tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41327266175413564012024-03-13T20:00:44.077-04:00MomasteryStepping back, slowing down... and focusing up.Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comBlogger388125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-87890346744499657262012-01-02T17:59:00.001-05:002012-01-02T18:00:18.196-05:00WE'VE MOVED!<div><br /></div><div>Come play with the Monkees <a href="http://momastery.com/blog/">here!</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Love, G</div><div><br /></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-66583247692467021682011-12-23T08:36:00.007-05:002011-12-23T09:45:11.525-05:00Opportunities to Remember<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5hpldT5H4c/TvSLx6xRUlI/AAAAAAAADDw/ZTEvDtqAZSk/s1600/moment%2Bof%2Bsilence.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5hpldT5H4c/TvSLx6xRUlI/AAAAAAAADDw/ZTEvDtqAZSk/s400/moment%2Bof%2Bsilence.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689325918981542482" /></a><br /><div><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><b><i>We are each other's business. We are each other's harvest and magnitude and bond. </i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><b><i>Gwendolyn Brooks</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span>One more post. Just one more before Christmas.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>It seems the Monkees have developed a reputation for miracle making. Or, more likely, for taking the time to send enough love and energy and prayer into the universe to shake things up a bit.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>So, along with all the beautiful stories we read and share here, we are also faced with our share of the brutal stories. And that is okay. That is real - that is Life. Life is brutiful. The brutal and the beautiful cannot be separated, we must embrace both or neither. </span></div><div><span><br />I received this letter from a dear friend of Sister's yesterday. Please read it and do whatever you feel led to do. Cry, donate, pray, join Ava's facebook page, write to her mommy and daddy, take a moment of gratitude or agony or silence. Just a moment to remember that We Belong To Each Other. It'll help. I don't know how, I just know it does.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /><br /></span></div><div><span>The two phrases most often repeated in the Bible:</span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i>1. Remember </i></span></div><div><span><i>2. Do Not Be Afraid</i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i>I love you, baby Ava. I will pray for you everyday. </i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i>Love, G</i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i>*********</i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">Dear Glennon,</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">My name is Kerry and we actually met at Mandy's wedding, I was there with my husband who is very close with Johnny. I have been a silent monkee of yours since your sisters wedding and have quietly celebrated all that the monkees have done for people, especially over the last few weeks. I am also a huge fan of Beyonce!!!</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">But now, unfortunately, there has been a terrible, terrible accident and I was hoping you could ask the monkees for some help. Our friend, George DelRicco was given news last Friday that no parent would want to hear. His wife and 18 month old daughter were sitting at a traffic light when out of nowhere a man slammed right into them. His daughter Ava was flown to Johns Hopkins where she is now fighting for her life. His wife was also transported to the same hospital where she is suffering from several broken bones. Unfortunately, this accident could have been prevented as the man driving the truck was found to be on PCP. Here is the latest article: </span><a href="http://smnewsnet.com/archives/6602" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(17, 85, 204); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">http://smnewsnet.com/archives/<wbr>6602</a><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "> </span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">As a mother of two little girls myself, I just can't seem to shake this feeling of "what if"....what if this was my little girl?? What would I do if my little girl was hospitalized? Who would I turn to??</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">Our friends are joining together to do whatever we can to help George out. Many of us went to school with him as he was a football player for VA Tech. </span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">I am hoping Glennon you wouldn't mind asking the monkees to spread the word about baby Ava? If they can donate to help this family ease the burden of growing medical bills then there is a page on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/DelRicco-Benefit-Fund/270095113048996?sk=wall">Facebook called "DelRicco Benefit Fund"</a> where there is information to donate to the family. </span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">Although donations would be an amazing gift for this family, I am also asking for prayers....lots of them!!! This little girl needs any and all good vibes going her way so if you could also ask them for this, we would be so very grateful to you!!!</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">There is some information below. Again, anything you could do to help spread the word about baby Ava would be appreciated!!!</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">Sincerely,</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">Kerry Brophy</span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">For those who would like to make a donation, they can make them through</span><a href="http://www.paypal.