tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91547232198549031042024-03-13T09:34:43.436-07:00emily t. wierengaThe official website for author, artist and everyday radical Emily T. Wierenga.Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.comBlogger647125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-55182481889560685532014-01-06T05:00:00.000-08:002014-01-06T05:00:08.413-08:00An Open Letter to Mothers Who Have MiscarriedDear Mothers Who Have Miscarried,<br />
<br />
I've lost two, and <b>it's near torn me apart, this longing to be in heaven with my babies,</b> but I've learned the secret to staying on earth.<br />
<br />
I learned the secret, just weeks ago, and I want to share it here with you, if I may?<br />
<br />
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It was December, a cold afternoon and I was meeting in a church with a prayer team. They asked me about the babies I'd lost and I wept so hard I couldn't speak because this past spring, God had told me my Madeleine would live. And then she'd died. He'd told me about her personality, and then she'd slid from my body, and <i>I gave birth to Stillborn Faith that day.</i><br />
<br />
I've been grieving ever since and sometimes it's just a white lace shoe that undoes me. Or a pink dress. Or the sight of a woman's rounded womb.<br />
<br />
And I met with the prayer team and they prayed over me, that the Grief would end. I nodded tearfully.<br />
<br />
Following the prayer, one of the women pulled me aside and told me she'd heard a pastor speak once, on miscarried and aborted babies, and that this pastor had received a vision of a nursery in heaven. <br />
In this vision, the pastor saw a nursery filled with miscarried and aborted babies, angels watching over them, and upon reaching heaven, mothers who'd lost their babies would be given a second chance to raise them.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, friends, I don't know that there's anything in Scripture that talks about a nursery in heaven but I also know that heaven is mysterious and unfathomable and eternal, and that <b>a nursery is something akin to the loving character of God the Father.</b> He may just give us a second chance to raise our babies.<br />
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I breathed long and hard and fast after she told me this. Because if this nursery does exist, then suddenly God's words to me in the spring made sense: his words saying that my baby would live (even though on earth, she died); his words describing her personality, as though she were already alive.<br />
<br />
Because no life is lost to Jesus.<br />
<br />
The night I lost my first child, I had a dream, even as I slept: a little girl with golden curls sat outside my bedroom door playing with toys, and when she looked at me, she had her father's eyes. And then I looked down at my arms and there was a little boy asleep in them, but I couldn't see his face.<br />
<br />
If this nursery exists, that dream was of my daughter, playing in heaven (and the baby in my arms? My eldest son, who was conceived months later).<br />
<br />
<br />
And my daughter's waiting for me--even as your children are waiting for you.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
13 For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 16 Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139)</blockquote>
<br />
Friends?<br />
<br />
Our God does not lie.<br />
<br />
If he's told you that your baby lives? She does. Maybe not on earth. But nothing can separate us from the love of God--not even death, Romans 8 tells us.<br />
<br />
<i>May you be filled with hope. This world is not all there is.</i><br />
<br />
Hallelujah.<br />
<br />
Your sister,<br />
e.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">***</span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br />
</span> <span class="userContent">Hey guys--I hate asking this, but I guess it's part of being a "professional" writer; I created an Author page yesterday and am wondering if you'll consider Liking me? Here's the link: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/emilytwierenga" rel="nofollow">https://www.facebook.com/emilytwierenga</a>. XOXO</span><br />
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<br />
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<br />
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<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-32873846807402656752014-01-01T05:00:00.000-08:002014-01-01T05:00:04.805-08:00Will You Come With Me to Africa? (and Imperfect Prose)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I forgot to cancel the baby updates.<br />
<br />
At first<span style="font-size: large;"> I just wasn't able to because that would mean she was really gone</span>--the daughter we'd dreamed of for a year, the one we'd felt God showing us with the chubby cheeks and brown hair, who danced in a white dress down the corridor of our hearts.<br />
<br />
When I lost her in June, I simply moved the updates to spam, because I couldn't let her go.<br />
<br />
And I forgot to delete them. <br />
<br />
This month I checked my spam folder, and<i> it told me I was full-term and ready to deliver. </i><br />
<br />
I cried.<br />
<br />
But then I wiped my tears and straightened my shoulders. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Because I may not be pregnant. But I'm still expecting.</span><br />
<br />
I'm expecting the birth of a dream I've had since living in the Congo as a little girl.<b> A dream to return to the place where faces laugh with the whites of their teeth. </b>A place where Mum made jam from mangoes and papayas, where my brother was born six weeks premature, where he and I bathed outside by the old Acacia tree in buckets of soapy water. Where Dad taught blind men how to plant seeds and Mum knit colorful afghans with blind women and I couldn’t talk, but I listened. To the hum of the cicadas, to the laughter of children in the streets, to the thanks murmured through the trees.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://worldhelp.net/bloggers/trips/africa-2014/" target="_blank">I'm one of a team of World Help Bloggers</a> </span>flying to Africa January 15th to 24th. We will be sharing what the Christian non-profit organization is doing in the slums of Uganda, amongst former child soldiers in Gulu, and within the hearts of genocide survivors in Rwanda.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ctt.ec/Cvy65" target="_blank">I will be flying to Africa both as a storyteller, and as a mother <b>(tweet this)</b>. </a>As a woman who's known both miscarriage and birth. And I'll be meeting women who know suffering to a degree I can't even imagine. Forced to watch their children die because they have no food or clean water and we're to be ambassadors for them. To fight for them, to be a voice for them.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">To birth hope, together.</span><br />
<br />
Will you go with us, friends?<br />
<br />
We'll be making art in Africa. We'll be taking paints and canvases and doing art with the orphans in children's homes there, and <span style="font-size: large;">you'll have a chance to buy those pieces of art </span>and help us raise funds for a new orphanage. Because there aren't enough mothers and fathers for all of the children. <a href="http://ctt.ec/bJ3bP" target="_blank">There aren't enough families for all of the lonely, so we're building them a home <b>(tweet this)</b>. </a><br />
<br />
I'll be telling their stories--stories of babies saved from slums, of women who've become caregivers to hundreds, of countries wrecked by loss and war. And together with the rest of the World Help team:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://mattappling.com/" target="_blank">Matt Appling</a>, Author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00B7TGYOO/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00B7TGYOO&linkCode=as2&tag=biblednet-20" target="_blank"><i>Life After Art</i></a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.alifesurrendered.com/" target="_blank">Michele-Lyn Ault</a>, Writer at <i>A Life Surrendered</i></li>
<li><a href="http://noelyeatts.com/" target="_blank">Noel Yeatts</a>, VP of World Help and Author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B007P3OUXS/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B007P3OUXS&linkCode=as2&tag=biblednet-20" target="_blank"><i>Awake </i></a></li>
<li><a href="http://bibledude.net/" target="_blank">Dan King</a>, CEO of <a href="http://fistbumpmedia.com/" target="_blank">Fistbump Media</a> and author of <i><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/ASUS%20E-Service%20http://www.asus.com/%20http://member.asus.com/%20http://support.asus.com/download%20http://support.asus.com/%20http://clicktotweet.com/link/create%20http://worldhelp.net/bloggers/whbloggers_africa2014/%20https://www.google.ca/%20http://www.blenza.com/linkies/login.php" target="_blank">The Unlikely Missionary </a></i></li>
</ul>
we'll be painting a new picture of Africa—one rising from the ashes of poverty.<br />
<br />
Will you read?<br />
<br />
Will you share?<br />
<br />
Will you give?<br />
<br />
Will you come?<br />
<br />
<i>“Let us be the ones who say we do not accept that a child dies every three seconds simply because he does not have the drugs you and I have. Let us be the ones to say we are not satisfied that your place of birth determines your right for life. Let us be outraged, let us be loud, let us be bold.” ~ Brad Pitt</i><br />
<br />
***<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Sign up <a href="http://worldhelp.net/bloggers/trips/africa-2014/" target="_blank">HERE</a> to follow the #AfricaWH Blogger Team. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">And follow us here on Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23AfricaWH" target="_blank">#AfricaWH</a></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="169" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/75595438?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=67b4d2" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="300"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/75595438">Operation Baby Rescue | Jerry's Story</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/worldhelp">World Help</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Hi friends. Won't you join us, here for <span class="ivcn4" id="ivcn4_2" style="border-left-color: transparent; border-right-color: transparent; border-style: solid; border-top-color: transparent; border-width: 1px; color: #009900; cursor: pointer; display: inline !important; float: none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="h3gy9" id="h3gy9_3">Imperfect</span></span> Prose? In which we "walk each other home"? (Ram Dass)</span></div>
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<b>We meet every Wednesday </b>to <span style="font-size: x-small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">share posts about brokenness and redemption.</span> To celebrate what God is doing in and among us.<i> </i><br />
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<i>These are the Imperfect Prose rules:</i><br />
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1. Link up a piece of poetry, prose or <span class="ivcn4" id="ivcn4_1" style="border-left-color: transparent; border-right-color: transparent; border-style: solid; border-top-color: transparent; border-width: 1px; color: #009900; cursor: pointer; display: inline !important; float: none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline;">art</span> that is somehow redemptive.</div>
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2. Copy/paste <a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/p/imperfect-prose-on-thursdays.html" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.25s linear 0s; color: #32a4d6; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.25s linear 0s;" target="_blank">the #ImperfectProse button code HERE</a> and add it to your post.</div>
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3. Choose at least one other post to read and comment on, before leaving!</div>
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Thank you!</div>
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<script src="http://www.blenza.com/linkies/autolink.php?mode=standard&owner=canvaschild&postid=31Dec2013" type="text/javascript"></script>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-59443350474647883622013-12-30T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-30T19:53:20.980-08:00To Those Who Diet After Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUm3zGPtdHTNLWaCO33WQPFPx101FUudvnPv7sg5z-E_wajGnfhAjXYpXW6_rhX3MtOZ0g0fgDuQPutLzvyHSb-hu2kb3ExFCg5_u9ghUmeUqz33rOe5YpPXFx1hGZnzXqi13OyArkwUE/s1600/article-2076284-0633E5A1000005DC-834_468x286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUm3zGPtdHTNLWaCO33WQPFPx101FUudvnPv7sg5z-E_wajGnfhAjXYpXW6_rhX3MtOZ0g0fgDuQPutLzvyHSb-hu2kb3ExFCg5_u9ghUmeUqz33rOe5YpPXFx1hGZnzXqi13OyArkwUE/s1600/article-2076284-0633E5A1000005DC-834_468x286.jpg" height="390" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
There's no doubt, Christmas hurts the waistline. <br />
<br />
The chocolates, <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2007/06/cinammon_rolls_/" target="_blank">cinnamon buns (Pioneer Woman anyone?)</a> and sugar cookies, the turkey and potatoes and perogies, and <u>for a former anorexic, the choices are overwhelming.</u> Do I just take all five salads? How many pieces of ham? And what about the dozens of desserts?<br />
<br />
I’m far from those eating disorder days, yet not as far as I thought.<br />
<br />
I’ve got two boys now, and I know they’re watching me. I’ve got a husband who loves my curves, yet <b>when the pants grow snug, I feel less-than. </b><br />
<br />
And I immediately make plans to cut back in January, because it’s the magical month, isn’t it ladies? The month to get back into shape? The month to reclaim that size six dress, <span style="font-size: large;">to purge for all of December’s sins?</span><br />
<br />
Diet pill companies love January. Commercials full of men and women lamenting their size, and none of it’s about health—it's all about the bottom dollar, and meanwhile, <u>we’re losing our sons and daughters to the industry.</u> The message of Bethlehem forgotten.<br />
<br />
<i>Girls as young as four years old are dieting</i> because mommy and daddy are complaining about their “Christmas rolls” and the damage of holiday excess lasts year long.<br />
<br />
<b>It’s not about the food. It’s about Jesus, and it’s not about the presents. It’s about Jesus. </b><br />
<br />
We can celebrate yes, but let’s teach our girls and boys how to do it with grace. Let’s show compassion towards ourselves when we eat too many chocolates because we are human.<u> Let's turn January into a month of forgiveness. What better way to start the new year? </u><br />
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<a href="http://frayedges.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/girl_silhouette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcGrlCn0AuUryIIU2HGgpREg3edk-fZWzfNvGpw82duhvCrZQYJEzCZtnDgRmd4S_C4Lnyfm_pVCQcbwvZ69YvGxillfKHDla9dPYTAZroo_MTXGXBOPCy9YfZ7EA2a-qybAoQKdsPB0E/s1600/girl_silhouette.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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Forgiveness—towards ourselves, towards each other—even as we stumble along and try to figure out this life, in our snug pants, the hospitals full of starving youth, because it’s not about the size of our bodies. It’s about the size of our hearts.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s not about <i>getting</i> anything — be it thinner, or back into shape.</span> It’s about giving, long into the New Year.<br />
<br />
It's about giving our time, our food, our money, our homes. Like Magi we follow the stars laden with presents for the Christ child. And the pants will adjust, even as the feasting dies down. The fridge will one day be emptied of leftovers, the candy put away.<br />
<br />
<i>But even as the tree is packed up and the ornaments stowed, Jesus is still being born among us. </i>Come to set us free from the weigh scale, from food, so we might know life abundant in him.<br />
<br />
And this, friends, is something worth celebrating.<br />
<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-9850803572435491392013-12-25T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-25T05:00:06.972-08:00What I Want My Son to Know About ChristmasIt’s December 25, 2009. My son is just over a month old in his blue booties, the ones I bought this summer in Italy when I went to Lake Como for a writer’s conference.<br />
