tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83997970204858851472024-02-07T04:55:39.800-08:00To Reflect: "To Think Deeply or Carefully About."Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-23942080784452936442011-02-14T23:10:00.000-08:002011-02-14T23:14:34.124-08:00The Time is NowFrom your skin to your core, let light and love come rushing through the door - the time is now! (I love the rhythms and strings in this song - I went to see Ballet Magnificat! with my mom, dad and Ellie last weekend. They did an awesome dance to this song.)<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mFarUed5H3c" frameborder="0"></iframe>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-61029477124758906632010-12-04T18:50:00.000-08:002010-12-04T21:07:36.140-08:00Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, 'Times New Roman';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Christmas time is here</span></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, Helvetica, 'Times New Roman';font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Happiness and cheer</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Fun for all that children call</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Their favorite time of the year</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-----------------------------------------</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Snowflakes in the air</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Carols everywhere</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Olden times and ancient rhymes</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Of love and dreams to share</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">------------------------------------</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sleigh bells in the air</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Beauty everywhere</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Yuletide by the fireside</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And joyful memories there</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-------------------------------------</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Christmas time is here</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We'll be drawing near</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Oh, that we could always see</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Such spirit through the year</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Oh, that we could always see</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Such spirit through the year...</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So it's Christmastime and I really wish I could say I'm in the Christmas mood, but I don't think I can say that until my Christmas spirit reaches full peak - and for some reason this year, it's not there yet. So, to motivate my Christmas cheer, here is a list of things I LOVE about this time of year.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Thinking about the Incarnation. Mind baffling, humbling and intense love. Thank you, Jesus.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">December. It's just a good month. It's cold, but it's a soft cold. Not the pre-winter sloppy cold of September October and November, or the harsh, biting cold of January and February, or the wet, messy cold of March and April. It just seems - quiet. </span></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Right now, the house across the street from my apartment looks like it could be on the cover of a Martha Stewart mag. It has beautiful twinkle lights on its front porch and upstairs balcony, and its age softens it into the landscape of the street. I'm not big on Martha, but this house is downright charming, and it's great to see that every night. Speaking of my street, the houses on it are just great period. They're old, but renovated and alive with character. There are also lots of trees on my street that are blanketed in snow and deepen the charm and attraction of my little street.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Peppermint hot chocolate, Egg Nog, Chai and Chai Nogs. Duh.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All the great Christmas movies (Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown, It's A Wonderful Life, The Grinch, White Christmas, the list goes on.)</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. Best Christmas book, hands down.</span></li></ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Last but not least - CHRISTMAS MUSIC! The Messiah, All the classic hymns, all the old school stuff we used to listen to with my dad (yes, Amy Grant is included in that list), and all the cheesy Christmas songs it's fun to blast at the top of your lungs (thank you, Mariah Carey.) Speaking of Christmas music, this song is one of my latest favorites that is helping to get me in the snowy, Christmasy mood.</span></li></ul><div><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gUr964PWfck?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gUr964PWfck?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There. Now that I've got all that out, I think I'm feeling more Christmasy already. There are so many other things that could go on that list, but those are the highlights. Merry Christmas season! Only 21 days left...</span></div></span>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-17468034054980012522010-11-02T20:11:00.001-07:002010-11-02T20:32:34.901-07:00In the Company of the Archangels...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gSLa4-K1yfTCKgGzmQgxFM0QCmfOZlS_C3QoOn1VOaWVGVqCGGCvYvWth6kbfXoVY9dHvy2wbJBJ9sAZjjpUgg50XU3g43uUAVqRMLkhWM-yBJWeaWNajLe3LRKL6XSatt7gNosNAlBk/s1600/IMG_0879.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gSLa4-K1yfTCKgGzmQgxFM0QCmfOZlS_C3QoOn1VOaWVGVqCGGCvYvWth6kbfXoVY9dHvy2wbJBJ9sAZjjpUgg50XU3g43uUAVqRMLkhWM-yBJWeaWNajLe3LRKL6XSatt7gNosNAlBk/s400/IMG_0879.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535160863104845010" /></a><br /><div>I saw a picture of the ocean today. And I wanted to go. I wanted the sand on my feet and the wet salty embrace of the wind on my face. What is so intriguing about the ocean? In the spirit of my longing for the ocean, this is one of my favorite descriptions of the sea, enjoy. </div><div><br /></div>"...on the other side extended a long, curving beach of red cliffs, rising steeply from the pebbled coves. It was a shore that knew the magic and mystery of storm and star. There is a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are never solitary - they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery - we may only wander, awe and spell-bound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only - a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels."<div><i>From Anne's House of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery</i></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-84946549839691224242010-10-17T14:29:00.000-07:002010-10-17T14:47:14.782-07:00Sunsets & Sushi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9XdO_utx-TNVQyULmM_Rm9SXPyLA2CYYCV8xGEAVV8FnCtQcbt7qJs-WPGmjbUh0QwwfhTNHtTSsCimZaCLcKbanuffs00JO_kko0MAXSEscZrJIYubeqEJdjY5Mzg2Vt-xKgYTqSThC/s1600/Picture+1.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY9XdO_utx-TNVQyULmM_Rm9SXPyLA2CYYCV8xGEAVV8FnCtQcbt7qJs-WPGmjbUh0QwwfhTNHtTSsCimZaCLcKbanuffs00JO_kko0MAXSEscZrJIYubeqEJdjY5Mzg2Vt-xKgYTqSThC/s320/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529134632657014242" border="0" /></a>Today I was walking through Drake Park. In Bend. Because that's where I live now. Drake Park is right down the street from my apartment. The trees are all turning color and the air was cool, but the sun was warm. It was nice.<br /><br />And I was reflecting on this --<br /><br />So this last month or so, I've really been hit by the fact that I'm a sinner. I mean, duh. But seriously - it's been humbling to recognize the grace of God in my life and realize that no matter what I do, or how I mess up, or how disgusted I am with myself, He forgives me and I can live in the freedom of His love. I just don't know what I would do if I didn't have a relationship with Jesus. Even though I neglect Him a lot, I realize that I am constantly comforted by the knowledge of His presence in my life. I love the good things He's provided for me... and the beauty that still surrounds me despite of all the selfish, ugly sin that's there, too. I just feel like His protection and guidance in my life, and the lives of those I love, needs to be recognized. I love Jesus!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-15626855904835190962010-09-12T22:46:00.000-07:002010-09-12T22:54:18.600-07:00RamblingsI know what you’re thinking. “Wow, a blog entry from Karen?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Um, she’s alive?” Yeah, I am. How’s it going. I have a life. Life. Funny thought. It’s been pretty crazy hectic lately. But, I wanted all you readers (all, like, four of you) to know that I’m moving out of Weed. I thought it was noteworthy. I’m moving to Bend, Oregon to be the Rehab Office Coordinator at St. Charles Medical Center. I’ll also be close to Carla. And Tim and Lydia and Olivia and Caleb. Which definitely makes me happy. However, I will miss writing for the paper. But, with that said, I think it might give me a chance to pour some juices back into my creative writing. I get all ambitious, but seriously. Maybe I’ll submit some stuff to a magazine or write a book or something. You guys would read it, right? So there are four fans already. Done and done.<br /><br />Okay so about my job. Audrey pretty much got it for me. She recommended me for her old position and then I interviewed and got a call the very next day. I was terrified for the interview, because that’s how I operate. I get SUPER NERVOUS for things, things that should not make people THAT nervous. But I do, I get that nervous. (Poor Carla had to shove me in the hot tub the night before in an effort to make me relax.) Then when I get into the interview, or whatever it is I’m nervous for, I’m usually pretty calm and I just swallow my fear and use my fake confidence to sail through. Anyway, so I felt super relieved after the interview was over, and I was confident I did pretty well. Then when I got the call saying I landed the job, I thought “yay!” for about two seconds before the nerves set in again. And I realized there are many, many changes lying ahead of me. And many "thoughts to think" in the next few weeks as Audrey says. Yikes! But I’m actually thinking I’ll just take it one day at a time. One hour at a time if I have to. I’m looking for a place to live in Bend. It would be pretty sweet to be able to live with Carla, but I don’t know if that’s going to actually play out. If it doesn’t, oh well, it will be nice just to be in the same town at least. And get to know her “booooooyfriend” (as JB affectionately calls him in a mocking tone) better, too. <br /><br />Next, I’m really going to miss my family and JB. That pretty much nails all I want to say on that topic. It’s just really, really, really true.