. Not to just revel in a sunset, but to glory in Who painted it. Not just to catch our breath after wrestling with a kid, but stopping to read a Bible story and talk about it before helping them crawl into bed. Not just giving candy to an orphan, but the truth as well.</div>
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We may not live expansive, bold lives, but we <i>are</i> meant to live on purpose. Wherever we find ourselves, we are meant to make the most out of it for the glory of God.</div>
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I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, <i>which is</i> your reasonable service. - Romans 12:1</blockquote>
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It's <i>reasonable</i>, after all God has done for us, for us to surrender our lives to Him. </div>
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So this post isn't all I had hoped for it to be. They never are. But I think I've said what I set out to. And here are some other quotes and verses which contributed to the concept:</div>
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</div>
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<blockquote>
<span style="color: black;">"The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - Mark Twain</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="color: black;">"Just breathing isn't living!" - Eleanor H. Porter,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Pollyanna</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p> </o:p></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="color: black;">"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot</span> </blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." - Corrie ten Boom,</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Clippings From My Notebook</i></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="color: black;">"You're not here on accident; you shouldn't live on accident." - Hugh Taylor</span></blockquote>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-17516920389597879542014-06-03T19:14:00.000-04:002014-06-03T19:14:35.272-04:00In Summer<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's June. At long last, the warmth is guaranteed to stay.</div>
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For me, this is windows-open season. Living in a house without air conditioning (as has been the case for as long as I can recall), I have learned to take advantage of cool nights when I can stick a box fan in front of my window. I love fresh air.</div>
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I usually roll down my windows when I'm driving, foregoing the AC unless it's unbearably hot outside (which apparently I'm not allowed to complain about all summer because I complained about how bad winter was). I also like to listen to my own music in the car because I can't stand most talkative DJ's and commercials. </div>
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Thing is, I have a hard time resisting the urge to sing along to my music. Ever.</div>
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With windows-down season in full swing, this presents a problem. Because I really get into my music. Particularly after I purchased the "Frozen" soundtrack. I'd sing along to the opening song if I understood the words. I'm not a fan of "Let it Go" (overdone, sadly), but I am quite content to blast "Love is an Open Door" all day. (Personal favorite.)</div>
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Up until now, the majority of cars I have passed have had their windows up, so I hum and sing to my heart's content. But the windows are coming down, and I keep catching myself at stoplights before someone notices the blonde serenading with Olaf about the joys of summer. I've taken to switching on the radio on the drive home from work because I'm less likely to find a song I want to join in on (and the station I play has one of the only DJ's I can tolerate). </div>
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Last week, I kept my windows down while I was at work because I hate getting into a stuffy car. What I got into instead was a car full of pollen.</div>
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Do you know how hard it is to sing with pollen flying in your face? After the first choking fit, I closed my mouth. It also took days for all the pollen to clear out.</div>
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So it's summer. (Almost officially). We took a hike for Memorial Day, Wes's birthday is coming up, all my tulips have faded, there's still traces of sunlight close to 10:00 at night, and it's almost VBS time again.</div>
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This year's theme is Sports.</div>
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I have absolutely nothing to wear.</div>
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I would have loved to find something off-the-wall, like a scuba diving outfit or a fencing uniform or what-have-you. As it is, I'm stumped and will probably throw my hair up in a ponytail, tie on some sneakers, and pretend I'm training for a marathon or something. None to excited about the prospects.</div>
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However, I am very excited for the penny offering. I've been saving my loose change since September (in a bona fide piggy bank, no less) and have upwards of $30 to contribute to my lucky team. I'm trying to decide if I should dispense it sneakily throughout the week or bring in one large box of pennies on the last night.</div>
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I'm blathering now. Better go. I have a seriously post I'm working on, full of rants and Bible verses and carefully researched facts (maybe), but studying tends to take me a while so that's not ready yet.</div>
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Oh! I finished a book! 103,000+ words. It's the one about the dragon who can't fly. I know I mentioned it sometime...last year? Whenever I started it. Been a while. Hopefully summer and fresh air mean the return of productivity. We shall see.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-48434833126357061792014-05-12T11:36:00.001-04:002014-05-12T11:36:24.437-04:00Springtime - the Colorful Part<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I have said before, spring is my favorite season. However, within that season, there is a specific time which I always anticipate more than anything else about spring, and that time has come:</div>
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The trees are green again.</div>
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It always seems to catch me by surprise. One day I'm walking along, kicking through puddles and grinning and bits of green poking up in the garden, and then I look up and realize the trees are bursting with that sharp, bright new green of springtime.</div>
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Were I able to dance, I would do so every year when this happens. As is, I content myself with a whoop and a fist pump.</div>
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It's ridiculous, really.</div>
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Speaking of gardens, I am finally getting my own in place. The vegetable garden has yet to be established, and once it is we will be loading it with mature plants, like as not. However, Mom and Dad granted me my own "bit o' earth" in which I can cultivate a flower garden. Probably scattered with herbs, because they are my new obsession.</div>
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At the moment, I have a small 2x6 stretch of exposed earth with some grape vine cuttings and a couple canna bulbs. That stretch will probably get some more annuals set in. At the other end of the garden my new rose bush is in place with another canna in an old metal pot. Eventually I'll be setting up a spot for some peonies and hens-and-chicks, and I'd like to add more cottage style plants and the herbs throughout the season.</div>
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All of this I am doing with little more than my gloves, a trowel, a chicken, and a machete.</div>
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Yes. Machetes make great gardening tools. I pulled Dad's out of the garage, Wes sharpened it, and I'm using it to cut away the sod. Lobelia is my faithful gardening partner. She realized I was digging the other day and came over inquiring about worms. When she discovered there were also June bugs aplenty (eugh), she was ecstatic. (Note: chickens are also great for pest control.)</div>
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We pulled the chicks (did I mention we have about 30 more we got last month?) outside to get some fresh air, and I treated them to samplings of worms as well. If you want some cheap(ish) entertainment, get chickens. When they first taste worm.... Oh, it's hilarious. Our little bully Albert was always too slow and the girls would taunt him with their catch. He ended up standing in the middle of the pen screaming in hurt and indignation.</div>
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My weekend was full of fresh air and dirt and ant bites. On Friday, Mom took me with her on a run around town to check some yard sales, and we got a wheelbarrow. I am in the process of spray painting it sky blue. The girls like the color, though Mom and Dad are more skeptical. </div>
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I also found a model ship that had been stored in the previous owner's tool shed. It's missing a couple sales and it's quite dusty, but for $7 you won't find me complaining.</div>
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So that's been my week. Well, that and we had Missions Revival last week. Always a wonderful time. It's one of my favorite annual events at church. The speaker was our missionary to the Philippines. He also spoke last year. The challenge was "serving as senders", and he spoke on how we as a church can support our missionaries in all aspects of their work, from furlough to the field and back.</div>
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Next on the list of church events is VBS. I pitched in last year and loved it, so I committed myself to returning this year. The theme will be more difficult than last year (which was Western): sports.</div>
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I'm not a sporty person. The best I manage is a leisurely jog. If only I could rent a fencing uniform.... Actually, I want to dig up something obscure or weird, like scuba diving or dressage. Regrettably, most uniforms are skin-tight or look ridiculous off-field. But that's half the fun, right?</div>
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So that's life at the moment. I should have more news to share in the next couple of days. The eggs Mom put in the incubator are starting to hatch. Their breeds are a complete mystery. We were hoping for some Barred Rock eggs, but we aren't really sure what we put in. I'm still hoping we don't end up with one whose father is Gerard or - horror of horrors - the late Presley or Aidan. Here's hoping.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-53105849465224990342014-04-29T12:43:00.000-04:002015-01-03T16:15:08.665-05:00The Definition of Happiness<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Please note: the following post is long, confused, disorganized, and raw from my brain. I do apologize, but it's something I needed to say, and the best way I know how is to spew it straight from brain to screen.</i></div>
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Recently it was brought to my attention that I possess a crippling habit: list making.</div>
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I can't really be sure how this came about in my life. I used to abhor lists. Heather was always the one with the to-do list she was checking off. Maybe it was just the fact that I never seemed to accomplish as much as she did. Or perhaps she wasn't ever as detailed as I in list making. Where she put "clean room", I may have listed: "make bed, sort laundry, vacuum, etc". Who knows? I'll have to ask.</div>
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Anywho, at one time in the last couple of years I discovered the thrill of checking things off a list. Something about that tangible evidence that you accomplished something (even though you might be staring at the freshly scrubbed dishes or folded laundry, it's not the same unless you put a check mark next to that line). Hunger for that thrill developed into an obsession, and suddenly every aspect of my life went onto a list somewhere so I could proudly mark complete every visit to the bank; trip to the store to get ranch dressing (check), tissues (check), dog treats (check), flower pots (check), notebooks (crossed out because, turns out, I don't need another); and game prep completed for Wednesday classes.</div>
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I think it must have really started when I tried out that <a href="http://dayzeroproject.com/">Day Zero Project</a> back when I was sixteen or seventeen. At least in that case, it was all fun long-term goals I didn't really need to accomplish, but it was downhill from there.</div>
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Lately, I found that those lists were nothing more than a burden. They mocked me, especially when I forgot to turn off the notifications on the newly-discovered "Reminders" app of my phone: "walk your dog", "please put away that horrendous pile of laundry hiding your floor", "find time in your <i>hectic</i> schedule to tap out two or three hundred words so you don't fall behind", and on and on. Also, every Tuesday and Friday for the last couple of weeks, I've scribbled "<u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">BLOG!</u>" on my daily list of things to do. Clearly I have a clear grasp of priorities. </div>
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I also found I was relying on my notes for everything, particularly at work.</div>
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It hurts, guys. It's painful, like some terrible addiction I know I need to quit but can't bring myself to quit because <i>it hurts</i>. In her own subtle (or not-so-subtle) way, Mom intervened. (Love how I'm making this into a mock-drama of a drug addiction? You have no idea.) She casually remarked that, for goodness sake, I needed to quit writing notes for everything and just use my God-given (and God-ordained rather poor) memory like humans are intended to.</div>
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That's probably the most terrifying part: I'm so scatter-brained, without some sort of note to rein me in, I'm bound to forget something crucial at some point. But slowly I'm forcing myself to let go of that security blanket.</div>
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The lists are being reduced to taking notes from phone calls and to writing reminders for things I absolutely cannot forget at any cost (which turns out to be very little, really).</div>
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And now, I'm starting a new kind of list.</div>
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The idea started months ago, when one of the girls mentioned a challenge their youth group team leader had put to their group: every day, write something you're thankful for.</div>
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I have often found that I tend to focus on the negative side of life and don't stop to appreciate the bright side: I see the puddles and don't smell spring rain, which I love.</div>
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On the radio the other day, I heard something to the affect of "Instead of bashing the things you don't like, try promoting the things you <i>do</i> like". Which is something else I'm working on: not voicing rude things that come to mind when I'm in a bad mood, but smiling whenever I come across something that perked me up.</div>
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But back to that list: happiness.</div>