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(17, 85, 204); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "> www.paypal.com</a><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "> please use the following as your donation recipient:</span><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><a href="mailto:DelriccoBenefitFund@gmail.com" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(17, 85, 204); ">DelriccoBenefitFund@<wbr>gmail.com</a></span><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); ">On Facebook there is the DelRicco Benefit Fund for them to "like" and to add any comments for Baby Ava!!</span> </div><div><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); "><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>*********</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Kay, so The Monkees are officially on Ava's team now. Please go tell her that you're fighting for her, however it is that you fight.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Also..</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Let's remember <a href="http://www.aninchofgray.blogspot.com/">Anna and Tim and Margaret and Jack.</a></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>And please visit the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Momastery/178909129709">Momastery Facebook</a> page for more prayer requests. You don't need money to make a difference. You just need a Moment to Remember.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>And one more thing..my beloved grandma is having high risk, unexpected surgery this afternoon at one. I love her very much. Please pray for <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/02/initiation.html">Alice and her seven children and fourteen grandchildren,</a> all of whom are afraid. </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Love Forever and Ever...</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>GOD BLESS BABY AVA.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>GDo</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-51023969982716942162011-12-19T13:15:00.025-05:002011-12-19T18:56:15.403-05:00It's Christmas Eve, Eve, Eve, Eve, Eve!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pXojP92Jtzg/Tu-D2myoWeI/AAAAAAAADDk/63ykfxQMn-U/s1600/craig%2Bkisses.jpg"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687909828541307362" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pXojP92Jtzg/Tu-D2myoWeI/AAAAAAAADDk/63ykfxQMn-U/s400/craig%2Bkisses.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">Monkees. I love and miss you so. Please allow me to make this post short, sweet, and poorly written- kind of like this poem Tish recently gave me.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">To Mom</span><br /></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><i><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Roses are red. Acshually somtimes pink.</span></i></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><i><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >I am not sure what colors vilets are. I do not think I hav seen one.</span></i></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><i><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Riting poems are hard and boring. I like colring.<br /></span></i></p><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><i><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >-TM</span></i></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">First, I'll tell you that </span><a href="http://www.babble.com/mom/work-family/top-mom-bloggers-best-written/"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Babble </span></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">didn't pick us for any of their best blog categories . . .even though we finished second in the popular vote. I feel kind of sad about that, and I also feel embarrassed about feeling sad about that. So, anyway. Moving along to more important things. </span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >It’s almost Christmas. I have so much to tell you and so little time. So much about what’s going on in my heart and head these days . . . so much about Jesus and how people who believe in Him should celebrate their bottoms off and how people who don’t believe in the <i>Jesus as God</i> part <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">still</span> have so much to celebrate in Jesus’ Story.<br /></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">You do not have to believe a story <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">really happened</span> to believe it is <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">true.</span> Like this: </span><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/01/unwind.html"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">this story </span></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">never really happened. But it’s certainly true, right? </span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >And so we can all celebrate the Jesus story . . . whether we believe it happened - like I do - or not. Either way- we can celebrate the beautiful, revolutionary idea of Love entering the scary world defenseless. That’s what we <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">do here, </span>right? That’s what Monkees do at Momastery and beyond- in the big world. We show up, armorless, even when we might get hurt. Because Love is more important than self-preservation. That’s the Christmas story to me. We can all celebrate that kind of courage and Truth. We can all celebrate that in the end - Love Wins. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >There are also about seven million stories I could tell you about Holiday Hands. The magic just keeps pouring in and I will find a way to place every story in your generous and beautiful hands one day soon. It never ends. We just sent a large check to Higher Ground, a home in NY that cares for families affected by HIV/AIDS. There’s a straight up Monkee Home makeover happening in Atlanta right now – we found a mama with six kids and no beds and not a whole lotta hope. So a Monkee family partnered with an Atlanta non-profit and this precious family is getting new carpets, new paint, seven brand new beds, and job counseling for mom so this recovery will be sustainable. Kay.