<br />
And I feel like Hannah.<br />
<br />
Aiden is my miracle child, the one we’ve been praying for the past few years, the one we’d been prayed over for on national television by a pastor whose own mother had been told she couldn’t have children.<br />
<br />
He is my Samuel, and I’ve been dedicating him back to the Lord ever since the 32-hour delivery and the sleepless nights and the learning to latch and the hormones.<br />
<br />
The other day we went to pick out a tree, a blue spruce. My mother-in-law was with us and Aiden asleep in the car seat. And I gently picked him up and held him close as I smelled the evergreen, <span style="font-size: large;">remembering Christmases past</span>—opening those tiny little cereal boxes because we ate homemade granola every other day of the year, Mum’s red felt stockings stuffed full of chocolates and pencils and deodorant and soaps; the little red boots by our pillows overflowing with sesame crackers and chocolate kisses; jumping on our parents’ bed at six thirty in the morning and waiting for Dad to light up the tree before we stepped into the living room, aglow with presents piled high and a real tree decorated with childhood ornaments... <br />
<br />
<i>(Over<a href="http://www.thehighcalling.org/family/joyful-work-remembering-gods-gift" target="_blank"> HERE</a> at The High Calling today; join me? And the merriest and holiest of Christmases to you all)</i><br />
<br />
<b><i>This will be my final post until the New Year. So much love, my friends. e.</i></b><i><br /></i>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-42180243879943621792013-12-24T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-24T05:00:01.848-08:00In Which God Romances the World<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD3ObE3Id7Gpw8TTXWfQz82Udx0PEJ2BfeOExKFRYpm40_VFtJIj1GNhT7HBuuu20JqpH6EoOmCtHPnep7lOa7j2ZEWVuvW42Vg5Dj5JmEmMpcHvURkZ9bNpqjXrAi6MAZmWYk9-0ewU/s1600/DSCN9915.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD3ObE3Id7Gpw8TTXWfQz82Udx0PEJ2BfeOExKFRYpm40_VFtJIj1GNhT7HBuuu20JqpH6EoOmCtHPnep7lOa7j2ZEWVuvW42Vg5Dj5JmEmMpcHvURkZ9bNpqjXrAi6MAZmWYk9-0ewU/s400/DSCN9915.JPG" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545214136558428178" style="float: left; height: 300px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 400px;" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
sometimes i can hear the world breathing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
it's in the stillness, the act of doing nothing, that it hits like blast of train whistle and the mouth of the world smells of pretzels and salt and sweat and beer and coffee and tired and fast food,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
like the exhaust of our veggie car</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
an exhausted world. it hits me at our bible study as we're huddled round everyone trying to un-hurry hearts for an hour to forget about suzy's cold and jimmy's grades and to know Him, by stilling.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
but then it's rush of car and home and sleep and work and rats racing and there is no time for brushing teeth just go, go, go and</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
mary sits expectant</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
and for some reason this year, i cannot wait</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
for Christmas</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
yet i must</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
for it's in the waiting, the days leading up to conception, that romance happens</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the wooing of a world gone weary</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the roses of a suitor-God who comes in form of angel</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
says, <span style="font-style: italic;">behold<br />i love you<br />enough to give you life</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
we need this stilling, this knowing of a divine kind of romance for without it,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
there would be no immaculate story, no savior in a manger, no Messiah on a cross, no Christmas worth winter</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
and so, i await</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the coming<br />
of God</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(from the archives)</span></div>
Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-34015019322364057402013-12-23T05:00:00.001-08:002013-12-23T11:32:21.084-08:00The One Thing We All Have in Common With Phil Robertson <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEY5EBtca443OV2MHctnBX_va2zf0xPSe4qBRSjmGGZlXK79ykBMfi7o6xTDhdIMrjBWwTCtyRiLZ6cTUOEbbCi4zrGvBQRvdKyHPy52FBt0nwIrV09hwtNTiWriVaVMbE9T298FMu7NZ/s1600/phil_robertson_duck_dynasty_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEY5EBtca443OV2MHctnBX_va2zf0xPSe4qBRSjmGGZlXK79ykBMfi7o6xTDhdIMrjBWwTCtyRiLZ6cTUOEbbCi4zrGvBQRvdKyHPy52FBt0nwIrV09hwtNTiWriVaVMbE9T298FMu7NZ/s1600/phil_robertson_duck_dynasty_3.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />
So here's the thing.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What Phil Robertson -- the patriarch of Duck Dynasty -- <a href="http://www.gq.com/entertainment/television/201401/duck-dynasty-phil-robertson" target="_blank">said to GQ in the January 2014 issue</a>, was out of place. </span>Taking the interview itself was perhaps a mistake. Not every platform is a good platform, and not all publicity is good publicity, contrary to the saying. He should not have been so coarse about <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/tv-movies/duck-dynasty-phil-robertson-equates-homosexuality-bestiality-article-1.1551556" target="_blank">homosexuality </a>or promiscuity or <a href="http://entertainment.time.com/2013/12/18/duck-dynasty-phil-robertson-suspended/" target="_blank">terrorism</a> or talked about women's vaginas. He was running off the mouth and was hurtful. <br />
<br />
What he also said, though, at the end of the interview, is that "we were all created by the Almighty, and, like him, I love all of humanity."<br />
<br />
A lot of people didn't feel love from Phil that day. They just felt the sting of his words. Because <b>love is not a well-spoken sentence; it's an unspoken act of sacrifice.</b><br />
<br />
But here's the other thing.<br />
<br />
None of us warrants any kind of love. Love is God, and none of us deserves to have God pursue us. Because <u>all of us, at some point, have spoken unloving words or done something we regretted.</u><br />
<br />
Nevertheless--<span style="font-size: large;">and here's the beauty of Christmas</span>--Love DID pursue us. In the form of a precious baby. A perfect human baby, who was <i>God with spit-up. </i><br />
<br />
And this is what I think we're missing in the conversations happening on Twitter and Facebook and around the Internet about Duck Dynasty's fate: that is, the fact that <span style="font-size: large;">we are all human. </span><br />
<br />
No matter whether you think Phil should have been suspended from the show indefinitely or not, whether you're right-wing or left, whether you're part of GLAAD or the A&E or Joe from the streets who has no idea who "The Beards" are--we are all human.<br />
<br />
Including Phil Robertson. Sure, he's a very wealthy human, who pulls in more than 12 million viewers a show, whose merchandise empire is estimated around $400 million--but in spite of that, he's comprised of flesh and bones and muscle like all of us and to his credit, <u>he's never pretended to be anything other than a sinful person who needs Jesus.</u><br />
<br />
What the 67-year-old said was shocking, yes. And was it wrong to say it the way he did, in spite of his convictions? Most likely. But is any of us more or less human than the other? No. <i>We all eat and sleep and curse behind the preacher's back and have days when we want to hurt someone or feel jealous or get tired of being good. </i><br />
<br />
And this is the hope that is offered in a manger at Christmas: Grace. <br />
<br />
Christ, the creator of all humanity, knew the only way he could repair what sin had stolen was to come down as a human himself. He became the one perfect human who would represent all of us before the throne of his father on Judgment Day. Including Phil Robertson.<br />
<br />
Jesus is the answer, when we run out of words.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Phil can't take back what he said. But God can take what Phil said, and somehow use the whole situation for his glory. <span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because that's what God does: he takes our mess, and he turns it into miraculous. He takes our sin, and turns it into salvation. He takes our humanity and turns it into holiness.</span></span><br />
<br />
In the grandest display of unspoken sacrifice, <i>God was born within the womb of his own creation so we all could know grace for those days when we say the wrong thing.</i><br />
<br />
So, this Christmas?<br />
<br />
Let's give each other the greatest gift--GRACE. Because we're all human. And we all need Jesus.Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-30028886590360028312013-12-20T05:00:00.002-08:002013-12-20T05:00:13.694-08:00Why You Should Buy This Children's Book for Christmas<i>My friend <b>Eldon Eric Johnson </b>has written a children's book for Christmas called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Battle-For-Christmas-Castle-ebook/dp/B00H3WPFJO/" target="_blank">The Battle for Christmas Castle</a>; <u>not only is its message invaluable in our western culture, but the sales of the book are going towards an incredible cause.</u> Please read Eldon's message below, and consider purchasing a copy of his book for your family. You'll be saving a life. </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiiQZapAPIy9ASnGka9tkGoYrIpD0v32com-FrLJQBY10BPRi80eGSy0Fef3Im0CvnP3qgv-uhP_02kw5oLey61MiBYSQVyGMn1Pse3xx3WoeZQdGPEWuQRZE37mVcKPyANVbMDgYEaT2/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiiQZapAPIy9ASnGka9tkGoYrIpD0v32com-FrLJQBY10BPRi80eGSy0Fef3Im0CvnP3qgv-uhP_02kw5oLey61MiBYSQVyGMn1Pse3xx3WoeZQdGPEWuQRZE37mVcKPyANVbMDgYEaT2/s1600/unnamed.jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
IN ONE MONTH, <u>more money will be spent on chocolate Santas</u> than the budgets of Habitat for Humanity, The American Heart Association, and American Cancer Society--COMBINED!<br />
<br />
Now my wife and I love Christmas, and our four kids love it too. But for ten years God has been warning me about Christmas' impact on our kids. How do we balance the great parts of Christmas with what we all know is a dark side? First and foremost, we must recognize that there really is a battle. <span style="font-size: large;">Christmas is when our Culture makes its biggest push for the hearts of our children! </span><br />
<br />
The first time I ever took any of this seriously was when my kids were little...just old enough to start wanting stuff. I was listening to NPR on our local public radio station as I drove home from work. It was Christmas time and I was excited...not worried. <br />
<br />
But that evening, NPR had a sociologist talking about rituals around the world, or as we might say, "traditions." He asked a great question, "How does a little baby become a little American vs. a little Italian, German, Japanese, etc?"<br />
<br />
By its traditions!<br />
<br />
Then he nailed it, "The American ritual is Christmas and<b> it is very effective at planting materialism into the hearts and minds of American children."</b><br />
<br />
I seriously felt a chill go down my spine, and I knew two things:<br />
1. God was speaking to me (yes, on public radio!) And<br />
2. Christmas is a big fa-la-la-ing deal in the life of kids and our nation. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">$500 billion dollars spent in one month says it's true!</span> God said "Where your treasure is, there also is your HEART! America is a culture that loves things. ..and uses people. And my birth is its excuse to immerse your kids into this love of things!"<br />
<br />
I was reading Mark 4 and the parable of the Sower. Here, <i>Jesus says God is a bit like Johnny Appleseed, </i>sowing seeds of His love and faith all over the world. <br />
<br />
In the parable, one person is represented by ground where the seed grows just fine, but Jesus says that "thorns come in" and choke out the little green shoot of faith so that it produces no fruit.<br />
<br />
I said to myself "Okay! So what are the thorns? What do they stand for? Oh it says right here...the thorns represent WORRY...the DECEITFULLNESS OF WEALTH. ..and the DESIRE for OTHER THINGS."<br />
<br />
Worry. The Deceitfulness of wealth. The desire for stuff. Sounds a lot like the darker side of Christmas, doesn't it? And doesn't it make sense that the enemy would gift wrap these thorns in the birth of our Savior?<br />
<br />
The twisted threads of truly celebrating Christ's birth and the onslaught of materialism means HARD WORK FOR PARENTS WHO WANT TO BE GOOD "GARDENERS" OF THEIR KIDS' HEARTS.<br />
<br />
It IS a BATTLE! All year long, but again, <u>Christmas is the moment our Culture makes its biggest push for our kids' hearts. </u><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That's why I turned this real world struggle into a book</span>. A book that will give you and your kids a way to talk about <b>the difference between Christ's life and the life our Culture offers. </b><br />
<b><br />
</b> <i>The Battle For Christmas Castle</i> is an exciting adventure, but it also gives a common language to kids and parents to dialogue about the mix of good and bad that is Christmas. ..that is life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSvSZZrSa8YXnUMdbQm30A_F85VyfsLGGm0VxVpAGOsrn4heTvtidXjsZR2R-XikDYyhy9UmBv1I302rdN3Nf9YoBhyvfg0LTSRT-mcoG0jbVA07rSRAacTpwLt2wPgK6gY5F43-wJd9c/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSvSZZrSa8YXnUMdbQm30A_F85VyfsLGGm0VxVpAGOsrn4heTvtidXjsZR2R-XikDYyhy9UmBv1I302rdN3Nf9YoBhyvfg0LTSRT-mcoG0jbVA07rSRAacTpwLt2wPgK6gY5F43-wJd9c/s1600/unnamed.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
All proceeds from this children's book will go towards<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://mynepalibaby.blogspot.ca/?m=1" target="_blank"> helping a family bring home their daughter from India</a></span>--a girl who was thrown in a dumpster as a baby, and had her nose eaten by insects (see photo below).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtutv2DjAKPxFUtmAVJPZLZ0kqHN-bHDXc049hFnM08LkOxmepZkn9RRXshhTfVduzc_5m381o0tWH1zYgwUxopPJv3UovEpl4QEpmaLzApEkkWQCJn9i9m4vgksXvVirhWkZFNlRk_Qt1/s1600/Baby+R+masked+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtutv2DjAKPxFUtmAVJPZLZ0kqHN-bHDXc049hFnM08LkOxmepZkn9RRXshhTfVduzc_5m381o0tWH1zYgwUxopPJv3UovEpl4QEpmaLzApEkkWQCJn9i9m4vgksXvVirhWkZFNlRk_Qt1/s1600/Baby+R+masked+Photo.jpg" height="290" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The family has until <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_737251384" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">TODAY</span></span>
to raise $7000 and then they can pick her up this summer.</span> If they
miss the deadline, it will be over a year until they can pick her up
from India. Will you consider purchasing a copy, or two, of this incredible children's story? <br />
<br />
If so, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Battle-For-Christmas-Castle-ebook/dp/B00H3WPFJO/" target="_blank">please purchase HERE</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
((Thank you))<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBdJNIkTFo6aRMHgycT_HCCGsbzsSBLInouM_6Q6qLCQmunWYVyaIvkH1MhgnCbyg4VZYUkbXjHsEk58yq68THZegmrgf-fBrkLDQoQDSv-RE4HBy-vUpk5GGsTxIgL7mUikfnSSR-xNK/s1600/20130808_194602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvBdJNIkTFo6aRMHgycT_HCCGsbzsSBLInouM_6Q6qLCQmunWYVyaIvkH1MhgnCbyg4VZYUkbXjHsEk58yq68THZegmrgf-fBrkLDQoQDSv-RE4HBy-vUpk5GGsTxIgL7mUikfnSSR-xNK/s1600/20130808_194602.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Eldon Johnson graduated from Harvard University with honors and then
Served as a Harvard Chaplain for 6 years. He led service projects from
South Central L.A. To South Central Asia. He founded the Charity
GivingLife and is an attorney in Sarasota, Florida, where is favorite
job is being a husband and father of four kids. His first book was