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When I force myself out of my own mental puddle and take a breath and a good look around, there are plenty of things that bring that smile to my face. My goal is to learn to appreciate those things rather than getting glum over their muddy counterparts.</div>
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Happiness is....</div>
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Sunshine</div>
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Fresh air</div>
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Home-cooked meals</div>
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When another driver lets me go first (unless, of course, their kindness results in me getting rammed into, but I've moved on)</div>
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Years ago, our youth pastor preached a message which has stayed with me. He talked about our personal levels of contentment, and I believe he used Philippians 4:11&12:<br />
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11) Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, <i>therewith</i> to be content. 12) I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.<br />
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The idea was that we can choose how much good we require to be content with ourselves and our lives. We define our own <u>level of contentment</u>. If we can agree with ourselves that we can be content with three square meals, a comfortable house, and a car that runs, we will be happy when we have those things. Furthermore, anything about and beyond that measure will be received as a blessing.</div>
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On the other hand, if we convince ourselves that we will not be content until we have a car manufactured <i>after</i> the year 2000, a house with an extra bedroom, money to eat out more than once a month, and our favorite store's entire spring clothing line, we will probably never feel content even with the many things we do have.</div>
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I have learned to be content with the condition of my life: my poor beater car, our big drafty house, my amazing family, and a talent for making a meal out of practically anything. However, when it comes to the day-to-day circumstances, my personal happiness can flop like a broken pendulum every time someone walks by.</div>
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I have a hard time taking every throw in stride, both good and bad. It takes me a while to recover from a hard word, a mistake, or bad news. And yes, I am severely affected by the weather, and possible the lunar phases as well, but I am consciously working on that.</div>
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Last year something I <a href="http://amberhroyce.blogspot.com/2013/04/happy-medium.html">dedicated a post to Philippians 4:5</a> (or at least I tried to, but looking back, that post was all over the place). Very often these days that verse comes to mind:</div>
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5) Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord <i>is</i> at hand. 6) Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. 7) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.</div>
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Brave the old post if you dare. In short, the idea is maintaining a steadfastness about your nature, not tossed back and forth from despair to joy as the wind changes; leaning on God, trusting Him with tomorrow (rather than borrowing its troubles today), and letting His peace reign.</div>
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Happiness is only part of the issue. Happiness is a temporal thing, measured and dictated by our current condition or circumstance, even when we struggle to be content with our lot. The real thing is joy. True joy is something only God can bring, and it is not defined by our outward condition. It's defined by our inward state and our identity in Christ.</div>
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I go back to Paul whenever this topic comes to mind. If you want to read about a man who took everything in stride, look at Paul. And after everything, when he stood before King Agrippa and was permitted to give an account of himself, this is what he said: "I think myself happy" (Acts 26:2).</div>
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He had suffered shipwrecks and stonings, betrayals and rejection, and now at last was brought as a prisoner before the king. Yet he found himself happy, because he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the king's full attention. Read Acts 26 sometime; Paul makes full use of the opportunity and lays out his testimony in full. Festus calls him a mad babbler, but Paul politely disagrees. He was confident in his work, knowing full well that he was right where he belonged and serving God to the best of his ability, and that was enough.</div>
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So maybe I don't have some "great calling" like Paul. I don't think I'd do too well with that sort of adventure right now, anyway. It's better that I bide my time, training myself to take every rude customer and bad day in stride and learn a lesson from each of them, the better to serve when the bigger opportunities rise.</div>
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Most of all, I'm learning to be content exactly where I am rather than longing for one more thing, dreaming of a bigger adventure, wasting my time wishing I was doing something else. I'm right where God needs me. I just have to be open for Him to use me in the ways I can't yet see. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-66283895130391194082014-04-08T21:15:00.000-04:002014-04-08T21:15:40.530-04:00It's Spring...and I have Nothing to Say<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think it's finally safe to say spring is here.</div>
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I have never before been so ready for winter to go away. Yes, around February I will hit a phase where I'm impatient for the weather to turn, but this winter I about went stir-crazy. Usually I force myself to tough it up and remind myself how much we need the cold and snow, but not this year.</div>
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And now, at long last, the snow is turning to rain and I can abandon my winter coat. Woot!</div>
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In honor of the warmer weather, I've been forcing myself to get out more and walk my dog. (Her energy level from being cooped up all winter is half of what drives me up the wall.) I had intended to get myself a membership at the gym for my birthday. I even bought myself some neon-colored running shoes and promised myself that if I could keep it up for a month I could get some real running pants. (Yes, I have a self-bribing system I enforce to make myself perform. You clearly have never seen me in a gym.) I walked in, all ready to slap down my debit card. I took one look at the line of treadmills and shuddered. Then I saw the actual price for the membership and promptly left.</div>
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I'm not that dedicated.</div>
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So springtime! Of course, it would be easier to believe if all those bulbs I planted last autumn would sprout. Not a single crocus, no sign of my hyacinths and tulips.... Not one green tendril.</div>
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We did get more chickens. It's already been established that we are crazy, but just so no one forgets. And they are new breeds from the kind we have. I've officially lost count.</div>
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Soon most of the roosters will be gone, except for Rocky (our nicest Buff) and Gerard the Brahma because he's too funny to kill. Mom is hoping to hatch some chicks from our flock, but we kind of want to separate the chosen hens and Rocky to avoid any spawn from Gerard. Funny as he is, he has enough quirks that we don't want to see what sort of creature would result from crossing him and a hen. (If it happens, we're naming the thing Napoleon.)</div>
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The ducks have been loving the mud puddles. Poor Alfac injured his leg on the ice in the winter and it healed wrong at the ankle, so he has a permanent limp. Our driveway is a mess now due to the flooding, and I put my rain boots to good use.</div>
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Clearly I'm rambling. It has taken an hour for me to get this far. I'm working on a more "deep" post, but it's not finished. However, I knew I kind of needed to say something.</div>
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After the murderous winter season we endured, all I want is to see something green and living. My aloe plant just isn't cutting it. I have plans for a flower garden on one side of our yard. Hopefully we'll also get in a vegetable garden like we didn't last year.</div>
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We had a spring cleaning session among us girls a couple weeks ago, and I discovered two things: 1) the color of my floor, and 2) the fact that I apparently do not clean my room during the winter. Oops.</div>
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Ok, I'm done blathering. With any luck, I'll be back later this week with something more worthwhile, now that I have gotten spring out of my system.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-11576836478560124752014-03-15T11:21:00.000-04:002014-03-15T11:38:41.983-04:00To My Family: Thank You for a Beautiful Childhood<br />
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Today I turn 20.</div>
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"Bittersweet" seems appropriate.</div>
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It's not really bidding farewell to my teenage life that bothers me. I'm fine with moving forward into my 20's. It's just <i>weird</i>. I had barely adjusted to saying "19" when someone asked me how old I was.</div>
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I can guarantee the little girl I babysit won't know the difference. As far as she is concerned, I'm not an adult until I'm married.</div>
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So now it's time to be reminiscent. I've been planning this post for two months, so I intend to make the most of it. This post is not going to be about me (not really). It's about my family. Because if there is anyone you should be congratulating today for surviving these past 20 years, it's them.</div>
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I was the trouble child. Ask anyone, even people who didn't know me as a child. Word gets around, and I am saddled with the reputation of being "the Terrible Twos" poster child. It used to bother me, but now I roll with it. "I was a horrible child. The good news is that I got all of that out of the way right off."</div>
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It's mostly true.</div>
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Mom still takes one look as a child who is screaming, being obstinate, pulling an attitude, or heading toward a spanking and says, “Yup. Must be a second child.” I’m her living proof of overcoming trials and tantrums, of persevering through moodiness and contrariness; proof that spankings work.</div>
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Admittedly, I had my rough spots. Still do, and I'm learning to accept that I always will. I've taken to praying that though bumps in the road don't cause any serious damage. So first off, congratulate my parents, because I don't know how they did it. People who know us have an endearing habit of making my parents out to be model parents. People who <i>really</i> know us know what a miracle Mom and Dad truly are. Yes, they are human, but I can say with absolute honesty that there was never one day in my entire life where I believed they did not love me and want the absolute best for me. Sure, some days I was convinced they hated me, but it was a superficial feeling brought on by a well-deserved punishment.</div>
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Every day Mom and Dad push us to be the best and to do the best we are capable of. They see the potential in us that even we ourselves ignore. They are our greatest cheerleaders. And they lead by example.</div>
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We were raised to be self-sufficient. When I was about 6, I asked Mom in all innocence to teach me to wash the dishes. She jumped at the opportunity, and it paid off, because never once have we owned a dishwasher which worked for longer than 6 months. We were raised with the understanding that being their children did not mean we were entitled to a free ride. We have always had chores, and any money we had we earned (though sometimes it was purely by virtue of turning a year older). It has always been very plain that we live in their house, we add to the dishes and the laundry and the mess, and so we are required to contribute to keeping it clean and in working order.</div>
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We know how to tell when something is wrong with our cars, we know how to work through problems to find resolutions, we all have a keen sense of how things work - and even an intuition for how people work.</div>
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I will always be thankful for how my parents trained me to be independent (though I sometimes hate it) and engrained in me a work ethic (though some days I prefer to ignore it).</div>
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As I said, we all had rough spots. One night they gave up trying to make us eat squash and declared that Heather was their favorite child because she was the only one who could swallow it. When one of us had pushed Mom to her limit, she would throw up her hands and tell us that Dad could deal with us when he got home - which worked in her favor, because that kind of threat was a punishment all its own. I remember the looks when I fainted from a breath-holding contest or a bout of hives; the looks when - twice in my life - I tripped over my own feet and skinned only the bridge of my nose; when I finally caught on to riding a bike at 8 years old but missed the bit about stopping and ended up launching myself onto the grass; when I lost control of my scooter going downhill and chipped my front teeth.</div>
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It was never about being our best friends; Mom and Dad are more than that. They are our confidantes, our counselors, our comforters, our coaches. I can always count on their experience to be a guide when I'm stuck.</div>
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So here's to my parents, my highest heroes by virtue of getting me this far by whatever means possible.</div>
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And then there are my siblings, and there are simply too many memories to put into one post. Wesley and I always had a hard time getting along. I can't pinpoint it. I'd like to say he was jealous of me as a kid. For a little while, my legs were longer than his, and I was the first to achieve three steps running up a tree on paper routes. I bucked up and ran both sides of routes on the winter morning when he was too cold. My vocabulary contained more large (albeit useless) words than his. I had a habit of nit-picking and correcting him, which drove him to insanity some days.</div>
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But I was also jealous of him. He could ride his bike with his eye closed and no hands while he ate a sandwich. He wasn't as scared of Death Alley as I was. He was quicker to jump to adventure, and he always got the cool pets (and he had two gerbils <i>at one time</i>!). </div>
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But the more I see of life, the more grateful I am to have such a brother. We both misunderstood each other a lot growing up, and for a while we couldn't stand to be around each other, but somehow we worked past that. He understands me better than most people. He has a sly sense of humor and sarcasm that sometimes even my carefully honed skills can't detect. He has a head for machines and puzzles, for which I am exceedingly envious. And come on; not many girls can pull a popularity card like "my brother has a fake eye".</div>