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >And hundreds. I am telling you that HUNDREDS of mothers all over this country opened their door one morning and found a box on their doorstep from another mother they’d never met and likely never will. There were boxes filled with toys for littles, money for groceries and bills, beautiful jewelry and Nikon Cameras and Ipads and homemade mittens and oodles of warm clothes for littles. These mamas opened boxes filled with Love and Hope. This experience <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">changed the world</span> for the mamas who gave and the mamas who received.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Please, <i>please </i>don’t tell me that changing the world is hard. It’s easy as pie. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Actually pie is really hard. I would NEVER try making pie. It’s easy as Oreos, then.<br /></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">And - Baby Emily is home and thriving. Her parents believe that your love and prayers and care and energy and painted hands helped save her. Monkees are feeding Emily’s family for the twelve days of Christmas and Monkees have helped the family with Christmas shopping and wrapping. I’ll be delivering a Christmas Eve meal to the family, from the Monkees. Obviously, I’m having it catered instead of cooking because as Craig said, “the family has been through enough.” The point is that she’s home. The doctors thought she might never make it back there, but that little Monkee </span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >showed them.<br /></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Monkee Amy and I have been working hard on the new blog. It’s going to look similar, but it will explain who we are more clearly. I receive at least one email a day asking, “G- can you tell me how to become a Monkee?” So I felt we needed to be clear that Momastery is for <i>everyone.</i> <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Everybody’s in, baby. </span>If you want to be a Monkee- you already are a Monkee. If all goes well, our grandish re-opening will coincide with the New Year.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">A <b>New Year is coming.</b> It’s gonna be a good one. I plan to take really good care of myself this year. We must fill up if we hope to empty out. I’m going to start by practicing yoga more often. My friend Ursula, who is very, very special, has offered four <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">free </span>five pack classes to her heavenly yoga studio -</span><a href="http://inner-power-yoga.com/"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Inner Power Yoga.</span></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> You might remember Inner Power from </span><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/12/chutes-and-ladders.html"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">this post. </span></a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Ursula and I have been crossing paths for awhile now, and I think she’s supposed to be one of my Teachers. If any of you local Monkees would like to join Urusula and me for some deep breathing and self care in January, please comment and we will send your free package. And please, if you’re a Christian, don’t worry that practicing yoga is cheating on Jesus. It’s not. It’s a spiritual practice – like fasting or tithing or prayer- that anyone can practice to get closer to their God or their peace. It’s okay. It’s “Be Still and know I’m God.” That’s what it is for me.</span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Also -Monkees. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >All is said and done, now. I’ve connected every Monkee family that I can –and I still find myself with four Target Gift Cards. I think they are each worth $50. I also have a $25 gift card to TJ Maxx and one from Wal-Mart for $25. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >If you need one – or if you have a friend or acquaintance who needs one, please comment (so others know it’s been claimed) and then email me your address and which one you’d like. I’ll send them out today. Since I don’t make decisions about worthiness, ever, I’ll send them to the first Lovies who ask. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Thank you, for trusting me to work on these projects for you- Holiday Hands and Momastery. I’m honored and humbled inspired and just – so incredibly grateful.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Merry Christmas, Monkees.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" >Love, Glennon</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">PS. Oh, </span><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/12/officer-superhero.html"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">this too.<br /></span></a></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">PPS. Also, </span><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/12/little-drummer-girl.html"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">this.</span></a></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:lucida grande;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >* The pic was taken by </span><a style="FONT-STYLE: italic" href="http://www.littlemoonphotography.com/"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Amber at Little Moon photography.</span></a><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" > She is phenomenal. An hour before that picture was taken I was literally crying. Bawling. Because I was Lymie and my kids were being so bad. SO BAD. And look how pretty she still made us. Go see her. Love.</span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-33824569237491815932011-11-21T17:15:00.016-05:002011-11-21T19:54:47.579-05:00Gathering and Scattering.<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o4CPSO2zsfU/TsrxGV5q7zI/AAAAAAAADDY/Z7k2fbU3Nbg/s1600/Advent%2BCalendar.