published by TommyNelson/Harper Collins in 2010. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-470958235774415242013-12-18T05:00:00.001-08:002013-12-18T07:23:12.545-08:00God Prescribed a Little Blue Pill (and Imperfect Prose)<i>Today's post is by my friend, <a href="http://www.kimberleeconwayireton.net/" target="_blank">Kimberlee Conway Ireton</a>... and she's giving away her new memoir, too! Please welcome her.</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvr3v0BPdIHrrJ9t1firQiYqLU1KJ09Yva9-k_niOQfHcPMYLDM6jJgG7b7Xauyu4T5gkN4eOt4SINjrF9satWGg3HApkp-lK2Z2apQbYoPs8mmqpCQlGv5ZmmAgwzoH_S96D0cpZRdlyj/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-28+04.15.47.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvr3v0BPdIHrrJ9t1firQiYqLU1KJ09Yva9-k_niOQfHcPMYLDM6jJgG7b7Xauyu4T5gkN4eOt4SINjrF9satWGg3HApkp-lK2Z2apQbYoPs8mmqpCQlGv5ZmmAgwzoH_S96D0cpZRdlyj/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-28+04.15.47.png" height="635" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/bcyANFJLuO/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The darkest week of the year. The darkest week of my life.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Looking at me, you’d never have thought it was dark. My life looked good. My life <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> good: a warm home, a loving husband, four healthy kids, a supportive extended family, a caring church. We were all healthy, all fed, all clothed. <u>I should have been falling on my face in gratitude.</u></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And I was. I saw the gifts, knew them, gave thanks for them, and recognized only too well that I didn’t deserve any of them. And the recognition of such undeserved riches created a firestorm of fear in my soul.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Let’s be clear: <i>the fear originated in my body. </i>Postpartum hormones, six months of sleep-deprivation and the neurological impairment it engendered, and the adrenal response of my exhausted body to prolonged stress—this is what rendered me a weepy, terrified mess, staring teary-eyed into the frightened eyes of my children.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This bodily fear wreaked havoc on my soul—for we are embodied creatures, our spirits and bodies a unity of being. What affects the body affects the soul, and my soul was ravaged by the fear coursing through my body. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">God went dark.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And as the foundation of my world, of my very self, disappeared into the darkness with Him, I floundered at the edge of a deepening, widening abyss. It threatened to swallow me whole.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But God saved me. God-in-the-flesh saved me. God’s name that darkest week was Sara. His name was Susan. His name was Monica and Melody and Doug and Barbara and Tiffany. God wrapped His arms around me. God sat with me on my sofa and held my babies. God cleaned my house and made me dinner and spoke words of comfort and hope and healing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>And God prescribed a little blue pill</b> that I swallowed down with my tea and toast each morning, a mini eucharist right there in my dining room, though I didn’t even realize it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So it turns out God didn’t go dark that week after all. Only my eyes went dark. But God doesn’t need my eyes to make Himself known. <i>He plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs and eyes not His, plays to me through the features of others’ faces.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And I fall on my face in gratitude for such undeserved riches.</span></div>
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><a href="http://kimberleeconwayireton.net/" target="_blank">Kimberlee Conway Ireton</a> is the author of the recently released memoir, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cracking-Up-Postpartum-Faith-Crisis/dp/0989672506/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381951072&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><i>Cracking Up: A Postpartum Faith Crisis</i></a> You can also find her words at <a href="http://godspace.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Godspace</a>, <a href="http://deeperstory.com/" target="_blank">A Deeper Story</a>, and <a href="http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/" target="_blank">Tweetspeak Poetry</a> as well as on <a href="http://www.kimberleeconwayireton.net/" target="_blank">her own blog</a>. <!--EndFragment--></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Today Kimberlee is giving away a copy of her new memoir; leave a comment and we'll choose a winner within the week!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Hi friends. Won't you join us, here for <span class="ivcn4" id="ivcn4_2" style="border-left-color: transparent; border-right-color: transparent; border-style: solid; border-top-color: transparent; border-width: 1px; color: #009900; cursor: pointer; display: inline !important; float: none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline;">Imperfect</span> Prose? In which we "walk each other home"? (Ram Dass)</span></div>
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<b>We meet every Wednesday </b>to <span style="font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">share posts about brokenness and redemption.</span> To celebrate what God is doing in and among us.<i> </i><br />
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<i>These are the Imperfect Prose rules:</i><br />
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1. Link up a piece of poetry, prose or <span class="ivcn4" id="ivcn4_1" style="border-left-color: transparent; border-right-color: transparent; border-style: solid; border-top-color: transparent; border-width: 1px; color: #009900; cursor: pointer; display: inline !important; float: none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline;">art</span> that is somehow redemptive.</div>
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2. Copy/paste <a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/p/imperfect-prose-on-thursdays.html" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.25s linear 0s; color: #32a4d6; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.25s linear 0s;" target="_blank">the #ImperfectProse button code HERE</a> and add it to your post.</div>
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3. Choose at least one other post to read and comment on, before leaving!</div>
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Thank you!</div>
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I am a pastor's daughter.<br />
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The girl who was home-schooled and raised on Dr. James Dobson, who was made to stay at church until her father shook the very last hand and who wasn't allowed to eat out on Sundays because that would mean making other people work. Which I agree with now, but all I wanted back then was to feel normal. And normal families ate out on Sundays.<br />
<br />
<i>So I swore in the van on the way home from church</i> and Dad would pull over and spank me and at nine years old, I began to hide behind an eating disorder.<br />
<br />
<b>And today, I still hide, only now it's behind my children.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>(over <a href="http://www.thebettermom.com/2013/12/17/hide-behind-kids-church-2/" target="_blank">HERE at The Better Mom</a> today; join me?) </i><b><br />
</b><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>***</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Feature sponsor for this post is <b>Noonday Collection</b>: Visit <a href="http://brandimendenhall.noondaycollection.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a></span><br />
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<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-59623849168195292782013-12-16T05:00:00.001-08:002013-12-16T07:27:07.959-08:00Santa Stole Christmas (and this Mother is Taking it Back)<br />
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The whole town is there, young and old, the children climbing onto the stage and playing the piano and dancing around the Christmas tree.<br />
<br />
<i>Santa arrives at seven o'clock in his red suit and his white beard and long black boots. </i>He's jolly and he sits in his chair, the kids all lined up.<br />
<br />
I'm holding Kasher and Aiden's got his hand in mine and Joey and Jin are up ahead. Aiden keeps asking if he'll get a present. I tell him Santa will give him a bag of candy.<br />
<br />
Aiden starts to whimper when we get to the front of the line because he's scared of Santa, and Kasher and Jin <u>they're kicking and screaming as we place them on Santa's lap promising treats</u> if they smile for the camera.<br />
<br />
And in the van on the way home, the boys tucked in the back, my stomach is sick. Why is it so important to us that they sit on Santa's lap? <b>We're bribing them, saying they'll get candy if they sit on this nice stranger, when normally we tell them not to take candy from strangers? </b>Something about this isn't right. <br />
<br />
My sons know Santa isn't real because I've told them very bluntly. And <i>what I should have said was that <a href="http://www.biography.com/people/st-nicholas-204635" target="_blank">Saint Nicholas WAS real--that he in fact, loved Jesus</a> </i>and that was why he gave gifts away and inadvertently started the tradition of Santa Claus.<br />
<br />
But I didn't. I just told them Santa was pretend and Jesus was real because inasmuch as I love the festivity--inasmuch as I love the idea of Santa and his sleigh and his reindeer, and the blessing of children with gifts--<span style="font-size: large;">I'm a little bit angry at how Santa has stolen the heart of Christmas. </span><br />
<br />
I envy the magic of it all, truly. I always wished growing up that my parents would have let me believe he was real and here I am bursting my kids' bubbles but the thing is: <u>Jesus Christ, the son of God, gets just two days a year: </u>One day in which the whole world celebrates his birth, and one day in which we celebrate his resurrection.<br />
<br />
Christmas is God's birthday, and I know it didn't happen on the 25th of December but for one day, much of the world pauses to gather together and celebrate. To remember the Christ-child, the Messiah in the manger. As Ann Voskamp puts it, the micro and macro miracle...<br />
<br />
<b>"I want to be different," </b>I tell Trent that night, after we've tucked our boys all sticky from candy canes and oranges, "even if it means being unpopular. Because <span style="font-size: large;">we've got one life in which to share God with our kids."</span><br />
<br />
<i>I want Jesus to be the one holding my sons at Christmas. </i>I want his to be the face they anticipate Christmas morning, I want the nativity to be cherished and the Christ-child adored, because <b>Saint Nicholas would have wanted it this way.</b> He would have mourned the way we've taken the sacred and turned it secular. He gave, because Christ first gave to us.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/6dso6" target="_blank">Mothers? Let's take the day back from Santa and give it to Jesus <b>(tweet this)</b></a>. Let's give him all the honor and glory and celebration he deserves because it's one day a year.<br />
<br />
Let's take back Christmas.<br />
<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Feature sponsor of this post is <a href="http://www.lillarose.biz/jessicabish" target="_blank">Lilla Rose</a>--The Lilla Rose product line centers around unique, functional, and well made hair jewelry. From their flagship Flexi Hair Clip, they have expanded to Hair Sticks, the Flexi Oh!, Hairbands, and Bobby Pins. From there they rounded the line out with complimentarily designed You-Pins, and Badge Holders. </span><br />
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<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-26361528623651540812013-12-13T05:00:00.001-08:002013-12-13T05:00:08.218-08:00No More Hunger Games (A Letter to Jennifer Lawrence) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Dear Jennifer Lawrence,<br />
<br />
<i>Thank you. </i><br />
<br />
For eating.<br />
<br />
<b>For being Hollywood's Mockingjay</b>. For being a symbol of the rebellion against anorexia and eating disorders. <u>For putting an end to Hollywood's "Hunger Games".</u><br />
<br />
You're not the stereotypical 21st Century actress. You've got curves. You've got muscle. You've got light in your eyes and the reason your character in The Hunger Games movies is so real?<br />
<br />
Is because you're that girl. You're Katniss. <span style="font-size: large;">You believe in a revolution, a REAL revolution, of the body, mind and spirit. </span>You're sick of being told how to live and what to eat and hiding behind a skinny facade. <u>You're weary of seeing daughters and sisters and mothers fall apart because of some pretend ideal.</u><br />
<br />
In a land that feeds off rice crackers and stair climbers <i>you're daring to eat dinner. </i>To fight the enemy of hunger and to stand up for your sisters everywhere, sisters who are too weak and timid to fight for themselves, and you're declaring food a gift.<br />
<br />
Women and men flock to you, friend, because there is purpose in your step. You're different. You're not a sell-out. <b>You have fire in your wings and you care more than you should. </b>Facing evil head-on and saying: I'm not going to cave. I'm not going to be your stereotypical dieter who has anorexia rumors. <u>I'm going to feed my body because I am more than a pretty face. I'm a fighter.</u><br />
<br />
I was that girl who was too timid to fight, who was born with curves and who starved herself for four years trying to lose them. <i>My friends were scared of the girl whose braces could be seen through the thin outline of her cheeks. </i>My knees knocked together and I couldn't run for the sixty pounds that I was and yet it wasn't low enough, because people could still see me. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to die.<br />
<br />
But you want to live. You step up to the plate and you don't have much to say--which comforts me because I've never been good at small talk--but you act. You act fiercely and fully for those you love, and <span style="font-size: x-large;">you refuse to let a corrupt system corrupt you.</span> <br />
<br />
So I'm claiming my curves. The ones that bore me two babies, and I'm refusing to skip another dinner because <b>The "Hunger Game" needs to end.</b> Anorexia, bulimia, it all needs to end. We need to protect our sisters, and be voices for the voiceless. To say, <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://ctt.ec/228JP" target="_blank">It's good to eat. And it's great to live. <b>(tweet this) </b></a></span><br />
<br />
Thank you, Jennifer. For reminding us that we are more than our bodies. <u>We are warriors, and we will not let Hollywood dictate how we live--or how we die.</u><br />
<br />
<br />
Your sister,<br />
<br />
e.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
ANNOUNCING: The winner for the <a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/2013/12/christmas-giveaway-extravaganza-noonday.html" target="_blank">Christmas Giveaway Extravaganza</a> is Holly Jensen, a single mother of two little girls, whose comment on Facebook stated: <span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]" style="background-color: #fafbfb; color: #4e5665; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0].[0]">It has been awhile since I've experienced a physical display of extravagance. While the gorgeous necklace, frosty bracelet and scarf delight me, most of the items I would share with beautiful kin sisters who've shone light and love into my life during </span></span><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3]" style="background-color: #fafbfb; color: #4e5665; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3].[0]"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3].[0].[0]">a deep season of grief. Regardless, I know my Father, the Giver of all good gifts, will fill my cup to overwhelming goodness! It is humbling to post this among such sincere posts. Abundant blessings to all! I have shared this on fb, the other tech mediums I'm not familiar with:)</span></span></span>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-14681365293633529012013-12-11T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-11T08:08:07.548-08:00Nelson Mandela Became My Bethlehem Star (and Imperfect Prose)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I walked to the edge of my faith tonight. <b>Looked down and was tempted to jump.</b><br />