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Then there's Heather, and right about here words fail me. You really would have to see it to believe just how crazy awesome she is. Her talents range from musical to comical. She's the first to pull out a TV, movie, or children's radio show quote and effortlessly incorporate it into the situation at hand. She isn't afraid to be spontaneous, and more than once we've caught her rocking out to a spatula over a grilled cheese sandwich or practicing her mental patient impersonation on the dogs. She can imitate a wide range of accents and characters, one of my favorites being the bat from <i>Anastasia</i>. Yes, she can sing very well, but she also has that special ability of purposefully singing <i>very badly</i>.</div>
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Allenna is the biggest dreamer I know. Nothing is impossible to her, and she inherited the family habit of quickly making a talent out of the hobbies she sets her mind to taking up. She has a special way of seeing the world when most people glance over it. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with her, because her mental track runs a different course than the rest of us. She's a creator, a builder, an artist, and she is never afraid to embrace who she is and disregard what the world decrees.</div>
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Jealous yet? That's ok; when people give us strange looks for our antics in the grocery store, I know that secretly they are, too. My family makes a point of being ourselves, in home and in public, though we do try to tone down the awesomeness around other people so we don't scare them off with the sheer wonder of it. My mom was the adult teens <i>wanted</i> on the activity. My friends learned not to confide stupid secrets in me or say things they didn't want repeated, because I always ended up passing it along to Dad for us to muse over and chuckle at (sorry, guys; he trained me well). Mom and I rarely have complete verbal conversations anymore because our minds are working too fast for our mouths to keep up, but we always know what the other means. Dad's sense of humor can be the greatest balm for a rough day, simply because we all understand it more than other people, and that alone is comforting.</div>
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Even through difficult years, I have always felt safe, secure, and loved. Mom and Dad daily live out that love toward each other and toward us. With them, I have learned that it's best to be honest and simple about myself, to accept myself, and the let the world see me exactly as I am. </div>
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My memory is teeming with memories, both fond and cringe-worthy. We are all a little accident prone: Heather falls down stairs. I fall down stairs. Allenna was always losing one shoe. Heather was always tripping over nothing. Wesley got a lot of bumps on his head.</div>
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We have a bad history with animals. Ebony the cat stole the hot dog pieces out of my mac 'n' cheese and dragged a dead snake into the house. Calamity got stuck in the dryer while it was running. Duke the cockatiel loved to fly but was no good at it, running into the window and landing in a sink full of soapy water or crash landing into a table leg. Duchess couldn't fly, and the one time she tried she ended up in the laundry basket. One morning I found Duke sitting on the top of the fridge with Blare the cat inches away from him, both innocent as could be. Ivy the dog was an escape artist whose attitude put Sasha to shame. There was Bunny, the mean cat Mom thought could be sweetened by motherhood, and Ghost, the smelly undergrown cat with six toes on each foot. We had the goldfish, including Cyclops and Fin and the fat one who ate them; and the guppies Robin Hood, Marian, Little John, and Sarah.</div>
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The house went through a rodent stage where we had the hamsters, including Tom Thumb the dwarf albino and Bowser, and the one who drowned in a bucket of water; and then the guinea pigs Trixie, Claire, and Frankie; and finally Poka and Dot, the gerbils.<br />
Now we have chickens and ducks.</div>
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Trying to put it all into one post makes my childhood seem colorful and full of adventure. Not to say it wasn't. Thing is, it's everyday for me, and I'm so used to it I don't stop to think anymore how blessed I am. And if you ever wondered why my family seems to strange, maybe now you can understand a little better. I haven't even got started on the rest of the relatives. For starters, my mom's sister married my dad's nephew....</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-59256776136058588442014-02-20T08:30:00.000-05:002014-02-20T08:30:26.455-05:00I Must Confess....<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know, I know, it is neither Tuesday nor Friday. Evidently I will need a little while to adjust to that self-imposed schedule.</div>
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In the meantime, I can say with all certainty that I would rather not dwell on this week. It's been one humdinger of a month, really.</div>
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The highlight was yesterday. I got out of work on time. I was driving home with planning the new game I was going to introduce in game time that evening. I had to make a stop at the drugstore for some much needed allergy medicine. Said drugstore has two entrances, and accessing the most expedient route home from either of those requires turning left.</div>
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In short, I pulled out in front of some cars which were graciously waiting for me to go and right into the path of a car that was switching to the turn lane.</div>
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I registered a brief squeal of tires before impact and spun into the far right lane.</div>
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Neither driver was so much as bruised, his car had a dented fender and a cracked light, my driver door will no longer open and the passenger door on that side is dented, and we traded paint. Blessedly there was an officer just pulling out of the parking lot from which I had made my exit, so we could get the whole business over with that much quicker.</div>
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I had a ticket and some car repairs to pay for, and that's all I'm going to say about it. That and: good grief, but I <i>am</i> sending out my teenage years with a bang.</div>
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I don't mean to seem like I'm brushing it off. By all means, that's what I wish I could do; but one of my worst faults is dwelling on my failings. For whatever reason, I have an issue with learning from my mistakes, great or small, and letting the rest go. Somedays I live in the land of "What If?" I'm working on it, believe me, but it's not as easy as buckling into a plane seat and holding on for the ride.</div>
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So on to brighter things! (You'll get the joke in a moment.)</div>
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Ladies and gentleman, my name is Amber, and I am a heliophile.</div>
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*collective gasp of horror from audience*</div>
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Yes, yes, it is true. I am in deep <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Iv62bxFTW0">like</a>...with the sun.</div>
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(For those of you not trained in Classic Mythology and etymology, "heliophile" is derived from "Helios, Greek god (Titan?) of the sun", and "phile", meaning "lover of, enthusiast". Proof that Percy Jackson encourages learning.)</div>
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But I'm not kidding when I say I love sunshine. Sure, starry nights are great, and I know how to appreciate a good <a href="http://amberhroyce.blogspot.com/2013/07/lightning-bugs-and-lightning-and.html">lighting show</a>. One of my favorite ways to fall asleep is to the sound of rain on the roof and thunder in the distance. But my favorite weather of all is sunny.</div>
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The only downside of our new house is that it has a grand total of two east-facing windows: one in the living room and one in the downstairs bathroom. Whenever we move, I look for the bedroom with the east-facing window. I had to settle for south, which is second best (oddly preferable over west). I have my room arranged so that when I'm laying on my bed, my head faces east. Probably something to do with how many Disney movies start with morning sunshine on someone's face. Deep down, I bet I do it hoping I'll wake with a smile and a contended yawn like those obnoxious princesses (minus <a href="http://31.media.tumblr.com/03b01c300191f80b1dc7d768978f8976/tumblr_myk436ceMJ1rvk5keo1_500.png">Anna</a>, who is now my morning hero).</div>
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Unlike most of the United States at the moment, we had a bit of a weather break yesterday involving sunny skies and temperatures above freezing. Up until I got out of work, I was having a great day daydreaming of springtime. I'm actually getting quite desperate for it.</div>
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Allenna and I went to the library last week, and on the way home, I decided I needed to stop by the nursery near our house. Just walking into a room bursting with greenery and the smell of growing things made me happy. When one of the employees came over to ask if I needed anything, I said I was just looking and admitted I needed a vegetation fix. She smiled and told me she'd already met several people who had said the same thing.</div>
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People who have known me a while may be a little surprised when I say how much I enjoy being in the sunshine. As a kid, I was more often pale from lack of sunlight as opposed to tan. What can I say? I lived voraciously through others as a child. I'm mostly over that now.</div>
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Maybe it's weird, then, that my favorite season is not summer, but spring, when we're more likely to wake to rain clouds than sunshine and birdsong. I think part of my deep appreciation for sunlight comes from missing it during the cloudy months. </div>
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And I'm rambling now. I'd better scoot before things get completely boring.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-84051714455980346232014-02-11T19:46:00.000-05:002014-02-11T19:46:20.853-05:00How I'm Slowly Coming to Grips with Adulthood<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm sitting in another coffee shop this evening, polishing off some hot chocolate and contemplating the wrap and pie I just ate, which almost filled my meal budget for a week.</div>
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Yes, it was delicious.</div>
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Per usual, I don't really have much to say. I'm trying to work myself back into the blogging rhythm. Bear with me. Or, conversely, come back in a month and see how I'm doing.</div>
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In a month, I'll be 20. Yikes.</div>
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I'm not ready for that, guys. Mostly mentally, though a little emotionally as well. 12-year-old me was sure I would at least have a boyfriend by now and be halfway around the world on some grand adventure, or autographing my latest best-seller.</div>
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I miss childhood. The world felt so much bigger then. Now I'm settled into my adult job, doing my best to budget and dealing with the responsibilities of maintaing my own car, buying my own clothes and food, and not having to run every social engagement by my mother for approval. (Seriously, she is insisting I be the independent little adult she raised me to be and plan stuff without her ok. It's weird.)</div>
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Most days I struggle with my lack of time management skills. I get the feeling this may be a life-long practice. Bother it all, but I am bad at it. Once upon a time, I was that little girl in the corner stuck in her book with a bag of chips. Now I only snatch enough time to read right before bed or in the morning before work. It hurts.</div>
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Also, I forgot to mention that over the winter (starting in September, really) I went on something of a health kick. Suddenly I found myself enjoying hummus (which I once swore I would never eat), buying essential oils at the health food store downtown, craving organic granola, and snubbing potato chips and pizza. What? Part of it can be attributed to the fact that by September I had been working a real job for a year. A job that required me to be on my feet and moving around. Turns out what I wanted during my beautiful childhood was a little more activity and a little less curling up to read. Much as it pains me to admit. (Come on. One fencing class made up the whole of my school sports career.)<br />
When I switched to my desk job this September, I had a small moment of panic. Suddenly I was back to sitting for most of the day.<br />
In short, I'm more conscientious of what I eat now. I'm even contemplating a membership at the gym. (Please contain your shock.) But I'm still learning, still adjusting. I'm slow like that. My biggest struggle right now is the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I can't quite explain it, but it's like I just can't manage everything in my life, like I'm missing something in the chaos. Not that I have a lot going on, but I'm trying to figure out how to arrange everything so I can still do the things I love, the things that matter.<br />
I think part of it is this horrible weather. Usually I love winter, or at least know how to endure it, but this one is making me feel a little stir crazy. I'm daydreaming of my garden this year. We didn't get one in last year, and that was rough. Which is silly, because before then I had a grand total of two years as a gardener. I put in a load of bulbs around the front of the house, and I'm eager to see how they will look. Mom is making plans for the vegetables we will have. Mostly I'm happy that the chickens will be contained to their run and I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labors in peace without worrying that someone's beak will destroy them for a snack.<br />
I'm also hoping to get into a good walking/running habit with Sasha. She's been driving us all a little crazy lately with her boundless energy. It's embarrassing what a terrible dog owner I turned out to be. Live and learn, right?<br />
The beauty is that I can only imagine the ways God is going to use all of what I'm learning. I'm just trying my best to make the most of it while I'm here. My inner child whispers that somewhere there is a lesson that could save my life one day. That annoying mature, practical part of me groans.<br />
I came here tonight with Mom, who had a Search and Rescue group meeting. Wanting to meet the people she and Dad always talk about, I joined them in their separate room for a while. It got weird when I choked on a bite of lettuce and realized if I showed signs of distress, I'd have half-a-dozen people jumping to offer assistance. Wesley and Heather know how well I handle the suggestion of CPR. I carefully and slowly swallowed that lettuce and soon left. And now I'm waiting, because I didn't expect it to take this long.<br />
At least here I don't have the distractions I'd have at home. Like chores and a dirty room and a cuddly puppy and one of Allenna's shows on TV. That's the problem with me and time management: I have time, but worrying about how to manage it leaves me tired and I end up wasting my time.<br />
