tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54829133887352300622024-03-13T11:19:39.448-07:00Confessions of......My humble attempt to share my insights about the life of a stay-at-home mom with all its blessings and frustrations.nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.comBlogger308125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-5897964670660364312015-09-12T12:33:00.000-07:002015-09-12T12:33:52.327-07:00Speaking Out<br />
I ended a relationship last night. One I'd ended before and gone back to multiple times. The relationship was abusive and volatile and unhealthy. But it was hard to get away. And yet, I woke up this morning feeling free. Feeling something I have not experienced in a great while: serenity.<br />
<br />
The relationship I speak of was with Facebook. For months, now, I've been allowing a social media website to steal my peace. To instill fear and confusion. And anger. The agitation of late that has been consistently growing has not been of the I'm-spending-too-much-time-looking-at-people's-food/vacations/cat memes-and-therefore-wasting-my-day variety. I sort of long for those good ol' days in a way. No, what I'm talking about is the type of angst that has arisen out of the fact that the political climate has changed so drastically and so quickly in our society and that this has become evidenced on my Facebook account. I can only speak for my experience with my own page. <br />
<br />
I have a friend who for as long as I can remember would deactivate her account and then reactivate. She would explain that when she was on, she just felt pulled into debate and then wound up feeling discouraged and disheartened. I couldn't understand this until recently. There is no denying the disunity that is present in our culture today. We are one year away from an election but the unrest has been swelling for some time now. People seem to be more divided than ever on all numbers of issues. This, in and of itself, is not a problem. In fact, as a democracy, we need differing points of views. We need debate. We need voices to be heard from all angles of any given subject. But, herein lies the trouble. This isn't happening. Many are being silenced. Many are being ridiculed. <br />
<br />
I am not sure if I happened to be friends with an inordinate amount of people who believed differently than I, or if those who share my beliefs were simply quieter. I suspect it may be the latter. Personally, I will admit to being silent too much of the time. It seemed easier. I don't like conflict. I've come to a point in my life where I don't believe I change either individuals or entities. I can only change myself. <br />
<br />
But over the past several months, there has been an indignation stirring up inside me. Daily, on my newsfeed, I was reading not just articles, or memes, or viewpoints that stood in stark opposition to my own belief system, but was faced with articles, memes and viewpoints that were insulting, inflammatory, and hateful in their onesidedness. Everywhere I turned was journalism that was clearly an opinion piece written and presented as fact, '<a href="http://www.bustle.com/articles/62411-raising-children-without-religion-may-be-a-better-alternative-suggests-new-research">studies'</a> that shamed the way I choose to raise my children, <a href="http://bettybowers.com/">attacks </a>on the God I believe in, and then of course, Facebook being what it is, I was privy to all sorts of personal disagreements that had nothing to do with me among "friends." And I've observed over the months a pattern. I've seen time and again, within the comments section of friends' posts, tension arise and it culminates in the same way. Someone is publicly defriended or silenced. And noticing this as it happens to others, I've felt increasingly uncomfortable. I've begun to wonder what happened to the era where we believed firmly in freedom of speech; where we not only accepted it but embraced it. It's important to note that the tension I referred to was merely discussion. An opposing viewpoint brought up with respect. And yet, quickly, the dissenter was dismissed and rejected. <br />
<br />
Now, this could very well be exclusively the dynamic on my own page. Other people's feeds could be full of those who are open-minded and thoughtful in their assertions yet humble and polite. I don't know. What I do know is that my own experience played out again and again and I watched and bit my own tongue and read and vented my dissidence to my husband where it was safe rather than in a public format, but finally last night my tongue began to bleed.<br />
<br />
A "friend" posted an article which I read and which upon reading had a strong reaction to. The piece was a strong opinion piece and in turn, <a href="http://confessionsofanaveragehousewife.blogspot.com/p/normally-i-remain-pretty-quiet-about-my.html">my opinion</a> reading it was strong. And I responded with my opinion on the article itself. And I was careful to speak only of the author's viewpoint and to express what I feel are the problems with that viewpoint. And within a matter of minutes, the "friend" who had posted the article deleted my comment. And that would be fine if this was an isolated event. But it's not.<br />
<br />
And now I cannot hold my anger back or bite my tongue. Because over and over again, I'm seeing it. I am witnessing one "side," if you will, continually silence the other. And it's working. There is a "side" who has grown fearful. Who fears to stir things up, to speak their truth, to call out what they see as wrong, because those who disagree, disagree in a domineering and threatening manner. <br />
<br />
The "friend" who deleted my comment, did so with a comment of his own, stating that I needed to post my views on my own page, not his. And then in his next post, he personally attacked my Christianity. Now, mind you, I had said nothing in my response of my religious beliefs. Nothing. This is what I feel we're up against. I feel strongly that this epitomizes how many today operate when others don't agree with them. They have nothing in their vocabulary to defend their own views, so the viciously attack their opposition. And it works. To avoid being spat on, we just shut up. Everything has been spun, so that we appear to be the perpetrators. And this is how it happens. This is how an entire faction of society begins to be eliminated. It's happening on a much bigger scale, of course, than my very small Facebook page. It's just that this was the first time I felt it so intimately.<br />
<br />
I did not deactivate my account because of this interaction. It's been something I've been inwardly struggling with and this was my final motivation. Do I believe I need to stand strong and stand my ground and own my own voice and truth? Yes. But right now, I need to do so while in prayer, unswayed by the noise of the enemy. I do that here. I cannot, currently, do it there. <br />
<br />
This blog has always been a prayer closet for me. One that I've visited less and less. But I return to it now because I still need to hear myself pray aloud as I grapple with God over words while I'm here. It's how He and I have done things for a while. And partly, I'm doing it here in order to <i>not </i>be silenced. I don't care if just one person comes across it and I don't care whether they agree or disagree with it, the important thing is that there has to be an outlet where I do not feel silenced. Where I do not feel like what I have to say is not valid. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-75133012019602449492015-05-26T13:44:00.001-07:002015-05-26T13:44:17.198-07:00ListeningI have never been very good at making decisions. I've been afflicted by self-doubt and fear for more of my life than I'd like to admit. Remembering daily to turn my will and my life over to the care of God has relieved this in recent years and yet there are still too many moments where I just feel immobilized by anxiety; the "right" answer always seeming elusive.<br />
<br />
I should be in Kentucky right now. Spring residency for my Master's program started last Friday and I was supposed to be there. For the past month, I had been feeling increasingly uneasy about the upcoming trip. It would have been my fourth residency and nerves had plagued me prior to each trip before but this apprehension felt different. I couldn't shake it and each time I've been before, excitement had always eventually edged out the worry. But this time, even though I prayed through the fears, practiced positive thinking, talked my feelings out with others, still the feeling of foreboding persisted.<br />
<br />
The week before I was to leave I felt like I was starting to come down with a cold. I started popping the Vitamin C. Then my knee started acting up. I'm scheduled for knee surgery on June 3rd and had hoped everything would be fine. As the week wore on, my cold grew worse, my knee swelled bigger and by Thursday I couldn't get around without my brace. "I'll be fine," I kept assuring myself but the inner nagging continued. I reminded myself, a cold is just a cold. I have the brace. I'll push through.<br />
<br />
I could have pushed through. I do it all the time. I'm a pretty determined person. Sometimes things work out positively when I do that and sometimes not. I could have gone and slowly felt better while I was there or I could have gone and developed pneumonia and been unable to walk at all half-way through the week. Those aren't just silly exaggerated concerns. With a chronic illness, those would have been possible realities.<br />
<br />
So, I started to feel a little like, maybe, God was telling me something. But then my other voice was saying, "It's only fear." So, I woke up Friday morning at three to leave for the airport. My ten year old and eight year old daughters were both awake. The oldest said she'd prayed that God would wake her up to say another goodbye. I dressed, had a quick cup of coffee and hugged and kissed them goodbye. As I hugged my younger daughter, I noted that she felt hot. Very hot. So, I took her temperature and it was 102.5. She had a bulge in the side of her neck, as well. She'd been complaining of a "stiff neck" all week but we hadn't noticed any bulge and she hadn't had a fever. My husband said he'd take her to the doctor and go into work late, so we left for the airport.<br />
<br />
I knew he had it covered. That she'd be okay and well taken care of but by now I was seriously starting to doubt my decision to go. It seemed like signs were coming in all directions that it was not a good idea. I prayed in the car. I texted my sponsor and a friend. I asked my husband to exercise his husbandly leadership and tell me what to do. We parked at the airport and we walked up to ticketing ( I limped) and my sponsor texted back the simple words, "Follow your heart."<br />
<br />
So, I did. I cancelled my trip. And something's happened in me since then.<br />
<br />
We took Verity to the doctor who ruled out strep throat, ear infection, and UTI. We were sent to a radiologist for an ultrasound and told it might be an abscess and if it was she'd most likely have to be hospitalized. Thankfully, it wasn't. It was just two very large lymph nodes reactive to...something. Five days later, we still don't know what they're reacting to. She's on an antibiotic but each day her fever is higher than the day before and we've now been to the doctor three times. Currently, we're just waiting for results of the latest tests. It's been scary and frustrating but I know God's got it. I don't fear the worst. And I know I'm here because even though she would have been well watched and well tended while I was away, it would have been horrible to not be with her while she's so sick.<br />
<br />
But there's more going on, I think. The decision to stay, not fully knowing the entire 'why' of it was pretty huge for me. I like to know things. I drive myself crazy with the need to know things. And I can't know all things. God just doesn't tell me everything whether I like it or not. And this is why I think I have such a hard time with decisions. I like to gather facts. I do not like to be wrong. I like to be right. One hundred percent right. But, this time, I followed my heart. And I felt peace pretty immediately. For a couple of hours. And in those couple of hours I began to make plans: alright, well, postponed graduation, so now, the kids and I are both on summer break and it will be glorious; quality time and I'll catch up on housework and start cooking again, etc. And then as the evening wore on doubt started to creep back in. By Saturday, even though Verity wasn't on the up and up, I was regretting my decision. It began to sink in what I'd "given up:" a much needed break, time to focus on just me, silence, solitude, creative enlightenment and for what? To hobble around the house in the mess and the noise and the chaos doing laundry? Like I do every. single. day? And I started getting a little comfy on my pity pot. But then, I also got quiet enough to look at what I was feeling. To identify my feelings without judging them, to sit in them, to move past them. And I stayed quiet. In between doctor's visits and keeping vigil with the sick child and entertaining the well children, I've been examining my life a bit. Recognizing too much to write here, today.<br />
<br />
But I'm going to keep looking at the awareness and I'm going to pay attention to what I'm trying to tell myself -- what God is trying to tell me. Because that's what I'm most taking away from this experience at this point, that I can trust myself. So rather than draw up an elaborate plan of what I'm going to do with my free time (which, one thing I'm realizing about myself is that I like to be busy and have plans; free time is slightly uncomfortable for me) is just spend more time be-ing. Being still and quiet, without expectation. I'm going to listen to what's inside. And I'm going to make some changes in order to do that. I'm going to deactivate Facebook as an "experiment." I can't be inside my own moments if I'm always in someone else's moments. But I'm going to come here and write. I could journal and that's great for sort-of vomiting out all the swirl inside my head, but when I'm here, I come closer to God and to what I really need to say. And there's a bit of freedom knowing that even though I post here, I won't be, after today, linking to Facebook. So, now I can just write and send my thoughts out to space in a way.<br />
<br />
I'm excited because this is overdue. I've been talking over myself for a long time and I'm going to practice really listening instead because I'm beginning to believe I have something important to say.nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-44798620532537103952015-05-19T11:13:00.001-07:002015-05-19T11:13:12.594-07:00<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This has become a place I don't come anymore.