<br /><br />I’ve been struggling a bit tonight with the real, raw, desires of my heart. I really wish I knew myself better. I want to be a wife and mom someday, but until that desire actualizes I want to be diligent and responsible and serve God. I think this job is a good way to start, so I’m praying that the Lord will bless it and guide me eventually to something I know I want to do beyond a shadow of a shadowy doubt. I want to get to a spot where I feel like, “yeah, this is it. This is where God wants me and where I want to be and it feels great.” I hope that’s not selfish, because I don’t mean it in that sense. I just want to get to a place where I’m calm and confident and can serve God without questioning if everything is “the right thing.” I want to follow His lead, and trust Him through uncertainty, knowing I can be certain about Him. That last sentence is already pretty true about me, but I want it even more!<br /><br />So, change is coming – but change is good. I’m moving to Bend and starting a new life. It’s freaky scary. I’ll keep you posted. (And don’t “look at the sky” as my Italian cousin says, I really will.)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-27824755372422779392010-03-08T21:27:00.000-08:002010-03-08T21:45:43.685-08:00Rescue!Walking down a trail with my dad, mom and Carla last weekend gave me the opportunity to appreciate the sparkling Deschutes river to our right, the rocky jagged hillside to our left, trees cutting into the blue sky accented by wafting clouds and the sound of rolling, bubbling water. The sun was out but it was chilly. After the exercise warmed us up a bit we shedded our outer layers and carried them around our waists. With our sunglasses on and a healthy flush of color on our cheeks we were enjoying the beautiful day in Bend. We heard children's voices drifting down the trail toward us from the hillside. "Oh, listen to the kids playing. How cute," mom remarked. <br /><br />As we came nearer to the sound of chatter it began to separate into audible words. One word, actually. A little boy's voice shrieked, "Help! Help!" We sped up and rounded a corner to see a young blonde freckled boy, about seven years old, gripping the edge of a large rock halfway up the hillside, his feet dangling free in a desperate and unsuccessful attempt to find footing. "Hang on!" dad yelled and scrambled up the hillside to rescue this frightened child. Just then, his friend came out from behind a rock and asked with a shocked expression, "Hayden! What happened?!" "Oh, your friend is just a little stuck," dad replied, trying to keep these boys calm. Hayden, from his precarious position, aligned his head with his shoulder in an attempt to see his friend and in a panic he assessed the situation from his perspective. "No! I'm <em>HANGING ON FOR DEAR LIFE</em>!!" Dad quickly reached up, put his hands around him and tightened his grip. Hayden released his grip on the rock's edge and let out all the breath the fear had kept inside. Rushing out of his mouth with the released fear were his thanks. "Thank you, thank you" - gulp, sigh - "Thank you!" Dad set the trembling thankful boy down on a patch of grass and his wide-eyed friend came over. "I told him to follow me, but he said he knew a quicker way." Hayden didn't notice his friend's bragging and I-told-you-so tone of voice, he was just glad to be alive. He caught his breath and thanked dad again. Further down the trail, dad was thanked for his heroism by the boy's mother who was picnicking by the river. "Boy that was an adventure!" Hayden's friend exclaimed. The final word from Hayden was, "I'm through with climbing rocks for a while." <br /><br />The day was still shining in its brilliance, but this short episode added a significant highlight.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-71154969903462870842010-02-18T12:20:00.000-08:002010-02-18T12:30:11.047-08:00A Five-year-old on Ice Skates – A Story of Determination<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUG48DMYJuw6RdpRATrV8jv7pbjqE2WUUp3x4BxWSKNFS6PNOgKGyGbCBFKBX2IfsXseDfk17f1NqaInxHZjTgB6VtojEmDK4KmybCkfuEKVZIPLBVQHTl_U4Eh1pIrRjSL-vxbZl5M927/s1600-h/IMG_6032.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUG48DMYJuw6RdpRATrV8jv7pbjqE2WUUp3x4BxWSKNFS6PNOgKGyGbCBFKBX2IfsXseDfk17f1NqaInxHZjTgB6VtojEmDK4KmybCkfuEKVZIPLBVQHTl_U4Eh1pIrRjSL-vxbZl5M927/s320/IMG_6032.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439683316698421938" /></a><br />“Will you <span style="font-style:italic;">please</span> come ice skating with me, KK?” JB said as he cocked his gap-model head accented with puppy dog eyes at me. Um, how could I say no to that? My plans of coffee shop lounging/espresso sipping/Internet surfing/job searching flew away like that piece of trash you <span style="font-style:italic;">didn’t mean to </span>let slip out of the car window on the freeway. Woops. So I laced up my five dollar rental skates, prepared to hold this adorable five-year-old’s hand as we glided across the ice together, eventually being able to experience the joy of letting go of the gripping hand to see him find his own feet on the ice – the idea being for him to skate without my help and being able to enjoy the fruit of my labors. Reality check - not going to happen, KK. With strength of mind, JB let me tie his skates on, then headed across the rubber mats to take his first step onto the ice. The poor disillusioned child thought it would be a cinch. On his way to the rink, someone greeted him with a “Hi, JB! How are you?” He didn’t flinch but responded determinedly, “I can’t talk right now, I’m just concentrating.” I followed close behind as the metal blade of his skate met the ice and his idea of how easy this would be began to slip out of his mind, unable to stay in place despite his mental attempts at keeping it there. He flailed like a fish out of water, making desperate attempts to keep himself vertical by holding onto the wall of the rink with one hand, and my hand on the other side. My continuous exhortations to take it slow, to put one foot in front of the other, never made it past his cute little head of silky brown hair. Instead of gently easing his skates forward one at a time, he insisted on jerking them backwards in a fast, repetitive motion, attempting to sprint across the ice. “The faster I go, the steadier I get!” he shouted behind him once, right before his chest and hands caught the weight of his body on the wet ice. He tried holding onto an upside down wastebasket, but because he is tall for his age, skating along at a 90-degree angle didn’t seem to improve his skills much. We tried several methods, but mainly resorted to our wall and hand gripping device. Near the end, I ended up just wrapping my arms around his chest, under his arms, instructing him to <span style="font-style:italic;">keep his feet STILL</span> so he could slide across the ice and just enjoy it. Fortunately, there were several who took pity on my quickly failing plight (and were also, most likely, partly drawn in by JB’s effortless charm that was prominent even in his unsuccessful skating attempts,) and offered to take him for a lap around the rink, or to grab his other hand as a team effort. This, probably unbeknownst to the individual offering, was a half an hour volunteer job. It also consisted of about six or seven lifts of the full weight of this boy decked out in heavy snow clothes with skates on. After about an hour of these trips around the rink, holding onto this slipping and sliding kid, lifting him up and making coaching attempts that were slowly decreasing in frequency, spectators and volunteers began to inquire after my back, to make sure I wasn’t in pain. My back was fine - JB’s tenacity and determination to master this sport seemed to increase my patience. I admired his desire to keep trying. A few times I gently asked him if he wanted to step off the ice for a while, “no! I’m just ready for another trip around, KK,” he would respond. Once he looked up at me endearingly and softly said, “lots of these kids are better than me, huh?” Then, after a long pause, “but practice makes perfect!” He skated away just to fall down again. After the two hours on the rink, JB and I were both ready to step off. I assured him that next time he tried, it wouldn’t seem so foreign and hard. He’s excited to take another stab at it. I love that boy.<br /><br />I think this experience is analogous to how God looks at me. I feel like in living my life in the attempt of being set apart for God, and in my attempts to increase the closeness of spiritual proximity to Him, I am about as successful as JB on the ice sometimes. But like JB, I don’t want to give up – and God is still holding my hand, constantly picking me up and setting me on my feet again, only His back never gets tired. Sometimes he even has to grab me from behind and gently push me along. But while my patience with JB would eventually run out, His patience with me is infinite. I want my tenacity to remain. I always want to have that desire to step back out onto the slippery ice and try again. <br /><br />*I realize that in this analogy I compared myself to God. I’m not entirely sure of the ethics of that, but I think it’s OK in this case.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-90089688870081756152010-02-09T22:59:00.000-08:002010-02-09T23:03:06.716-08:00The Christian's ComfortI found this on a little note card in my Aunt Carmen’s bible today during a visit. Uncle Aldo was talking about John 5:24, how it’s his favorite verse in the whole Bible. When I asked him what it said, he leaned over, looked at me intently and quoted, “Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life.” Then he sighed and said, “That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it?” They are devoted Catholics and have been their whole lives, but in recent years it’s as if they just discovered the Bible. It’s so great. Uncle Aldo said he never thought about it much before, but now they study it regularly. Aunt Carmen wanted to show me her Bible, so while I was flipping through it, this piece of paper fell out and I thought it was beautiful.