And I'm just rambling. I should probably go. I will say, before I do, that my goal is to blog Fridays and Tuesdays as often as I can manage. I never realized how much of a stress relief blogging is to me. (Well, the stress mostly came from guilt that I <i>wasn't</i> blogging, but....) So until Friday, I hope!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-25873153113934461372014-01-31T11:20:00.000-05:002014-01-31T11:21:54.443-05:00It's Been So Long, I Can't Think of a Title<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, my friends....</div>
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I think my long, impromptu hiatus should come to a close now.</div>
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I couldn't tell you what prompted that abrupt disappearance from the blog sphere. The hardest part, as I know well, is breaking the silence. I'm sitting at a coffee shop right now and I'm determined to get this thing going again.</div>
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So here I am. Just after my last post (way back in September) I started a new job. I'm still at it. It took a while to adjust, because said new job is vastly different from the smoothie shop. It involves sitting at a desk for seven hours a day, four days a week plus Sunday afternoons, typing into a computer and talking on the phone. Most easily described as a secretary kind of job, though it entails a little more, it's the kind that rated second on my list of jobs I never wanted; the first being fast food.</div>
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God has a beautiful sense of humor, doesn't He? I think He's trying to teach me something. Maybe, "Never say you won't do that," or, "Keep yourself open to anything"?</div>
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So that's the biggest news. Everyone knows about our arctic winter. Our Floridian friends called a snow day, and the Chicago Zoo's polar bear had to be moved to a climate-controlled room because he was ill-prepared for the chill. Ironies abound.</div>
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For our family, the biggest issue is the wind. It comes whipping across the fields and drags the snow into huge drifts that narrow the roads to one lane and help us girls perfect our windblown look on Sundays. It has also helped to turn our driveway into a sheet of ice. It's a wonder none of the vehicles have any new dents.</div>
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That's about it for news. Most of the animals are still alive (though I've lost count of the chickens), we've managed to survive the worst of the flus and stomach bugs going around (minus Heather, who developed pneumonia in December), and we've all adjusted to Wesley no longer living at home. Christmas was a little bittersweet because we could sleep in rather than deliver papers but we didn't get tips to look forward to. I tried no poo with my hair (you know, where you don't use shampoo but baking soda) and it worked great for a while before it killed my hair. Life has been quiet.</div>
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And now I'm not sure what to say. I'm wishing I had brought my headphones. My muffin is kind of dry. And I picked the wrong place to sit (the table is too tall for the chair) but I don't want to move.</div>
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There is a topic I've been planning to blog about for a while, but I'm not ready to do it justice just yet. So I think I'll sign off now and work on guilting myself into returning later.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-60625018369920303432013-09-16T10:33:00.000-04:002013-09-16T10:33:08.067-04:00Breaking the Silence<div style="text-align: justify;">
So that was an unintentionally long absence...of a month.</div>
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Right.</div>
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Not that I'm not busy and have nothing to say. On the contrary, I have plenty to say. But I got stuck on a Peru-related post and writer's block is an obstacle with which I still struggle. I plan to return to the Peru topic after a while, but I'm going to let it rest for now because my life remains ever eventful and I don't want to miss that.</div>
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I think the hardest part of blogging is picking it back up after not writing for a while. Followed closely by figuring out what to write.</div>
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I don't want to do a recap. Not a full one, at least. I don't want to jam this post chock-full of ramblings.</div>
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High on the list of "important things happening in Amber's life" is that I got a new job! It came in a round-about way after I'd given up on a different job opportunity I'd been pursuing. The company is owned by friends of ours, and Wesley worked for them a couple summers ago. Our family histories met years ago when Mom was worked at a pizzeria owned by the wife. (Ah, such found memories....)</div>
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A very basic way to describe my job would be along the lines of "office administration", though it entails more than it sounds (and I now know what it feels like when someone says their head is "swimming"...). It's a (mostly) desk job, though my new dwelling with not be a cubicle. Actually, at the moment my area of operations is right next to a big window.</div>
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Mom worked this same position in a part-time capacity a while ago, so she's able to help me (or sympathize, mostly) as I adjust. I don't officially start until the week of the 22nd, because I have to work through my last two weeks at the smoothie shop. However, I've already run a few "practice rounds", so I have a very basic understanding of what I will be doing. <i>Very</i> basic.</div>
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Let's see....</div>
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We got more hens a while back. Two Ameracaunas (or Easter Eggers, as I believe they are in truth), some true Rhode Island Reds (decidedly darker and more red than our original batch), and some more White Leghorns. It took them a few days to get adjusted to the rigamarole of life among the Royce flock, as well as a couple nights hiding under the coop or in the trees, but they're pretty well integrated now. Soon we will bid adieu to most of our roosters, and for most of them we couldn't be happier to see them go. Presley, one of our Polish roosters, is maniacal and lives solely to torment every living creature he comes in contact with. Some of the Buffs (who all turned out to be roosters) are almost equally evil, and are the epitome of everything I despise in chickens. We have one guy who's decent and for the most part ignores us, which I guess is the best we can hope for.</div>
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Oh. And the ducks are both drakes, unfortunately. They are dubbed Aflac and Waddles, and they remain ridiculously endearing.</div>
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The only other thing I can think of right now is that Autumn is nearly upon us. Last week we had one day in the high 90's with lots of humidity, and a few days later we woke up to temperatures just above freezing. The trees are on the brink of turning. We're all thinking a road trip is in order.</div>
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I pulled out my collect of scarves and fingerless gloves and am eager to return them to use. Spring is still my favorite season to experience, but Autumn is my favorite for the wardrobe.</div>
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Okay. I have nothing of use to say, so I'll cut this short. Now that my reintroduction is over, I can move on to more important things. Good grief.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-49728768407256146132013-08-17T10:01:00.000-04:002013-08-17T10:01:24.394-04:00The Ocean<div style="text-align: justify;">
My trip to Peru held many new experiences. One of them was the fulfillment of a personal dream of mine: to see the ocean.</div>
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Yeah, I've never been to the ocean, at least that I can recall. Plenty of lakes 'round here, sure, but they aren't the same thing.</div>
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It was the Monday we went to the other children's home and the holding tank (and also the day Dad and I went mountain climbing). Actually, we'd seen the ocean earlier in the trip when we visited a more ritzy part of Lima to eat lunch, but it wasn't up close. We watched from a distance while a couple people tried to surf, and shivered sympathetically every time they fell. But Monday we got up close and personal.</div>
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First we drove through the yards full of shipment containers. The less pleasant ocean-related smells seemed to gather around there. The area where we disembarked was a clean little park, complete with small grassy lawns and a statue involving a cannon. The shore was all rocky and kind of steep at points. My lake tourist-side kicked in and I immediately started watching for sea shells. Some people in the group started skipping stones or trying to catch fish, and others spent most of their time getting too close to the water and having to outrun the waves.</div>
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I think one of the coolest parts about that visit was just listening to the water. The view certainly wasn't that great, what with us being near a port and there being so many ships blocking the horizon. There weren't many seagulls like we get at home, so that did help a little. But the sound of the waves in and of itself was amazing, especially when the water receded: the sound of so much water rushing over the rocks, shifting them and pulling them and dragging the smaller ones back down. It wasn't a roaring, like how waves are usually described, but more like a...shushing sound, almost. (<a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/susurrus">Susurrus</a>, anyone?) It was one of those sounds that can be difficult to describe, like the wind in a hemlock* forest (which remains one of my favorite nature sounds). I wish there was some way I could have recorded it well. On that stretch of rock-covered beach, the sound probably was loud, but it didn't have that powerful quality like thunder.<br />
We all wandered the beach for a while. I got a pocketful of shells and a couple neat stones. Many of the shells were stained a greenish color, and where worn smooth by the water. I ended up sharing them with Allenna when we got home, because she likes seashells and I could say I picked it up at the ocean.<br />
I did double-check all my shells to make sure they didn't still have residents. It's not so much bugs that make me squeamish as the slimy, oozy, blobby creatures like slugs and things that live in shells.<br />
There were other people there besides our group, though not many of them. I was kneeling down looking at rocks when a little Peruvian boy stooped next to me and picked up a tiny star fish. Excited by his find, he immediately leaned over to show it to me, exclaiming enthusiastic things I couldn't understand. I nodded and smiled and declared, "Muy bonita," which may not even be correct. Suddenly the boy was more curious about who on earth he was talking to than about his starfish. He took one hard look at me, realized I wasn't Peruvian, and scrambled away.<br />
Our trip to the ocean turned out more profitable that just a collection of shells and fossils. Some in the group had been handing out tracts to the other visitors, and a couple ladies ended up getting saved right there as a result. That occasion served to remind me of the real reason we were there.<br />
Years ago I noticed that I have a habit of staring at the ground when I walk. It's probably in part because I'm so clumsy and I'm trying to avoid anything that might cause me to trip. However, when I noticed this habit, I decided I should probably correct it, or I'd end up walking through life too focused on the dirt and miss everything else. I still have to make a conscious effort some days to lift my head and make eye contact with people and admire the flowers and look at what's ahead of me.<br />
At the beach, I spent most of my time staring at the ground searching for tiny seashells which I could stuff in my pockets and admire as trinkets. I wasn't handing out tracts or even saying "hello" to the other people there. I barely noticed them until that little boy wanted to share in his discovery.<br />
We get the same way in life: so focused on find seashells and watching our footing that we forget or ignore the people around us, and we forget that there's something ahead of us that we should be pressing for.We wander around, lost in our little world and careless to the rest. In the end, all we have to show for that are some shiny, broken, fragile little shells even the sea creatures don't want.<br />
Putting myself in a new environment jolted me enough to wake me up to this reality, but already I'm off that "spiritual high". I'm not worried about losing the somewhat manufactured excitement and enthusiasm, but I am worried about losing or forgetting a true passion for people.</div>
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I enjoyed my visit to the ocean, but I'm disappointed that I missed the more important thing that happened there.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-54489385850741885022013-08-10T20:57:00.000-04:002013-08-10T20:57:28.762-04:00The Mountain<div style="text-align: justify;">
I realize that up until now my posts about Peru have been more about themes from the trip and not single stories or what we did day-by-day, as I'd originally intended. Turns out it's easier for me to organize my thoughts going with this new format, but in this post I <i>am</i> just going to give one story: the day I climbed the mountain (with Dad).</div>
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When we first arrived at the children's home (5 bloomin' AM), I was so groggy I couldn't sort out conversations on the bus from my own half-asleep hallucinations. I seem to recall that it was as we were pulling up in front of the home that someone made a comment about climbing a mountain. </div>
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It was a generally accepted idea that our first full day would be spent relaxing, sleeping in, having brunch, and hydrating to avoid getting sick. However, most of us were up and functioning (at least basically) by 10:00. We were all warned to take it slow, but some silly person revisited the notion of going hiking, and the majority of the group adopted this notion.</div>
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The home is set uphill at the edge of a decently-sized mountain which leading into the higher peaks of the surrounding range. Before lunch more than half of our group was scrambling up this mountain.</div>
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I really wanted to go, but I was feeling cautious, not sure how I would handle a climb after so little sleep following an exhausting and thirsty day. (They do <i>not</i> give you enough water on planes.) I had a bit of a headache and deep down knew I was still tired, so I curled up on my top bunk with a journal and dozed in the sunlight. As I didn't see much real sunshine for the remainder of the trip, I later appreciated this.</div>
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However, I still wanted to try that mountain one day or another. A couple of the guys in the group hiked it together some of the mornings before breakfast, and I asked Dad if we could do the same. We were going to go Saturday, but plans got changed when so local officials started yelling at us and we didn't know what they were saying, and then Sunday was church day, obviously. So Monday it was.</div>
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I will say that on Saturday we went to visit some ruins and I did a little practice climbing. That was very neat, and good experience for me. I was unusually brave on this trip, and pushed myself farther than I normally do. Good thing, too.</div>