A place that when I do come, I talk about how I don't come. It's a
"place" to me because I've spent time here, I've been changed here,
it's a place I abandon and return to. Anymore, I only come when I am
finally so burdened I don't know where else to go.</span> </div>
</blockquote>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My life has changed so much since I first began
writing here. Within the change, I somehow lost my purpose for this
place. I suppose I still don't know what the purpose is except that it's
here when my heart feels heavy. </span> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I read Ann Voskamp's <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2015/05/into-iraq-2-what-the-news-isnt-telling-you-why-we-cant-afford-to-pretend-its-not-happening-sozans-impossible-choice-and-our-very-possible-one/">second post about Iraq last night. About ISIS selling nine year old girls in slave bazaars. </a> Then I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about my eight and ten year
old daughters. I imagined my ten year old already gone. My husband
and sons, taken and being left with my eight year old and six year old little
girls. I thought about how small my eight year old daughter is.
She's tiny for her age. Beautiful, frail almost, bird-like. I
kept thinking about Ann saying this: <b><a href="http://www.jpost.com/Middle-East/UN-official-on-life-under-ISIS-Girls-are-being-stripped-naked-examined-in-slave-bazaars-402611" target="_blank">The United Nations reports this week that at least one young
girl’s been “married” over 20 times</a></b> — <b>and forced at the
end of each violation to undergo surgery to “restore” her virginity.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So it could be ripped open and destroyed
by the next highest bidder"</span></i> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And then I can't help but think of my daughter being
ripped open and I can't make my stomach not turn and I can't stop thinking about how wicked this world is. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
How this can even be happening. How we're not doing anything.
How I'm not doing anything. How I don’t know what </span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">to </i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">do. I just know that it </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">doesn't</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> seem
or feel right to be living here, in cushy America, making up problems when
there are real problems. And it’s true, “we </span><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">aren't</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> where we are to just peripherally care about the people on the margins as some superfluous gesture or token nicety.”
There has to be a reason we’re here and not there. And I can’t believe that it has to do with
luck and it certainly doesn’t have to do with any superiority of
character. It can only have to do with
responsibility and opportunity. Because thinking
about all this, I can come up with just two scenarios: Either there’s no God
and there is evil (because this evil is undeniable) and we just live out this
hell on earth and wait to die, some of us with the luxury of turning away from
it and ignoring its realities, others enduring the worst of it or...</span></span> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">there is a
God and there is also evil and if that’s the case…then what? Are those of us who call ourselves
Christians, who believe in God and believe also that there’s spiritual warfare,
just supposed to stand on the sidelines? Are we really supposed to be only
joining in with and identifying with the petty concerns of the United States or
are we supposed to be doing something about the fact that right now for all
appearance’s sake it looks like the dark is winning? We know that evil’s current triumph is an
illusion. We know Who wins. But right now. Right now, people are not just hurting but dying
horrible deaths at the hand of darkness and we’re what? What are we doing? I don’t know, buying stuff, weighing in on the
perceived persecutions we have to endure on this safe soil, and just sort-of generally
going about our business like this is not our problem. It’s a joke. If this is not our problem, whose is it? </span></span> </div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know the solution. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be
doing. I just know that I feel “heavy.” I can’t shake off the burden of what I’m not
doing. What so many of us are not
doing. I rarely post this stuff but when
I do, I get, maybe two “likes.” True,
there’s nothing to like about the news that reports this, there’s nothing to
like about the tragedy and the evil but it seems no one’s responding,
either. I know they are, we are. In small ways. But sometimes, I feel like we don’t share
these articles. We don’t comment on
them, we don’t talk about it. I can’t
help but think, we just don’t want to deal with it. We feel helpless, maybe, so we turn away. I know I do.
I get bogged down with all the self-imposed crises of the day here in
America: real, imagined, small and personal, national and on a bigger scale,
but, still, it all seems relevant only to the here and now and then I read
about what’s happening over there and I’m just broken. I can’t do anything but either shut it out or
weep. And I turn away sometimes. But, then, when I don’t, when I make myself
pay attention, I wonder why not everyone is</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> paying attention. I wonder why we’re
not all weeping. But, no, I’m not really calling anyone out but
myself. I’m not here because I think I can say anything at all about what’s
happening any better than those who are already saying it; the few voices
calling out in the wilderness. I’m here because I’m calling myself out. I’m calling to my own desert places, the places
that are barren and I’m sharing because I don’t know what else to do right now except
be one more small voice, if only to myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
</blockquote>
nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-40009590599267177162014-07-25T17:59:00.002-07:002014-07-25T17:59:35.190-07:00A rant in which I try not to rant....but end up rantingUgh. My spirit is vexed. I don't want to get all 'Sister Woo-Woo' but I can't think of any other way to say what it is I feel. I've written nothing but poetry for months, however, this morning I came across a <a href="http://themattwalshblog.com/2014/07/25/women-america-4-reasons-hate-50-shades-grey/2/">blog post by Matt Walsh regarding the upcoming movie 50 Shades of Grey </a>and while I agree with everything the author states, I think more could and should be added. It's not that my voice is so important or that I seek a platform to spread my own personal opinion but rather that I'm so disturbed I feel the need to 'write it out.' I'm saddened, even grieved, by just the existence of these books and I'm convinced that the conversation needs to be deepened because I think that what bothers me the most is that we're talking around what needs to be talked about. We may not be seeing what is actually wrong, not just with the content of these books but with our society.<br />
<br />
I did develop an opinion on this series however long ago it was that the first one came out. A strong opinion. And, no, I haven't read the books. I could barely stomach reading the plot summary of each installment on Wikipedia. I did read excerpts from the book because I had read that the writing is terrible. Which it is. <br />
<br />
So, I am bothered and I do have something to say. I don't want to come across judgmental and, in fact, I'd love it if I was able to argue my point without inserting my faith but that's not completely possible. <br />
<br />
Although I do believe that these books are an example of principalities at work and while it does bother me that even Christian women are justifying their merit, I'm troubled at a deeper level. <br />
<br />
Walsh makes four points in his article, entitled, "To the Women of America: 4 Reasons to Hate 50 Shades of Grey" and I concur with each. Walsh happens to be a ranter. He's not afraid of getting in his reader's face. He doesn't mince words. But surprisingly, as I read his article, I realized that if <i>I</i> were to rant about this book / movie I'd be ranting even more. But I don't want to rant. And I don't even really want to appeal to anyone. I just want to shed light on what exactly it is I find so disturbing about the popularity of this series and why it actually makes perfect sense that we've been drawn to it, despite the fact that the writing is beyond terrible.<br />
<br />
And the writing is godawful. That alone frustrates me. It frustrates me that we've devolved as a nation so much that content (shock appeal, really) trumps style and skill. But, whatever. It's not shocking. I've heard that the average American reads only at a seventh or eight grade level. I was unable to verify that statement but the popularity of the 50 Shades books inclines me to believe that it's probably true. It also frustrates me that the publishers, no doubt, were well aware that the writing sucked but published anyway because they knew that the content would drive the sales. Again, no surprise. Still, the quality of the writing merely adds insult to injury. <br />
<br />
The injury really lies in the content because the content is a clear attack on women. It's my feminist bent that's so riled up rather than my Christian convictions. Which is why I don't even want to speak to Christian women about it. I don't need to list a bunch of Bible verses to make my point. One would suffice:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><i>Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. -</i>Philippians 4:8 NASB</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That was my primary reason for choosing not to read this series. My own personal Christian based reason. But Christians are entitled to their own convictions, their own choices and their own relationships with God so I'm choosing not to call out in judgement what any individual Christian woman chooses to 'dwell on.' That's their business. I also, for the most part, feel that what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms is their business. I have to focus on myself and what feels right to me. I don't have time to get caught up in the legalities of other people's intimacies.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px;">But looking to Feminism, then, rather than focusing on Christianity, I still don't find the answers I'm looking for. What I want to know is: </span></span></span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">What is so appealing about a book where the heroine chooses </span></span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">degradation and dominance? What attracts us to these books? If Feminism was working would we be lured by this kind of thing? How can we on the one hand have videos circulating like these: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/07/11/-britteney-conner-consent-poem_n_5575116.html">Britteney Conner's poem, "Consent"</a>; <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/this-girl-got-asked-if-she-could-deep-throat-her-response-got-her-a-standing-ovation">Venessa Marco's poem</a>; and <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/sexual-objectification-what-it-is-why-its-damaging-and-how-we-change?c=reccon1">this one on sexual objectification </a>and then on the other hand be so strongly defensive of and captivated by something like 50 Shades? It seems rather inconsistent to me. </span><br />