<br /><br /><strong>The Christian’s Comfort</strong><br />(<em>Extract from a letter by Dr. James DeKoven, written just before his death, to a friend in affliction, March, 1879</em>)<br />The Christian’s comfort in sorrow is to be found, not in the memory, but in the presence of the one we love. The Christian is in Christ; the departed loved one is in Christ, too, only nearer to Him than we on earth. One is on this side of the veil, the other on that. By coming nearer to Christ the living and the dead come nearer to each other in Him, not in any physical manner by sight or sound or touch – that would be only to restore what is most imperfect and what death was meant to end – but in the deep, hidden bonds that bind the souls of them that love Him together in our Lord Jesus Christ. <br /><br />Thus, prayers and good works and Holy Communion and the personal love of Jesus, become the comfort of one that sorrows, not because they make one forget or benumb one’s feelings, but because through them the soul is being drawn nearer to Christ. <br /><br />Thus there becomes a deep meaning in the benediction, “Blessed are they that mourn."Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-75657873753027619642010-02-08T20:35:00.000-08:002010-02-08T20:38:23.250-08:00Cursed by the Cursor, SometimesWhen I type, my fingers usually move faster than my brain, pushing the cursor forward at a speed I can’t keep up with mentally. This equals too much time staring at the blinking cursor, which is a sight I loathe. That little propeller of my thoughts, expressions and well thought-out research findings (<em>wink</em>) should be moving, moving, moving, not running in place. When I write in my composition notebook that is covered with colorful cutouts from my favorite magazines, my brain moves much faster than my pen. Somehow, once that thin blue ink begins stroking the paper, I suddenly realize my hand will ache if I try to get it all written by hand. The thoughts and ideas jumble up in my brain, I feel unorganized and sometimes I even, <em>give up</em>. If, however, tenacity prevails, I usually use this method: jot down notes, then resort to my little white friendly Macintosh to chug out the finished product, even if it inevitably means staring at the palpitating cursor. That’s what happened here. I’ve needed to write for a while – I know that. There has been a dry spell; I’ve been uninspired (thanks to Debbie G. for mentioning it and sort of kicking me into action). So today I sat down with my chubby composition notebook and wrote some notes, then I unfolded my laptop and it turned into a blog. It feels good.<br /><br /><br />I’ve been out of college since June. After that I worked on my senior project - more like fought with it and lost, because I made little progress. Then I traveled across the Atlantic to live in Bosnia for a month. When I returned home, I buckled down and chugged out my senior project like serious business. That was done and it felt, and still feels, good. By the way, I rocked that project. 38 pages of well presented, thoroughly researched information. Not to brag or anything. Then there was Thanksgiving and Christmas where I squeezed the last drop of enjoyment out of the luxury of no work and no homework. In January I turned serious about this job-hunting business. Aaaaand, nothing yet. I found out that’s okay, though. I mean, for now. Upon reflection of my time at home after college, I’ve been enlightened in a few areas. Let’s start with – life at home is a full time job. Even without a job, and no school, I am constantly busy. It’s a mystery. I could list all the things I do every day, but when I actually materialize them into words, somehow they lose their significance and legitimacy. Trust me though, they’re important, and they keep me from losing my mind from boredom. Next enlightenment? I love being an adult, but I don’t like being a grown up all the time. (Yes, I realize grown-ups don’t exist – see my past blog post – but I don’t know of a better term for the meaning I’m trying to convey.) Sometimes when I hang out with my sisters or cousins I feel like a kid – and I love it. Wrestling, fighting over silly things and blaring music in the kitchen while we do the dishes isn’t exactly grown-up behavior… is it? It’s great though, because I don’t care. I know I’m an adult, and I can fall back on that fact whenever I need. <em>It’s like the best of both worlds.</em> I think I can accurately call myself a content person. Aside from the occasional rash outburst of emotion and “get me out of here!” mentalities, I’m content here at home until something better comes along. I’ve had time to read, which is great and has clarified the fact that I’m not as well read as I want to be. Lately I picked up a book of short stories and have read authors like Edgar Allan Poe, James Joyce, William Faulkner and Jean-Paul Sartre. They’re so good and interesting! I’m excited to read more of these authors now that my appetite has been wet for them. I’ve also had time to spend with JB, which only solidifies my desire to someday be a mom. I love kids, and when they love you back it’s just irreplaceable. There are plenty of things to make me content while living at home again. It might be cliché to say (it’s even cliché to say it’s cliché – Pam from The Office taught me that), but I want to enjoy the now. Someday my here will become my there, then I might want my here back again. Tonight, propped up on my cozy bed with plans to go make a cup of tea, listening to Greg Laswell and blogging for the first time in a while, I’m content.<br /><br />Also – when I moved back into the house with four other people, it quickly became obvious that people have too much STUFF. I think that’s enough said on that topic, and if not I’m saving it for the next post.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-3225357478214997862009-11-17T09:57:00.000-08:002009-11-17T10:26:11.880-08:00ORGANIZE my thoughts? Have you gone mental?OK, so here's the deal. I've been bursting at the seams to write lately, but when I seriously focus my mental energy on it, nothing appears in my mind's eye. There are no topics floating around in my pool of ideas. My pool has been drained, there are dead leaves and branches, little by little, filling the dry cracked concrete. My pool wishes for summer and to be filled with refreshing, cool water - a breeding ground and welcoming place for ideas.<br /><br />See, just like that... what is that? "My pool?" That's rubbish, or is it? I could work with that, write a metaphorical piece about writer's block, etc. Yeah, right.<br /><br />It's weird, but the thing occupying most of my mind recently has been my hefty research paper and organizing my stuff. Probably because that's what I've been doing. Researching, writing and organizing. So I guess it's not that weird. The thing that spurred me to organize my stuff, I think, (besides my mom's sweet, persistent nagging) is the fact that the contents of my mind are so cluttered. Maybe it's easier for me to approach the file-drawer-turned-upside-down that is my brain when I'm sitting in a clean room that smells of glade scented candles, where everything is neatly folded and put in the right drawer. Dressy shoes have to be in the shoetree, boots on the left side of the closet, flip-flops on the right, please. The third drawer down is for t-shirts only, Ellie, please don't mix them up again. (Ellie complies because she knows this, organized phase, too shall pass.) Don't get me wrong, I can live with clutter. The unorganized accumulation of too much stuff is a well-practiced hobby of mine. When every faculty of mine encounters clutter, though, my mind says, eh, uh, no. Clean at least one of these things up, or I will go crazy. So my mind is happy to focus on cleaning out my dresser, closet, boxes and bags of stuff for a day or two. I'm content to ponder how many different ways my furniture can be arranged, letting my entire consciousness be taken up by deciding if putting the bookshelf next to the bed is the most efficient use of space. It's good and productive on one hand, and an escape of sorts on the other hand. I'd rather have mental clutter than physical, though, especially in regard to my writing. When someone says, "I just need to organize my thoughts," I think, "What? Uh... organize your...? Um, do people, can people really...? Is that even possible? Organize your thoughts? Are you crazy?" A book I just began reading, entitled, "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott addresses this issue in regard to perfectionism in writing, which I equate to complete and total organization of the mind. She says, "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and your [really terrible] first draft. [...] Perfectionism will ruin your writing, blocking inventiveness and playfulness and life force. [...] Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground - you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing needs to breathe and move." <br />Maybe that's why I wait so long to organize my stuff, because I'm a perfectionist. If I can't do it right, I won't do it at all, just like I feel sometimes with writing.<br /><br />Bottom line, I'm glad my room is clean right now, but there's no way it's going to stay that way. I will let it get to a point where I will once again have to choose one area of my life to be sorted, and my stuff is the easiest to get a grip on, so that's what usually ends up being cyclically organized. In regard to writing, I know I write better when I write first, organize later. Hopefully I can always remember that and just plunge into the mess.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-67933660008691923072009-10-22T22:18:00.000-07:002009-10-22T22:23:16.903-07:00Follow the (Red) LightI left the house this morning with the battery warning light on in my car. I stared at the glowing red symbol and thought, “you don’t matter.” It stared back and said, “you’ll be sorry,” as I struggled to pull my common sense back to my side of the argument. My battery light had been flickering on and off for days. I had my battery tested and its function was normal. I was on my way to Medford for a doctor’s appointment. It was 7am. I had my coffee, my tunes, and my paper-clipped bundle of coupons for Costco from my mom. I was ready to check off my Medford to-do list as fast as I could: get in, get done and get out.<br />As I was heading over the pass, listening intently to a comedy sketch by Jerry Seinfeld on my iPod, Jerry’s voice suddenly plummeted – it sounded like it was being sucked through a vortex – then silence. I thought my speakers went out… how annoying. The red battery light (Yes it was still on. I know. Idiot was slowly being etched across my forehead.) shone on unflinchingly, taunting me with its sarcasm: “It’s your speakers. <em>Right.</em>”<br />When my car did a few awkward lunges through road construction before Ashland, I decided to pull over, rolling my eyes that I was conceding to a battery light! I left my car running and made a few phone calls, trying to scrounge up a ride, but I only reached my cousin in Ashland who offered me her… bike? No thanks. My gearshift was locked and that little red light was still blaring, brighter than any red light should be allowed to blare. Then, somehow, the menacing light blinked off and my car shifted into gear! With caution I pulled out and drove on old Highway 99 to Medford. I made it to my appointment, a little late, and eventually to Central point to get my <em>alternator</em> fixed. Somehow I felt a little triumphant that the red light telling me the battery was dying wasn’t 100% accurate. Turns out the alternator was draining my car battery while it was running, but the battery itself is as healthy as a horse.