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I set my alarm on my watch for 7:00 on Monday. Breakfast was served at 9:00, and I figured 2 hours was plenty of time. I forgot, however, that I had never switched my watch to the correct timezone (never could figure out how). So at 6:15 local time I was knocking on the door to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Dad was up pretty quickly, and we set out into the pouring mist.</div>
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"You know it's just after <i>6:00</i>, right?" Dad asked.</div>
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"Is it? That explains somethings...." Like how the sun was barely up.</div>
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I went armed with a bottle full of water, a Clif bar, and some crackers, all of which I stuffed into Dad's backpack. I had on some denim capris, some cheap Wal-Mart sneakers, layered shirts, and a sweatshirt, my hair in a ponytail.</div>
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The adventure before us was nothing like we were expecting, and it provided some excellent character building exercises and also some father/daughter bonding time. The early hour, the altitude, the adrenaline, the exhilaration, and the fear messed with my head and made me feel particularly philosophical and poetic. Thankfully I kept my mouth shut most of the time.</div>
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We had been told by the previous hikers in our group that the easiest way to get down was to go all the way to the top and take the trail there back down and around. I had no idea what the definition of "the top" was, and pretty soon we couldn't see very far for the fog. We could hear pretty well: chickens, dogs, some vehicles, the occasional goose, perhaps a sheep, and sometimes the falling rocks we kicked or tossed down.</div>
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10 or 15 minutes in, we sat down to catch our breath, and I nibbled my bar. Dad made some comment about how he wondered what the path down was like, because he certainly wouldn't be coming back <i>this</i> way. I wholeheartedly agreed.</div>
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The terrain changed from thin dusty sand over brown rock to rough, craggy granite with patches of moss. I wished aloud for a pair of decent climbing gloves. Earlier I had recalled Heather mentioning a spot where it got kind of scary, and I think we found it when the trail narrowly snaked along the edge. It was probably a good thing we couldn't see very far.</div>
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I think we took another short break somewhere around there, when we found a relatively level area. My hands smelled moldy, but that was the worst of my complaints. However, I learned that, at least mentally, it is significantly more difficult to stand back up after sitting down on steep, rocky ground.</div>
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From that point we pressed on. About an hour into our little trek, we started wondering about when we would find the trail down. We knew - or guessed - that it was near one of the peaks; which one remained to be seen, quite literally. Every time a peak rose out of the fog, I wondered if it was the right one, but then I'd see another one appear when we reached the previous.</div>
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At last we came to a point where the trail seemed to disappear. Sometimes before that point we could see marks where other people had gone before, but here there was nothing to be seen. I looked up, Dad went back down and around: zilch. Was this it? There was no obvious trail down.</div>
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After some debate, we figured we might as well start down. Perhaps we'd meet the correct trail on the way. There was no way we would be going back the way we'd come.</div>
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Dad took the lead. He had started that way, and at one point we switched for a little while. I was happy to follow his lead now. As soon as we stepped over the crest of the mountain, the sounds of the city below disappeared. The only sounds now were ours, though we made plenty of them.</div>
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Trusty solid ground became a memory, and every foot- and hand-hold was tested to ensure integrity. All the fun was gone, and now we just had to focus on the next move.</div>
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About that point, Dad and I made an agreement: there were some things Mom never needed to know.</div>
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In short, I learned how to control a free slide when no other option was available; my favorite phrase was "oops, sorry" when I kicked loose rocks that hit Dad's hands and feet, but thankfully not (to my knowledge) his head; I stuck to the four-point rule: three limbs and my face in contact with the mountain at all times. Sometimes we crabbed along an edge, hugging the sides and testing the reach of our arms and legs. A few times our only trail was the course of a previous landslide; once, near the end, it was a footpath for dogs. We came across a lost shoe, and a couple hundred feet later we found its mate. For a very long 3-4 seconds I had no foot- or hand-holds and was <i>not</i> in a controlled slide: some of the most terrifying seconds of my life.</div>
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Near the end, Dad reminded me of the possible danger of scorpions. Good thing he hadn't mentioned it earlier, because from then on I scrutinized every nook and cranny.</div>
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The aforementioned dog path took us back to the upward trail. Around the same time, the hum of the city returned. A path we had earlier determined was much too tough and dangerous to take down became a laughing matter, a breeze, a stroll. Suddenly we had our pick of paths to take, we could move vertically, and we could trust where we put our feet.</div>
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We took one final break, sitting down and enjoying the view, now that the fog had cleared. We saw my youth pastor jogging on a soccer field. Some dogs, indignant that we were on their turf, barked at us from a nearby backyard.</div>
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Finally, we started on the home stretch. One of the men from the group had come out of the dormitory at the home, coffee in hand, and watched us.</div>
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Dad and I resumed our conversation we had abandoned during the last tense hour. We were almost back.</div>
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Then I got too </div>
confident. Conquering a mountain will do that to you. Literally two minutes from the bottom, I lost my balance and slipped.<br />
I caught myself hard on my hands. Our coffee-drinking friend confirmed that my "Ow!" echoed. Dad paused to check on me; I'd slipped and automatically mumbled "ow" a number of times before, but that "ow" was usually out of surprise.<br />
This was a real "ow".<br />
The heel of my left hand was scraped and already red from blood that had welled up, though it didn't gush. Dad launched into a first-aid lecture as we finished our decent.<br />
Looking back, I should have made up some heart-lurching story about how I got that "battle wound". Of course, I told the boring truth. And then cried in agony while some hand sanitizer did it's terrible job and said wound was properly cleaned. I seriously think I almost passed out.<br />
We arrived, clean and on time for breakfast, and people said, "Oh, you climbed the mountain?" Ha! Did we ever. They were casual about it because they...well, they did it the <i>right</i> way. "But I, I took the road less traveled by." We had our own unique mountain experience, even if no one ever learns the details.<br />
It was determined that we didn't follow the path far enough. Yeah, we'd worked that out on our own. No one was very clear on where the actual path could be found, though it sounded like we'd gone a little too far up that last cliff and missed the path that led around.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7PRdYHqkxFPhLYIuV0tgpOS55TdscqvNZpg556btT2RRSoiwQNIFrI3Vj7UG7ONFLmmolWukbxetf9-z6PiyHXpvP16gzK6IM6-DqKzsgwLBx2B_jscFzqHaDq6gDGfpqylzfw4QT2BQ/s1600/1073704_10200907633871096_307275466_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7PRdYHqkxFPhLYIuV0tgpOS55TdscqvNZpg556btT2RRSoiwQNIFrI3Vj7UG7ONFLmmolWukbxetf9-z6PiyHXpvP16gzK6IM6-DqKzsgwLBx2B_jscFzqHaDq6gDGfpqylzfw4QT2BQ/s320/1073704_10200907633871096_307275466_o.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Looking back, I can't believe I managed that little adventure. At the time, there was no other option, so I guess my brain went into survival mode or something; I certainly wasn't thinking normally.</div>
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As we were making our way down, right before I fell, Dad made a comment about how I was even more like Bilbo Baggins. I'm assuming he meant something about mountain climbing in general, though it might have been an allusion to an Unexpected Journey. Certainly it didn't involve dragons, dwarves, or treasure hunting.</div>
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I don't regret doing it. The experience of trail-blazing and putting my rock-climbing abilities to the test is one I'll remember for a while (considering my indoor rock climbing attempts never amounted to much).</div>
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Unfortunately, I won't have a decent scar to commemorate it. Mom and Dad kept checking the status of my wound, worried about tetanus and blood poisoning and severe scarring, but a few days of antibiotic ointment and band-aids and then letting it sit in the open air and it healed disappointingly well. In the end, I might have some boring discoloration.</div>
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(I <i>did</i> have one of the girls scrutinize it on the bus ride. She grabbed my hands and I winced, and she noticed the scrape. She poked and prodded and muttered "ow" over and over until the nanny next to me told her to leave it alone.)</div>
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And that was my and Dad's mountain hiking adventure!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-50412741291696031172013-08-09T08:54:00.000-04:002013-08-09T08:55:24.266-04:00The Girl in the Corner<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Monday the 29th, we visited the holding tank. But before that we went to another children's home. The path to get there took us down a narrow alley and up a dark, winding flight of stairs to the fourth floor of a rundown building. We stepped through the doorway and were greeted by what felt like a crowd in the small quarters. Before us were a bench and a small table under a window; to the right, a staircase leading to the roof, with clothes hanging in the sun; to the left, past a washing machine, was the darkened kitchen, with cupboards bare of all but onions. On the wall directly to our left was a mural covered with handprints and names, and a phrase that was something like "Clean Hands and Pure Hearts - We Are All Children of God" with a Bible verse. Past that was a closed, broken door leading to a bedroom.</div>
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You could see patches of hazy sky through holes in the roof. I'm not sure how truly it was a roof, at least over the living room area. </div>
We said hello and then passed out bottles of fruit juice and packets of cookies and crackers. Bro. Mike had intended to come armed with bags of rice, but due to the holiday most of the stores were closed.<br />
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The matrons of the house, two older ladies with bent bodies and wide smiles revealing missing teeth, presided over a group of around 10 children, though "children" isn't strictly correct. Most of them looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. There were also a few with mental disabilities. The young people here were the ones no one wanted: rejected, unloved, abused.</div>
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One of the people in our group gave a gospel presentation. The one of the ladies who runs thehome stood up to tell their story. She and the other lady both had children of their own, all grown and some gone off to America. They both had been abandoned by their husbands and had to raise their children on their own. Now they raised more children here. They had to trust God for everything, living day to day and truly understanding the power of prayer. The wall with the mural had a story, too: that section of wall had collapsed, and another group from the states had built a new one.</div>
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Their story reminds me of George Mueller, the missionary who built a children's home and trusted God to provide for it. He never knew where their next meal would come from, but it always came.</div>
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The group sang a song before we left. Bro. Mike translated, but I don't remember all the words. The part I did catch was something like "you gave me a home and a name because I am a child of your heart". That visit is one example of how I went looking to bless and came away blessed instead.</div>
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However, there is one other part to that story. While the gospel was being given, Ms. Peggy noticed a girl sitting in the corner, her head hanging in shame. She didn't respond when Bro. Mike asked who wanted to be saved. She just sat there quietly.</div>
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Afterward Ms. Peggy approached to her and talked with her. I didn't hear the whole story, but the girl (maybe my age or a little younger) had just come from a different region of Peru and probably prostitution. She was ashamed of that old life and felt she didn't deserve God. Bro. Mike said he could tell she had trust issues from being hurt before.</div>
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I believe she ended up accepting Christ as her Savior. I pray God helps her get past her past and find hope and a new life in Him. Some people don't agree, but a sin like prostitution, voluntary or not, is no worse than lying, no better than murder, no greater than stealing. The person who lies to avoid punishment stands in as much shame as the prostitute, and God is the answer for both of them. This girl was helped to see that, and given hope to lift her above it.</div>
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After that children's home, we went to the holding tank. I've already told you a little about the girls there. What we learned after we'd met them and talked with them was that one of them had a 2-year-old child. I don't know which girl. It doesn't really matter. I mentioned that most of those girls had histories of human trafficking and abuse. The oldest there was 17. You could see how they were hurting; how they all longed to be loved and accepted and how some were too scared of being hurt again. We told them about a Friend who would never abandon, who would never reject, who would only love and forgive.</div>
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I mentioned the church drummer in a previous post. His story is along the same lines. I never heard all of it at one time, but he has a past involving drugs. He's a big, strong guy, and it's not hard to see how he might have been a tough, even dangerous person once. But spend any amount of time with him now, even if you can't speak the language, and you'll see how he's not that man any more. He's kind and friendly and happy and exactly the kind of person you'd want watching your back as you navigate the more dangerous parts of town.</div>
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One the bus that one day while he and the intern were talking, he asked her to help him learn to say something in English. He wanted to know how to give his testimony. All he asked to know where a few simple words, but they tell it all:</div>
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I once was a drug addict; now I am a child of God.</blockquote>