<span style="color: #001320;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #001320;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff;">I've struggled all day with these words, put them down, returned. I've wondered if I shouldn't just write a poem about it and be done. But for some reason I've been compelled to keep at it. So, in thinking about these questions and looking at the subject in a number of different lights, I've formed a few answers for myself. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #001320;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #001320;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff;">I think one reason for the inconsistencies I see is that we're afraid, as women, to admit what we want. Maybe we're not even sure anymore what we want. We think we want equality and that we want respect and then along comes 50 Shades and it flies off the shelves and this all goes out the window? And then instead of just admitting that our flesh is strangely turned on by smut we try and justify it. We tell ourselves that the heroine makes a choice for herself, that it's about the relationship of the characters rather than the sex, that the girl in the end becomes empowered. So, of course, we're not perpetuating rape culture and of course books like these have nothing whatsoever to do with atrocities like <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/07/10/jada-teen-rape-_n_5574831.html">the rape of a fifteen year old girl photographed and spread on social media. </a> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">Yeah, something doesn't seem right, here. Both Feminism and femininity are under assault. And I think that the popularity of these books speaks to that and also points to what many women do want. A desire that both Feminists as well as women who would not consider themselves to be Feminists might be afraid to touch for different reasons. </span><br />
<span style="color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #001320;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; line-height: 22.719999313354492px;">While I consider myself a feminist, I am sure that most Feminists would not count me as one. In the political spectrum, I lie closer to C</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; line-height: 22.719999313354492px;">onservatism</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #001320;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; line-height: 22.719999313354492px;"> than I do to Liberalism. I consider myself a feminist on the grounds that I believe in equality for women. I believe that the Feminist Movement was good and necessary. </span></span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">We said we could do what we were already doing and more; that we could have it all. We proved that we </span><i style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">could</i><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"> do what we were already doing and more. However, I also think we sacrificed certain things for the sake of other things and found that we cannot, in fact, have it all. And in the process, to some extent, we displaced men. Because this is how the pendulum swings. This is how these things go. We needed and we still need to fight for equality. I'm by no means saying we should have not begun the fight. Yet, I do want to point out that now we are in this place where women continue to speak out, women continue the fight to be heard, women continue to fight for their rights (however these rights happen to be individually interpreted) and this is good. But it seems to me that somewhere along the way we've become a bit confused. Everything has become skewed including the ideas that began our fight in the first place. We've 'progressed' to a point where it's become practically politically incorrect to insist that men 'be men' or to state what it is we want from men. While stating that we need nothing from men we're forgetting that we might <i>want</i> something from them.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Because here's a series where Anastasia -- the heroine (?) gets some version of the 'fairy tale ending,' right? She gets some version of a Prince Charming. The frog morphs in some way into a </span></span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">marriageable man, right? It's just a sexed-up, adult version of the lie most women have been buying into since our youth. Can we at least, collectively, admit that?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I, for one, believe that we do want something from men. Books like 50 Shades confirm this. If women weren't looking to be stimulated or offered something in some way by men, these books would not have been bestsellers. They wouldn't be basing a movie on these books. They'd be </span></span><span style="color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">irrelevant</span></span><span style="color: #001320; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">. No, if we're being honest, these books give us some of what we want-- what many of us have been trying to deny for decades that we want. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">So, what do we want from the male species? Do we even know anymore? Do we want to dominate or be dominated? I thought we just wanted equal standing. So, why are we castrating men on the one hand, portraying them as stupid and child-like in the media and then asking them to stand up in other arenas? What are we doing with our relatively new power? These are the questions I feel we need to answer for ourselves. These are the questions we need to ask. And it's okay if our answers differ. But the questions are valid. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Reading through the comments on Walsh's blog I was struck by the nature of quite a few of the dissenters. I read a lot of statements by people claiming that Walsh shouldn't speak on what he doesn't know about. He hasn't read the books so he can't understand how the two main characters' relationship develops. Develops into what? From the plot summaries it appears that Christian remains, at the very least, a narcissistic <a href="http://safeharborsfl.org/domestic-violence/characteristics-of-an-abuser">abuser </a>with a hero-complex who continues to control Anastasia even once they're married. You don't need to have a degree in Psychology to understand that a. abusers don't change because they've fallen in love and b. that healthy relationships don't evolve out of unhealthy premises. They devolve. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">There were also a lot of comments stating that Walsh should leave the subject alone because this is, after all, fiction. I will agree that yes, the idea that a sociopath can somehow become an amazing and loving husband is indeed pure fodder for </span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">story line</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Another line of reasoning that troubled me in these comments was the idea that Anastasia ends up empowered. For the love of God, people. One of two things happens in any abusive relationship. The victim either becomes empowered or they remain a victim. So, supposedly, Anastasia becomes empowered. Let's say that's true. She rises up somehow out of the midst of degradation and punishment and becomes a better version of herself. Why was she so unempowered in the first place? Why did she choose to enter a relationship of this nature? Why was she attracted to a man, who at first wants only to use her? Why was her self-esteem and her self-worth so low that this would be appealing at all? </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">This is where I feel the Feminists have failed their own call. This is where I feel like we're not asking the right questions. What is so appealing about a book where the heroine chooses </span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">degradation and dominance? Shouldn't we be able to </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">raise girls into women with a high enough self-esteem, a strong enough sense of worth, empowerment enough already that they feel no need to travel down a dark path with dangerous men in order to find their own 'hard and soft lines?' Why can we not consistently send this message? As women? As Feminists? What attracts us about this book? Why do want to read about a character dabbling on the edges of cruelty and perversity to figure out that what she really wants, in the end, is love? Because we're afraid to say that's what we want. We're afraid to say that our feminine nature desires strength in a man. </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I suppose that because I am a Christian I cannot fully separate my faith with my view of these books. As a Christian, I can't help but believe that through these books, the enemy is, once again, perverting something that God created as good into something harmful and twisted. Oldest trick in his book. And I'm not talking about sex, though clearly sex is perverted in these books. What I'm talking about is a woman's desire for a man to lead. And I realize that I need to tread carefully here. Many women who consider themselves Feminists would at this point ( if they hadn't earlier) </span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;">vehemently</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> disagree with me. So, I'll concentrate for a minute only on femininity and under the assumption that these books pervert that in some way.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I do believe that women were born with an innate desire to be submissive. I'm wary of using that word-- however, I think it's the correct word. I think that for the most part women want a leader; to be led. I do not think women are </span></span><span style="color: #001320;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">incapable</span></span><span style="color: #001320; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> of leading or that women need a man or need to be led. I'm saying that I believe deep down, when in a relationship, women desire to be protected, desire an example of strength, and desire leadership. Leadership, not dominance. But leadership from men sadly seems to be in short supply these days. So, Christian Grey enters the scene and he is some of what we want. He is a warped version of what we want. He provides much of what we're unwilling or afraid to admit that we want. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: inherit; line-height: 20px; text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, we continue to stand strong on what we see as important issues in regard to how women are viewed. We've got videos circulating on social media that speak to true empowerment for women.... and then we have 50 Shades. So, essentially, we take two steps forward and twenty steps back. We say we want a voice, we want power, and then we say, wait, no we don't. We want a little bit of BDSM in the bedroom where the man's in charge. Cause that's hot. Why is it hot, ladies? I'll tell you why. Because the layer under the layer under the layer if we're willing to keep peeling is that we want more from men. We don't want to be responsible for the children and the household and the finances and men's delicate emotions, too. We want to share the responsibility. There's a difference. But we're soaring ahead of men at a higher rate than we ever have and that's great that we can accomplish all we've accomplished. I want us to continue soaring. But I also want men to keep up. It's as simple as that. And you do, too, or your desire for 50 shades wouldn't be so immense. </span>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-64227110701208890622013-09-20T12:23:00.000-07:002013-09-20T12:23:24.161-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O69ICQaPVuE/UjyGGvOLX8I/AAAAAAAAAyU/pys8foL8ND8/s1600/whatever.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O69ICQaPVuE/UjyGGvOLX8I/AAAAAAAAAyU/pys8foL8ND8/s320/whatever.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I am either a very slow learner or very stubborn. I'm not sure which is preferable. I woke up this morning with that ever so familiar gnaw of indecisiveness. The very thing I wrote about yesterday. So, I prayed. I loosely settled on a 'plan for the day.' The monkey wrench came, as is not uncommon. Indecisiveness returned. <br />
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You know, I have this character defect of being much attached to what I want. I tend toward inflexibility. This is bad enough in itself. It leads to stress and seeds of selfishness being sown, rather than seeds of love and service. It's compounded by the fact that I don't actually <i>know</i> what I want. I just seem to want <i>something else </i>a lot. Something other than what's presented me. This is a problem. <br />