<br />
Because sometimes there are no stars or moon, just an ink black sky and when you step outside in your sneakers and run the country mile, <span style="font-size: large;">you can't even see the white of your shoes. </span><br />
<br />
It's that dark...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(I'm over <a href="http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/nelson-mandela/" target="_blank">HERE at Prodigal Magazine</a> today friends; join me? But first, link up your #imperfectprose below) </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">**and don't forget to enter to win the Christmas Giveaway Extravaganza <a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/2013/12/christmas-giveaway-extravaganza-noonday.html" target="_blank">over HERE</a>! </span></i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Hi friends. Won't you join us, here for Imperfect Prose? In which we "walk each other home"? (Ram Dass)</span></div>
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<b>We meet every Wednesday </b>to <span style="font-size: medium;">share posts about brokenness and redemption.</span> To celebrate what God is doing in and among us.<i> </i><br />
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<i>These are the Imperfect Prose rules:</i><br />
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1. Link up a piece of poetry, prose or art that is somehow redemptive.</div>
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Thank you!<br />
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Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-34638463363215675882013-12-09T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-14T09:42:00.688-08:00Christmas Giveaway Extravaganza!! Noonday mittens, a personalized pendant, flexi clips, a ViBella necklace, bracelets and more!<br />
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<br />
Our heavenly father loves us with <span style="font-size: large;">an extravagant kind of love.</span><br />
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The kind that<u> runs down the path to meet his prodigal sons and daughters.</u><br />
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The kind that <u>puts a cherished Son on a cross</u> so the curse can be forgiven.<br />
<br />
The kind that <u>pours out his holy spirit in abundance at Pentecost</u> and sets the prisoners free and heals the blind and produces more than enough food from five loaves and two fish.<br />
<br />
We want to show one person this kind of love today -- <span style="font-size: large;">Extravagance, in a basket.<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>One winner only <span style="font-size: small;">will get to take home a whole lot of stuff.</span></span><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Here's what we're giving away:</i><br />
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAR0dJjuuDeTGIV9XEvkyzXX-Kq9XtYH0-NDjfZqIUrgKKmzMaJjG2Ym3lJKT7c3ALE_5yXxUlNImc4Ice2fqYLehdc4ldhrmk4CFdNqHzHMqQh9ls5qmOV4telnMSA-wY1XOQ833ice0/s1600/mayla_n_01-1280x1280.png.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAR0dJjuuDeTGIV9XEvkyzXX-Kq9XtYH0-NDjfZqIUrgKKmzMaJjG2Ym3lJKT7c3ALE_5yXxUlNImc4Ice2fqYLehdc4ldhrmk4CFdNqHzHMqQh9ls5qmOV4telnMSA-wY1XOQ833ice0/s1600/mayla_n_01-1280x1280.png.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyPT4rh1YrSR-RzO2IOcvRnQeecdHXGESZKzbCQBmVPvaxcHfKjoHXzTulEnCg9e-gh0n4LvFLcrPCKEJpEUxQITvZfbt84pQ042LzZAtEeOEAQyDrE3dtjI0NyjMFz2aPmDemlJEiqnT/s1600/mayla_n_01-100x125.png.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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<a href="http://www.vibellajewelry.com/product/mayla-necklace" target="_blank">Mayla Necklace</a> – Make a fashionable statement wherever you go! The Mayla Necklace features handcrafted beads made in Mexico from recycled paper and painted in grey, pastel green, coral, forest green, and emerald green asymmetrically strung from multiple chains of small gold beads. Pair with the Mayla Bracelet and Mayla Earrings. <b>Handcrafted by Vi Bella artists in Mexico.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGpDdtLuiKAMfYPXJZXenOB1zKSG3G_GQRw3KMH8kC56tI3nw2Ob2QnqSrPR1S6EgWBR1oM2JW1K3bqtPatQXiqvFphOaWqSYPulxbUTaJT0lPVmGyWWi3fP4pSY-zz9h3N4uDrxOq9GD/s1600/melissa+fields+wallace+sweet+stitches+scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGpDdtLuiKAMfYPXJZXenOB1zKSG3G_GQRw3KMH8kC56tI3nw2Ob2QnqSrPR1S6EgWBR1oM2JW1K3bqtPatQXiqvFphOaWqSYPulxbUTaJT0lPVmGyWWi3fP4pSY-zz9h3N4uDrxOq9GD/s1600/melissa+fields+wallace+sweet+stitches+scarf.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>A beautiful hand-sewn scarf</b> from <a href="http://sweetsimpleblessings.wordpress.com/sweet-stitches/" target="_blank">Sweet and Simple Blessings</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMc6KkyhIC4VEe5WFm3JpKppGkIcEux6Xa5OM3HOlIEwn-ABHDyfXyBnpf4UO8oiKCiAaHH428kmxNidYSX4jG21KqN33lSKqfHVk38KplAfeqcL5EPBc8A-INiGlARGF2v9LPlUEKdup2/s1600/Cup+of+Comfort+-+Page+Turners+Bookshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMc6KkyhIC4VEe5WFm3JpKppGkIcEux6Xa5OM3HOlIEwn-ABHDyfXyBnpf4UO8oiKCiAaHH428kmxNidYSX4jG21KqN33lSKqfHVk38KplAfeqcL5EPBc8A-INiGlARGF2v9LPlUEKdup2/s1600/Cup+of+Comfort+-+Page+Turners+Bookshop.jpg" height="400" width="292" /></a></div>
<b>A Cup of Comfort book of prayers and stories</b> for the Christmas holiday, from <a href="http://pageturnersbookshop.ca/" target="_blank">PageTurners Bookshop. </a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb66N9QcI_rD4JMnarf2_vZ0d567XQFJKgPrFanWEdlCW42EInteBLIsqiE7aOI8Dbrjy9ypWkTfub53QiWV2bJE1onJ-KJdniWeeHfufO3gX6FuWCZU0QAGIxIactTwSmA6VOQr6AtCiq/s1600/Frost+Bracelet+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb66N9QcI_rD4JMnarf2_vZ0d567XQFJKgPrFanWEdlCW42EInteBLIsqiE7aOI8Dbrjy9ypWkTfub53QiWV2bJE1onJ-KJdniWeeHfufO3gX6FuWCZU0QAGIxIactTwSmA6VOQr6AtCiq/s1600/Frost+Bracelet+.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>A stunning Frost Bracelet </b>from the orphan ministry <a href="http://clothedinlove.org/" target="_blank">Clothed in Love. </a></div>
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The Frosty Bracelet has an aquamarine stone set in a silver plated pendant with accenting iridescent crystal gems. The bracelet also consist of 20mm clear beads.The bracelet is threaded with adjustable cording to fit a 6.5 inch wrist or smaller.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jRedkGRPOw8XmpNZz0x-FCOkcSoKUY1ezqDyBNe1fLEN8G68Sm7LTZM3MFcSHyN5vX2kutXlofIs5wXxplzBJ5XJRCA-3ENIoJxt0WYAoGmd3tsVItoC41-VCK02YG4FE_GjkAjvwcHA/s1600/Silver+Flexi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4jRedkGRPOw8XmpNZz0x-FCOkcSoKUY1ezqDyBNe1fLEN8G68Sm7LTZM3MFcSHyN5vX2kutXlofIs5wXxplzBJ5XJRCA-3ENIoJxt0WYAoGmd3tsVItoC41-VCK02YG4FE_GjkAjvwcHA/s1600/Silver+Flexi.jpg" height="297" width="400" /></a></div>
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A beautiful <b>flexi hair pin</b> from <a href="http://www.lillarose.biz/jessicabish/?id=VWGIDY59" target="_blank">Lilla Rose</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7PRtK1zDJfMduOp4YsI8ic3zU_IBC4mHbIOxezHv-Fwl1M763McXVriwDC6yCXDUEcZJDVcdIam1lWk1GrLYGuiT6Ar-80BK9qQhDXmg_wq997BY8CYZUZUcPCf-I7cpUJIPIp5w2Rw6/s1600/1454976_10202325694481902_702792553_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7PRtK1zDJfMduOp4YsI8ic3zU_IBC4mHbIOxezHv-Fwl1M763McXVriwDC6yCXDUEcZJDVcdIam1lWk1GrLYGuiT6Ar-80BK9qQhDXmg_wq997BY8CYZUZUcPCf-I7cpUJIPIp5w2Rw6/s1600/1454976_10202325694481902_702792553_n.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Confessions-Wonder-Woman-Wannabe-Mission/dp/089112392X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385348011&sr=8-1&keywords=confessions+of+a+wonder+woman+wannabe" target="_blank"><i>Confessions of a Wonder Woman Wannabe</i> </a></b>provides the modern-day mommy with sanity-saving tips, advice, and hilarious real-life accounts that every supermom can most certainly relate to, benefit from, and appreciate. After all, the reader may not have been born with superhuman strength, but with God on her side, Jesus in her heart, and the Holy Spirit in her corner, she's more than equipped to handle the daily battles that rage before her. ''So hold on tight, girls, as we prepare to tackle this role of motherhood together: the good, the bad, (the slightly ugly), and everything in between.'</div>
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<a href="http://brandimendenhall.noondaycollection.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zTuIoXnhdYcMy2Ww5vQKGR9c0yhg1hyphenhypheno0S5GwOawZu3YDktb8P_AdiHCC4rSDxd29R_rz0B6EJdsJSuvXp6Rd0j4PkJLJ4O2gDpCmfoY-VqysV9aKQZllkcb73F8F1SXvA5K-jOIsVcI/s1600/_CWP6645-l.jpg" height="400" width="328" /></a></div>
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Cute pom pom detail in our classic plum color. Wear as a mitten or pull back the mitten when you need to make a phone call or use your computer. - See more at: http://www.noondaycollection.com/arm-warmers/nesting-mitten-1#sthash.0bZeVVbb.dpuf</div>
<b>Nesting Mittens from <a href="http://brandimendenhall.noondaycollection.com/" target="_blank">The Noonday Collection</a></b>: Cute pom pom details in plum color; pull back the mitten when you're typing or need to make a phone call.<br />
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Cute pom pom detail in our classic plum color. Wear as a mitten or pull back the mitten when you need to make a phone call or use your computer. - See more at: http://www.noondaycollection.com/arm-warmers/nesting-mitten-1#sthash.0bZeVVbb.dpuf</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSM-sN5Wzhf61wq0RikDaB9PjzH3drd-OtCQDGt3hNfh2biLhs0DCkl8V8lGQAbNi9QNHAeuwVeJVFODqtJEFgSY7vgIjq9dgzQCSGu0eS0gpv-ATj1DYHRy1ctUStdpEX46W94m-TtD0H/s1600/TheBlogBook_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSM-sN5Wzhf61wq0RikDaB9PjzH3drd-OtCQDGt3hNfh2biLhs0DCkl8V8lGQAbNi9QNHAeuwVeJVFODqtJEFgSY7vgIjq9dgzQCSGu0eS0gpv-ATj1DYHRy1ctUStdpEX46W94m-TtD0H/s1600/TheBlogBook_2.jpg" height="270" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/gp/bit/amazonserp/ref=bit_bds-p07_serp_ff_ca_display?ie=UTF8&tagbase=bds-p07&tag=bds-p07-serp-ca-ff-20&tbrId=v1_abb-channel-7_f7bcea3d61654cd6b9bdc63bcc285570_30_46_20131020_CA_ff_ds_&query=kayla+aimee+the+blog+book" target="_blank"> A blog book</a> on <b>how to make money blogging</b>, from one mommy blogger to another, by <a href="http://www.kaylaaimee.com/" target="_blank">Kayla Aimee</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLZvBT1M5IdpIRTqcwuYGsRm2wpgQo81guPOyH-Dwq-M2Df2bjpkuSiFsa3JQz7dSimOZGxYwoMvsedTsiPowB85LHuwgSBk9K-fI2oFho7pQlfRNOyta8Q-Hd-ZR4rC7Gugy9V-1MuFe/s1600/1484926_10152214152368296_461484281_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLZvBT1M5IdpIRTqcwuYGsRm2wpgQo81guPOyH-Dwq-M2Df2bjpkuSiFsa3JQz7dSimOZGxYwoMvsedTsiPowB85LHuwgSBk9K-fI2oFho7pQlfRNOyta8Q-Hd-ZR4rC7Gugy9V-1MuFe/s1600/1484926_10152214152368296_461484281_n.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>A Child's Fur Boots</b> by <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/OhLollipopDesigns" target="_blank">Oh Lollipop Designs</a>, size 3-6 months to toddler size 8. Made with a waterproof and slip-resistant sole in sizes 9-12 months and up. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9W0bVPKk94Vz9hFjjLYR2-xGW2AUuCq5BNqc4x2RBRWQLT35vwyTzH5cFnMncdg-Y6hDznv53-yl8anPZ08TtYRJ3lFU2Y7n8z-ZyBSpp2iSz6tzvpZsGOOAB-mvNKKYi0ZWvBNGXRwp/s1600/BamBam+Designs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9W0bVPKk94Vz9hFjjLYR2-xGW2AUuCq5BNqc4x2RBRWQLT35vwyTzH5cFnMncdg-Y6hDznv53-yl8anPZ08TtYRJ3lFU2Y7n8z-ZyBSpp2iSz6tzvpZsGOOAB-mvNKKYi0ZWvBNGXRwp/s1600/BamBam+Designs.jpeg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0); text-align: left;">This <b>stunning pendant from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/BamBamDesign" target="_blank">BamBam Designs</a></b> is an open Stainless Steel Washer hand stamped with your choice of up three names, embellished with a Tree of Life Charm and your choice of three Swarovski crystals. Makes a great gift for moms and grandmothers.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.musicforthesoul.org/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1QsOOg-8Mb0i_3v6XWDF1tA0q9nrUFKC9JJ-ag_1KxZk7ozrDD6bNkqKNbsmxuqjL13SoI9Sfshw8S9_PD0PMMEFDJnOHEkBHcbhdpgVO-su5Z8ERgtF6k7iK7P77dyyfbidC4MQ0T6m/s1600/TellMe-1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.musicforthesoul.org/resources/tell-me-what-you-see/" target="_blank">Tell Me What You See</a> is a compilation of songs on CD. It is also a beacon, a life raft…and it is an interpreter. <b>It’s for everyone who has ever been dissatisfied with their body, their looks, themselves.</b> And it’s for their families and friends who don’t know how to love them. It provides the hammer, the chisel… whatever tool is necessary so that imprisoned woman can begin to break out of her prison. It is a gateway to recovery, to health, and freedom.</div>
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Discussion guide available.<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"> </span> <span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"><i><b>and finally</b></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRi2PbiCLJOnX8SWHvrP3epVPBOsbUgU5ZppOizpd75r1WhVqWv2EF6AFbI5rzJTZjshM6cmD9pmEXaL2aFVn6nE0sB02sZinOpZIVkOEMhcYi0BiFj9zGfomgiov1ZLEzlmMPU2JMtQFZ/s1600/purpose-realized-1140x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRi2PbiCLJOnX8SWHvrP3epVPBOsbUgU5ZppOizpd75r1WhVqWv2EF6AFbI5rzJTZjshM6cmD9pmEXaL2aFVn6nE0sB02sZinOpZIVkOEMhcYi0BiFj9zGfomgiov1ZLEzlmMPU2JMtQFZ/s1600/purpose-realized-1140x500.jpg" height="175" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="null"> <b> Four 1-hour life/leadership coaching sessions by <a href="http://prize1924.com/" target="_blank">Prize1924.</a></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">To enter to win this incredible Christmas Extravaganza, <u>leave a comment below </u>telling me:</span></div>
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1. Why you want to win at least one of these items </div>
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and</div>
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2. How you've shared this post with others (Twitter, FB, Pinterest...).</div>
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At the end of the week, <i>we'll choose one very special winner </i>to gift these items to.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">Merry Christmas!!!</span></b><br />
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</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></b><br />
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</span></b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;">ANNOUNCING: The winner for the </span><a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/2013/12/christmas-giveaway-extravaganza-noonday.html" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.25s linear 0s; background-color: white; color: #32a4d6; font-family: 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.25s linear 0s;" target="_blank">Christmas Giveaway Extravaganza</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"> is Holly Jensen, a single mother of two little girls, whose comment on Facebook stated: </span><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0]" style="background-color: #fafbfb; color: #4e5665; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[0].[0]" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It has been awhile since I've experienced a physical display of extravagance. While the gorgeous necklace, frosty bracelet and scarf delight me, most of the items I would share with beautiful kin sisters who've shone light and love into my life during </span></span><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3]" style="background-color: #fafbfb; color: #4e5665; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3].[0]" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span data-reactid=".r[1sdw9].[1][3][1]{comment10153564111865099_45596997}.[0].{right}.[0].{left}.[0].[0].[0][3].[0].[3].[0].[0]" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">a deep season of grief. Regardless, I know my Father, the Giver of all good gifts, will fill my cup to overwhelming goodness! It is humbling to post this among such sincere posts. Abundant blessings to all! I have shared this on fb, the other tech mediums I'm not familiar with:)</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 25px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"><span style="text-align: left;"></span></span>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com83tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-34093990693384096062013-12-07T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-07T05:00:07.662-08:00When A Homeless Man Joins Your Music Video (and other favorite links from this week)<i> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/p/painting.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.emilywierenga.com/p/painting.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5S7klKlmdW215xEZMnWQhGXRAQ2djpzKICDdNDhmFAluzTSRQRQQQ4WT0UiUCK5k97qcW9A9yhrZHEDzoezxAVPnxWytmgg_w6slHzWazjqQh-CKYbZCsHvh8aw8Sd4hFshQjdSgeQzk/s1600/Kristin's+canoe.jpg" height="328" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Red Canoe, commission. Watercolor with salt on 12" by 24" canvas. </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i><br />