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9pTLQALVURg/TsrtErI8SVI/AAAAAAAADDM/wjL0fVNHWK4/s1600/Start%2Bwhere%2Byou%2Bare..jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9pTLQALVURg/TsrtErI8SVI/AAAAAAAADDM/wjL0fVNHWK4/s400/Start%2Bwhere%2Byou%2Bare..jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677610944809421138" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QJrIojkI2po/TsrXFqCQ1mI/AAAAAAAADDA/U1VhAjfTp68/s1600/scatter%2Bjoy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig: Wait…what are you doing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Me: Nothing. Nothing at all. Go away.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig: You’re writing a post! You’re writing a post, aren’t you?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Me: No. I’m writing a grocery list.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig: Okay. If you’re gonna lie, you should say something believable.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Me: Fine. I’m writing a post.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig: What? You told <b>everyone</b> you quit for the holidays. You are the worst quitter ever.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Me: Hm. Well. Maybe I’m the BEST quitter ever. Ever think of that? Maybe I’m such an incredible quitter that I even QUIT <b>quitting</b>. Done. Just like that. I EVEN Quit <b>Quitting</b>. Who does that? I'll tell you who. Me and <b>only </b>me. Yeah. Blows your mind, doesn't it? That's what I'm talkin' bout. Don’t call it a comeback, buddy, I been here for<b> years.</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig: (gone. watching football)<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m back because I had an important conversation with my friend, Ashley, that I had to share with you.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ashley and I were talking about Christmas, and all the presents, and the hustle bustle business and consumerism and excess of it all . . . and the parts we <i>love</i> about that and the parts that leave us feeling exhausted and guilty and a little silly, even. Like maybe we’re missing out on something important. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">It's almost like somebody's purposefully trying to distract us from something happening that is of great, <i>huge</i> significance - and we're allowing ourselves to be dazzled away. And we're left....<i>wanting</i>. It's l</span><span class="Apple-style-span">ike with all the stuff to decorate and do and buy and wrap and hide and deliver, there’s no room left at the Inn. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Then Ashley told me her plan to prepare her family’s hearts for Christmas this year. How she's planned to <i>make room </i>in her life and her home for Christmas. For<i> real </i>Christmas. For the celebration of God, who is LOVE, coming to Earth to be with us.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Cause it's a big deal, when you think about Christmas in terms of THAT, instead of just in terms of Kohls Cash and Black Friday deals and turkeys and <i><b>where the hell is the scotch tape???? </b></i> I mean, if you're a Christian, you believe that GOD came to EARTH. And if you're <i>not </i>a Christian, I can totally understand how you'd think we're a little wacky because <i>WOW.</i> I mean, that's <i>WILD.</i> <i>GOD,</i> as a BABY. On EARTH. IN A <i>BARN.</i> But I<i> am. </i>I <i>am</i> a Christian and totally obsessed with Jesus, and so Christmas is a big deal for me. A really big deal. I mean when I stop shopping long enough to <i>think </i>about it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway I found Ashley's Love idea so do-able and so beautiful that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. We prepare our homes for guests, usually. And Ashley found a way to prepare her home for God's arrival.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Monkees, Meet Ashley.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><i>A Mini Mission to Spread a Little Joy…<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><i><br /></i></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o4CPSO2zsfU/TsrxGV5q7zI/AAAAAAAADDY/Z7k2fbU3Nbg/s400/Advent%2BCalendar.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677615371514474290" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px; " /></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><o:p></o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">Every Christmas, my boys and I donate cans, coats, take an “angel” or two from the tree at church, but it somehow hasn’t been enough for my blessed boys to truly make the compassion connection. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">What I needed was a way to drive home the message in a variety of ways in the hope that something will stick. I’ve heard that it takes at least 21 days to form a habit…so Advent should at least be a start, right?</span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><i>When my oldest was a baby, my Mother-in-Law gave us a beautiful wooden Advent cabinet with 25 tiny doors. </i></span><i style="font-size: 15px; ">This year, along with the gifties that Granny sends, there will be a note with an act of kindness to be carried out that day. Some will be strategically placed…like on the 10<sup>th</sup> when we’ll be joining my husband’s Rotary group to lay wreaths on gravesites at Arlington Cemetery. Or, on the 20<sup>th</sup> when we’ll be volunteering as a family to organize donations at the Salvation Army warehouse. But, others will be less grand…like picking up litter anytime you see it throughout the day. Or, feeding the birds</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 11pt; ">And there you have it— a simple plan for 25 days of serving, giving, and helping others. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; ">A fun way to experience the true MAGIC and JOY Christmas first-hand. My hope is that they get it…and maybe even want to continue beyond Advent season.