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I was sort-of ruminating on this this morning and I realized that of course, this all goes deeper, as character defects often do. Often these flaws sprouted in childhood in self-defense and we have fed them for so long that they can not be easily extracted. And I'm an over-analyzer. I like to know cause. Which can be tricky. See, I think if I know the why, then I can deal with the what. But really, I can't deal with the what at all. Awareness and knowledge are necessary and should be sought after but the only way to actually shed any troublesome character defect is to pray it away. Sometimes God is more than happy to oblige. Other times, He lets us struggle so in our weakness He can be made strong. <br />
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And sometimes analyzing can be a tool we use to postpone giving something over. At least, in my case. And then, sometimes, analyzing leads to realizations that aren't exactly settling. This was the case this morning. I realized that my indecisiveness over the small things is a cover-up for the big things. <br />
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There is unrest in my soul because I am living my life in a way that is incongruous with how I desire to live my life. How I know I am called to live. And so it manifests in unease with small decisions. I am avoiding big change so resisting small change. Oooh, how painful it is to write this. But I feel that if I don't acknowledge to myself the truth, I will stay stuck in the wavering. Which is an unpleasant way to live. So, I have to give all of myself over. I have to allow God to lead my life in the weighty matters as well as the seemingly inconsequential ones. Only then, will I have peace. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"...sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand."</span><br />
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-Madeline L'Englenicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-26798411170724220752013-09-19T10:37:00.000-07:002013-09-19T10:37:07.880-07:00TimeAlready wondering what I was thinking when I wrote a couple days ago. Why, again, did I want to return here? <br />
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So often I'm prompted toward what doesn't make sense. Or, probably, more correctly worded, I'm prompted toward what goes against my flesh. <br />
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I was praying yesterday, lying on the floor of my room, and in need of answer. I wasn't feeling desperate or sad. More like anxious and slightly irritated. I felt indecisive and feeling that way makes me grouchy. It's all a time issue. <br />
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The setup now is that my kids go with their dad, one to two days a week. At first I hated it. Now I love <i>and</i> hate it. In the beginning, I just felt lost without them and sort of wandered around the house in not quite knowing what to do with myself. As time went on, I began to look forward to these breaks, anticipating my 'alone time'. My 'me time'. But I've found lately, that these days arrive and I want to squeeze everything into a twenty-four or forty-eight hour period. I want to write, do schoolwork, clean, paint, shop, catch a meeting. But the bottom line is, that usually I can't do all that. So then I feel stuck on the prioritizing. What <i>do </i>I want to do? What do I want to do most? This has become a pattern for me. And I find that I've become resentful when asked to do anything I don't want to do on these days. I've become selfish with my time. This time where I end up not really accomplishing much of anything because I'm so busy debating on what the best way to spend my time is and I get angry if something pops up that isn't in line with the plan I haven't created yet. It's ridiculous, really.<br />
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So, yesterday, that's the place I was in.... and I realized I'm sick of it. So I prayed. I asked for direction. And I do pray every morning that God would direct my thinking. But the goofy thing is, I rush through the prayer so I can get on with my day, thereby, negating the entire purpose of the morning prayer. <br />
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So I'm laying there, and God shows me that I'm going about it all wrong. I'm stuck because I'm trying to figure things out. I'm trying to get the most for me. What do I want to do with my time? Well, it's not my time. That's what God told me. It's His time. So, maybe, that's a basic understanding for most but it came as a revelation to me. I hadn't looked at it like that before. I had tried other 'tricks': gratitude, being in the moment, attempting to not rush. But honestly, these things weren't working real well. <br />
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So, realizing that my time- my time with or without the kids, really belongs to God, seemed like a relief. Surprisingly, I didn't feel the need to fight against that idea. It didn't feel like God was snatching something from me and had plans to fill my time up with selfless acts of service. Rather, it felt like a responsibility was lifted. If it's God's time and not mine, all I have to do is obey His leading. That removes the pressure of figuring out my every moment and then worrying about if I've chosen the most 'fruitful thing'. <br />
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So, I agreed. With God. With relief. And I'm here. Because it seemed, this morning, as if this was a good place to start. <br />
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And you know, a lot of things are being 'taken' from me right now. In a spiritual sense. And that's okay. In fact, it's actually, pretty good. <br />
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<br />nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-18620611360877230892013-09-17T13:03:00.002-07:002013-09-17T13:05:24.433-07:00I haven't written in seven months. I feel a little rusty. I had pretty much come to terms with the idea that I would no longer blog here. Much has changed and I struggled with finding a place I wanted to share from. Originally, when I began writing here, I was married. I was homeschooling. I was living in Iowa. I was desperately seeking a closer relationship with God out of the depths of loneliness and a need for meaning. In so many ways, I found that intimacy through this process. I found that as I shared here, God met me and touched me and perhaps, used me on some slight level but ultimately, used this place and the writing that occured here to draw me into Him. <br />
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Life happened, as it does to us all and everything I thought I knew was suddenly challenged. I moved home to Arizona and my marriage began to deteriorate. Not wanting to share the details of that horror (nor would I have been able to had I wanted to) I wrote less and less. I had nothing uplifting to say and no hope to transmit. The pain, too, was so personal, that words would not come. At least not in this form. I did write poetry. I returned to that form and there was a different sort of healing in it. I could write the truth but with more vagueness. I could touch on what I was feeling in the mystery and symbolism of stanzas and I was freed from the need for the sort of raw honesty this blog required. This blog required that truthfulness from me because as I wrote here, I felt compelled, more and more, to share openly. I had realized early in my writing here, that transparency would be the only way I,myself, would receive and was the only hope I could bestow. When that openness no longer seemed an option, I trailed off. I missed this place but began to look back at it as a season, rather than somewhere I had been permanently called. <br />
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And yet, I am here today. And I don't know what that means. I am not sure if God wants to use this place again as a means to reach me or if I am just feeling a little extra wordy. All I know is that today, I feel story brewing in me, in my life, that perhaps, could be processed here; could be shared here. <br />
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I won't waste time on backstory. I am no longer married. I have returned to homeschooling after one year off and I am still in Arizona. I am still and will always be seeking that deeper walk and that, I think, is why I have returned to this place. Something is stirring in my soul. Many things are beginning to shift and while many are still too new to share, I do feel prompted for some reason to process through these changes here. To write about the joys and fears and ups and downs of this crazy walk with God. I have found Him here before and I believe He has more to reveal, so I have returned.<br />
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<br />nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-78070171257696590412013-02-02T11:24:00.000-08:002013-02-06T12:20:49.887-08:00The Bigger Purpose<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once upon a time I applied to grad school. Like, once upon a time, two weeks ago. To one grad school. My top choice grad school. So, I sent my application out, sat back and
waited patiently. For two weeks. Then
(and only then) I got a wild hair to Google, “Chances of getting into an MFA
Creative Writing program.” Basically,
the news was that, had I applied to Harvard medical school or Harvard Law, I
would have stood a better chance. </div>
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That awkward moment when you realize you've been painfully naive. Why or how I did not quite understand the low probability of acceptance, I don't know. How did I not know this when three years ago I chose English Lit as my major - the end goal in mind, grad school. </div>
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I have no Plan B. Thus far, in my life, I've found nothing I want to do other than write. And yes, I can write without a Master's, but I can't teach without one. And I suppose that teaching was really already my Plan B. Plan A, originally being, to study what excited me for as long as possible while honing my craft. <br />
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The bigger point in all of this , the reason I'm writing about it, really doesn't have much to do with the somewhat horrifying notion that I better come up with a backup plan for life. No, the thing, triggered is the "God thing". The God thing that has tormented my mind for life. </div>
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Praying last night only for His will, I found myself in Eeyore -esque fashion bemoaning that, "It's alright. God probably doesn't want me in grad school." Can you hear the long, slow, pitiful tone here? "He has it reserved for someone else. It's okay." </div>
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Then another voice of every prosperity preacher I've ever had the misfortune of listening to, melded into one, starts yelling at me like a gym teacher, "God wants you to be expectant! That's what pleases Him most! Name it! Claim it! Let's go! " I'm panting and that voice is shaking its head, warning that if I don't get in, it's just proof of my lack of faith. Then, there sits God, arms crossed, waiting. Waiting for my faith to pronounce itself. He's surveying all applicants and those with the most faith win. That's one version. Another is where the one with the most virtue wins. Or whoever prays the most. Take your pick. </div>
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With me, it always comes back to this fear - that there's a popularity contest with God, and I'm at the bottom of his favorites list. He sits judge of a pageant and we parade in with talents and testaments of purity. First place takes the prize. Yep, God's gonna give whatever I want to someone more deserving. And furthermore, shame on me for even wanting anything.</div>