<br />So besides being late for my doctor’s appointment and having to wait an hour and a half at an old fashioned burger place in Central Point - where I eavesdropped on two strangers debating politics through a cheap glass partition adorned with ghastly orange and yellow spiral shaped illustrations of citrus slices - I really was inconvenienced very little.<br />I headed to Costco to take advantage of the coupons and then headed home, pretty much stress free. There are three morals to this tale:<br />#1 – Things generally seem worse than they actually are.<br />#2 – Pay attention to your car’s warning lights.<br />#3 – It’s pretty stupid to have psychological arguments with inanimate objects. (They usually win.)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-59720070642049073472009-10-19T23:58:00.000-07:002009-10-20T00:53:58.941-07:00Love Weed, Love GodWeed.<br />It's an interesting topic for so many reasons. Oh, and I wasn't even counting the ones involving marijuana, (or cannibas if you're reading a police report, but who am I kidding? Who reads police reports besides journalists who then translate it back to marijuana so Joe sixth grader - who probably smokes dope - can understand? Those were two very pointless sentences, but I don't think I wanted to delete them.) so the reasons probably just at least tripled.<br />I bet you can't guess what <em>my</em> reason for writing about Weed is though. Well, besides the fact that I grew up here, love it here, hate it here, left here and now am back here. It's none of those. Today Weed, just the thought of this place, turned my mind toward the amazing love I experience from God all the time, even if it's not recognized by me. (Bet you didn't see that one coming.)<br />My mind has been storing and filing away tid bits of information about God's love lately, through different experiences, thoughts and encounters, but tonight as I drove home from the high school where I was working on my senior project and stressing about it, I suddenly observed the sad little town I was driving through. I don't think the drizzling rain really helped uplift my mood, either. That thought started a chain reaction in my mind, like dominoes or ripples or any other word picture you can think of. (And I'm pretty sure there are more.) I thought about how so many people I know here are depressed and down on their luck, or beating themselves up about things they've done or mistakes they've made. I thought about the gutter of the same depressing routine people get themselves into here. I thought how it's kind of adding insult to inury that on top of all their other problems, they live in <em>Weed. </em><br />When your mind is on this type of track, Weed honestly doesn't have much to offer, except the new bar on Main Street. What a <em>significant</em> improvement to our little space of cohabitation. I'm sure Papa's Place and the bar in the bowling alley weren't enough for our expansive downtown street. The array of lit beer signs in the window really add something to the street at night.<br />Back to my chain reaction of thoughts, though. Thinking about other people's unfortunate situations naturally turned my mind to my own situation. I've felt kind of stressed out and hopeless lately, which I mark as things I most likely have in common with the unfortunates of my mind during this whole thought process.<br />Then, it was like this little light turned on in my head. God loves me, even if I'm stressed out and am only seeing things with a bleak perspective. He loves me A LOT. Then I said a little prayer of thanks to God that I am <em>aware</em> of His love for me. Some of the people in my mind are not aware of it, or at least they are choosing to go through life without taking advantage of it, or comfort in it. It seemed quite perfect, and probably was the cause of the light bulb turning on in my head, that The David Crowder Band's song "How He Loves Us" from their new album was on. It took on a deeper meaning for me. Then it didn't matter that it was cold and drizzly outside.<br />There's a line in "How He Loves Us" that says, "And I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about how He loves us." Chris Tomlin says, "You see the depths of my heart and You love me the same." Pastor Bill says, "God knows what you've done and He loves you anyway." <span style="color:#ccffff;">Isaiah 57:18 says, "I have seen his ways and will heal him. I will also lead you and restore comforts to him and his mourners."</span> <span style="color:#ccffff;">Romans 5:5</span> remedies my thoughts of hopelessness, <span style="color:#ccffff;">"Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us all." </span><br />Weed needs to acknowlege this love much, much more. I need to show this love to Weed much, much more while I'm here. The reciprocation for this kind of love should be to love back. Weed provides a perfect opportunity for me to do this. Love for God = love for others. <span style="color:#ccffff;">John 4:19, "We love Him because <em>He first loved us.</em>" </span><br />Two moments that were precursers to this illumination, some of the tid bits of information I filed away, were in observing God's creation. First when I rounded a corner on the road and my windshield was filled with the exploding scenery of trees in full fall color and the mountain barely dusted with snow against a pure blue sky. Second, when I stepped out of my car the other night and tilted my head toward the sky - smooth black pierced with pinpricks of glowing, sparkling white. There is definitely <em>something </em>about the stars in Edgewood. (Edgewood has one up on Weed in this area for sure. Don't believe me? You're welcome to visit.)<br /><span style="color:#ccffff;">Isaiah 40:26, "Lift up your eyes on high, and see who has created these things, who brings out their host by number. He calls them all by name, by the greatness of His might and the strength of His power not one is missing."</span><br />It's very easy to forget but so essential to remember: God loves me. It enables us to rise up, press on, serve and worship Him better. It's better than anything. Ever.<br /><br />PS - I am very proud of myself that I didn't mention A.W. Tozer at all in this post. Just saying. It had the potential to be <em>much </em>longer, but stop yawning - I'm done.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-15199564632973838182009-10-13T10:16:00.000-07:002009-10-15T17:30:40.887-07:00Flames Divide, Cedars Split<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZyyhMqzpcAQEh9PoNPlheuZfAuxpbrbaT5v0plfn_YBen9v_EEuLFG85XOoPhpDXFPcgDgTJ9SOz3rT5Pr0pMZlF4qEBOPdLuisUYC4NSJdv_vO88SI6mK8JBiZtzrAtlMZbRZD9aipV/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 176px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392988636956547954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZyyhMqzpcAQEh9PoNPlheuZfAuxpbrbaT5v0plfn_YBen9v_EEuLFG85XOoPhpDXFPcgDgTJ9SOz3rT5Pr0pMZlF4qEBOPdLuisUYC4NSJdv_vO88SI6mK8JBiZtzrAtlMZbRZD9aipV/s320/Picture+1.png" /></a><br /><div>When I was at Capernwray Hall we had a mandatory day of prayer. Of course they couldn’t enforce us to pray but the idea was that we would spend the entire day alone with God. I remember Trevor encouraging us to spend some of our time <em>listening to God.</em> When he said that, I cringed internally because:<br /><br />This has always been one of the hardest things for me to grasp and take seriously as a Christian – hearing God. I don’t mean to, and it’s not like I don’t attribute validity to what people mean when they say things like, <em><strong>God told me</strong> to go here or do that or say this</em>… but I tend to close off somewhat to statements of that nature. There may be a tinge of unbelief in me, or sometimes a bit of resentment that it doesn’t come as easily recognizable to me. Deep down I think some people are too loose with the term "God told me to." I'm trying to figure out how I can be such a devout (at least I like to think I’m devout) Christian and be so unfamiliar with the Voice of God. It’s a little disconcerting. I think because God is so <em>other</em> than me that it’s hard to grasp how He can speak to me. Communication in the other direction doesn’t cause a problem for me, though. Being able to talk to the God who created me, loves me and deserves my unending praise is awesome. When He wants to respond to my prayers, though? Wait… what? Um… how do I hear it? How do I know for sure that’s what He’s saying? (That’s where faith comes in, which is another whole topic in itself, but extremely related.)<br /><br />The POWER alone associated with the voice of God is mind-boggling. Psalm 33:6 says, “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth.” Verse 9 says, “For He spoke and it was done. He commanded and it stood fast.” All throughout Genesis 1 it’s seen: “Then God said… and it was so.” <span style="color:#66ffff;">Psalm 29</span> (one of my absolute favorite Psalms) speaks about the power of God’s voice (<span style="color:#66ffff;">read it!!</span><span style="color:#ffffff;">).</span><br /><br />I’m reading “The Pursuit of God” by A.W. Tozer right now, and frankly, I could probably write lengthy posts about each chapter in that book... (as you can see from my previous post, haha) but I’ll try to not do that. I encourage you to read it if you haven’t already. The chapter I just read is entitled “The Speaking Voice,” go figure. It seriously convicted me that I need to focus so much more of my prayer and devotion time on disciplining my ability to listen to God.<br /><br />If you thought you were going to get through this post without a quote from Tozer, haha. Too bad. Or just stop reading now. But actually don’t, because Tozer is so much better to read than me. One of the fundamental things regarding the Voice of God that helps me understand this whole concept is that the Bible is God’s word (and consequently voice) in my life. Tozer says, (here comes the quote!)<br /><br /><br /><blockquote>“A man may say, ‘These words are addressed to me,’ and yet in his heart not feel<br />and know that they are. […] The Bible is the inevitable outcome of God’s<br />continuous speech. It is the infallible declaration of His mind for us put into<br />our familiar human words. I think a new world will arise out of the religious<br />mists when we approach the Bible with the idea that it is not only a book which<br />was once spoken, but a book which is now speaking. The prophets habitually said,<br />‘Thus saith the LORD.’ They meant their hearers to understand that God’s<br />speaking is in the continuous present. We may use the past tense properly to<br />indicate that at a certain time a certain word of God was spoken but a word of<br />God once spoken continues to be spoken, as a child once born continues to be<br />alive, or a world once created continues to exist. And those are but imperfect<br />illustrations, for children die and worlds burn out, but the Word of our God<br />endureth forever.”<br /></blockquote><br />I don’t think I have been ignoring the voice of God in my life. I think I’ve just perhaps been scraping by with the bare minimum of listening to God. Of course a relationship has to have two way communication, so to grow even closer to the God I love, I have to increase my awareness of His voice by disciplining my hearing skills to be sharper.<br /><br /><blockquote>“Come at once to the open Bible expecting it to speak to you. Do not come with<br />the notion that it is a thing which you may push around at your convenience.<br />It is more than a thing; it is a voice, a word, the very Word of the living<br />God.” –Tozer</blockquote><br />That mindset is vital to hearing God’s voice in my life! Like Tozer I want to pray that I will get used to the sound of God’s voice, that its tones may be familiar when the sounds of the earth die away and the only sound will be the music of His speaking voice.</div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-4059600051921836092009-09-18T02:33:00.000-07:002009-09-18T02:48:18.561-07:00Oh Taste and See that the Lord is Good Psalm 34:8I am aware that there are those who love to poke fun at the plain man's idea of reality. They are the idealists who spin endless proofs that nothing is real outside of the mind. They are the relativists who like to show that there are no fixed points in the universe from which we can measure anything. They smile down upon us from their lofty intellectual peaks and settle us to their own satisfaction by fastening upon us the reproachful term "absolutist." The Christian is not put out of countenance by this show of contempt. He can smile right back at them, for he knows that there is only One who is Absolute, that is God. But he knows also that the Absolute One has made this world for man's use, and while there is nothing fixed or real in the last meaning of the words (the meaning as applied to God), <span style="font-style: italic;">for every purpose of human life we are permitted to act as if there were</span>. And every man does act thus except the mentally sick. These unfortunates also have trouble with reality, but they are consistent; they insist upon living in accordance with their ideas of things. They are honest, and it is their very honesty which constitutes them a social problem.<br /><br />The idealists and relativists are not mentally sick. They prove their soundness by living their lives according to the very notions of reality which they in theory repudiate and by counting upon the very fixed points which they prove are not there. They could earn a lot more respect for their notions if they were willing to live by them; but this they are careful not to do. Their ideas are brain-deep, not life-deep. Wherever life touches them they repudiate their theories and live like other men.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >The Christian</span> is too sincere to play with ideas for their own sake. He takes no pleasure in the mere spinning of gossamer webs for display. <span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >All his beliefs are practical. They are geared into his life. By them he lives or dies, stands or falls for this world and for all time to come.</span> From the insincere man he turns away. The sincere, plain man knows that the world is real. He finds it here when he wakes to consciousness, and he knows that he did not think it into being. It was here waiting for him when he came, and he knows that when he prepares to leave this earthly scene it will be here still to bid him goodbye as he departs. By the deep wisdom of life he is wiser than a thousand men who doubt. He stands upon the earth and feels the wind and rain in his face, and he knows that they are real. He sees the sun by day and the stars by night. He sees the hot lightning play out of the dark thundercloud. He hears the sounds of nature and the cries of human joy and pain. These he knows are real. He lies down on the cool earth at night and has no fear that it will prove illusory or fail him while he sleeps. In the morning the firm ground will be under him, the blue sky above him and the rocks and trees around him as when he closed his eyes the night before. So he lives and rejoices in a world of reality. With his five senses he engages this real world. All things necessary to his physical existence he apprehends by the faculties with which he has been equipped by the God who created him and placed him in such a world as this. Now by our definition also <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">God is real. He is real in the absolute and final sense that nothing else is.</span> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">All other reality is contingent upon His.</span><br /><br /> - A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God (from Ch. 4: Apprehending God)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-24735777503045240422009-09-14T00:47:00.000-07:002009-09-29T10:35:01.121-07:009/14/09Sorry it's been a while since my last post. It's a challenge for me to sift through all that's happening and process it enough to write about it. I've been journaling, but even that is scattered, so my efforts usually consist of making sense of my journal entries enough to string them together into a cohesive post. Here are some experiences that stick out enough to write about for now.<br /><br />Last week Jo had to mow her lawn and her neighbor’s lawn as well. When I came home from walking around the piacja with another woman who works at the Hope Center, I met her in the neighbor’s yard.<span style="font-style: italic;"> (Or ga</span><span style="font-style: italic;">rden if you’re British. Funny side note – I’m beginning to pick up British terms again living </span><span style="font-style: italic;">with Jo. Just small things, but I find I’m falling into it quite easily. For instance, saying things like “rubbi</span><span style="font-style: italic;">sh,” “this bit,” “tip it into the sink,” “chuck it into the bin,” “can I help with the washing up?” et</span><span style="font-style: italic;">c.)</span> Jo told me to hang out with the Bosnians while she mowed. What that consisted of was literally following her around while she cut the grass. We stood at a very close proximity and just watched Jo work. Every once in a while the Bosnians would point out a bit that she missed, but for the most part, we just observed, <span style="font-style: italic;">the entire time</span>. When she finished their garden, we moved on to another neighbor’s – she had come out of her house and shouted across the fence for Jo to mow hers as well. So we all trooped down another lane to watch Jo mow that lawn. It was interesting keeping the Bosnians company because I don’t speak Bosnian (although I am learning a bit – two classes a week, it’s a hard language!). I do a considerable amount of smiling and nodding. It was so intriguing to me that everybody just kept joining us after we mowed their lawn and we clustered around Jo while she worked. They served us coffee and juice (they drink so much juice over here!) and they kept handing me fresh apples and grapes that they were picking off their trees and vines. They gave me a chair to sit in, and when I would try to say I didn’t need it, they would just keep saying sjediti, sjediti! (That means “sit, sit!”) When Jo would round the corner, they would pick my chair up and move it so I could view Jo working at all times. Heaven forbid I miss a millisecond of what she was doing.<br /><br /><br />A few days ago, as part of the potato project here (click <a href="http://www.crossworld.org/project-detail/items/potato-project-in-se-bosnia.html">HERE</a> to read about it!), we took a trip out to "The Village" to pick up some potatoes. We drove four about 45 minutes down a lush, forested mountain road. When we arrived, I was taken away by the beauty. It felt as if we were stepping back in time. The house we went to was rustic and simple, made of brick. We were invited in for coffee (Amila makes the best!!) We sat around for an hour and sipped our coffee and visited. Later, out of their tiny kitchen, Amila and her mother revealed one of the best meals I think I've ever eaten. You would hardly know they were cooking, they were up and down so little, and when the pulled the pans out of the kitchen and set them on the table, I was puzzled at where it came from. However, I quickly stopped wondering because my admiration of what was set in front of me overcame any inquiry as to its creation. I was looking at fresh baked bread (sweet bread with plenty of air pockets, yet dense and crusty on the outside), potatoes picked fresh from the garden that morning, boiled then baked unti lcrispy with a little salt. Roasted peppers also fresh from the garden, served with cheese cream (nothing like we have in the States, it's sweet and sort of the texture of sour cream, but thicker.) Salad, which consisted of fresh bell peppers, onions and tomatoes chopped - no dressing, just salt, - sausage roasted in the oven with mustard and cheese cream. We all grabbed forks and dug in. We used plates, but the Bosnians didn't. They just ate from the pans, I loved it. We washed the whole meal down with fizzy water. After we were stuffed a little past the point of contentment, we went outside into the misty air and hiked up into the hills for a ways. We sought out a trickling waterfall where the ground produces a silver clay that makes your hands extremely soft... it was a bit treacherous climbing down there, but it was worth it to feel the ground. Amila carried a pick with her to dig up a bunch and take it back with us. The scenery was gorgeous and it was so refreshing to be out in the cool air when it was raining a bit here and there. Later we piled the potatoes in our van and drove back along the narrow bumpy road. It was a good day.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6ytDEWdy0nZZot-lDF9QbRWn2Mk0xSTVVRNHs3r6QO2F-k_XHVLnCtDGUOyjR0SbRZ_zeFI8CMQKr_wYrELTRgoP8T92f5BYxHO1aoXBzXQuAmJrAwlnXZ5Ts9QiGptCvO618lZgmRfY/s1600-h/P9120004.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6ytDEWdy0nZZot-lDF9QbRWn2Mk0xSTVVRNHs3r6QO2F-k_XHVLnCtDGUOyjR0SbRZ_zeFI8CMQKr_wYrELTRgoP8T92f5BYxHO1aoXBzXQuAmJrAwlnXZ5Ts9QiGptCvO618lZgmRfY/s320/P9120004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386940557237367154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5Eikyl8jZrw6jTnevErgCNULR5muX_lhvuadTtWVnL2C2kDmyDQfXElR99Nt8qLai7T9iI1qs8jz28nq0BFb2zHosUIsJTIEFX-8g2TKAlQ9vMdrQ13ZBxlgwgwihK6YfTwVPJvz9RUm/s1600-h/P9120016.