<br />
<i>Oh friends, there are <span style="font-size: large;">some beautiful words out there </span>this week... and some very creative music videos. Check it out! </i><br />
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<br />
<a href="http://jenniferdukeslee.com/what-it-means-to-be-filthy-rich/" target="_blank">What It Means to be Filthy Rich</a> by Jennifer Dukes Lee<br />
<br />
"So, we found the secret to getting rich. We found it out on some jagged
crook of island, where the ocean slaps against the rocky shore, and a
persistent alleluia miraculously breaks through the growl of hunger..."<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://deeperstory.com/madiba/" target="_blank">A Southern Cross Love Song: Remembering Nelson "Mandiba" Mandella</a> by Lisa-Jo Baker<br />
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<b>"Why is this white girl a long way from South Africa tonight crying over an <a href="http://mg.co.za/article/2013-12-05-nelson-mandela-dies">old black president</a> she never met?"</b> <br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MejbOFk7H6c" target="_blank">The Most Creative Music Video I've Ever Seen </a><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XP4r4sXmqmo" target="_blank">Why Duck Dynasty Rocks My World </a><br />
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<a href="http://www.upworthy.com/they-asked-if-she-had-anything-else-she-wanted-to-say-to-the-audience-thats-when-she-took-it-home" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.upworthy.com/they-asked-if-she-had-anything-else-she-wanted-to-say-to-the-audience-thats-when-she-took-it-home" target="_blank">Jane Fonda's Inspiring Message to Our Sons</a><br />
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<a href="http://truthinthetinsel.com/" target="_blank">An amazing and crafty advent calendar</a> my boys and I purchased and printed off: suitable for pre-schoolers upwards.<br />
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<a href="http://www.faithit.com/homeless-man-sings-for-music-video-carlos-whittaker/" target="_blank">When a Homeless Man Joins a Music Video</a>--and moves everyone to tears. Some beautiful worship here, friends. <br />
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<a href="http://aquillandinkwell.com/?p=2547" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://aquillandinkwell.com/?p=2547" target="_blank">That Day I Wore Yoga Pants: 5 Myths About Modesty</a> -- This woman spoke bold and got ridiculed for it, but I love her message.<br />
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<a href="http://gracefortheroad.com/2012/02/03/idontwait/" target="_blank">Why this Christian is no longer waiting for the right one </a>(a message that's gone viral)<br />
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<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-44183259518419031712013-12-06T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-06T05:00:12.239-08:00When Christmas Is Not The Most Wonderful Time of Year<i>(Guest Post by Anna Elmira, a dear friend of mine who's battled the same eating issues I have, on how holidays can be hard for those with mental illnesses. Please welcome her?) </i><br />
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<br />
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.” Psalm 119: 105.<br />
<br />
I sit here and write by candlelight, trying to sense these beautiful words of the psalmist. All is dark except for the glow of the little fire in front of me. If I snuggle in close, I can feel its warmth and hear it crackle. <u>All is simple. All is quiet.</u> No bright lights or people talking or phones ringing.<br />
<br />
God knows that Christmas is coming and that there will be glitter and carols and gingerbread cookies... <span style="font-size: large;">God knows that I need to care for my soul, for it is so very tender.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbafQOIuTiBUjxxvo_tWTwKpcnDRKhACsZQXcBehfo9BfJ5M_wLpiKPzzvAHdkvb7RQ5odWJek6zeTfyqLlurYgvJm0XoVee-ENbzLC-FO7J5914QlwD8BT4aS1E8f4vbQ52ZhIQBcQHdz/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.08.04.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbafQOIuTiBUjxxvo_tWTwKpcnDRKhACsZQXcBehfo9BfJ5M_wLpiKPzzvAHdkvb7RQ5odWJek6zeTfyqLlurYgvJm0XoVee-ENbzLC-FO7J5914QlwD8BT4aS1E8f4vbQ52ZhIQBcQHdz/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.08.04.png" height="400" style="cursor: move;" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ameliafletcher.com/" target="_blank">via Amelia Fletcher photography</a></td></tr>
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<b><br />
</b> <b>I’ve been a disordered eater for almost twenty years.</b> Also, I’ve been diagnosed with depression and assessed by my psychotherapist as ‘a highly sensitive person’. My bones and joints ache from early on-set arthritis. So, <i>I feel everything.</i><br />
<br />
<u>For disordered eaters like myself, the holidays may not be ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. </u><br />
<br />
Personally, I am on sensory over-load when I go home for Christmas. I sit at the table with my family and stare at my plate. The mini mountain of mashed potatoes, the pools of gravy, the cranberries, the stuffing, and my mother’s famous stuffed cabbage...<br />
<br />
My thoughts are snowballing and it feels as though there are a million moths trapped inside my chest. I sit at the table and <span style="font-size: large;">I want to socialize and be normal but I am distracted </span>by the twinkling of lights, Bing Crosby, and the creamy Lindor chocolates wrapped in shiny little papers.<br />
<br />
I even think of the homeless man I see all the time on York Blvd, holding out his boney hands for bread money, baring crooked teeth; drenched in urine and booze. His eyes are deep and his body so thin. And <i>all of this tugs on my mind and yanks on my flesh. </i> My stomach writhes and all I want to do is cry.<br />
<br />
And in the middle of this chaos, just as I slip to the bathroom and lift my fingers to my mouth, Christ whispers, <span style="font-size: large;">“Daughter, I know a better way.”</span><br />
<br />
Matthew Henry says it wisely, <i>“The word of God directs us in our work and way, and a dark place indeed the world would be without it. The commandment is a lamp kept burning with the oil of the Spirit, as a light to direct us in the choice of our way, and the steps we take in that way. The keeping of God's commands here meant, was that of a sinner under a dispensation of mercy, of a believer having part in the covenant of grace.” </i><br />
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<b>Daughters, God’s word is a lamp unto our feet. </b>We are walkers through this world, and we are often pushed out into its darkness. Let us never journey there without His Light, like a flaming torch, lest we slip. Allow Christ to be your lamp by night, a light by day, and a comfort at all times. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWuxln3jyVN8b4fys2Bw2J_TWMn6Dz_0wQ3ugLN1UNJOKiNPdfvTFxyd0_53U0TVyL20Ro_ZeVtMiPDY9r8D3_ike8UYzgw3eNYSF16UZ1aoHW-SJ_lub2P4EDOazbwsFfLFeBMKq0g1l/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.08.48.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJWuxln3jyVN8b4fys2Bw2J_TWMn6Dz_0wQ3ugLN1UNJOKiNPdfvTFxyd0_53U0TVyL20Ro_ZeVtMiPDY9r8D3_ike8UYzgw3eNYSF16UZ1aoHW-SJ_lub2P4EDOazbwsFfLFeBMKq0g1l/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.08.48.png" height="400" style="cursor: move;" width="397" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ameliafletcher.com/" target="_blank">via Amelia Fletcher photography</a></td></tr>
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So <u>by the flicker of candlelight, I give myself space to breathe.</u> Here I can meditate on God’s Word, I can write, and I can sing. Here I can notice tiny, peaceful things like gently cascading snowflakes outside my bedroom window. <span style="font-size: large;">The snow seems to almost breathe here,</span> inhaling and exhaling over the glow of street lights, piling up along the escarpment.<br />
<br />
And in these moments, although my jeans feel snug and my mind cannot hold another thought, <b>there’s a stillness in my heart that I haven’t felt in a very long time.</b><br />
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<br />
Let us pray.<br />
<br />
<i>God of Life, </i><br />
<i>There are days when the burdens we carry </i><br />
<i>chafe our shoulders and wear us down; </i><br />
<i>when the road seems dreary and endless; </i><br />
<i>the skies gray and threatening; </i><br />
<i>when our lives have no music in them </i><br />
<i>and our hearts are so lonely </i><br />
<i>and our souls have lost their courage. </i><br />
<i>Flood our path with light, we ask you; </i><br />
<i>turn our eyes to where </i><br />
<i>the skies are full of promise. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>-St. Augustine of Hippo</i><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Anna Elmira lives in a cozy little bungalow in Ontario. Working in Developmental Services, she is a Behavioral Counselor for Transitional Aged Youth with Autism. She loves reading, writing, crocheting, taking photographs, singing, drinking coffee, and hiking the Bruce Trail. The Lord is her Shepherd.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Feature sponsor of today's post is <a href="http://sweetsimpleblessings.wordpress.com/darling-dresses/" target="_blank">Sweet and Simple Blessings</a> - where you can find beautiful customized children's dresses, prints and scrubs. Check it out <a href="http://sweetsimpleblessings.wordpress.com/darling-dresses/" target="_blank">HERE</a>! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-53485120507202400012013-12-04T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-04T12:13:10.689-08:00The Day Jesus Gave Me A New Name (and Imperfect Prose)<span style="font-family: inherit;">My coffee is cold. I sit at the kitchen table with my Bible, overlooking the deck and the barren branch of winter, the boys watching a show in their onesie pajamas.<i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>It's winter, and the days are short and I miss the light. </i>But when the sun shines on the snow--it's like angels are dancing.<i> </i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I open Scripture. Jesus is talking to Simon. <span style="font-size: large;">He's giving his disciple a new name: Peter. Which means rock.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxwOE57ew91HXNMwRoGdCmVySnp1VOLMwkTqMuaYK1C3xSMY35JzgY-J37zIqLF4DoiezBcp0OrI9pFzDEbNX7Bupl_tUFplDlKYllmSd5M2HBvucni2myXO2b8qc4D1mrhEuw85gPomR/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.00.07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxwOE57ew91HXNMwRoGdCmVySnp1VOLMwkTqMuaYK1C3xSMY35JzgY-J37zIqLF4DoiezBcp0OrI9pFzDEbNX7Bupl_tUFplDlKYllmSd5M2HBvucni2myXO2b8qc4D1mrhEuw85gPomR/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.00.07.png" height="225" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ameliafletcher.com/" target="_blank">via Amelia Fletcher photography</a></td></tr>
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</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>My name is Emily. </b>For years it's been one of the most popular names for baby girls, but <a href="http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/search/Emily" target="_blank">it means hard working</a>, and I've known this since I was seven, since Mum gave me a piece of paper with my name on it, and its meaning printed in bold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">I stuck that paper to my bedroom wall, and there it was--who I was. <span style="font-size: large;">Defined by how hard I worked, I never quit</span>--I stayed up all hours doing homework, getting those A-pluses, getting on the honor roll, doing public speaking, winning art and poetry contests, and starving myself because <b>there's no earthly feat big enough to win a spiritual battle.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">Joyless. Those were the dark years, without any light, because I was forgetting <u>only One can truly name us.</u> The one who knows us before we are conceived, the one whose DNA courses through every human being. The truest name.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">People wondered who John the Baptist was--Are you the prophet? they said. Are you Elijah? and all he said was, <span style="font-size: large;">"I'm one who's not fit to tie Jesus' sandals."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">But this is who Jesus says John is: "I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John..." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Our identity exists only in relation to our Savior. </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqAcNrg4jNahpRyIEo3MDJaVJKwD-ONbHVoAS-6vSVlkZcA5DBkK_wNCFZLc19pOhFImQrsK_VIQKFJTAbRNjMWaf6sDUmNGfrv70S_cl9Yc55RxOQWLA-cx2a8BXqKm08E4J-Cohaav6/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.00.53.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqAcNrg4jNahpRyIEo3MDJaVJKwD-ONbHVoAS-6vSVlkZcA5DBkK_wNCFZLc19pOhFImQrsK_VIQKFJTAbRNjMWaf6sDUmNGfrv70S_cl9Yc55RxOQWLA-cx2a8BXqKm08E4J-Cohaav6/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.00.53.png" height="398" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ameliafletcher.com/" target="_blank">via Amelia Fletcher photography</a></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">Who Jesus is determines who we are. And Jesus is a redeemer. </span>He is a Savior, he is perfect and he is love, and this makes us redeemed. It makes us saved and perfect and loved.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">I bow my head while the kids watch their show, while the cream skims on my coffee, <span style="font-size: large;">and I ask Jesus to give me a new name,</span> and <b>it comes right away, as though he's been waiting all these years:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Annabelle.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't like it. I try to pretend he's given me another, but no, it's Annabelle, so I get up and go to the laptop, Google Annabelle. And this is what it means:</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/name/annabelle" target="_blank"><br />
</a></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/name/annabelle" target="_blank">Beautiful, loving, lovable, graceful. Joy.</a></b></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Can it get any better? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Can there be any name more opposite Emily, or "hard working"? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>And maybe this is the name he gives each of his daughters</b>--Annabelle. Lovable. Graceful. Beautiful. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuvIKFMBPPFyo28IUjHwqFk9sTzGwayKH_eU4Azp-xrnxMV67MFOR_Zr0p5tAQL-_2aEH0wxwbIImX3RrAjCL53mGPpapMNr1RItbqVa31SSW0n3d52tKHwKMgDusPmd1o43SvnMb1V9_/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.01.05.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcuvIKFMBPPFyo28IUjHwqFk9sTzGwayKH_eU4Azp-xrnxMV67MFOR_Zr0p5tAQL-_2aEH0wxwbIImX3RrAjCL53mGPpapMNr1RItbqVa31SSW0n3d52tKHwKMgDusPmd1o43SvnMb1V9_/s1600/Screenshot+2013-12-02+19.01.05.png" height="266" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ameliafletcher.com/" target="_blank">via Amelia Fletcher photography</a></td></tr>