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That's all there is. Nothing else matters; not the dark stories of the past, not the technicalities, not a religious process. That's hope, pure and simple: God taking the broken, the unloved, the rejected, the hurting, the bitter, and giving them hope through forgiveness. He paid for every sin, and they're all equal in His eyes; we're all equally broken. There's nothing we can do on our own, no works that can save us, no human we can look to for rescue. It's not that difficult. </div>
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Some think it's too good to be true, that there must be some exclusive clause, that they've done too much. That girl sitting quietly in the corner, her head bowed in shame, felt she had done too much to ask God for help. Ms. Peggy reached out to her, loved her, and handed her a lifeline. That, for me personally, was one of the biggest moments on the trip. It's what we went for, but it's also what we should be living for every day.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-44260289984665948552013-08-08T23:22:00.001-04:002013-08-08T23:32:33.099-04:00Culture Shock<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of the things you hear a lot about concerning international travel (and, it seems to me, especially travel related to missions) is culture shock. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>culture shock</b>: <i>noun</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment</span></div>
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I'm sure we all pretty much know what "culture shock" means, but I like how this definition is worded.* :) </div>
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I can't say I really experienced culture shock, at least going <i>into</i> Peru; I'm not even sure I truly had jet lag. I'd heard enough stories to be at least a little prepared for the culture of Peru, particularly the driving.</div>
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Some of us <i>gringos</i> (and I mean that in the nicest sense) were freaked out by how Peruvians drive. I actually found it enjoyable. To Americans it might look dangerous, but it's anything but reckless.</div>
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Picture this: a loaded bus roaring down a dusty mountain road at 70 kilometers/hour**, weaving in and out of traffic, passing slower buses and "motor-taxis" (which are basically a covered backseat attached to a motorcycle) and slowing only for speed bumps (which are so common they become unremarkable to most people). The horn and the outside arm of the passenger riding shotgun are the most frequent traffic signals. Superior size earns right-of-way, and if there's a space just wide enough for the vehicle to park in, it'll get through without slowing.</div>
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I know some people in the group where grinding their teeth and holding the back of the seat in front of them with white knuckles, but I loved it. As Dad described it, it was like a dance. Everyone worked together and it all flowed effortlessly. Horns are a method of communication there, almost a language of their own. The appearance of reckless and angry drivers was scarce, and I think I saw a grand total of one accident in all the 10 days we were there, and we did a lot of driving, mostly around Lima. Bus rides were a daily routine for us. Only once did I actually get a little nervous, and that was when another bus appeared to almost T-bone us as they pulled forward to pick up more passengers.</div>
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That was only one taste of Peruvian culture. Another is the dog population. They're everywhere, and come in every size and color possible. They're as common as deer in Michigan (actually, more so, I think). Eventually a person could tune them out, too. During the parade on Saturday a dog made himself comfortable in the exact center of the road, and the parade marched around him. For a while we had a running tally of how many cats we saw, and it stayed around 3 until we came to one market (ironically there was a gypsy art show and market there). The only other animal I noticed were birds; mostly pigeons.</div>
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Peru struck me as a very colorful place. Peruvians enjoy bright colors and get away with painting their houses all manner of shades that would be hideous here in the states. There, it's almost beautiful. There are also a number of bright flowering plants wherever they can be made to grow. The people dress the same way, with the same bright and perky flair. As I think I mentioned before, they do dress well no matter how poor they might be. </div>
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Take away the houses and the people, though, and you're left with a barren, boring landscape. That can have it's own kind of rugged beauty if you're viewing it from the right angle, but it also gets kind of bland sometimes. I'd like to see the other climates of Peru one day. My opinion of it is a big limited, I have to admit.</div>
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There was also was danger factor whispering at the back of our minds. Keep your purses close, hold your cameras, don't walk alone, stay with people who know the area. It's the same way in big cities here at home; I think we just hide it better.</div>
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The biggest culture shock, as I knew it would be, is the poverty. It might not come out in people's faces, but you see it in the living conditions. We're spoiled and think we can't live without this or that, but they know just what they need to survive, and it's considerably less than our commodities. It seemed like they were people more prone to being happy and content, and perhaps it's because they don't demand as much as we do to define their happiness.</div>
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People, especially people like me, tend to romanticize missions a lot. It's all thrilling adventures and bright new worlds and interesting people in our heads. But working alongside missionaries, even for those brief 10 days, was a reality shock. A friend who went pointed out how we're reminded of the human element: they still have to work and cook and go to school and pay the bills. That nitty-gritty, ordinary routine makes up the bulk of what they do every day. It might be another world, and though they're working to do what God called them to do, they also have to survive.</div>
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Sometimes it takes culture shock to clear our heads so we can see that. They're doing exactly what we ought to be doing: not just surviving, but working for God. We all have the same mission; we don't have to get a visa and travel to a foreign place to be useful. It only feels more important over there because it's new and exciting and challenging and feels like hard work because we're out of place and have to adjust; but eventually that wears off, and we're stuck calculating how much rice we need to feed the orphans or how much more support we need to finish building the church.</div>
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The real culture shock is coming home. We Americans can rush around just as well as a Peruvian bus driver, but we do it without making eye contact; with angry hands laying on loud horns; with no thought for anyone but ourselves, because our silly little business is all that matters. The daily grind of the American dream tends to drown out the true reality of what actually matters. It's a wake up call going to another culture and seeing it clearly, without the veil of gadgets and work schedules and extra-cirricular activities; if we aren't careful, all of that will lull us back into a spiritual coma when we get back to our safe, comfortable lives.</div>
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Missions trips tend to leave people experiencing one of those thrilling, empowering "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbnJWlFjSFk">spiritual highs</a>", but those don't last forever. What happens when the dust clears and we have to get back to our lives? Does it become a "cool trip" and a few stories to tell, or do we make sure we're impacted in a way that changes our direction instead of glancing off our private bubble of comfort and apathy?</div>
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I experienced Peru in a wonderful way, and from an average human standpoint, it was a neat, enlightening experience. But I also experienced something deeper that stirred me like a wake-up call. My eye did indeed affect my heart, but I have to make a conscious effort if I want that affect to change me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* Here's another fun one: depaysement: when someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">** I'm still not clear on how fast that is, but it sounds fast. We may have actually gone faster on the mountain roads where there was little to no traffic.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-52693664956467921262013-08-06T15:18:00.000-04:002013-08-06T15:20:35.594-04:00The Language Barrier<div style="text-align: justify;">
When we were passing out tracts one day near the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Government_Palace_(Peru)">Presidential Palace</a>, one of our group members handed a tract to a police woman. I wasn't nearby, but as he told the story, the police woman asked him a question in Spanish, and he told her, "No habla Espanol." She asked (I'm assuming in English, though it might have been through one of our translators) why on earth we were there passing out tracts without being able to speak the language.</div>
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An excellent question.</div>
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The moment I stepped off the plane in Lima, I asked myself the same question: why, oh why, hadn't I studied Spanish a little more? And I kept asking myself that question the whole trip.</div>
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I also witnessed how true it is that immersion is the best way to learn a language. The longer we were in Peru, the more I remembered from my two years of Spanish class and the more I was able to pick up. When we didn't have a translator to accompany us, I ended up helping Mom and Dad as much as I could with understanding what prices the vendors were giving. I'm pretty good as catching words and sorting them in my brain. Most words I filed away under "to look up".</div>
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I had the presence of mind to bring my Spanish/English dictionary with me, and that was a huge help (until one of the boys at the home stole it and wouldn't give it back, claiming it was his). </div>
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Still, I only knew enough to squeak by, and barely that. I couldn't even have a conversation with the kids, much less the adults. If I wanted to say anything, it had to be through a translator.</div>
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Two days in a row we went to a nearby school. The first day, in the morning, we met with and talked to elementary and middle school kids, and the second, in the afternoon, with high school students. The first day, I had the opportunity to give a short testimony. I was super nervous and wasn't sure what to say, but I'd watched some others in our group (we'd split into three groups to save time) and knew I had to have a turn. Take note of the word "opportunity". I had to remind myself that it was a great opportunity, not a burden or something to avoid.</div>
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The nice thing about having to talk through a translator is the knowledge that said translator will sort out your rambling and make sense of it. That was my only consolation.</div>
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After our three groups had cycled through all the classrooms, we met outside on the court/assembly area/entrance place and got to spend some time with the kids. Mostly, they wanted our autographs.</div>
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I wasn't expecting that.</div>
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If you didn't have a pen, they'd steal one from a friend. Their workbooks provided the paper. You just had to scribble your name and the next one would be there in a second. Some of the kids were so excited, they didn't really pay attention to <i>who</i> was signing their books. Near the end, I was mostly pointing to my name and then pointing to myself. "That's me, there."</div>
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Halfway through, I decided I needed to leave some sort of note alongside my name. I knew the phrase "Jesus loves you" = "Jesucristo te ama". After some trial and error (mostly my English-speaking brain wanting to spell out "Jesus" and "Christ" as I know them) I got it down. I hope the kids saw it and took it to heart.</div>
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The next day, we gathered all the kids for one large assembly. It was the end of the school day and they were getting ready to go on break for their Independence Day, so this saved time. Some of the guys (including our youth pastor's son) gave testimonies, and then our youth pastor presented the gospel. The kids listened really well, and you could see on some of their faces that they were taking it to heart.</div>
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Afterward, we were approached by a number of kids who wanted to practice their English. Mostly they said "thank you" when we gave them candy and tracts and waited anxiously for our "you're welcome". A couple girls came up to me and Mom and asked my name, and then hers. I introduced her as "mi madre", and they excitedly corrected, "your mother!"</div>
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In some ways, however, language wasn't a barrier. Some of my friends and I have this habit of turning any road trip over half-an-hour into a sing-along. Said friends, including my sister Heather, were present on the trip, and we quickly reverted to our old habit. </div>
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This led to our being invited to sing a special (or three) at one of the churches we visited on Sunday. First we sang a version of "At Calvary" set to a different tune, but then we picked a couple familiar hymns. When the congregation started humming along, I was content. They might not know the words in English, but they knew the tune, and so knew what the song was about. That was a connection we shared, though we couldn't speak to each other. In that moment, there was no language barrier.</div>
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At the church right by the children's home (because we also went to another one) there is a drum player. He's a really cool guy in general, but then he's musically talented. I heard him humming along while we had a sing-along session on the bus, and made an effort to pick hymns.</div>
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The children's home houses a few interns, and on a couple different outings they came along with us. One day, one of the interns sat with the church drummer and chatted a while. They spoke in Spanish (he's still learning English), and from what I could gather by the tone of the conversation, he was helping her with her grammar and pronunciation. (And I don't think it counts as eavesdropping when you can barely understand the language.) I had a moment of revelation when he said a word and it automatically clicked in my brain. That was a wonderful moment.</div>
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As some of you may have seen on facebook, we also visited what is known as a holding tank. For those of you who don't know, a holding tank is kind of like a half-way house between the streets and a proper children's home. It's one step in a long process of finding safety and security in a home, and many kids don't get beyond this step.</div>