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I immediately run down the procession of unanswered prayers in my life. A few, I can see now, were for my good , but several still hang in the balance of all enigma, placed in a category labeled, "You'll find out when you get to Heaven - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/0875080073/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0875080073&linkCode=am2&tag=confeofanaver-20">Dont Waste Your Sorrows:</a>!"</div>
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I'm well aware my theological understandings are just a little messed up. So, I start chanting the<a href="http://www.cptryon.org/prayer/special/serenity.html"> Serenity Prayer</a> and remind myself not that He will give me the desires of my heart but that<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+8%3A28&version=NIV"> all things work together for those who love Him</a>. Then I worry I don't love Him enough. I stifle that thought and concentrate on the 'work together' part and begin sharpening my trusting skills. I make mental note that one purpose in all of this might be the awareness I'm experiencing on this "God thing" that I had though I had grown away from. </div>
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I joke with myself that my naivete actually substantiates the fact of my childlike faith...and that has to increase my points. Returning to a less serious view of myself, I tell myself, W<i>ell, this will just be my practice run. </i><br />
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I turn the radio way up when Alanis Morissette's Hand in my Pocket plays and I choose to believe that. That right there is God speaking to me. That's the God I get. The God I love. The one who says to me, "...everything's going to be fine, fine, fine, 'cause I've got one hand in my pocket and the other one is giving a high five..."</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/hGjaaQAvSTA" width="420"></iframe>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-87177645745515851172013-01-17T13:27:00.001-08:002013-01-17T13:27:31.399-08:00I Fall<br />
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Bought by the blood, kept by the power, art an adoration and
yet- I worship self and I make a <a href="http://confessionsinstories.blogspot.com/2013/01/en-face.html">terrible god.</a>
Why is it so hard to be obedient, remain in the state in which
called? Wise in my own eyes, I fall, and
then by precious grace, the fight is won; adorned again in words not my own, pruned
to bloom, I count it joy to lose that I may serve the work.</div>
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<a href="http://withrealtoads.blogspot.ca/2013/01/words-count-with-mama-zen.html">Imaginary Garden With Real Toads</a></div>
nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-55905867720646495022012-12-17T15:21:00.000-08:002012-12-17T15:21:39.891-08:00The LightI want to write about it but I don't. And I wonder if a lot of people are feeling that way. There are words - but not enough and maybe, not the right ones. I want to hope but I struggle. <br />
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Maybe, it's just pen to paper, heart to heart that heals. Maybe, it's voice. It's listening. Sharing. Cleaving. <br />
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I could be wrong but it seems I've seen much more faith based commentary, postings, stories, this time around - how sad to have to say, 'this time around' - and I think it's because they were children- babies, really. Tiny. <br />
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My kids were with their dad this weekend and when the two little ones came home, I hugged them both, hard and looked at them. I looked long at my five year old. My kindergartner. At how small she is. I think of how she wouldn't have been able to grasp, really, the evil. Honestly, I can see that she would fear, but confusion, too, would have clouded. Looking at her, I pray that it was quick and that they didn't have time to process. The cruelty or the pain. And I have to believe that God somehow miraculously overrode the darkness in those moments. And that's what I'm seeing out there in the conversation we do and don't want to end - a new hope-filled discussion on God's presence and the afterlife. Because when it's babies, we need a heaven. I have to believe this because otherwise, it's too much. It is too much right now for those families.<br />
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When Verity touched my face this morning with her little hand, just that size for a short time longer, the tears came for those who won't feel or hold the little hand of their child, won't experience that child's remarkable child-like forgiveness and glee. How will they celebrate Christmas? How? How do they tell the kids left, anymore, that the good guys always win? The siblings. The twin. How do the nightmares go away? And the missing? I have no idea. <br />
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We are best when we are loving children. I think our parent sides are the best sides of us. And when we can't protect our children ....when the President spoke these words, and told us we all needed to help, my cynicism wanted to sneer, <i> no, I'm not trusting the village anymore because one person gets it wrong and this what you have.</i> But then the stories are there of those beautiful teachers who are martyrs and I know that children can bring out in us what is of God. God is a father. And a mother. And I have to trust somehow that in the majority of us is that God given light. And that it has more power than the darkness in one. <br />
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Could we be a multitude of light? Are we sick yet of the dark?<br />
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This Christmas, let's bring back the light of the world. nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-81535530038589679472012-11-16T11:45:00.000-08:002012-11-16T11:45:59.007-08:00I haven't been here in far too long. It feels weird. This place, once so needed, now avoided. Because I can't come to terms with what to say or how to say it, here, the same way, anymore. <br />
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And yes, it's true. Writing is as fluid as life. But what once was, here, in this place is so far gone, so lost from me that I can't quite discern anymore what I ought to shed here.<br />
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It's been poetry, lately, for me. Before that, a whole lot of nothing. Because when the pain comes, though the words should as well, often they just don't. And truly, I haven't been in pain this last couple of months. More a state of numbness, retreat. <br />
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It's been a year. A year since it all turned upside down. And I'm sick of not knowing what to say. Sick of trying to analyze the grieving process. Sick of a lot of things. I am powerless and my life has become unmanageable Or so it feels. I'm in this place where I want to run away, elude, shut down. Because I've ended up somewhere I didn't plan on being. I didn't plan on being divorced. Or sending my kids to school. Or being so busy I can't catch my breath. I didn't plan on finding my mind reverting to a state of immaturity formed from fear of the future. The phone rings and I cringe. Emails come across and I groan. I want people to go away and leave me alone. I want my old life back. That's just where I'm at right now. <br />
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So, I'm having to take a hard look at exactly where I am and how I got here. Ask myself how long I can sit in this without doing something about it. How long my relationship with God can remain stale. Because I'm dry and I'm feeling the thirst. I'm starting to wilt. <br />
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Today, I'm extra irritable. I want space. And then I get it and don't know quite what to do with it. Do I write here? Do I work, write a paper for school, cross off any number of pressing items on the never ending to do list. I want to throw the list away and start from scratch. I want my kids back. I want my honesty back. I want to voice my confusion like I used to. I want to purge all I've been repressing. I want all of this more than I want to know what the future holds. Because I've been hating where I'm at and unsure of how to get to where I'm supposed to be. I've just known that I can't live like this anymore. I'm weighted down with far too much, that' I've brought upon myself I need boundaries and plans. I need to remove certain people and activities from my life. I need boldness of spirit and confidence to say what I mean and mean what I say. I need to get control of my life back. I've given my power away somewhere recently and as a result, I'm drowning in the consequences of that decision. <br />
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Will I keep coming here? I don't know. Will I keep the kids in school? I don't know. Will I continue to crowd my mind with useless thoughts of tomorrow or will I find it in me to do the next right thing each day that comes my way. That I can say I will work on. I'm admitting that my life is unmanageable. And that something's got to give. nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-64662456498068226982012-11-12T13:45:00.001-08:002012-11-12T13:46:17.648-08:00Where I've BeenWhere I've been: <a href="http://www.wholemagazine.org/2/post/2012/11/healing-hope-after-divorce.html">An in-part explanation.</a><br />
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-35305583203269184102012-09-21T16:34:00.003-07:002012-09-21T16:34:42.346-07:00Joy in Abundance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm all over the place today -in a good way.<br />
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I have been battling lately with what is. And with the future (my ideas of it). And the past (in an inability to reconcile it with the now). So, essentially, I've just been rather discontent. Pouty, really. <br />
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You know, the truth is, that it is hard to be single. Especially when you've been married. I get the whole "It is not good to be alone" thing. And so I've wanted to rush to the next phase of my life where I'm not alone, the one where I'm not single. <br />
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Except that I have absolutely no idea what the future really looks like for me. Insert man is about as far as I get. But I do know that God says that <a href="http://bible.cc/jeremiah/29-11.htm">He knows the plans He has for me</a> and that He will give me a hope and a future. I haven't been trusting this. Rather, I've been in a <i>woe is me, I might always be lonely</i> state of mind. I've been catching myself saying "Fine, God", in a juvenile, snotty voice a lot, these day. Fine, what? I don't know what misery I think He has planned for me but obviously my trust has not been in the true and living God. <br />
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So, last night, getting ready for bed, I told God "Fine. I'll be alone, but can you just give me a vision of the future so I know it won't suck?" It finally occurred to me that maybe, I wouldn't be on such a pity pot if God could assure me that man or no man, my life could be good. <br />
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And then this morning, drinking my coffee, I realized that a weight had been lifted. Things that had bothered me yesterday, were somehow less vexing today. And then as I dressed to take the kids to school, I had the vision. The one I asked for. Not a full pictorial vision of where I would be in five years, but this very clear and comforting knowledge that because God has known me since before birth, He also knows my heart, my strengths, what brings me joy.... and He will not withhold joy from me. In fact, He has plans for me that would seem absurd to anyone else. Plans that no one but He and I can fully comprehend. There is a shaping and shifting even now, in this time and place, that has been in the works since I was young and I would never before have imagined how it might all play out. <br />