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</span></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I ran my life ragged trying to do more, trying to work harder, and <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">all this time Abba was whispering,</span><i> "Annabelle--beautiful, loving, lovable, graceful, joyful girl--come home!"</i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">What is your name, friend? And <u>who does Jesus say you are? </u></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Daughters, your names are written on his palms, across the skies, in the book of life. And your Maker? <b>He says you are Enough.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Come home, child. Come home. <b> </b></span></span><br />
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<b>We meet every Wednesday </b>to <span style="font-size: medium;">share posts about brokenness and redemption.</span> To celebrate what God is doing in and among us.</div>
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Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-86541649508922060012013-12-03T05:00:00.000-08:002013-12-03T09:51:25.818-08:00We Shopped, He Dropped: The Unnecessary Killing of a Wal-Mart Employee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKS1rxg6LL7BVqzuk06v_l6DyCzKkpQJBJMryrR_yYH1W0XnoRjh3YB2nlTlcE_j0eWshuHdmJD8EIMmA3MOw9NrzJAq-GFr02t8RU-zu49-sKmC6nqtFDX1xVJDV8epmmwZQZGKmv2A11/s1600/alg-walmart-police-jpg.jpg" height="396" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was driving down Baseline on Sunday, in Sherwood Park, Alberta, passing a thick flock of stores, duplo block structures, big box stores with their Black Weekend sales. And <span style="font-size: large;">I was crying, thinking about the Wal-Mart worker.</span><br />
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The one who got trampled in Long Island, NY, when the doors opened on Black Friday, because men and women were so desperate for reduced items they were willing to reduce a life.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHglLi00" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"The Black Friday stampede plunged the Valley Stream outlet into chaos, knocking several employees to the ground and sending others scurrying atop vending machines to avoid the horde.</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHglLi00" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</span></a> <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHglLi00" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"When the madness ended, 34-year-old Jdimytai Damour was dead and four shoppers, including a woman eight months pregnant, were injured."</span></a><br />
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And <b>no doubt there were Christians in that mob driving hard </b>to get into that store not seeing that young man waiting to greet customers, who was greeted, instead, by death.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHhbQxB1" target="_blank">"They pushed him down and walked all over him," Damour's sobbing sister, Danielle, 41, said. "How could these people do that?</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHhbQxB1" target="_blank"><br /></a></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/worker-dies-long-island-wal-mart-trampled-black-friday-stampede-article-1.334059#ixzz2mHhbQxB1" target="_blank">"He was such a young man with a good heart, full of life. He didn't deserve that."</a></span><br />
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When it comes to a good sale, we equate frugality with morality and we’ll do anything to save a buck--but will we kill?<br />
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I drove past those cold stores with their bold sale signs and I’m no better. <b>I go hard after a good bargain.</b> I bought a laptop this Black Friday, online, because we’ve got no stores in our hamlet except for a Co-op. Now, I didn’t stab anyone to get the laptop. I just punched a few keys and it was done, but I was still part of the madness. I still fed the system.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Whether it’s online or in the flesh, we’re pawns of a corporate giant, </span>and we worship the almighty dollar.<br />
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At the end of the day, will it matter if we saved forty percent on TV speakers or a new iPad?<br />
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<i>Someone’s 34-year-old son is dead.</i><br />
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Someone’s brother was trampled in the rush<b>.</b><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/xHL17" target="_blank"><b></b></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As Christians, let’s be different. </span>Let’s stop and shake the greeter’s hand. Let’s stop and see the people we’re shopping beside. Maybe the person we’re competing with for an item needs it more than us. <i>Maybe we don’t need anything at all, because 1.25 billion people live off two dollars a day or less</i>. And maybe instead of feeding a heartless system that isn’t satisfied until Wal-mart employees are trampled, maybe we can focus on feeding orphans in the Philippines who recently lost everything.<br />
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Everything.<br />
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Now, maybe you did need whatever you purchased. I know I did, for my job, because my old laptop has been dying for months. <u>Maybe your washing machine just gave out and your husband just lost his job and you were desperately clinging to the hope of that Black Friday sale</u> and you just didn’t care anymore, what it took to get it, because life has thrown you some pretty hard punches lately.<br />
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Don’t give in.<br />
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You can make the purchase, yes, but <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/Pj2Rp" target="_blank">shop with humanity in mind</a> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</span> Keep perspective. Yes, you need a washing machine, but at what expense?<br />
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<b>Our heavenly father knows what we need.</b> Sometimes he provides through the form of a great sale. But never at the cost of someone’s life. Never, at the cost of one of his children.<br />
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The dark truth about Black Friday is this: <i>Someone died, so we could purchase something from a store which sells items made by children from third-world countries.</i> Which offers terrible health benefits to its employees. And which is buying out mom and pop franchises across the country without a second glance.<br />
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It’s good to save a dollar.<br />
<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/Pj2Rp" target="_blank"><br /></a>
But let’s not sell our souls, in the process.<br />
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Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-79166145423098210712013-12-02T05:00:00.001-08:002013-12-02T08:32:22.376-08:00Dear Sons: Why I Want You To Be Like Ron Swanson<br />
Dear Sons,<br />
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Your
father and I watched all six seasons of <i>Parks and Rec</i> over the past three months,
and while Leslie Knope makes the show, <span style="font-size: large;">Ron Swanson is its backbone.</span><br />
<br />
<a data-mce-href="http://www.themobsociety.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/images.jpg" href="http://www.themobsociety.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/images.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="images" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-603" data-mce-src="http://www.themobsociety.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/images.jpg" src="http://www.themobsociety.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/images.jpg" height="313" width="434" /></a>And boys? I like Ron. I like him, the same way I like your father because <b>they're not afraid to be men</b> who "wear moustaches, who hammer nails, who
smell wood and capture a household bug then set it free" (as Ron, or
actor Nick Offerman describes on <a data-mce-href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8w1p5UI7Siw" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8w1p5UI7Siw" target="_blank">How to Grow a Moustache</a>.)
"Who tolerate crying babies, move out of their parents' house, gain the
trust of a dog, sweat, send a regular, hand-written letter, and eat a
raw onion."<br />
<br />
"It's the single manliest journey of your life," says Ron about growing a moustache, but I'm here to tell you sons that <b>the manliest journey of your life does not consist of growing hairs on your upper lip</b>, but rather, <i>of following in the footsteps of a Savior who climbed the hill of Calvary with a cross on his back...</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">(The rest of this post can be read over <a href="http://www.themobsociety.com/2013/12/02/dear-sons-want-like-ron-swanson/" target="_blank">HERE</a> at The MOB Society; join me? Love you friends...)</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The feature sponsor for this post is Oh Lollipop Designs--<i>professional hand-sewn quality products like women's scarves, children's fur boots, toddlers' swing coats and little man ties. </i>Check it out <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/OhLollipopDesigns" target="_blank">HERE.</a> </span></span></b><br />
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<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-27089606908162595202013-11-24T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-24T09:42:56.234-08:00A Former Feminist on the Fall of MenThe little girl was crying.<br />
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She'd been sitting beside her grandma in church but <b>when she turned sad her grandfather scooped her up</b>, a big burly man who barely fit in the pew, and he held her so tender and she leaned her head against his chest and I broke, right there in my chair in the back.<br />
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We were singing songs about our Heavenly Father and <span style="font-size: large;">there's something about a strong man being a haven for his family. </span>There's something incredibly beautiful, and rare, about it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwYtveQwDXuUt65rCFjOO6P3r6R3Hi6eDdHpC63FXoO1WSeIwpBgXP_E3gqs4BF1c_sbdlNXJnbbbJFIwKuQXWEYiV7akusU3H75vqM939YCbMZcfYfguhuvDcNiwF7GpgHY-f2vyVFq2/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-19+19.27.32.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwYtveQwDXuUt65rCFjOO6P3r6R3Hi6eDdHpC63FXoO1WSeIwpBgXP_E3gqs4BF1c_sbdlNXJnbbbJFIwKuQXWEYiV7akusU3H75vqM939YCbMZcfYfguhuvDcNiwF7GpgHY-f2vyVFq2/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-19+19.27.32.png" height="397" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/PpQPJqpLlg/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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The other day our four-year-old son turned to Trent and said, <b>"When I grow up, I want to be big and strong just like you, Daddy, so I can make nice suppers."</b><br />
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Trent asked me later, "Why wouldn't he say something like, 'So I can cut firewood like you Daddy'?" He was laughing, but I understood.<br />
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Because <span style="font-size: large;">it's the paradox the hurting world is longing for.</span><br />
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<u>A man who knows who he is, and is still willing to serve.</u><br />
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A man who knows the role he's been given, to protect, to fight for his daughters and sons and wife, to submit to Christ as Jesus submitted to his father, and to provide in a hard-working, selfless kind of way. <br />
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A Jesus in the flesh, who both overthrew tables with confidence, and bent down low to wash his disciples' feet.<br />
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It's called <b>"Sanftmut" </b>in German: Mut means courage, and Sanft means gentle. So together, it's <b><span style="font-size: large;">the courage to be gentle.</span></b><br />
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We as women long for both. We long for the man who will take care of us, but not abuse that role. Who will cherish us, not hurt us.<br />
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And the church longs for it too.<br />
<br />
Over the past few decades <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">there's been a wind of change that has blown masculinity away.</span> It's calling manly men wrong. It's saying men should become like women, and women like men, and kids are confused about their gender and <span style="font-size: large;">sexuality is a question mark.</span><br />
<br />
Families are broken; there have never been more single mothers and homeless children and fathers are absent from the pews and from their homes, because they're confused. <b>There's no place for them anymore.</b><br />
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Yes, <u>patriarchy has hurt countless women </u>and there's absolutely no excuse for that. And I know there continues to be horrendous situations of abuse, and we are sinful people.<br />
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<a href="http://instagram.com/p/Y85DewJLvs/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">I myself have never been in an abusive relationship, so I cannot speak to those who are,</span></i> except to say, <span style="font-size: large;">Get out, honey, and your kids too--</span>take care of yourself, and know I am here for you.<br />
<br />
But for the rest of us who are not in abusive relationships, but perhaps have Daddy issues or other wounds, <b>the answer, my friends, is not to rise up and strip men of their calling</b> <b>to lead</b>, but to bow down low and <span style="font-size: large;">ask God to redeem us as a people.</span><br />
<br />
It's no secret that I am a former feminist<b> </b><a href="http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/the-lost-art-of-servant-hood-a-letter-to-my-feminist-sisters/" target="_blank">who wrote a very controversial post last spring on servanthood</a>, and even though I never wanted to broach the topic ever again, I felt recently that I needed to: because <span style="font-size: large;">my heart longs for women to know their true identity as Abba's daughters, </span>and the PEACE that comes with it, the contentment, which in turn, transforms our families.<br />
<br />
God made us male and female and he has a beautiful vision of what those genders can look like. But<i> we're so busy trying to fix what's been broken that we're not letting him work through the brokenness. </i>We're not giving the Father the platform. <br />
<br />
And our men are hurting. Our boys and girls are hurting. We as women are hurting and our homes are divided because there are two leaders. <br />
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The Bible says there is strength in weakness. <span style="font-size: large;">There is power in being gentle. </span>There is divinity in being a servant. The last shall be first. The first shall be last.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5kYZaJHH8zj8HLAyg4ySDTMWASYKkELUNmizT22tUbUhrTR9AtrZtncpqdEfxsRsYnJGYBBofYk0b5MQzSGEXqlWP-mogE6nNpRJRHgXMnjX66E-2LXBhlHQFmYUpYlH-MPWGsUboTP5/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-18+22.28.56.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5kYZaJHH8zj8HLAyg4ySDTMWASYKkELUNmizT22tUbUhrTR9AtrZtncpqdEfxsRsYnJGYBBofYk0b5MQzSGEXqlWP-mogE6nNpRJRHgXMnjX66E-2LXBhlHQFmYUpYlH-MPWGsUboTP5/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-18+22.28.56.png" height="223" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://elcadeyrn.tumblr.com/post/67403439842" target="_blank">via tumblr</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">According to Scripture, we as women, are responsible for </span>helping our men discover their full identity in Christ</span>--for believing in them, encouraging them, speaking highly of them in public and in front of our children, praying for them, and respecting what they have to say.<br />
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Our men are responsible for <span style="font-size: large;">taking care of us as Jesus took care of the church. </span>Fighting for their children, providing for their families, praying over their homes and washing their wives' feet.<br />