</span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span style="font-size: 11pt; "><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "><i>Love, Ashley</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0.1pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.1pt; margin-left: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "><i>***************</i></span></span></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">You know, we all want the same things for our kids during the holiday season. We want them to experience great joy. So we ask them what they want and they think of stuff that maybe they want, or maybe the TV just told them to want. And we buy them as much of what they maybe want as we possibly can. We put ourselves in debt, even. Because we want them to be full of joy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But we know what bring US the most joy. It’s not stuff. <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/10/holiday-hands.html">It’s connection. It’s love.</a> It’s finding out how powerful we are by discovering what a difference our little selves can make in the life of another little self. It’s in emptying ourselves out that we feel full. It’s the only way to feel full, I think. Offering yourself. Your insides. Showing up and pouring out. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Pour it <i>all</i> out –and feel full. So weird.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And so we know what we know. And <i>even though</i> we know what we know, we <i>still</i> try to fill ourselves and our kids up with stuff. I do, anyway. But this season, I think I’ll take my own advice and Step back, Slow down, and Focus up. Because maybe more <i>stuff </i>isn’t what will bring my Littles the most joy. Maybe Ashley’s right. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe what brings <i>me</i> joy would also bring <i>them </i>joy. Maybe my kids don’t need more plastic crap. I mean, I'll buy some anyway. But maybe they really need to discover the magic and power that’s inside them. The magic and power that is just <i>kindness.</i> The magic <i>kindness</i> inside each of them that could change the world. Maybe I just need to show them how to pour themselves out.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sounds like a good way to prepare for God to come. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I think our kids will decide what Christmas is about by watching what <i>we </i>decide it’s about. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">If we spend December at the mall, they will learn that Christmas is about stuff. If we spend it <i>gathering gratitude and scattering joy</i>….well, then.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We should also spend it resting. Lots and lots of rest. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Resting, Gathering, Resting, Scattering. Like that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />I am so thankful for you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, G</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:.1pt;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:.1pt; margin-left:0in;mso-para-margin-top:.01gd;mso-para-margin-right:0in;mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd;mso-para-margin-left:0in"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:.1pt;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:.1pt; margin-left:0in;mso-para-margin-top:.01gd;mso-para-margin-right:0in;mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd;mso-para-margin-left:0in"><br /></p><p></p><p></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-61641710017695884172011-11-12T09:46:00.006-05:002011-11-12T09:56:30.316-05:00Yep. We Were Right....<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VBkAVQJYdnY/Tr6HihCLhyI/AAAAAAAADC0/IyPPugzLu-I/s1600/Beyonce.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oF1iUFNCWo0/Tr6HLPKGttI/AAAAAAAADCo/Biqd2vNZKJg/s1600/love%2Bwins%2B2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oF1iUFNCWo0/Tr6HLPKGttI/AAAAAAAADCo/Biqd2vNZKJg/s400/love%2Bwins%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674121207650629330" /></a><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’m tired this morning. Not weary tired . . . <i>peaceful </i>tired. <i>I did my best</i> tired. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Our <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/10/holiday-hands.html">Holiday Hands</a> project is winding down. I made an announcement that I wasn’t taking any more requests a week ago, and God giggled. The requests continued to pour in, and <i>every single time</i> I thought we were out of offerings, an email arrived in my inbox or a check appeared in my mailbox. By the way . . . <i>how do all you people know where I live???</i> Maybe you enter “Beyonce” into your GPS. Say hi to my girl.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VBkAVQJYdnY/Tr6HihCLhyI/AAAAAAAADC0/IyPPugzLu-I/s400/Beyonce.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674121607586219810" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); line-height: normal; text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >As of today, we’ve had over two hundred Monkees participate in our Love Project. Actually, the number is so much bigger than that. Many have spun off their own Love Projects, or held vigils at the website . . . praying for me and for all the givers and receivers. <i>Every single Monkee</i> has been a giver and a receiver in his or her own way. I continue to be completely astounded by the generosity and courage and trust and love that has been offered with no strings attached. I don’t know how much money has changed Monkee hands, don’t think it really matters. But I’d guess it’s been more than twelve thousand dollars. And maybe a million pounds of toys and clothes and gift cards and love. I’m not the best estimator of poundage though.