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The one we visited was for girls. Heartbreaking as it is, it's generally accepted that they come from backgrounds of abuse and human trafficking. What's amazing is that, though they're obviously hurting and some clearly have trust issues, they're still so sweet and open and aching for love and acceptance. They touched me deeply, because theirs are the stories that so greatly lack of hope. They might never get placed into a children's home; many of them are too old, or nearly so. They don't know what's in store for them.</div>
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There's a lady, Ms. Peggy, who works at the children's home. After one of our girls said hello and met each of the girls there (9 of them), Ms. Peggy shared her story and the gospel. The girls, especially one, were so attentive and so eager.</div>
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I'll share more of their story later. What of it relates to this post is one of the girls. She was born in Korea but her family moved to Peru. How she ended up in that building, she never said. What she did tell us was that she knew three languages: Korean, Japanese, and Spanish. She spent a few minutes with Bro. Mike, teaching him how to say certain things in Korean and Japanese. She was such a fun person to watch and to listen to. Then she asked Bro. Mike how many languages he knew. His answer?</div>
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1) Spanish, 2) English, and 3) Southern English</div>
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I don't think she understood the joke, but we did.</div>
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Somebody asked how Bro. Mike and his family still had such strong Southern accents. Someone else laughed. "Because that's the only English they hear."</div>
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Again with the whole living immersed in a language: our youth pastor is from the South, and his accent used to be a lot more defined. Now, however, he's spent time among us Yankees. Bro. Mike and his family and Ms. Peggy all have Southern accents, and they remain pronounced. I think I was even picking up on a little by the time we left.</div>
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When we reentered the States in Miami, we all struggled readjusting to an English environment. When the employees at customs were native Spanish speakers, we instinctively wanted to respond in kind. To every "thank you", we muttered "de nada"; to every nice thing, "gracias". When we bumped someone or needed to get by: "permiso, por favor". And then we had to remember that the prices were in American dollars, not Peruvian soles.</div>
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Communication - or lack thereof, rather - was probably the biggest problem of our group as a whole. When I go back, I fully intend to go armed with a better grasp of Spanish. And I <i>do</i> intend on going back! (Also, it's common courtesy, to me, to know at least a little of the language of the country you're visiting, because <i>you're</i> the visitor.)</div>
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I love languages. There's something so fascinating about studying the structure, vocabulary, and roots of a language; of seeing how it relates to other languages and how it differs; and, especially in regards to English, how it develops. And I've discovered that the more you learn about another language, the better you can understand your own. My geek fantasy is being the lead linguist on the Starship <i>Enterprise</i>. Yes, I seriously just admitted that.</div>
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Another fantasy I developed while in Peru is to become a translator. Seeing how myself and my friends struggled to be understood and how the translators sometimes struggled to help everyone, it would certainly help. Of course, first I have to actually learn Spanish.</div>
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There's the end of the story, but I'm going to try something knew here. There's this thing called "participation". I know normal bloggers like it when their readership participates in their blog, so I thought I'd try, just to switch things up and because I feel kind of self-centered making everyone read these long, boring things and then leaving like you don't matter (and also starting far too many sentences with "I", but I'm working on that).</div>
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So here we go!</div>
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To my fellow "Trippers" (including those who went in previous years), how well did you cope with the language barrier?</div>
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Do anyone else have a silly fantasy related to Star Trek? Which office or job would <i>you</i> most like to have on a Star Ship? Or am I just weird? (Because that's completely likely.)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-5425003904808106652013-08-04T21:55:00.000-04:002013-08-04T21:55:02.977-04:00There and Back Again<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's taken me a few days to sit down and write this because I'm still struggling to process everything. Tonight at church most of us "Peru Trippers" had a little testimony time where we got to share about our experiences in Peru. I had such a hard time sorting through my thoughts. I kind of knew what I wanted to say, but I lost it as soon as I stood up. Thankfully, I didn't dissolve into tears. But there was so much more I couldn't find the words for. I still want to share all of that.</div>
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I'm planning on doing a series of detailed posts after this one, rather than cramming everything into one long, unorganized, rambling post. For right now, however, I'll do an overview of sorts. </div>
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Practically everything I knew about Peru before this trip was what I saw in movies, read in books (though few fictional characters ever go to Peru), and heard from my family and others who have gone there on missions trips. I looked up Peru on Wikipedia after my trip, and I can tell you that short page doesn't even begin to describe Peru for real.</div>
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I didn't realize how little those stories would prepare me for the reality. I think we all tend to develop ideas and pictures of places we've never been based on what we're told or pictures we see. I know I do. Turns out all those images I'd subconsciously developed over the years were not even close to correct. I can't say I really had culture shock. I <i>did</i> wish I had dedicated myself to my Spanish studies.</div>
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We had a number of bus rides between the children's home and the city of Lima and its suburbs. During many of these, Bro. Mike, the missionary whose family founded the children's home, rode with us. He provided little educational lectures rather like a tour guide, acquainting us with Peru. I learned that Peru contains every kind of climate existing in the world, from snowy mountains (3 hours away from us they were having snow storms) to rainforests to deserts. The area with which I am now familiar is the "costal" area: rocky, arid, and among the foothills and edges of the mountains.</div>
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We arrived at the end of their winter and rainy season. "Rain" there is actually a fine mist. We rarely saw the sun and most days were cuddled up in sweatshirts. Once or twice I wished for gloves. One the warmer days, we <i>Americanos locos</i> went barefoot, and the nannies asked if our feet weren't freezing.</div>
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While we visited the ritzy areas of Lima on occasion, that area and class weren't our focus. We spent most of our time among the normal people, the "average" population (and I'm not sure how else to word that, but I don't mean it offensively). The houses are small and full of large families, the conditions are poor and often filthy, there are dogs every where (I mean <i>everywhere</i>).... But that's not what I'll remember. Almost instantly, I was impressed by the spirit of the people we met. They were happy, open, humble, friendly, kind, and even content. Yes, many talked of how they wanted their children to have better lives; but they weren't consumed with that. They work, they struggle to get by, they laugh, they love. </div>
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Peruvians (or <i>los Peruanos</i>, as we learned) are proud. Not high and mighty proud. It's more like dignity. For example, they might be poor, but they dress as well as they are able.</div>
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While we were there, we got to witness their Independence Day celebrations (which we didn't even realize we'd be there for). The actual date was the 28th, which was a Sunday, but most of their celebrations took place on Saturday. Just down the street from the children's home was a parade which lasted a good four hours. It was mostly school groups, all dressed in costumes reflecting different parts and times of Peru's history and culture. You could see the patriotic pride there. </div>
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From a tourist's standpoint, Peru might appear very religious. There are certainly plenty of churches, and I'd guess the majority of the population, at least where we were, had some sort of religious ceremony they went through. But it's not real. It is simply religion: a practice, a pattern, empty words and actions in an effort to earn one's way to Heaven. There's no relationship with God, no fellowship, not faith. That was one of the most heart-breaking things of all.</div>
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But despite that, the people were still so willing to accept our gifts of tracts and Bibles. They're hungry, and they don't deny that. Again, they're so open and so humble, willing to receive, quick to love, ready to help. The people we went to serve and to be a blessing to turned out to be an even greater blessing to us.<br />
This is turning out to be just as confused and rambling as I feared. I'll try to work on that. Before I close, I suppose I should mention something about the plane ride.<br />
I was strangely composed when we boarded our first plane. Referring again to things I learned from movies, I expected it to be bigger than it was. Turns out all those planes in the movies were the long-distance type, while ours, for two hours of travel, was considerably smaller. The first take off wasn't as terrifying as I anticipated. There was the initial felling of weightlessness and I clutched the seat in front of me (where, thankfully, Dad was seated) and probably went pale. Mom was laughing at me, so I guess I was a sight. But after we leveled out, I actually was able to enjoy myself. It almost felt like riding in a van or bus, until we hit turbulence (which we did while passing the Andes on our longer second flight). Turbulence still bugs me, but I'm cool with the rest.<br />
And our 7 hour flight from Lima had personal TVs with a wide selection of movies. Though I was exhausted from a long day, I did watch one. Heather turned on <i>Sound of Music</i>, of all things.<br />
So the thing I was most worried about turned out to be no big deal. Yay for me!<br />
I'm going to go now before I make any more of a mess with this post. I'll be back soon.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-80498676153398525392013-07-21T23:23:00.000-04:002013-07-21T23:23:26.240-04:00Packed and Ready to Go<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our family is ready for Peru!</div>
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I surprised everyone including myself when I was pretty much completely packed by yesterday. ("Pretty much" because I still had a couple articles of clothing which needed to be washed, and my carry-on wasn't sorted.) This afternoon, Mom, Dad, and Heather worked to get their stuff together and I finished with mine. We're now all packed and ready to go. I wrote instructions about pet care for the friend who's coming to tend to the animals (and whom Sasha will hopefully love instead of hate). I have a list of last-minute things to do in the morning. Now I'm sitting in bed trying to decide when I should turn in.</div>
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I don't think the reality of this trip will hit me until I'm on the plane. At least, it hasn't truly hit yet; not the whole, "Yes, this really is happening" feeling. It's more of a vague anticipation and curiosity, I guess. That, or I'm handling it <i>extremely</i> well. The part of my brain claiming to be the rational part is trying to convince me I need to be a little more worried about the plane ride, while the part which is supposedly the more bold, irrational part is getting excited for the new experience. The former side is starting to gain ground. By the time I'm fastening my seat belt, hopefully I'll be shaking from excitement and not the onset of a nervous breakdown.</div>
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The group is meeting at the church at 9:00 tomorrow, and we'll drive from there to the airport a couple hours away. Where we'll eat and then wait for hours to board our plane. I packed books. Whether or not I'll be able to read them remains to be seen.</div>
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I had so many people tell me at church and over the last few days that they'll be praying for our trip. I can't begin to describe how encouraging it is to know my friends are lifting me up and keeping me in their thoughts. Perhaps that has something to do with my sudden calm mindset regarding airplanes?</div>
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As this missions trip looms just in front of me, I have to say the gravity of this opportunity is beginning to sink in. I only have a vague idea of what to expect, from stories Mom and Wes brought back and what we were told we might be doing while we're there, but I have high expectations: expectations to bless and be a blessing, to serve and to minister, to touch and to connect, to impact, to see and be affected, and to carry that back with me. I have a journal I plan to write in as often as possible. I know it won't be enough to capture everything we experience, but I hope it will help.</div>
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I will not be taking my computer, though it was an option. It's one more thing I have to worry about, and I don't want to deal with that.</div>
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Like always, I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. Odds are I'll realize what it is around Day 5, and by then it won't matter. I hope.</div>
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Well, I should probably go. Big day tomorrow!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-21547383427581883712013-07-20T21:22:00.001-04:002013-07-20T21:22:28.951-04:00Lightning Bugs and Lightning (and mosquitoes)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Summer nights around our house have been pretty amazing lately. I only wish I was better with a camera (and then had a camera...). Every night the lightning bugs have put on beautiful shows. Do you know how cool it is to drive down a road surrounded by corn fields and see the lightning bugs flashing like crazy? Not only that, but I love star gazing on summer nights (provided I have bug repellent). It's just another perk of moving to the country.</div>
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The animals aren't quite so captivated by the lightning bugs. The dogs and cat ignore them for the most part and the chickens only wonder how good they are to eat. The ducks, however, didn't know what to make of them one of the first nights they showed up. I was out settling the chickens for the night. As I was walking back toward the house to turn on the hose, I met the ducks. They were telling me off, as usual, screaming about something or other and following me back to the coop. All of a sudden, a lightning bug floated in front of their faces and lit up. The lead duck was so startled he stopped short and pulled back. And fell silent.</div>
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Until I laughed at him.</div>