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So on this high, I drove the kids to school and I felt His overwhelming presence. I am not alone. And He is so much closer than I can usually feel. And He is the best husband. He delights in me, He protects me, He thinks I'm funny and smart and beautiful. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Because I asked and He answered. I prayed and then there He was, just waiting to show me what I needed to see.<br />
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All day, I have just felt Him reminding me of how much He loves and cares about me, personally. He is showing me through the words of others, through friendships, through little surges of God-infused joy. <br />
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"See the Father, see Me, and it sufficeth you. This is Love in abundance. Joy in abundance. All you need."<br />
-God Calling<br />
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"How excellent is Thy loving-kindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Thy wings." -Psalm 36:7<br />
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God is in control of each next moment and this present moment is a gift. I have both a hope for the future and comfort and protection in the now. <br />
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<a href="http://www.photofriday.com/archives/challenge/001223.php">Photo Friday</a>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-45518422800537880512012-09-19T15:58:00.003-07:002012-09-19T15:58:31.217-07:00Submitting to a Knowledge of a Certain Nothingness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She believed that she must now submit to feel that another
lesson, in the art of knowing our own nothingness beyond our own circle, was
becoming necessary for her. – Jane Austen<o:p></o:p></div>
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For <a href="http://brendayoungerman.blogspot.com/">Wordless Wednesdays</a></div>
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-74473935837973195222012-09-12T14:33:00.002-07:002012-09-12T14:33:53.043-07:00Faith Which Banks on HimListening hard, seeking the sometimes seemingly elusive voice and will of the Lord- these practices, perhaps have been an ongoing discipline for me this last year. And so when I read Oswald Chambers this morning on Spiritual Confusion, I am struck.<br />
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He speaks of "The shrouding of His friendship" referencing Luke 11:5-8. Then asks, "When God looks completely shrouded, will you hang on in confidence in Him?...Will He find the faith which banks on Him in spite of the confusion?"<br />
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These questions beg reply. Will, I, when answered only with His silence, continue to trust, refuse to lean on my own understanding? Refuse to be moved, waiting instead on His timing no matter how slow, how shrouded His face, His replies seem to me? <br />
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Faith, I am learning, requires persistence. So, may I not cease to ask, believing, rather, that an answer will come as I continue to knock.
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-330136957325364652012-09-11T15:13:00.000-07:002012-09-11T15:13:08.403-07:00to rememberI can't help it. I cry ever September11th. Sometimes I wonder if I always will. <br />
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I didn't know anyone who died that day. I had no connection to New York. I had no relation to anyone in any Fire or Police Department. And still it hit too close to home. I suppose, because The United States of America is my home and because I was young and pregnant with my first child and I was glued to that tv screen with so many others. I watched the live coverage as the second plane hit and everything I thought was safe about America fell with those buildings.<br />
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Someone said, we all collectively grieved. We did. And, that, too, was new and strange and life-altering. We all felt fear. We all wanted hope. We all sought and gave comfort, state to state, across the country, and for the first time in my life, I felt a surge of pride and I understood patriotism. For a while, a hateful act created an intimacy spanning would be chasms. In the face of hostility, we united. <br />
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And people couldn't stop talking about it. I don't think they wanted to stop talking about it. Because the talking helped. And it connected us all in an astonishing way. <br />
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And so I want to remember. I want to tell my kids about that day I wish hadn't happened. Even though, they won't ever really 'get it', it's important. And honestly, I sort of hope I always cry.nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-55670381816079976022012-09-01T16:54:00.001-07:002012-09-01T16:54:07.487-07:00Highest PurposeHave you ever wanted something and it wasn't a bad thing at all to want but you just weren't sure that it was in God's plan for you? <br />
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This is where I'm at right now. Wanting. And I can hear God whispering, "Calm down." He isn't saying 'no'. He's just telling me to relax into Him for now.<br />
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I think.<br />
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And I read all my devotions and this message, sort of recurs in each one. <br />
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First, I read: "<i>Today, I will identify what I want and need; then, I'll be willing to let go of it. I will devote my energy to living my life today....I will trust that what I want and need is coming to me. I will let go of my need to control the details."</i><br />
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And I hear God say, "I will give you the desires of your heart, but for now I want you to focus on Me. Am I not enough?"<br />
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Because I've been here before with God. This place of release. <br />
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And then I read, "<i>Beloved, 'Set your affections on things above' (the higher, spiritual things) 'and not on things below', (the lower, temporal things), and you will see how rich you are." </i><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/0760796890/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0760796890&linkCode=am2&tag=confeofanaver-20">God Calling (Barnes & Noble Library of Essential Reading): A Devotional Diary</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=confeofanaver-20&l=am2&o=1&a=0760796890" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
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And then the hard hitting Oswald Chambers writes, "<i>Continually restate to yourself what the purpose of your life is. The destined end of man is not happiness, nor health, but holiness. Nowadays we have far too many affinities, we are dissipated with them; right good, noble affinities which will yet have their fulfillment, but in the meantime God has to atrophy them....God is not an eternal blessing-machine for men.</i>"<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1577489144/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1577489144&linkCode=am2&tag=confeofanaver-20">My Utmost for His Highest - Deluxe (DELUXE CHRISTIAN CLASSICS)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=confeofanaver-20&l=am2&o=1&a=1577489144" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
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Sigh. I don't think the message could be much more clear. <br />
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I am realizing how I am an all or nothing kind of girl. I set my sights on something and I run. And God has to again and again pull me back. To the moment. The now. Because I will take a goal or a dream or an opportunity or really anything and my mind is three years ahead of now, planning, envisioning, even worrying. And I sacrifice these slivers of time that are precious and real. Actually happening and God ordained.<br />
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So, I hear Him today. Asking where my hope comes from. If He's all I need. If holiness, is my highest purpose, also. If I trust. <br />
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And today, I am saying yes. I do. <br />
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At <a href="http://bloggerspirit.blogspot.ca/">Spiritual Sundays</a>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-51347329906528582612012-08-24T15:40:00.002-07:002012-08-24T15:42:05.888-07:00The Writing Process<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Andalus;">I have wanted everything as a writer and a woman, but most of all a world changed utterly by my revelations. <br />-Dorothy Allison</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Oh, the writing process. The bad thing about deciding you’re a writer, is that you actually have to write. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">My blog writing process seems to be quite different from any other writing process in my life. In fact, my writing processes vary as my writing projects vary. I read, recently, a writer share that she couldn’t work on more than one writing project at a time. I get that. It’s easier to focus on wherever the flow is currently headed. But that’s not always possible. And each process or project is necessary in its own way. I write for school, I write for work, I’m working on my novel (which still is sometimes hard to actually say. I always feel like I’m in a movie scene of a dinner party and that’s a line I’m supposed to deliver, embarrassedly) and I blog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">Blogging, by far, is the hardest. Because I can’t hide behind a character. Because I can’t employ the formality required in an essay. Because there’s not a deadline. Because it’s just me here, talking to you and I don’t know you or even if there really is a you. Because a lot of times, hitting post feels like publishing my journal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">The flow is different, too. If I stay away too long, it’s hard to return. If I have an idea and I don’t start writing about it immediately, chances are, that idea is either going to be gone by the time I’m poised at keyboard or I will have talked myself out of it. Because it’s just pure me here and I try not to have an agenda. I don’t want to preach or teach. I have no stockpile of lessons to share. I don’t consider myself an expert on any one thing. I don’t want to convince anyone of anything. I just like to write. And sometimes, I get to believing that maybe, just maybe, God wants to use my words to touch others. So I come here to ‘practice’ and to share. And the hope is that maybe, whatever’s on my heart or mind that day, might also be on someone else’s. And if I can share the grace or the hope I’ve found, or if I can just be another voice saying, it’s okay to be human. It’s okay to not be an expert, to not be Molly Homemaker, to not be called to preaching or teaching, to say I’m just trying to make it through the day myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;"> Whatever. I’m just sharing me. With words. Because that’s what I do. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype; font-size: medium;">And a lot of the time, this writing is for me. It’s honesty and healing. Where I sort and seek and find. And so in that, it is similar to my other writing. The more I do it, the more I learn about myself and the more it comes- the ideas, the inspiration, the renewing. And when I’m willing to be here, frustrated or scared to share something but I do it anyway, it’s amazing to realize that I’ve been met. And no matter what happens after I hit post, the process within me has already occurred.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I am certain I will continue to have the same boldness to speak freely that I always have. I will let God use my life to bring more honor to Christ. Philippians1:20 ERV</span><br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380897523987/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec5.pinterest.com/upload/79446380897523987_PBIBB45A_c.jpg" width="239" /></a><span style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;">Source: </span><a href="http://wordcandy.me/wcandy/ship/1344641267u43w179g/#.UCWZI80RPNY.pinterest" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;">wordcandy.me</a><span style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;"> via </span><a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;" target="_blank">Nicole</a><span style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;"> on </span><a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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At <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/blog/">Mama Kat's</a>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-66141320480985567372012-08-16T16:43:00.001-07:002012-08-16T16:43:57.130-07:00When Life Becomes "Complicated"I think, often, about how my two younger children have not, overall, received as much attention from me as the older two. It wouldn't be too hard to blame this on the idea that the more children there are, the less of mom there is to go around. It's a valid argument. Four children vying for attention instead of two, absolutely requires more conscious effort and creativity. It's true, also, that a brood of children have a tendency to somewhat entertain each other and yet, I know that they need individual attention. I try to shoot for this. I take them out alone, in their turn, when I can but not as much as I'd like.<br />