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And together, <span style="font-size: large;">we as parents form a church for our children. </span><br />
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A holy gathering place, where family becomes God's kingdom, here on earth.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I know this is not a popular topic. But please, let's keep the conversation in the comments civil, friends? Thank you... Love, e.)</span><br />
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<i>**Please note, there will be no #imperfectprose link-up this week.**</i></div>
Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com89tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-86182862265926122852013-11-23T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-23T05:00:06.235-08:00e's Internet Finds (Linking You Up)<span style="font-size: small;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/88601191/print-on-canvas-of-the-christmas?ref=shop_home_active" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NXhpiJ9x9AWuq-kuWdzdjA8HC0FPSb4Z6rSUjUNxVMjP402b3rc3xw1XWTJv_QQ6zP7S-C3c651fj73HkQOe6OaQwJldpOeIuZAuyH9TmzXLnBNsqAoOcl7SbMFOuSWIfkNY46BOfXmx/s1600/nativity1.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nativity, 11" by 9" with 2" borders on canvas, at <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/88601191/print-on-canvas-of-the-christmas?ref=shop_home_active" target="_blank">e's Etsy Shop</a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">Some of my favorite finds on the Interweb this week:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<a class="Ep" href="http://embracingrace.com/2013/11/what-happens-when-a-pastors-wife-gives-up/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">A Pastor's Wife Gets Real: </span>What Happens When <span style="font-size: large;">a Pastor's Wife Gives Up</span></a> <br />
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<a class="Ep" href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/11/the-real-truth-about-boring-men-and-the-women-who-live-with-them-redefining-boring" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Ann Voskamp Redefines Boring: </span>The Real Truth about Boring Men and the Women Who Live With Them</a><br />
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<a href="http://infoforfamilies.com/blog/2013/11/13/how-to-raise-a-pagan-kid-in-a-christian-home#.UpA6huK0cXn" target="_blank">How to Raise <span style="font-size: small;">a Pagan Kid in a Christian Home</span> <span style="font-size: large;">(this one really convicted me)</span></a><br />
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<a href="http://michellederusha.com/2013/11/when-youre-looking-for-an-endorsement/" target="_blank">Michelle DeRusha on <span style="font-size: large;">the Only Kind of Endorsement</span> Anyone Ever Needs</a><br />
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<a href="http://protectvirtue.blogspot.com/2013/10/why-this-little-blog-was-created.html" target="_blank">A Woman's <span style="font-size: large;">Fight to Preserve Virtue</span></a> <br />
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<a class="Ep" href="http://dancingonthedash.com/bringing-sexy-back/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Lorretta Stembridge is <span style="font-size: large;">Bringing Sexy Back</span>, and it's beautiful.</a><br />
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<a href="http://redemptionsbeauty.com/2013/11/20/why-i-cant-do-church-anymore/" target="_blank">Why Shelly Miller <span style="font-size: large;">Can't Do Church Anymore </span></a><br />
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<a class="Ep" href="http://www.faughnfamily.com/modest-ladies/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">A Father <span style="font-size: large;">Thanks Women for Being Modest</span> in this moving post. </a><br />
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<a class="Ep" href="http://theartofsimple.net/shopping" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Tsh offers a practical <span style="font-size: large;">Guide to Ethical Shopping</span></a><br />
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Also, friends,<a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/canvaschild" target="_blank"> my Etsy shop</a> is CLOSING, so my prints on canvas <b>(such as Nativity, above)</b> are available for ONE MORE WEEK only, at $30, plus shipping. <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/canvaschild" target="_blank">See HERE to order. </a>Love you!<br />
<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-78677967903020223492013-11-22T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-22T05:00:01.917-08:00What Rob Ford is Teaching Us About Ourselves<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGQJ-4b07DaAn0JAF3qSNU7Kw1mTbClyUYWd08CDIjFUbZF-4lLmnVj9lI3cknco-oY3s7g_-N6nt-61Kdz-e3UawDTZ6lm0zmzPUxJeLFBWxJQcty0AGe9yN0SwKuvGCDXtGuoXEojXQ/s1600/rob-ford-speech-november-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span id="goog_341919054"><span id="goog_1576629672"></span></span><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGQJ-4b07DaAn0JAF3qSNU7Kw1mTbClyUYWd08CDIjFUbZF-4lLmnVj9lI3cknco-oY3s7g_-N6nt-61Kdz-e3UawDTZ6lm0zmzPUxJeLFBWxJQcty0AGe9yN0SwKuvGCDXtGuoXEojXQ/s640/rob-ford-speech-november-18.jpg" height="480" width="640" /><span id="goog_1576629673"></span><span id="goog_341919055"></span></a></div>
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"It's sad, really," said one radio broadcaster. "<span style="font-size: large;">This man is deconstructing</span>, literally, in front of all of us, and we're just laughing."<br />
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Rob Ford, Toronto's mayor, needs no introduction. He has been called <b><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/dailybrew/rob-ford-drunk-uncle-jimmy-kimmel-jon-stewart-150358457.html" target="_blank">Canada's drunk uncle.</a> </b>He was caught <a href="http://news.nationalpost.com/2013/11/19/rob-ford-crack-video-court-documents-allege-toronto-mayor-smoked-drugs-as-recently-as-february/" target="_blank">doing crack cocaine on video this past February</a>; he's 350 pounds and drinks heavily and talks dirty. And he's on every radio and television network, telling his story, and the networks are eating it up, because for them, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kR4Futs1SbI&list=TL5I-h8fRx3iF3S2iZXf8FBzuzPx9PFHcY" target="_blank">it's one big laugh</a>.<br />
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That's what the ratings tell them, anyway.<br />
<b><br />
</b> <b>"Forget the Philippines," they're saying.</b> "<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/4W8cR" target="_blank">Sure, nine million people might be homeless and hungry, but this guy gets us views <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</a> Yes, he may be desperately in need of rehab and therapy. He might die from a heart attack while he's trying to defend himself, even as his personal life falls apart, but the audience is laughing. <i>It's Comic Gold, baby."</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's shameful, is what it is,</span> because <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/eMcRl" target="_blank"><u>Rob Ford isn't just telling his own sad narrative. He's revealing ours. </u></a><br />
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<b>We're no better than the medievals who would gather in throngs to watch someone get flogged</b> and hanged and then they'd cheer and go out for pints, while someone's husband, father, son and uncle was cut down from the gallows and buried.<br />
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And sure, Rob has brought a lot of this on himself. He's lacking in integrity, character and ethics. I personally find it hard to like him, especially because he plays the victim card and has made some terrible decisions, but he's still a person, and what happened to compassion? What happened to empathy and sorrow and righteous anger? <i>What happened?</i><br />
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<b>Rob Ford is in trouble. He needs to get off the air and get into treatment</b>, and the Philippines need to get back on the air so we don't forget about them, but here is where the real problem lies: <span style="font-size: large;">everything on the screen has become surreal.</span> We can't reach in and feel the sweat on Rob's forehead, we can't touch the tears on the Filipino children's faces, so we sit back and say, <i>Pass the Popcorn.</i><br />
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Until our own life self-destructs.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And then we realize, none of it was a joke.</span> This is real, this life, and <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/3XM2T" target="_blank"><u>we are responsible for every human life we come into contact with <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</u></a> If we watch Rob humiliating himself on television, we have a responsibility to pray for him. If we see the Philippines robbed of nine million homes, we'd better reach into our wallets and pay because our turn will come, friends.<br />
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<b>Our turn will come, in which we'll need someone to help us.</b><br />
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<i>We belong to each other,</i> says Mother Teresa. That means, all of us--even the Rob Fords of the world--and if that's the case, I don't want to see him humiliated in public. I want to see him helped, in private, so he might become a better mayor, a better father, a better husband, a believer.<br />
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Let's not be party to the ambush. <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/RoBIY" target="_blank">Let's stand up for each other. For the least of these, be it Rob Ford or a nation of hurting people.</a> </span><br />
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Because it's not just a person we're helping.<br />
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It's Jesus.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
37 Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? 38 And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? 39 And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ 40 And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers,[a] you did it to me.’ (Matthew 25)</blockquote>
<br />Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-40180296902956573552013-11-20T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-20T05:00:00.535-08:00Love Is Calloused (and Imperfect Prose)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyLhW98QYyHOq3t7udRLeZolHfWADoOy-3_foMjrrJZph26d7HRL_xFkTFq3KVBOZf4_vknEE35kpsc6lS68XvNM4spPjyvfeTlTFJnz1NHax0tywLTKMMBwhdGq_MNIgZ-wq6cQ2kM2h/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtyLhW98QYyHOq3t7udRLeZolHfWADoOy-3_foMjrrJZph26d7HRL_xFkTFq3KVBOZf4_vknEE35kpsc6lS68XvNM4spPjyvfeTlTFJnz1NHax0tywLTKMMBwhdGq_MNIgZ-wq6cQ2kM2h/s640/unnamed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The pastor is praying and the woman in the pew in front of me has an oxygen tank.<br />
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She's breathing in and out and it's soothing, but also jarring, because <b>you don't realize how much you need oxygen until you stop being able to breathe.</b><br />
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And I reckon the same can be said about love...<br />
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<i>(Over at <a href="http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/love-is-calloused/" target="_blank">Prodigal Magazine</a> today friends; follow me THERE? But first, link up your #imperfectprose, below!) </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4gDg0XclT-5mJrGMiDIOqHzReKh0uXH4rhWlfU929Qxm0r4WIyq6MVafvK62xypormxly2SW58elZPCtN-92Ylrje5JsHX-7FbpOyLz2T9M8D6gvA2boJ-wYhMs_L1ueoZdeOAz1IITh/s1600/imperfect+prose+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4gDg0XclT-5mJrGMiDIOqHzReKh0uXH4rhWlfU929Qxm0r4WIyq6MVafvK62xypormxly2SW58elZPCtN-92Ylrje5JsHX-7FbpOyLz2T9M8D6gvA2boJ-wYhMs_L1ueoZdeOAz1IITh/s320/imperfect+prose+logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Hi friends. These are the Imperfect Prose rules:</b></div>
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1. Link up a piece of poetry, prose or art that is somehow redemptive.</div>
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2. Copy/paste the #ImperfectProse button code in the right-hand column so others can follow you here.</div>
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3. Choose at least one other post to read and comment on, before leaving!</div>
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Thank you!</div>
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<script src="http://www.blenza.com/linkies/autolink.php?mode=standard&owner=canvaschild&postid=19Nov2013" type="text/javascript"></script>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-542707838257094132013-11-18T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-22T18:22:31.729-08:00Victoria Secret and My Four-Year-Old SonWe’re in West Edmonton Mall and it’s November but the stores are crowded for Christmas.<br />
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Teens in skinny jeans and middle aged women wearing Forever 21 and babies in strollers. I’m holding my boys’ hands and we’re following Trent who’s carving out a sort of path when we pass it:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Victoria Secret, with a close-up photo of a woman whose cleavage is plastered to the window</span>, her boobs all over the glass, and <i>my four-year-old son looks, and keeps looking as we pass, and turns his head to keep staring at the woman whose skin is in his face.</i><br />
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I want to smash that window in, I want to steal that moment back with all of its nakedness, and <span style="font-size: large;">not because I’m a prude but because I’m a mother. </span><br />
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<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/dk40l" target="_blank"><b>That Victoria Secret ad violated both my son’s innocence and me, as a woman <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</b></a> It turned us into objects; there was nothing personal or intimate about it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0omzBIHh5YKRqhK5u45b9SB3U2h388vPRR7bowRHJ-lE9tD5XICNDhBuvlUMymx3-95xlJakycJO9lAkBWrmLw3E8nUolrsQT2My5PV9PfJ_RCxiUARygczcQ_OFW3C51V_jwrFmWS4H/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.47.41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0omzBIHh5YKRqhK5u45b9SB3U2h388vPRR7bowRHJ-lE9tD5XICNDhBuvlUMymx3-95xlJakycJO9lAkBWrmLw3E8nUolrsQT2My5PV9PfJ_RCxiUARygczcQ_OFW3C51V_jwrFmWS4H/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.47.41.png" height="358" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/QijmdhJLqw/" target="_blank">via reckless youth</a> on instagram</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We live in a hamlet without billboards or malls so the city is sensory overload and I’m deeply aware of objectification. Of sexualization and <b>we’re raising up men and women who have no sense of shame or honor,</b> no sense of compassion or empathy for the people on the billboards or in the lingerie on the window but simply a desensitized appetite for carnal pleasure.<br />
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It must stop. I say this as a daughter whose own mother and father fast-forwarded kissing scenes, and shut the movie off if there was a sex scene, and I’ve walked out of my own share of movies. Because <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/ef935" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve been raised to believe that what enters the eyes also enters the soul.</span></a><br />
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My son now has a strange woman's cleavage in his soul.<br />
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Call me old-fashioned. <b>Call me a mother whose sole concern is her family’s welfare, spiritual and physical</b>, and will go to all lengths—be it smashing a window (which I didn’t—I restrained myself) or praying every living moment for my sons to long for purity. To hunger after righteousness, to have empathy for their sisters and brothers and to see all human beings as God's creation.<br />