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5Eikyl8jZrw6jTnevErgCNULR5muX_lhvuadTtWVnL2C2kDmyDQfXElR99Nt8qLai7T9iI1qs8jz28nq0BFb2zHosUIsJTIEFX-8g2TKAlQ9vMdrQ13ZBxlgwgwihK6YfTwVPJvz9RUm/s320/P9120016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386943893018668626" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklWmguRNdW1ihQtyqq_AHvXKTVj4b41R8Epq5xU14QnkwqSViyJwMn8eNqL1yY-LMw-3-E-oY1R-b3ZI7vuIfCa6zWzoDOCsi-04YN6nYGIy-IrZt1Ggyg7zJKfVqAQXQyTkPLpQGnOIM/s1600-h/P9120009.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklWmguRNdW1ihQtyqq_AHvXKTVj4b41R8Epq5xU14QnkwqSViyJwMn8eNqL1yY-LMw-3-E-oY1R-b3ZI7vuIfCa6zWzoDOCsi-04YN6nYGIy-IrZt1Ggyg7zJKfVqAQXQyTkPLpQGnOIM/s320/P9120009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386940587164754130" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxx8XcepLrFID04kEPqAljMucj_jp1EnMgACdTIXEgK2PPlZXNRtZfOFIW5V6iDbFsZHo7mAnaAssPkzYATzx8rUPlXDZ6xoocL-paEv5DsnBBidtyHAh2IdRkK2FFKqNEUq1VatyOmvk/s1600-h/P9120002.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxx8XcepLrFID04kEPqAljMucj_jp1EnMgACdTIXEgK2PPlZXNRtZfOFIW5V6iDbFsZHo7mAnaAssPkzYATzx8rUPlXDZ6xoocL-paEv5DsnBBidtyHAh2IdRkK2FFKqNEUq1VatyOmvk/s320/P9120002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386940578791012290" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknAROS_hR-rFJ4ZbFrVc1SQzqZ8RGvfTbGmxVxqZCUBTdKClNQ9UDvDIGkMGMdIRvzWSWsXZQkE94qUmpltiOxaYNdMU5VnNRh-KfeyrakrC3xa-gnzt79U5stwe9vhT5FvfK_0XArfca/s1600-h/P9120007.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhknAROS_hR-rFJ4ZbFrVc1SQzqZ8RGvfTbGmxVxqZCUBTdKClNQ9UDvDIGkMGMdIRvzWSWsXZQkE94qUmpltiOxaYNdMU5VnNRh-KfeyrakrC3xa-gnzt79U5stwe9vhT5FvfK_0XArfca/s320/P9120007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386940572135274594" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcbS5MKXgOt46t_Bm7xVchT_9T5fkPlftUdo3Ml3Q7pQzv7PpPiJQDkONdUuWc-skdkSa79GuTDzNXwRjDJq7C1C_rVQgPJFKNEZYpwIzHXRIB7lIpJt5TrSsz9E7tUbJJsPgQ-H1BCz7/s1600-h/P9120008.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcbS5MKXgOt46t_Bm7xVchT_9T5fkPlftUdo3Ml3Q7pQzv7PpPiJQDkONdUuWc-skdkSa79GuTDzNXwRjDJq7C1C_rVQgPJFKNEZYpwIzHXRIB7lIpJt5TrSsz9E7tUbJJsPgQ-H1BCz7/s320/P9120008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386940563581451298" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxHI4pyA4x8xjvuJWZg7GwFiaDpOnDHUfdrGXvoJg0mUqUQ7sSQsaQZM2JC_ntdEKozb6BGOOn9NQSk-RMm0dQs0yZp7d_KvtesIxKzjGcH-_6wW6fwyjukGyUjreV6bjSF-b8Vxd_NlH/s1600-h/P9120002.JPG"><br /></a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-72786497816710303302009-09-06T10:36:00.000-07:002009-09-06T15:16:06.079-07:009/6/09Now that I've been in Goražde for a few days, it feels like I know more about what's going on. That's such a "duh" statement, but it's the only way I can think to describe what's going on in my head. This trip is changing my traditional ideas of sharing the Gospel. The Reitz's have been here for eight years, and they've been able to share their faith with people, and witness to them, a little but they have yet to actually lead somebody to the Lord. The community here is 99% Muslim, and in talking to Jo a bit, I can sense a feeling of discouragement and bewilderment at times at the long process involved in sharing Jesus' love with the people of Bosnia. However, the perseverance of the people in ministry here is encouraging and challenging to me.<br /><br />So far what we've been doing is extremely practical and relational. Last night Jo and I went to coffee at her neighbor Amila's house. Everything is so community oriented. We came home, Amila was in her garden and asked if we wanted to have a coffee later. After about an hour, she called up through the window, "Jo! Coffee! Come on!" So we walked over to her house. The roads here are like alleys in America. They are so small, it feels like you're crossing a little driveway to get to the house across the street. We sat outside and had coffee. Bosnian coffee is a lot like the coffee I had in Italy. They drink it out of small cups, and it's strong - they put sugar in it normally. It was absolutely delicious. I felt very welcome, even though I can't speak the language. Jo translated for me, but her Bosnian isn't fluent at all, so I think there were a few things lost in translation. Izmet (sp? Maybe it's Yzmet, not sure...), Amila's father in law, was separating dried beans from the chaff, so we helped him sift and blow the chaff away and put the beautifully colored beans in a big red bowl. It was neat to be able to help even though I couldn't communicate with him at all.<br /><br />It is really cool to see the people in ministry here building relationships with this community. I can tell they are very well liked and accepted here. Please continue to pray for this ministry as I believe it is a slow, but effective process!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBpF4zxZnxoJWVZcL-BuIRiE8_HEYiund5UqrqiFfXQr8GgAZguLp9ExqM3LsgLR-cGdP65rdRL-47-VtwMW75djlQrZ5PLPi1eCD5Q1UPBo1ooLdIjpEv9sY9_AiSqxuAvHNQ89XykaI/s1600-h/P9040067.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBpF4zxZnxoJWVZcL-BuIRiE8_HEYiund5UqrqiFfXQr8GgAZguLp9ExqM3LsgLR-cGdP65rdRL-47-VtwMW75djlQrZ5PLPi1eCD5Q1UPBo1ooLdIjpEv9sY9_AiSqxuAvHNQ89XykaI/s400/P9040067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378479817935953746""" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqgUH1Cp5mMy-iN40oPuauDMGgxTTlIr_R-PF95gVKMXsLBPFjmBjYIDezx5QsL4xkFqP3HIux-JZrjxsJPANOGEITJZIOl0_J-ZIzPV7B-qshAkGz0GBSaTOChkgA-0lDvtAdAFBmQh9/s1600-h/P9050071.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqgUH1Cp5mMy-iN40oPuauDMGgxTTlIr_R-PF95gVKMXsLBPFjmBjYIDezx5QsL4xkFqP3HIux-JZrjxsJPANOGEITJZIOl0_J-ZIzPV7B-qshAkGz0GBSaTOChkgA-0lDvtAdAFBmQh9/s400/P9050071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378479826957543890" border="0" /></a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-40438136132436645392009-09-02T09:41:00.000-07:002009-09-02T09:50:46.728-07:00Should Jet Lag Be Cured? Probably Not.So I'm flying from Medford to SF and I read this article in the InFlight magazine. (Yeah, I totally read those.) I liked what this guy had to say and wanted to share. Plus I'm feeling quite jet-laggy myself at the moment, being in Germany and all after an 11 hour flight, so I'm pepping myself up!<br /><br />"You can forget what day it is even without a passport. And why do we insist on blaming the flying itself? Sit me upright in an easy chair for 13 hours, replay the <span style="font-style: italic;">Bourne</span> trilogy three times, ply me with gin-and-tonics and let me doze off with my chin tucked into my clavicle... I'm pretty sure I'd wake up feeling weird without ever leaving my living room. [...] This, it seems to me, is one of the profound gifts of being alive now: the ability to get up and go everywhere, to experience the world in a kind of rush that previous generations couldn't have dreamed of. We should savor that rush. We should savor it the way a dog sticks his head out a car window and feels the wind in his face. A sense of dislocation comes with the territory. Indeed, it's part of the fun. [...] The world is big and it <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> wear us out trying to take it all in. [...] We should be dizzy with awe that these planes deliver us to faraway places, and at the wonders we find there. [...] A little sleepiness, a touch of bewilderment, is nothing more or less than a normal, rational, authentic response to the still-astonishing fact of being flown around the world. We don't need a cure for jet lag. We need a nap."<br /><br />More about my trip later! (Maybe when I work off the jet lag!)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-86714513028199455742009-07-25T14:58:00.000-07:002009-07-27T16:25:32.707-07:00Grown-ups Don't ExistYou can't predict what's going to make you feel grown up. Graduation? Maybe. Paying bills? There's an element of adulthood in that. Watching your grandparents pass away? It's sobering. All these things added to the moment I had my epiphany. The instant in which a flood of knowing washed over me that I was, for better or worse, ready or not, grown up. It was the instant I knew I would never stop growing. I've always had a little trouble with the phrase "grown up." After all, my ears and nose never stop growing, why should I? Naturally I want my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health to be in proportion with each other. It would be a shame for my ears and nose to outgrow all those elements of my health. People might say, "there goes that immature girl with really big ears." My motto is: grow until you die.<br /><br />Recently I graduated from college and moved out of my apartment. As I watched my dad pack boxes, bags, bikes and laundry baskets full of my stuff into my tiny little Honda Accord, all with a Mary Poppins-like magic about him, it hit me. When will I not need dad's help jamming large things into tiny spaces or need his council when boys are just plain jerks? When will I not need to ask mom how to get a stain out or how much of her secret ingredient she puts in her spaghetti sauce, or to hold my hand and pray with me? When will I not need to call my big sister for advice or boss my little sisters around? I hope that day never comes. (My little sisters might feel different, however.)<br /><br />Among the many moments that step me little by little out of childhood and are slowly leading me into adulthood, there are a few that stand out as leaps more than steps. The night my grandmother passed away was one of the giants. In my room all alone away at college, I waited for the call. Every time my family called I dreaded the news and had to force myself to pick up. My roommates weren't home, the house was quiet except for my neighbors in the backyard I could look down into from my upstairs window. Their kids were playing in the tree house and they sounded so happy. It was getting late. I don't remember what time it was exactly because the last thing on my mind was the clock. The lights from my neighbors' backyard were casting a pleasant glow into the dimness of my room as the night sky grew darker, but my mood was anything but pleasant. I was numb. Finally my sister's well known ring tone broke the muffled sound of laughter and chatter below me. Somehow, before I picked up, I knew. I sat down on my bed and unfolded my phone. "Ellie?" In between choked down sobs I heard, "Karen, it's happening. Do you want to talk to grandma?" I didn't want to because I didn't know what to say over the phone to a person who is taking their final breaths... but how could I say no? "Sure" I said, stunned. She put the phone up to Grandma's ear and I told her I loved her very much. That's all I could think to say, or get out of my mouth. After a while Ellie told me quietly that grandma was gone. When I hung up the phone, I laid down on my bed, my body curled up in the corner against the wall. Loneliness is all I felt. A few tears rolled down my cheeks, but after some time passed I stood up and got to work. I had to unpack that duffle bag that had been sitting unzipped on my floor for, well let's just say too long. I had to put my pajamas on and finish an assignment for class in the morning. I still had life to face, and no one was around to do it for me.