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Sometimes it makes me sad to think back to the days when the older two were younger, when it was just them. I remember when True was in preschool and I only had Annika at home. She and I had our little routine. We read stories, worked puzzles, drew together. Further back than that, as a young mother, when it was only True, he and I spent endless quality time together. Less stress and perhaps, more motherly enthusiasm meant that I dedicated hours to teaching him, playing with him and just being silly with him. We used to sing in front of the mirror together, using hairbrushes as microphones. <br />
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I feel sad thinking about this because so much of that, the younger two have missed out on. And when I really analyze it, although amount of children plays in, the fact is- life was simpler then.<br />
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Confession: I'm not merely distracted by four kids running in four directions. I'm now way too easily distracted by technology. Blogging, Facebook, online school, texting. None of this was in my life when the older two were younger. And I might have been a better mom. <br />
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Sitting in the parking lot of True and Annika's school yesterday, waiting the fifteen minutes it takes for them to be delivered to me, Palin asleep, Verity chatted in my ear while I checked my email on my phone. As if there might be anything that important. But I opened <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/">A Holy Experience</a> and read about the practice of relationship. And it occurred to me that right now, I could spend that time with Verity. So I did. We played hangman. And not on my phone (though I was tempted).<br />
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This <i>is</i> a practice. It's so easy to 'multi-task' to the point of losing sight of these brief moments when children are young. The now moments. These moments when they<i> want </i>to be with us. I don't want to look back and realize that this time has passed. Will I remember any one email I opened up or anyone's status update on Facebook? Probably not. But the essence of time spent listening or playing with my kids- that I want to remember. I need to practice ignoring the lure of phone notifications, these false demands, all that's far less important than just being. Just being available and present when I'm with my children. Practicing that which used to come easier. Practicing because it no longer comes easy. Practicing to get back to that place.<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380897548236/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/79446380897548236_72XtrIsc_c.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://wordcandy.me/wcandy/ship/1344962470u43w100g/#.UCp_sHlxVKI.pinterest" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">wordcandy.me</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff162/annvoskamp/subalbumone/walkwithhimwednesdays2-1.jpg" /></a>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-16157140352201232702012-08-10T16:52:00.000-07:002012-08-15T21:36:03.050-07:00There's A Lesson HereThe kids have been in school for a mere week. And guess who doesn't like school? It's not the kids. They're enjoying it. I, on the other hand, am finding myself increasingly irritated by the system. I'm worrying that I might not be able to hang. <br />
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But there's a lesson in this, I think. I hope.<br />
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I yelled at Annika yesterday. I made her cry. I don't think I've ever done that before. And it was over something really stupid, my own issues- my crap.<br />
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On the way home from school, she told me that she had a hard day because it took her longer than all the other kids to get her work done. All the other kids were finished with their math and she was stuck. So she told the teacher that she was 'used to easy work. Not stuff like, 8+8'. Well, I sort-of freaked out when she related this to me. Because that's ridiculous. And I had no idea why she would say that. Clearly, she has bypassed simple single digit addition by second grade. So, in my not very gracious way, I think I yelled something about did she want CPS sent to our house. Not my finest moment. <br />
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I still don't know why she said that. And maybe she just felt the pressure of being in a class room setting and couldn't think. So, after I apologized, feeling like the meanest mom ever, she told me that when she looked around every one else was already done. We talked about how it wasn't a race. Sometimes, we can just draw blanks. I still feel like a jerk. Because, see how much this was about me? About me worrying that she's being a poor reflection on me? Making me look bad? And that kind of pressure is just as bad if not worse than any pressure she experiences at school. <br />
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So there's that and then there's the early waking required, the two hours spent driving per day, the teachers who may or may not be old enough to have fully formed brains and the daily lunch creations which include stressing about whether crackers are 'cool' or not This is the stuff that drives me nuts about 'the system'. The system which includes rules, stated and unstated. Someone else's rules. Whether the government creates them, the teachers or the 'popular' students, I feel the urge to rebel. And God is revealing this part of my nature to me. When my kids roll their eyes at me which is a new thing, or bicker more than usual, I want to blame the bad influences, the bratty kids that of course all other kids are (my tongue is inserted safely within cheek on this) and I really have to work to keep from saying snotty things about their teachers That's my huge confession. I am enacting self-control on that but after the third informative letter to all the parents was sent out, I had to hold back from telling True to tell his teacher that I don't want any more letters about stuff I don't care about. How about she does her job and I'll do mine. And then I remembered how teachers are always reminding us that this is a 'team effort' and that's exactly what makes me bristly. Because I don't work well in groups. If I want something done, I do it myself.<br />
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It's hard to hand my kids over to kids all day long.<br />
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I don't want to job share.<br />
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But yes, there must be a lesson in here. God must be trying to show me something. Maybe he's trying to teach me patience, or respect. Maybe.... He'd even like a little humility.
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380896510036/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="760" src="http://media-cache-lt0.pinterest.com/upload/136515432424556277_OZkKVxWo_c.jpg" width="570" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/71162119/plaque-all-about-life-quote-made-to?ref=sr_gallery_8&ga_ref=auto&ga_search_query=inspirational+quotes&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_facet=handmade" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">etsy.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-51075537815829533112012-08-09T19:39:00.000-07:002012-08-15T21:36:56.836-07:00The Author of PeaceI know I've shared (maybe, a million times) that I'm not the most excellent housekeeper. Which is odd because I feel like I do spend a lot of time cleaning. I'd like to think of this as just some strange phenomenon, perplexing but having nothing to do with lack of skill.<br />
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Whatever it is, I just can't get a handle on it. I work one room while the rest are being systematically destroyed. We did a thorough spring cleaning and I swear, it wasn't two weeks before the results were undetectable.<br />
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When we moved into this house a year ago, it seemed plenty big enough. Now, not so much. And I haven't done a ton of shopping. It's weird.<br />
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When I close my eyes to picture a <a href="http://momheart.org/cultivating-home-as-sanctuary">home that's a sanctuary</a>, I envision white, fluffy carpet, white couches, vast space and a spot for everything - nothing left out. This is a far cry from the clutter that actually 'decorates' my home. I like the idea that <a href="http://momheart.org/cultivating-home-as-sanctuary">organized clutter comes with creativity</a>, although I'm not sure that my clutter is actually all that organized. <br />
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I read something this morning that suggested perhaps outward clutter is a subconscious means of isolating - keeping others away. I can see this, though I'd never thought of it. I can tend to isolate. I like my own space, time alone and definitely am not a woman who enjoys surprise visits. My mom was also this way.<br />
She would want to cancel visits with friends, worrying the house was too messy, even though it really wasn't.<br />
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So, while I'm not a hoarder by any means, I do have my fair share of unwanted mess. That I can't quite figure out what to do with. And last week a husband's friend stopped in to drop something off for me. I met him in the driveway. He asked if I wanted our kids to play together. I told him, <i>Sure, send yours in</i>. <i> Go run some errands. </i>Well, that's not what he meant. And I kind of suspected that. So, I reluctantly let him in, warning him that the house was disastrous. He asked me why. In that blunt, male way. So, I stammered out the true excuse that I use my morning to work on homework and blog, that the kids sort of run a bit wild during that time.<br />
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But maybe, I need a better system. Maybe, I need to think a little more about keeping a home that's inviting, that can handle a surprise visit. Suggestions?<br />
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Solitude is good. Time spent quietly in prayer and worship and introspection is necessary. But if there's the chance, that without knowing it, I've settled into habits that not only allow me to keep people away but also block my mind from really, truly experiencing that emptiness required for God to enter, then I need to at least look at it.