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Last night was even more amazing than our average summer night this year. We've had a bit of a heat wave (like practically every other state in the country). Earlier we'd had a brief but powerful storm, mostly wind and rain. It had cleared up pretty quickly and the day remained muggy. However, Heather came running in from corralling her ducks and said to come quick because there was a storm building and involved lightning. Mom and I followed her out.</div>
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All along the north sky there were thick clouds full of lightning; both flashes that filled the clouds and streaks that forked through and even shot out like snake tongues. Pretty soon I was sent back in to get Mom's camera, and Heather followed for hers. This was too good of a show to pass up, because what photographer (casual, amateur, or professional) wouldn't like to get a picture of lightning?</div>
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I took mosquito decoy duty while Mom and Heather snapped away. When they paused to wait for cars to pass or to check and see if they got any good shots, we'd raise a chorus of "ooo"s and "ahhh"s. While they clicked away, I stood back in wonder at the display. To add to the spectacle we had a bright moon in clear skies behind us and the lightning bugs were all over. I ran back in to get the tripod and grabbed Mom's phone because Dad had texted. I ended up catching a picture of a lightning streak and, satisfied with my surprising success, retreated inside.</div>
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Of course, I took stock of my bug bites. I've been having worse-than-average reactions to mosquitoes lately, and they like to cluster on one spot whenever they attack. I had a good twenty bites on my legs and ankles, but only one on my arm. Naturally.</div>
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Years ago, our family took a hiking trip. I can't even remember where we went. We were near dunes, but were in a forest. It was either late spring or early autumn, and we kids were complaining of cold and begging to cut the hike short. Dad stopped and looked at us seriously. He told us to stop whining and enjoy ourselves, because it was a beautiful day and the view was amazing, and that's what we would remember if we'd pay attention. We'd forget about the cold and the wind in no time, and recall instead the breathtaking views of the dunes from a wooded hilltop, or the zig-zagging trail winding around tree roots, or just the joy of spending time with family doing what we loved.</div>
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It's his words that helped me remember that trip, and the sights associated with it. I don't know how it's stuck with me, but it came to mind when I was thinking about last night's spectacle. I'll remember that a lot longer than the bug bites. I remember the double rainbow I saw a few years ago better than I remember the terror of driving through tornado weather on a road trip. I remember the fun of a sledding trip and forget about the cold and the damp. I remember the fun of sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and singing songs and not the fatigue of a long week at camp.</div>
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But you have to choose to move beyond the discomfort, the unpleasant parts, and focus on the good and the thrill and the wonderful displays of God's handiwork. It requires a conscience effort, and perhaps a little time afterward for reflection (and some sort of ointment to soothe the bug bites).</div>
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Yes, I am kind of preaching to myself in light of our Peru trip. I'm trying to get it into my head that there will be so much to enjoy and learn and take away from this opportunity that I can't let myself be held back by my own silly psychological issues.<br />
And I have to get going now to make some more progress on preparing for that trip. I'm mostly packed, and I only "need" to buy one or two more things. This time on Monday I'll be either in a plane or in an airport. I still can't process that....</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-52429722352442589042013-07-17T11:15:00.000-04:002013-07-17T11:15:24.551-04:00More on the Poultry (naming, the coop, and the neighbors)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started writing this post a couple weeks ago but got distracted. I figured since I need to keep at the blogging and since I haven't mentioned much about our poultry (yes, I'm still stuck on that) I'll share.<br />
Chickens are turning out to be a great way for me to use names I've always liked but would never attach to a cat or dog, much less a child. A person can name their chickens anything they jolly well please because 1) they don't have to worry about the chicken learning to answer to a name, 2) few people are really going to care what the chicken is named and even less how to spell it, and 3) practically anything goes, because it's a chicken. Name the members of your flock Nugget, Fried, Grilled, Rotisserie, and Crispy; name your soon-to-be-dead roosters after your ex-boyfriends; give them all names from characters in your favorite book or movie or TV show (and now I want a chicken called "The Doctor"...). It all works.</div>
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All of our unique chickens (meaning all the ones we can tell apart from the rest, which is about half) have names: Lobelia, Rex, Betsy, Ginger, Euroclydon "Rocky" II, and Crooked Beak are just a few. It makes it easier to care for them, I think, because there's a little fun in doing roll call and screaming names when they bite you instead of, "You blasted chicken! I'm going to have your legs for BBQ'ed drumsticks!" (though that's fun, too).</div>
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As I mentioned above, one of our chickens is called Crooked Beak. She's one of the four Americaunas, all of whom we can manage to tell apart. Crooked Beak's name is self-explanatory: her beak is askew. She has to get food down to the back of her beak to grind it up. Despite this deformity, she's actually very sweet. Probably the nicest of the Americaunas. However, when all of the other favorite and prized chickens were getting named, Crooked Beak was excluded from being dubbed something funny or outlandish or cute.</div>
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Mom hates the name and wants us to change it, but no one can think of anything better. I tried pirate names (because they have names like Black Beard) and we've considered trying to find Native American names (because of descriptive names like Sitting Bull) but nothing works. Then I found it: Prunaprismia.</div>
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Yeah. Caspian's aunt in <i>Prince Caspian</i>. </div>
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I haven't even suggested it to the family (I know Heather would flat out refuse, though Mom seemed to think it was funny when I pointed it out for a prospective future poultry monicker). They wouldn't even let me name my own dog, and I'm surprised Lobelia is still thusly entitled. But it's worth a try, and it's nicer than Crooked Beak (as if we're all looking to be loving and humane to our chickens). We shall see.<br />
In other news, the coop and run is finally coming together. Dad and Mom have both been busy and away from home a lot, so it's been getting done in stages. We got the fence up a couple days ago. Now the ducks spend their days outside and nights inside in the old chicken house, and the chickens are supposed to stay in the coop or fenced area at all times. (I'm still marveling at how difficult it is to corner a chicken. And none of the roosters like me, so it's even harder because they bite me.) However, some of the chickens (mostly the Americaunas, those pesky things) are natural escape artists. The surest way to lure them back is with food, and it usually works; and they also come back every night.<br />
But talking about the ducks, they've kind of adopted our neighbors' flock, especially the two little mallards. For a while the mallards were coming over every day, usually early in the morning, and yelling for our ducks to be let out so they could socialize. I think they were also hoping to beg for some food. Now the ducks all take turns having play dates at each other's homes. Again, they do come home at night.<br />
Oh, yeah. Probably a month ago now, Dad found an egg by the "duck pond". At first we though it was a chicken egg, but Mom declared it too large for a young hen to have laid. So apparently it's a duck egg. This is good because it means we don't have two drakes and also because we have a duck hen to call Jemima, per Heather's desire. (If it turns out both are hens, I want to name the other Daisy, just to be equally unoriginal and cute.)<br />
That's about all I have to say right now. Hopefully I'll exhaust the chicken topic soon and move on to bigger things. We shall see.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334727226061093642.post-59297717083092382922013-07-16T12:19:00.000-04:002013-07-16T20:11:51.974-04:00Preparing for an Adventure<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, you know.... We're halfway through July. It's been crazy. I've had stuff to write about but just haven't had the motivation. Fireworks fundraising is over, Independence Day is obviously over, and in honor of my parents' wedding anniversary we just had a vow renewal ceremony. I was an emotional wreck. (You know, because any extreme emotion moves me to uncontrollable tears. It was horrible.)</div>
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Next up (in a week) is our Peru missions trip.</div>
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Can you say "Freak out"?</div>
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Airplanes.</div>
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I'm uber excited for everything else, but...airplanes. *shudder*</div>
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I was telling some friends that I'm nervous about that part. (I feel rather like <a href="http://media.naplesnews.com/media/img/photos/2012/07/19/TheHobbit_t607.jpg">this</a> when I think about it.) One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of the possibility of dying in a plane crash, nervous of the heights, or nervous because of new experiences. New experiences <em>can</em> make me nervous but, on the whole, I'm usually open to them. I can handle the thrill of adventure. And, as a writer, I try to seek out new experiences when the opportunities arise. (Though I'm not really the best at trying new things, my curiosity can overrule my caution.) It might just be the unknown that bothers me when it comes to planes.<br />
One of my friends asked if it was because I was scared of dying in a crash, afraid of heights, or nervous by new experiences. I'll admit new experiences <br />
(*in a deep, mysterious voice* <i style="font-weight: bold;">THE GREAT UNKOWN</i>)</div>
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My youth pastor's wife was telling me I had nothing to worry about. I laughed (and swallowed those stupid nervous tears that always well up) and told her more people die by donkey attacks than airplane crashes every year.</div>
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She gave me a weird look and said, "Okay...so avoid donkeys!"</div>
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I wonder what the danger rating is on <a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4tbsn1CbI1rxodpio1_400.gif">llamas</a>?</div>
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A couple Sundays ago (and yes, it has taken me that long to get around to writing this), one of the young men in church did the afternoon service. (Afternoon instead of evening because it was supposed to follow the annual church picnic, which got rained out.) As ever, he did a wonderful job, and what he talked about was something I needed, particularly in light of our impending journey.</div>
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The text was Joshua 1:1&2:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="text Josh-1-1" id="en-KJV-5853"><span class="chapternum">1) </span>Now after the death of Moses the servant of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> it came to pass, that the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> spake unto Joshua the son of Nun, Moses' minister, saying,</span></div>
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<span class="text Josh-1-1">2) </span><span class="text Josh-1-2" id="en-KJV-5854">Moses my servant is dead; now therefore arise, go over this Jordan, thou, and all this people, unto the land which I do give to them, even to the children of Israel.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span class="text Josh-1-2">The key is in verse 2: "arise, go over this Jordan"</span></div>
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</div>
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<span class="text Josh-1-2">He described "arise" as a call to action. Then he pointed out how it said "<em>this</em> Jordan", as in the river right in front of them and at hand. They were called to get up and get moving, because they were standing on the bank of the river they needed to cross. They were right there, standing around (or even sitting), and they needed to get moving.</span></div>
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The idea was about being proactive.</div>
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<span class="text Josh-1-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Josh-1-2">Proactive: tending to initiate change rather than reacting to events.</span></div>
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We're urged to act, but by fear of failing or being rejected by people we're trying to serve, we don't move at all. We satisfy ourselves with not doing anything outright bad and don't worry that we aren't doing anything good, either. The only action we take is preventative. Over time we develop a routine of passive living, and we simply react to the world around us. We don't do anything to impact it.</div>
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Meanwhile, we ought to be stepping out and demanding change. We ought to be performing the actions that stir others to react. And we have to keep going, keep growing. In my mind, it isn't the first step toward productivity that's the hardest; it's the second. It's the building of momentum.</div>
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That was only a portion of his message, but it's what stood out most to me. And in light of the coming Peru trip, I realized I had been anything but proactive: my Spanish rots because I haven't practiced; I had no idea what I was going to pack; I wasn't emotionally, mentally, or spiritually preparing myself so I can get as much as possible out of this trip. All I was doing was dreading the airplane ride, when there was a whole adventure beyond that waiting for me to accept it.</div>
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Since that message, I have made some progress on my Peru prep. Most of my packing is planned and I purchased most of the items I needed. I was going to have to buy a suitcase (for a family who travels around so much, you'd think we'd have more) but some co-workers offered to let me borrow theirs. I'm still not mentally ready, but I'm working myself up to that.</div>
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I'm planning on keeping a journal. Whether or not I'll have much time for sitting down and writing in it remains to be seen. I hope I'll have enough to share on here when I get back.</div>
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So that's my life right now. I'm still freaking out about Peru, but I'm trying to get in the mindset that this is a great opportunity and I need to be open to it so I can make the most of it. And so I can do as much as possible while I'm there.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><em>"I'm going on an adventure!"</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Though hopefully not of the same kind as Bilbo's.</span></div>
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