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A single mama in Atlanta who has six children that sleep on two dirty mattresses is receiving seven brand new beds and mattresses this week. Three special Monkee babies received ipads to help their big brains. Friends nominated struggling friends who don’t even know about our Monkee family, and those shocked friends received boxes full of love and goodies and money . . . out of the clear blue. One woman wrote to me and said, </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >“I’ve prayed every night for the past week for a miracle for our family, and one bigger than I could have imagined arrived in the mail yesterday. It was like it came straight from God.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Well, yep, of course it did. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >When we believe in love enough to trust and give and open, God uses us as miracles for each other. And the world, quite literally, becomes a more miraculous place. Heavenly. On Earth as it is in heaven. So many of you gave even though you barely had enough for yourselves this year. <i>That</i> is faith. That is knowing that when we pray, <i>give us this day our daily bread,</i> God will always provide. He may not give us enough for the year . . . as a matter of fact, if He does, it’s probably not ours to keep. Money, love, energy, they’re like the manna from heaven that rained down on the Israelites each day during their forty years in the desert. We are to use up <i>today’s </i>portion and leave the rest, trusting that todays portion will arrive right on time again <i>tomorrow</i>. If we get scared and save too much, if we hoard our manna, it begins to rot. Because it shows that we do not believe. We do not believe that we serve a loving God who will provide for our needs, one day at a time. And who offers us the honor of providing for the needs of others. We are free to give our extra, because tomorrow we will be provided for again. We can live without fear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;">Suze Orman would probably really, really hate that whole paragraph, but whatever. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >When I started this project, I was a little nervous, because Craig and I were only offering $600, and I knew the needs would far exceed that amount. <i>But look what happened.</i> We offered what we could, and our offering multiplied. It was <i>loaves and fishes,</i> people. God took our little offering and made it enough, more than enough, through you. Thank you for being a part of our loaves and fishes miracle. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I plan to write down the stories that came out of this Love Project. Trust me, there are many miracles that are screaming to be documented. I’ll get them to you, promise. For now, if you’d like to write a message about how this experience affected you or your family . . . <i>please</i> tell us about it in the comments here. Instead of writing a thank you letter to the folks who sent your gifts – write it here. Because the love of all of Monkeedom was behind every gift. And because there is a lot of ugly in the world right now and it is our responsibility to keep <i>testifying to the light. </i>To encourage people not to lose hope, to prove that <i>STILL, EVEN SO . . . </i><b>Love Wins</b>. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >“Darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable . . . but lightness has a call that’s hard to hear.” We must not spend too much time in front of CNN becoming more and more jaded. We must yell <i>louder about love and listen harder for it.</i> Love is all around us. There are two dogs in this human fight …the dark one and the light one. The fearful one and the brave one. The evil one and the good one. The winner inside each of us will be the one we decide to feed. Feed your Love and Hope and Joy Dog. Let the other one wither away.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >NOOOWWW….</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This is going to be my last post until the New Year. It’s time for me to get back to my family and friends and start preparing my heart for the holiday season. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >By prepare, I don’t mean shop, I mean <i>get quiet and pay attention.</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’m actually finished with my Christmas shopping. My friends and I decided to start an “I’m Dreaming of a Green Holiday” Facebook Group for our neighborhood. Everyone went through her toys and took pictures of the gently used toys that her kids’ had grown out of. Then each person posted those pictures on the FB page and we basically traded toys. I found three things that each of my kids will love, just sitting in the basements and garages of my friends’ homes. It’s been an amazing way to help the environment and the wallet. Too much waste at the holiday. Too much time at the mall. And I’ve gotten to know my neighbors better. Passing on my kids’ toys has felt like loving them. Highly recommend.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’m done with Craig’s gift, too…because my gift to him is going to be this: for the month of December, we are going to make out three times per week. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This might not seem like a big deal to some of you – but it’s CRAZY talk to me. I decided, though, that some physical lovin’ is what we really need more than anything else. I’m quite interested to see what this Love Project does for our relationship. Don’t tell him though- it’s a surprise. He’ll never read this- he usually quits after the first two paragraphs and then tells me how amazing the whole essay is. I know this because he ONLY uses examples from the first two paragraphs.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The reason I’m prepared to make this sexy commitment that I have some<i> energy </i>back. For the past three weeks I’ve been on a “cleanse.” Basically, it’s meant that I have eaten no sugar, no dairy, no meat, no wheat, no gluten, nothing artificial, and no caffeine for three weeks. All I’ve eaten is fresh vegetable juices and smoothies and salads and beans and nuts. And quinoa.<i> Pounds</i> of quinoa. So much so that Sister has started referring to me as “Quinoa Tifa.