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380896134869/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="556" src="http://media-cache-ec3.pinterest.com/upload/84161086756001253_qUxLEja6_c.jpg" width="458" /></a><br />
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Source: <a href="http://jesustotheworld.tumblr.com/page/13" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">jesustotheworld.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not necessarily fun to look at stuff like this. It may, however, be necessary</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></div>
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-77672347098375054122012-08-08T17:15:00.000-07:002012-08-15T21:37:17.693-07:00Playing with Words and Pinterest<br />
So, so busy with this new schedule that I don't have down pat yet and I can't quite understand why so many moms get excited for school to start. I've been a little frantic with the commute, the lunches, homework, just the whole playing by someone else's rules. I've been the manager of my own time for so long that I feel like the adjustment might be a little harder on me than the kids.<br />
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I feel like I've been running around all week with hardly a minute to breathe. My house shows it. <br />
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So, I'm here. To breathe. To slow. To find that space where I can sort the jumbled, crazy thoughts and just get down in words some semblance of sense. <br />
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And, also, how can I not blog when there's <a href="http://wordcandy.me/">wordcandy</a> to play with<br />
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<a href="http://wordcandy.me/"><img height="200" src="http://res.cloudinary.com/hptirh80c/image/upload/v1344464848/u43w274r.jpg" width="149" /></a><br />
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<i>and</i> <a href="http://squeeinc.com/pinterpretation/">Pin-terpretation</a>! <br />
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How fun is this stuff? Seriously, I wish I had come up with it. <br />
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Maybe I should be finishing dinner but I'm looking at my dominant colors on Pinterest to see what they say about me. Across the (literal) board, my colors are neutral and soft. That means I'm an introvert. No surprise, there. But my <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/art/">Art board</a> contains more vivid hues than my <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/dream-house/">Dream House board.</a> Maybe, I'm bolder in my creative life than my real life. My <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/want/">Want board</a> has pops of bright color throughout and my <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/wow/">Wow board </a>seems to calm down as I scroll up. What could that mean?<br />
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Like I really need more of an excuse to go on Pinterest. But maybe, just maybe this is brilliant. This idea that looking at our boards, could reveal more about ourselves than we might have thought. <br />
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I could probably do this for a few more hours but alas, the kids are hungry. <br />
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You should get the book. It's pretty cool.<br />
<a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?ii=1120647&c=ib&aff=221843&cl=204728" target="ejejcsingle">Click here to view more details</a>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-79896852066690061362012-08-03T13:49:00.000-07:002012-08-03T18:14:04.943-07:00Every time<br />
Well, today was the first day of school for the two older kids. Confession: I cried a little I've homeschooled for four years so dropping them off with complete strangers aka teachers was strange, to say the least. <br />
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I remember, in Jefferson, dropping True off for his first day of preschool. He was four and Annika, only one. I put Annika in the carseat, her hand outstretched toward her brother, crying, "Du!" I felt a little like that today. I walked them each to their class and noticed that I seemed to be the only parent sort-of standing around, just observing. It was hard to say good-bye. They on the other hand were pretty excited. So we shall see. <br />
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It's been interesting to note the reactions I've gotten from different people when telling them that I had decided to put the kids back in school. The homeschoolers say something like, "Ohhh...okay. Well, that will be nice." And I know they're thinking it will not be nice. The non homeschoolers, however, have all responded with elation, as though they've been waiting for the day I would come to my senses and do what 'normal' people do. That's a post, though, for another time.<br />
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So.... it's much quieter around the house today. And funny that though I long for less noise, the relative silence does seem deafening. I do miss them. But on the bright side, I've had a great day with the little ones. We did our first day of kindergarten, here. And it was a success. They are working on an art project as I write. I think they've loved soaking up so much mommy-time. <br />
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All in all, it looks like God knows what He's doing. <br />
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I was so afraid a few short months ago, anticipating this coming time. My sponsor advised that I somehow, "get okay with the worst-case scenario." Having to put my kids in school was definitely on that list of awful things to come,things I didn't feel like I could live with, let alone be okay with. But now that it's said and done, it doesn't look like it's going to be so bad. The school has a lot to offer and seems like it's going to be a great environment for them, and even the fact that my five year old won't start until next year seems to be part of the "plan". The plan where everything is just as it should be. I still <i>get</i> to homeschool. But teaching only kindergarten won't take up much of my day, freeing me to work. Another thing I've been afraid of.<br />
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So many life changes. So much time spent worrying and obsessing and turns out that God has it covered. Every. Single. Time.<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380896347609/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="508" src="http://media-cache-ec4.pinterest.com/upload/268245721524992041_PQaKwZNb_c.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://thishopelessromantic.tumblr.com/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">thishopelessromantic.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
</div>nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-52189971247596759192012-08-01T09:51:00.004-07:002012-08-15T21:37:33.278-07:00ProcrastinationI have not been able to blog lately. I'm not entirely sure what the problem is. I continue to start posts and then realize I'm saying nothing so I save for later. Going back, I find nothing worth revising.<br />
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I've been more tired than usual so that could have something to do with it. But really, I think I'm just dry. Spiritually dry and nothing is flowing. <br />
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I was telling my sponsor the other day how incredibly busy I was. This, my excuse for not making step work a priority. And I believed what I was saying. Until a few days ago when I was on the computer playing spider solitaire (which I think may need to be uninstalled) and I realized, Oh, well here's some extra time I'm just wasting.<br />
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So, is it procrastination? Avoidance? I don't know. But I know that the more time I spend in the Word, the more enlightened and inspired I feel. The more I allow myself to get trapped in pointless time sucks like Facebook or Words with Friends, the more blah I feel. Hungry but not satisfied. <br />
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And there's a million things I should be feeling inspired about. The kids are starting school, my own life is changing in a drastic and good way very soon and I have an opportunity I've only previously dreamed about. <br />
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Maybe I feel like I'm on hold. Or in limbo. The kids start school Friday. I start my new endeavor next week and my dream opportunity is waiting only for me to finish the hard work. And I keep thinking when all that starts, I'll get a new schedule, really get down to work. But that's a bit ridiculous. So.....I'm posting. Crap or not. Because not doing so seems to leave me in a rut.
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Or maybe I can get a job playing spider solitaire.<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380896144313/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://media-cache-ec4.pinterest.com/upload/79446380896144313_akSEB5gf_c.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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So, after I posted, I even found myself motivated to write poetry. That's how the flow works.<br />
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Source: <a href="http://designeriphone.tumblr.com/post/401213888/the-work-you-do-while-you-procrastinate-is" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">designeriphone.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482913388735230062.post-88331819370503052202012-07-17T13:05:00.001-07:002012-08-15T21:37:52.054-07:00The only thing that matters"I care less and less what people think."<br />
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This line from an Ani Difranco song has stuck with me for years. And the sentiment continues to actualize. I don't think I mean it in quite as an arrogant of a way as it sounds. In fact, I think that as we age, we should embrace a philosophy at least similar to this. We have to grow out of that intense self-consciousness adopted somewhere in junior high. We have to grow into ourselves.<br />
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Part of this contemplation arises as I find myself increasingly leaving the Christian 'box'. I can no longer write or speak from a place of conformity or necessarily, to what I think the good Christians want to hear. And yet, I also cannot be vague about the power of the gospel. It's a bit of a conundrum because who then is my audience? <br />
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There is so much more depth to Christianity than Christians want to confront. And as a Christian faced with the failure of a marriage, I have to be honest enough to admit what God is showing me - that, in fact, He is still with me. And this merciful reality speaks so emphatically to my heart that I can't be quiet about the love I am receiving in spite of all that is transpiring.<br />
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So I was driving and thinking about all this, listening to worship music and suddenly I was overcome with the knowledge of <i>why </i>"I am not ashamed of the gospel<br />
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because it is the ONLY thing that has the power to save"<br />
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I know that I have been <i>saved. </i> I know that He is here- with me. He has used my pain to bless me with the experience of his presence and his comfort. <br />
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Only when you are a sinner in need of this saving can you really appreciate this. Yes, we're all sinners but how many of us <i>know</i> it? Know it in the way that causes you to fall in love with Jesus. Knows it like the adulteress who Jesus saved from a stoning? The knowing, is what finally, causes me to say, "<a href="http://scripturetext.com/songs/6-3.htm">He is mine"</a>. Jesus is mine. How then can I not talk about Him?
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"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."<br />
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1 Corinthians 1:18 NKJV<br />
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So it seems, that no matter how much my <a href="http://confessionsofanaveragehousewife.blogspot.com/2012/07/sermon-yesterday-was-called-its-not.html">self </a>wants to plan what I'm going to say, consider the audience question, analyze what type of 'genre' I ought to be placed in, etc, my soul which is solely Jesus' possesses a louder voice. And in the end, the only thing that really truly matters to me is God and sharing His love.<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79446380896425128/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="439" src="http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/191825265348152750_K6jyvBO8_c.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://ancora-imparo.tumblr.com/page/194" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">ancora-imparo.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwian/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Nicole</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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nicolewianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12836201941173083316noreply@blogger.com0