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<u><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/a8FL4" target="_blank">It’s about their father sitting down and talking to them, when they’re older, about why he doesn’t watch porn</a>,</u> because it hurts women, and it hurts men, and it hurts children. And it hurts God, who made men to cherish women and women to respect men and<i> kids to look up to them both.</i><br />
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It’s about watching movies and television together and <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">teaching our children to critique the commercials,</span> to consider how advertisement is solely after their wallets, and to be cautious viewers in a very thoughtless culture.<br />
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<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/0sh4f" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s about humanizing a digital age.</span></a> Putting hearts to airbrushed photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjnOormfLr4qIgPMCN1bQC0dPHRHUM7nnzkdOrb-lwzwgdxBFBwGvXQfY-xhFy19xV6VJBFW5bc7uvhom6UaOXmxxzzYFm7niNWFBLLOCukBIOdHgy9uOXh4_W-Y00RA26z2PFgmWq4GE/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.49.44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjnOormfLr4qIgPMCN1bQC0dPHRHUM7nnzkdOrb-lwzwgdxBFBwGvXQfY-xhFy19xV6VJBFW5bc7uvhom6UaOXmxxzzYFm7niNWFBLLOCukBIOdHgy9uOXh4_W-Y00RA26z2PFgmWq4GE/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.49.44.png" height="393" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/cVcB82nnmK/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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Our sons are learning about lingerie before entering pre-school. And I don’t know about you, but <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/XcBwb" target="_blank">I refuse to let advertising have the last word <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span></a>.</span><br />
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This is war, mothers.<br />
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<b>Let’s fight for our boys.</b><br />
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<b>*** </b><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">Sign this petition <a href="https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/require-porn-be-opt-feature-internet-service-providers-rather-standard-feature/GF1RkqpJ" target="_blank">HERE</a> to keep porn from being a standard feature on the Internet </span></i><b><br /></b>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-29354166677352749282013-11-15T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-15T07:19:34.338-08:00The Hardest Person to Forgive<br />
I used to hate my body for not holding onto my babies.<br />
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<b>I blamed myself for my miscarriages</b>, for the way I bled out perfectly good sacs with healthy children.<br />
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But the thing is, the Bible says we're made from the earth. We're dirt. And dirt is made from broken fragments of rock. <span style="font-size: large;">I am comprised of literal brokenness. I am broken.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/heart-rending-young-slovakian-sculptor-captures-post-abortion-pain-mercy-an" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="465" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37liGx2sKPeLnP5BCqAuFEY9TMd5lo_nKR7_06OpTfxR1dWE3rZFXo9-NWA6jaXXa5Y3auZo2N1ozT2XmDMXy6ZCAS8-zkrywCWNZM8X_Azop7Csm6fxRCzLNKDQqX-M-04oLX-seNFDg/s640/sculpture2-640x466.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"A Memorial for Unborn Children" by Slovakian Sculptor Martin Hudacek</td></tr>
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She sat on my couch and it was a wordless grief. She spilled like a cracked jar, the story of how he'd forced her to get an abortion, and <i>she couldn’t forgive herself </i>she said.<br />
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Another friend told me <u>she got an abortion to save her daughter from her grandfather,</u> who was also her father, who would have hurt her baby the same way she’d been hurt her entire childhood. And now <span style="font-size: large;">she can’t even call God father</span>; God has become a woman to her because men aren’t safe and she misses her Abba.<br />
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She hates herself because she’s never known the safety of love, the promise of protection by those who are supposed to be allies. And she misses her daughter, so she takes it out on herself night after night and <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/MTclz" target="_blank"><b>we are, so often, our own worst enemies <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</b></a><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>We’re more loyal to others than we are to ourselves.</i> We convince ourselves we’re not worthy of love.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8RU10tgoPfyH57gY0GLmLWRG0_AH_acXoUleOcIwOEZXgKNdA_XAYGoGG9RkoLUYo3TVyoK_ji0O4ep4lF_qsbVUsn9rW1s3VbAHOm8chGzwvQuzVd0Iz7PnE9z2AWB-zB3ljJDgLROn/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.41.56.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8RU10tgoPfyH57gY0GLmLWRG0_AH_acXoUleOcIwOEZXgKNdA_XAYGoGG9RkoLUYo3TVyoK_ji0O4ep4lF_qsbVUsn9rW1s3VbAHOm8chGzwvQuzVd0Iz7PnE9z2AWB-zB3ljJDgLROn/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.41.56.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/SYo64_JLnN/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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But who are we to withhold forgiveness from ourselves if God himself has torn open heaven's door to call us forgiven?<br />
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Jesus didn't judge the adulterous woman. No, he bent and wrote in the dirt--in the broken fragments of rock--and <b>I believe <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/6aIX6" target="_blank">Jesus wrote Forgiven across the skin of the earth <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span></a></b><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/W7e17" target="_blank">.</a><br />
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He wrote forgiveness across your skin, friend.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/LgFSv" target="_blank">If we say we are unforgivable, we call God a liar</a>,</span> because his own son--a perfect Savior-- said It Was Finished on a cross and breathed his last and descended into hell so we wouldn’t have to, so that we wouldn’t have to hurt ourselves night after night , so that no amount of sin could keep us from laughing.<br />
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<u>Forgiveness is our lost children blessing us, because they are whole now.</u> They are waiting for us in heaven, very much alive.<br />
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Our Savior is handing us the seed. He’s got it in his hands and we just have to take it. Plant it in our hearts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjc_Q_Qx5Djw6ryn0k7cIfn3QGf0GmddkulVjZeYnK49neTu8WYdoJbeP3_O4sLGPPle2OY86jOac2tyGk6YMX9Ptj-5YuAIpnOPcG4Q9mN6_R4CYo7JQ_Y7pSdep4mg07zy3NHrUebN2/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.42.59.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjc_Q_Qx5Djw6ryn0k7cIfn3QGf0GmddkulVjZeYnK49neTu8WYdoJbeP3_O4sLGPPle2OY86jOac2tyGk6YMX9Ptj-5YuAIpnOPcG4Q9mN6_R4CYo7JQ_Y7pSdep4mg07zy3NHrUebN2/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-12+09.42.59.png" style="cursor: move;" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/Zjwi87pLqS/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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<br />
<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/Y13C2" target="_blank">The thing about being made from dirt is--it's easy to grow flowers <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</a><br />
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And that seed of forgiveness, it will stem and blossom and germinate, into the most glorious garden, filled with multitudes of children: filled with hope, and faith, and love.<br />
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<b>"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a NEW creation; the old has gone, the new has come! </b>All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation... Be reconciled to God. God made him who HAD NO SIN to be sin for us, so that in him, we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Corinthians 5:17-21)<br />
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Did you hear that, friends?<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You are not only forgiven. You are righteousness. </span>You are God's friend, but more than that--you are his daughter.<br />
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There is NO condemnation in him, just a ferociously extravagant kind of love, the kind that bleeds red down Calvary's hill, <i>the kind that loses HIS child so he might gain the world,</i> because he is the shepherd that leaves all for the one.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://clicktotweet.com/fD8eL" target="_blank">And you, friend, are the one. God left everything, for YOU.</a> </span>And there's nothing that can separate you from the love of the Father. No height nor depth, no angels or demons, no principalities or darkness, can keep you from him. (Romans 8)<br />
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<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/c8fH6" target="_blank">God made us from dirt. So he could grow a garden <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>. </a><br />
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<b>Your life may not feel like a bed of roses, friend,</b> but you are the fragrance of Christ to the perishing. <span style="font-size: large;">Thorns and everything, you are God's creation. </span><br />
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And you are beautiful.Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9154723219854903104.post-54326540435896603592013-11-12T05:00:00.000-08:002013-11-12T14:29:58.506-08:0010 Tips For When You Want to Quit BloggingLet's pretend we've having coffee together in a funky little shop called The Mudhouse.<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghb6eDopW8I" target="_blank">Of Monsters and Men </a>is on the stereo and you're looking at me and saying I look tired, and I agree. I'm weary. And my spirit is grieving something fierce.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"I want to quit," </span>I tell you. "I've been fighting it this week, I just want to stop blogging." But I have no reason for wanting to quit except for sorrow. A deep sorrow over a broken-hearted world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHvBcWY7vMlSDAc-khyphenhyphenajvbKDjk7h5PcOebEhSD89I0WMB-hCnSDtbKMo2LrXzNy1TEoBcCeuNb5mAKOlZsHaLGcJS-EiADGq5N54g3f2VtWFyXbmKLL0eD8OeO1oFhw0sXjkKfH-4Rs-/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-08+10.17.17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHvBcWY7vMlSDAc-khyphenhyphenajvbKDjk7h5PcOebEhSD89I0WMB-hCnSDtbKMo2LrXzNy1TEoBcCeuNb5mAKOlZsHaLGcJS-EiADGq5N54g3f2VtWFyXbmKLL0eD8OeO1oFhw0sXjkKfH-4Rs-/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-08+10.17.17.png" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/fx4QxoJLiz/" target="_blank">via reckless youth on instagram</a></td></tr>
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<br />
And you're saying you understand. You have just finished <b>31-days-of-something</b> and you're exhausted and I want to be the first to say, <span style="font-size: large;">It's okay to take a break</span>. In fact, you need to. My friend <a href="http://sarahmae.com/" target="_blank">Sarah Mae</a> is doing 40 days of Sabbath from the Internet and I intend to take an extended break over Christmas.<br />
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There's always time to be still. To know God, in the stillness. Less of us, more of him, and sometimes we think we have to produce when really, we're slaves to no one. Christ calls us friends, and there is freedom in this. We serve God alone, and have nothing to fear. So, <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/vEbxh" target="_blank">when we're burning out, we need to quiet our souls <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(tweet this)</span>.</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here, friends, are 10 ways to find that stillness: </span><br />
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1. Turn off the laptop completely.<br />
2. Cry, and laugh, a lot. Experience that ALIVE feeling again.<br />
3. Read a novel or a memoir or the Psalms in your pajamas.<br />
4. Take a bath with some Epsom salts and a magazine.<br />
5. Eat some dark chocolate. And then eat some more.<br />
6. Write a letter to someone you trust.<br />
7. Write in your journal. Because sometimes it's good just to ask yourself how you're doing.<br />
8. Hug your kids. Because they're your greatest story.<br />
9. Kiss your husband. Because he's your biggest fan.<br />
10. Pray. The kind of praying that finds you on the floor. The kind of praying that feels like home.<br />
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Don't be afraid to rest friends, because in doing so, you give OTHERS permission to rest. And in the stillness, we know God. We hear his voice. We hear him wooing.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/95H1r" target="_blank">KNOW when to write, and when to stop.</a></span><br />
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And if God is calling you to write, then know <u>you're engaged in a spiritual battle </u>because this is what this blog world is friends: <span style="font-size: large;">it's a place to speak the truth in love</span>. It's a place to engage, sometimes, in battle. <a href="http://clicktotweet.com/hWbb4" target="_blank"><b>Our words are holy tools being used to carve out the tomb, to resurrect a God the world says is dead</b></a>, to point and say--LOOK, he's alive and he's here in our midst and do we know Him?<br />
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<i>Do our words know him? Do our blogs know him? Do our families and our children and our husbands and our relatives know him? Does the man who delivers your mail know him? Does anything else matter?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifboQh8ulTCabcV5Op8Wl3T1xtJYFmhaQqMBs2zQK-N7dpeOfkvdKIWln74ZkAOKCVYzZ7Am3bk8cq1mdfEcUGFSWOk0BfghedbV7FO97gzU5WzjEnNUlDm2rIh1_nZxn1lQgsy50iiS_N/s1600/Screenshot+2013-11-08+10.24.42.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifboQh8ulTCabcV5Op8Wl3T1xtJYFmhaQqMBs2zQK-N7dpeOfkvdKIWln74ZkAOKCVYzZ7Am3bk8cq1mdfEcUGFSWOk0BfghedbV7FO97gzU5WzjEnNUlDm2rIh1_nZxn1lQgsy50iiS_N/s400/Screenshot+2013-11-08+10.24.42.png" width="397" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://instagram.com/p/fLrF2znnpD/" target="_blank">via jadessong on instagram</a></td></tr>
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It's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/TheCivilWars" target="_blank">Civil Wars</a> on the radio now. The couches are soft in this coffee shop and I could sleep right here. I could read a thousand books, I could paint, I could play guitar, I could stop writing. But not now.<br />
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Because my spirit is telling me it's time to rise up and fight. <b>It's time to dive deep into Scripture and deeper into prayer and to know the One who gave me breath. </b>The one who gave me life, to know him so the world might too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I ask you, friends and bloggers, to join me.</span> To know what you stand for. To put on your spiritual armor, to choose your words carefully, to know your Savior intimately, to engage in battle so that none will be lost.<br />
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<a href="http://clicktotweet.com/9o8L7" target="_blank">Why else do we write?</a><br />
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If not to bring him glory. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Do you know what you stand for? I love this song--please note there is an expletive) </span></i><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/qQkBeOisNM0" width="560"></iframe>Mommy Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09989213786947802537noreply@blogger.com28