<br /><br />Moments like these don't only happen to grown-ups. When I have to change a flat tire, fix a broken pipe, call and hassle the landlord, advise my sisters on matters of the heart, listen to close friends whose kids are struggling with health problems or confront boys who don't know how to treat girls, I don't think: now I'm grown up. Life will always be full of those moments. The day I first re-used a piece of tinfoil instead of mindlessly tossing it in the garbage, I noted a growing similarity to my grandmother. And the day I brushed the crumbs from a sandwich off a relatively sturdy paper plate, in order to reuse the plate later on, I felt as if I was propelling toward the likeness of my grandmother at an alarming rate. That didn't stop my frugal actions, however. I don't mind one bit being like my mother and grandmother, but I know I have a long way to go, just like they still have a long way to go in emulating their mothers and grandmothers. So you see, grown-ups don't exist. To those who think grown-ups do exist, and that they are one of them, probably have the most growing to do out of anyone.<br /><br />The next time I find myself doing something resembling maturity or the wisdom of age, I will embrace it as part of my lifelong journey of growing. I better call the doctor to change my appointment, take my pills and change my oil.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-65525571564168647602009-06-02T23:28:00.000-07:002009-06-02T23:42:27.584-07:00Click. Drool. Repeat.Disclaimer: I don't condone the name of this website. But...I think my calling might be to channel my creativity into creating luscious, gourmet food, then take amazing photographs of the alluring masterpieces. You never know. Check it out - you might never stop.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.foodporndaily.com/">My future calling?</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4eGIkYKEiBM48J-BgvJkWvsGVUo3MPXUbw3VnZkj7rNi3TEXKc82M3IBH3FZLLp08-rgi22gSNwN2O9FhWXivdikvsedydBz8ohJIzamljx408hNr_M0pM4_YK2AYIFGfW5kNbjUOkd0/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4eGIkYKEiBM48J-BgvJkWvsGVUo3MPXUbw3VnZkj7rNi3TEXKc82M3IBH3FZLLp08-rgi22gSNwN2O9FhWXivdikvsedydBz8ohJIzamljx408hNr_M0pM4_YK2AYIFGfW5kNbjUOkd0/s400/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342987193619198818" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >This is just a teaser... </span><br /></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-77951426798676215132009-05-29T00:00:00.000-07:002009-05-29T00:21:54.800-07:00LatelyI've been having trouble getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. Usually when that happens, I write my best blog posts. However, I've been going through kind of a dry spell when it comes to my blog. Tonight I decided to just write, though. I usually think I have to have something clever or artistic to say when I post. I guess that's not true, so I think I'll just update you on my life.<br /><br />I'm almost done with my career as an undergraduate at Cal Poly. That's exciting. I feel like I've said that so often though that it's lost a bit of its actual excitement. I have a lot (that's no exaggeration) of work to do these next two weeks until I'm done. Then I will don my cap and gown and sit with thousands of other graduates on a lawn in the heat of the morning and listen to speeches of praise for our success as students, and about our responsibility as educated adults. Then I will eat some cake, go out to dinner with my family, and breathe a sigh of relief that it's over. In addition to my immediate family, my aunt and uncle are coming from Weed, Randy is coming from LA and Heidi is coming from Sacramento... I think Riley might come too, I hope she does! I wanted to go camping after graduation, but I think it might be too much to move out of my apartment and pack to go camping all in one short weekend.<br /><br />I'm really going to miss 1731 Santa Rosa St. Apt. C. I'm going to miss walking to Farmer's Market, or to Baja Fresh or Firestone when I'm too tired to cook, or to Uptown to study... or riding the 5 to school every day. I think I will miss Cal Poly, eventually, but I'm really ready to be done being a student.<br /><br />I'm really looking forward to Bosnia, and doing a good job right now of pushing aside any nerves that accompany my thoughts toward that trip. I'm excited to drink their coffee, get to know the locals, and spend time with Jo. I'm excited to see the Adriatic sea, and plant potatoes.<br /><br />After Bosnia, who knows where I'll be? I thought possibly Portland, but I'm not so sure about that, now. I'm not ruling it out, though. Sometimes I think I want to just break what seems to be the trend and go somewhere outside of the Pacific Northwest, like Chicago or New York or Colorado or...<br /><br />I'm glad I have plans for the next 5 or 6 months after I graduate, but I am really looking forward to seeing where I'm at at the close of those months. I saw Tim and Autie in San Francisco last weekend, and after spending time (not long enough, though) with them I was thinking: It's crazy where all of us who were in that tight-knit group of friends are now, years later, and it's fun to see.<br /><br />Here's to the upcoming years, it's an exciting time of life with a lot of changes... bring it on.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-42597918799778857842009-05-16T01:05:00.000-07:002009-05-16T01:12:15.841-07:00Blogger GogglesGoogle Labs in gmail is genius - except I need this specific feature for my blog. That's not to say I haven't sent emails I regret the next morning, though more lately my trouble is with blogs. I always say, "don't wear your heart on your facebook page (or blog in my case)." Simple math could potentially help with that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiooL6hgWDbvtO05gnkIcvgEYNb83LOYp4nmUwVGBKuo93ZNH1mGZ4y_zYqgH-sFcjGVRvJ_veSiMHoWPUGRJqSiSAu4i4XTL-usEXb5NcSQbk-Am0_MvRQnZQgE2DThOF6Nzjs_HvVmdMJ/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiooL6hgWDbvtO05gnkIcvgEYNb83LOYp4nmUwVGBKuo93ZNH1mGZ4y_zYqgH-sFcjGVRvJ_veSiMHoWPUGRJqSiSAu4i4XTL-usEXb5NcSQbk-Am0_MvRQnZQgE2DThOF6Nzjs_HvVmdMJ/s400/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336330600685538386" border="0" /></a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-20589024997503650172009-05-09T21:09:00.000-07:002009-05-10T00:25:55.955-07:00Football, The Hospital and My MotherI felt the sharp rush of air cut into my lungs with each inhale and watched the cloudy puff hover in the clear night sky with each exhale. The feel of the ice-like bleacher was creeping through the Mexican blanket that was spread across the cold metal. The stars sparkled above the bright lights that lit the field. I watched my dad pace the sidelines in his khaki shorts and kelly green windbreaker that was puffed out from his quick movements up and down the soggy lawn torn from football cleats. Besides my surroundings, my memories of that night are somewhat dim. I remember feeling sick. I remember feeling cold. I remember complaining to my mom about feeling sick and cold. My mom was very comforting, but also being a good wife supporting her husband as he coached the Weed Cougars. She gave me a some cash and told me to go to the concession stand and buy some hot chocolate. Naturally, the exercise would warm me up, as well as the hot beverage. She told me I could also buy some 7Up if I felt nauseated, which I did, so I ended up buying a cup of hot chocolate, a can of 7Up and a Snickers bar. Why the Snickers? Because I had left over money, and I was six... and I was hungry. I felt stiff, and I had to go to the bathroom. I was so cold... and thirsty. I reached the bleachers and made my way back to my spot on the blanket, where I consumed everything I had just purchased. It's hard for me to think about that now, knowing what I was causing my blood sugar to do! Yikes. Suddenly, I tugged at my mom's jacket and quietly informed her I was going to throw up. I don't remember her panicking, but I do remember us quickly excusing ourselves through bundled up spectators to the bottom of the bleachers, out across the gravel as it crunched under our feet, to the stationwagon. We drove to Nonno and Nonni's house where I made a beeline for the bathroom.<br /><br />One of my most comforting memories of my mom is her holding back my hair when I would throw up. I know that sounds strange, but it's true. I haven't thrown up for a long time, so the last time I tossed my cookies, my mom was holding my hair for me. Last year I was the sickest I think I've ever been. I was sick with a high fever for almost two weeks, but I never threw up. Every time I felt like I was going to, though, I would instantly think, "I can't! Mom's not here to hold my hair for me!" Maybe subconsciously that's why I wouldn't let myself throw up.<br /><br />When I was done throwing up in Nonno and Nonni's bathroom, mom left me to compose myself, and I remember hearing concerned voices muffled through the door. "I'm taking her to the doctor tomorrow," mom said.<br /><br />I don't remember really specific things about the days leading up to my stay in the hospital, or even really my time in the hospital, but I do remember mom was there <span style="font-style: italic;">all the time</span>. My strongest recollections from that time aren't really detailed, but I remember never really being scared because mom was there. These are some notable things I do remember from at that time, though.<br /><br />I remember Dr. Williams telling my mom to bring me to the hospital immediately, and to bring a toothbrush, because we would be there for a while.<br /><br />I remember going by Grandma Ruth's house, and getting a hug from her. Thinking about it now, I realize how much strength my mom got from grandma during this time.<br /><br />I remember mom helping me pack my things, specifically my pink print pajama pants and matching pink long-sleeved pajama shirt.<br /><br />I remember being afraid I would have to spend the night at the hospital alone.<br /><br />I remember my mom insisting they put a cot in my room (room #204, I remember that for some reason) so she could stay with me all the time.<br /><br />I remember when the doctor explained to me I had diabetes, all I heard was <span style="font-weight: bold;">DIE</span>abetes. I remember mom holding my hand.<br /><br />I remember them teaching me how to give shots with saline solution and oranges.<br /><br />I remember squeezing my dad's hand while they inserted my IV, and insisting on keeping my eyes focused on the needle going in my arm. I was too scared to look away, I had to know exactly what was happening to me the entire time. My dad told me that's the hardest anyone has ever squeezed his hand, and I believed him for a long time.<br /><br />I remember my mom asking my grandma many questions, and relying on her a lot through that time.<br /><br />I remember both mom and grandma telling me to trust Jesus.<br /><br />I remember mom and grandma crying.<br /><br />Ever since I was diagnosed with diabetes, and now my sister Ellie is too, my mom has been very careful to make sure we're on top of our own care, and doing all that we can to be healthy. Sometimes I fight her on it, and want her to realize I'm busy and don't have time to write everything down all the time. She does realize that, but she brings it up anyway, and as much as it might get under my skin at the time, I appreciate it.<br /><br />My mom loved her mom very much, and I think watching that had a big impact on me. Seeing my mom go through the death of her mother made me realize that I might have to do the same thing someday. Although it's hard to even voice that, the thought has occurred to me briefly. I want my mom to know how much I love her and appreciate her, and I am so very thankful we are close as mother and daughter. She is one of the best friends I've ever had, or ever will have.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-27823265699937230172009-05-04T20:28:00.000-07:002009-05-04T22:25:41.804-07:00Tomorrow I'll Rise Where The Storms Never Darken The Skies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIJ3hiclMenAehddVI43flYXYKVaTcWe-ZOR6J8O3S8qopiEE4leTi_8PvhjbJBMGVzBZefKOlhz9qu52Xudi-MsB2GIWgS3cTzCbJo-KF3vG-SnPBTqCQSCkUF1dacpj2SZUzKrj58uS/s1600-h/n6408063_38037429_8164947.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIJ3hiclMenAehddVI43flYXYKVaTcWe-ZOR6J8O3S8qopiEE4leTi_8PvhjbJBMGVzBZefKOlhz9qu52Xudi-MsB2GIWgS3cTzCbJo-KF3vG-SnPBTqCQSCkUF1dacpj2SZUzKrj58uS/s320/n6408063_38037429_8164947.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332206649683189218" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In Weed it storms sideways. The horizontal rain and the biting wind made it feel like a cold November morning at the Weed Cemetery where we buried my Grandma Ruth's ashes today. We stood, the entire (minus just a few that we missed dearly!) family, and remembered Grandma. We sang "Til The Storm Passes By," a song my grandma loved in the past few months, while she fought her last battle with cancer, that speaks of Jesus keeping his children safe in the hollow of his hand til the storm passes by. Uncle David explained how even after she couldn't sing the words, grandma would make a motion with her fingers in the palm of her hand, to symbolize being in the hollow of God's hand. As the storm hovered around us, I realized how strong grandma's testimony was, among other things, in this moment especially in this: this is just a storm in our lives, and just like He did with grandma, He will keep us safe until it's over!<br /><br />Grandma died last Sunday night. When I found out I curled up on my bed and laid there for a long time, trying to process it without being home. I felt numb, like it had not really happened. I knew it was coming, but anticipating it did not make the news any easier to hear. As the realization of what life without grandma would mean sunk in, I began to let my emotions overflow into tears. That next week was hard. It was my busiest of the quarter so far with school and work, and my heart was in nothing. I took a midterm, but thought about grandma the whole time. I drove home on Thursday night. I should have known not to start listening to worship music, because it drove me to tears pretty quick. Somehow Death Cab and Matt Nathanson don't have that same effect - unless it's <span style="font-style: italic;">What Sarah Said</span>, which I skipped over a few times in shuffle, I don't think I could have handled that one. The last line in <span style="font-style: italic;">What Sarah Said</span> says, "love is watching someone die, so who's gonna watch you die?" Thinking about this, I realize how much grandma was loved, because she was surrounded by her children and grandchildren when she took her last breath. That comforts me quite a bit.<br /><br />When I walked into grandma's house for the first time since she died, everything felt normal... but empty. When I rounded the corner and saw her green chair, where I was so accustomed to seeing her sit when I walked through the door, I bit my lip and my eyes welled up. Our family is missing the two people who started it all, and it seems to me our whole family's identity was wrapped up in grandpa and grandma... without them it seems abandoned. I know that isn't true, though. Grandpa and grandma taught us to stake our identity in Christ, and they were faithful in laying a strong foundation for us.<br /><br />The memorial is over and grandma is buried now. Sometimes I think this is the hardest time, when you have to stare reality in the face. Real life floods back in, and can't be stopped. What would Grandma say, though? I can even hear her voice saying it, "well, we just have to trust God." And so, I am going to trust God.<br /><br />Of course, I'm only sad for me, because grandma is in heaven with Jesus, and that must be so satisfying to her! When someone asked her if she was ready see grandpa and Uncle Ernie, she responded, "I'm ready to see my Savior!" She is experiencing what Christians on earth are working toward and longing for!<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus.<br />For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive <i>and</i> remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive <i>and</i> remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.<br />-1 Thessalonians 4:13-18<br /></blockquote>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-52619717667829520542009-04-29T17:12:00.000-07:002009-04-29T17:26:26.646-07:00The note that cheered me up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusABye4D_ejqtt1nqwMndnzem5AWGUYEV3Eqn2iAZ-9S5mFPgJPW007SaKpCWgRHzEBR42EvkgMrUROnIbsnGSqLxjUm5Q30eh2qHAh1TK2PMhJam7PC9LKUkuR_NOwqCMQzmchW4saCa/s1600-h/2803_74118262251_613572251_1821346_4570169_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusABye4D_ejqtt1nqwMndnzem5AWGUYEV3Eqn2iAZ-9S5mFPgJPW007SaKpCWgRHzEBR42EvkgMrUROnIbsnGSqLxjUm5Q30eh2qHAh1TK2PMhJam7PC9LKUkuR_NOwqCMQzmchW4saCa/s320/2803_74118262251_613572251_1821346_4570169_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330273846212093746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:100%;" ><span style="">JB dictated this email to Carla for me today. It made my whole day, so I thought I'd share.<br /></span></span><p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">Hi Karen,</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">What are you doing today? Are you doing pre-school today? And it is April Fool’s Day. And don’t forget you have chickens on your head and April Fools! And bawk a bawk a bawk. And I love that Karen, and I think I am going to go blahhhhhh.</span></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">I’m sorry that you lost your Grandma Ruth. And Carla is here today and I would love Carla to take me on the ride with the 2-wheeler. But I don’t know so I’m going to need a couple of bike lessons but I want to roller skate so I’m going to need some roller-skate lessons from Carla. But I love Carla, so bye.</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> Love, JB</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">I can’t wait to see you when you get here!!!! Byejjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj<wbr>jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb<wbr>bbbbbbb</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">John Byron Westfallkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk<wbr>kkkk,…………………………………………………….<wbr>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii<wbr>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii<wbr>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii<wbr>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii<wbr>iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii<wbr>iiiiiiii</span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="">Those K’s are for KK, and the I don’t know what the I’s are for. <--Carla wrote that part obviously. </span></span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:";font-size:10;" > </span></span></p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8399797020485885147.post-10365628167138468122009-04-13T23:08:00.000-07:002009-04-26T22:26:17.913-07:00For the joy of human loveI really like spending time with my grandparents.<br /><br />Wait.<br /><br />Let me start over.<br /><br />I LOVE spending time with my grandparents. Every time I go home I spend hours with them, and the time always goes by too fast. Because of the nature of things right now, I know I have been especially cherishing time with grandma. I struggle seeing her declining health and with each visit home seeing a little more of the grandma I remember slip away. But when I hold her hand and look her in the eye, steady, she nods, and I <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> it's her. Seeing her this way makes me miss her, and I miss grandpa a lot. I hate change, but I know that's the only constant thing in life.<br /><br />I visited my nonni and nonno as well when I was home for Easter weekend. Sometimes I take for granted the long talks around the kitchen table in a warm kitchen that smells of biscotti, drinking cappucino and talking to them about everything from Ellie's friends at school, life in Weed when they were growing up, life in C camp, at the mill, company picnics, how nonni's mom used to feed hobo's from the train in their front yard, how nonno never got the guts to ask nonni's dad if he could date nonni- nonni had to do it, to the price of gas and produce, and the ever consistent topic of choice: the weather. I love them so much and we are constantly assured of their love for us.<br /><br />I praise God for my family.<br /><br />Sometimes (like tonight) I get impatient for heaven.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitVgJhgwVQuH32CwLeQeluKcRflELRViFDR5xGxJJSLhl1ivwN81JnNQJX4WhsNKxjIKLiT61vNHFBx4cus6HJtCLyHM_0E2tsi5wk6SFOeNsrrPTD0AmQf-FgdhGwItUqIL1k2XyPXKk/s1600-h/1219071947a.jpg"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitVgJhgwVQuH32CwLeQeluKcRflELRViFDR5xGxJJSLhl1ivwN81JnNQJX4WhsNKxjIKLiT61vNHFBx4cus6HJtCLyHM_0E2tsi5wk6SFOeNsrrPTD0AmQf-FgdhGwItUqIL1k2XyPXKk/s320/1219071947a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329237797687804498" border="0" /></a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10307762427119690769noreply@blogger.com1