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" > Tragically, the cleanse has seemed to <i>work.</i> I’ve got more energy than I’ve had since I was diagnosed with Lyme. And so, as of today, I’m accidentally a vegan. I <i>have</i> to be, but I think when people ask me why I’m a vegan, I’ll say, “<i>because I love animals.”</i> Just seems more noble than: <i>I had no other choice</i>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Another Melton happening is that we’re considering taking permanent action to make sure there are no future Melton babies. We have discussed, at length, the logical reasons for this. Like: we have our HANDS FULL already - my health is not great now - by the time I’d be healthy enough to even consider getting pregnant again I’ll likely be 37 - an accidental pregnancy would be <i>tough</i> while battling Lyme . . . and on and on. On paper, it’s a no brainer. But I’m having <i>such</i> a hard time with it. <i>Why </i>do I have such a hard time with this? Am I addicted to babies? I don’t even like pregnancy. I <i>hate </i>it, actually. So is it normal to be so illogically ambivalent . . . when <i>all </i>the signs point to – YOU ARE DONE, LADY. BE GRATEFUL AND ENJOY. DON’T PUSH IT. I don’t know. I just get confused and sad. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Anyway.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I read this quote this other day that said; “The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.” In light of recent news stories, this idea seemed timely, so I’ve been thinking a lot about what my main thing is. My main thing has been harder than I thought it would be to identify. It seemed like my main thing should be something that couldn’t be taken from me, that wasn’t related to any particular phase of my life . . . something that could remain my main thing forever, no matter what happened.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I eventually decided that my main thing is loving God, myself, and others. Maintaining balance between those three vocations. Each day and through the years. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I want to spend enough quiet time to hear from God about how to serve myself and others. Then I want to ask for the energy and wisdom to carry out what He requests of me in the quiet. And I want to be open and present enough to receive love from my husband and children and family and friends and strangers and neighbors. And I want to always, always, care for myself first. I want to feed myself good food and breathe in fresh air and stretch and rest and explore my passions and dreams so I can maintain gratitude for the opportunity of living this beautiful life. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I shall try to keep this main thing my main thing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" > You won’t hear from me on the blog until after the New Year, but I’ll still be working hard for you behind the scenes. We’re re-launching the blog on Word Press in January, because Blogger refuses to let many of you comment, (including <i>Adrianne</i>) and this is unacceptable. Each Monkee needs to be heard. I know some of you are <i>freaking out</i> right now because MONKEES DON’T LIKE CHANGE. I promise to work with a web designer to make sure that the site looks almost EXACTLY the same as it does now. Okey doke? <i>No</i> fancy stuff. If you have any ideas for bettering the site, let me know in the comments, please. I need you. This is OUR blog, not mine.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Also, Sister and I are working on a <i>big</i> idea. We are considering self-publishing a Momastery book next year. I’m scared . . . which makes me think it might be the <i>right </i>idea. Scared/sacred. Close. What do you think?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >2012 is going to be our <i>Most Magical Monkee Year ever</i>. I have so many ideas for us, and I hope you are planning and plotting, too. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It’s going to be a long month and a half without you. But we must take time to rest and reflect and gather energy. And every once in a while, we must look away from the screen long enough to look inside and outside.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I LOVE YOU. Thank you for being a miracle. If you can take the time to share your thoughts about the million questions I’ve asked in this post, I’d love it. I really want – need - to hear from you. This is your special place, and I am so honored to be your host. And so grateful that I don't have to feed you.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Love Wins,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" >G</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-61960479691689496522011-11-10T10:07:00.009-05:002011-11-11T11:16:00.775-05:00Pledge<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-align: center; "><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="line-height: 18px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(237, 239, 244); "><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-align: center; "><span style="line-height: 18px; ">The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men (and women) to do nothing. – Edmund Burke</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-align: center; "><span style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></p></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tdCK4PFU65s/TrvpwHDia7I/AAAAAAAADCc/dF1UyKQyXGY/s1600/flag%2B2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tdCK4PFU65s/TrvpwHDia7I/AAAAAAAADCc/dF1UyKQyXGY/s400/flag%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673385168340151218" /></span></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; ">Dear America,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; ">We should not rest until there is a full accounting of what took place at Penn State from 1977 to today. We need a full investigation of Sandusky’s “charity,” The Second Mile. We need to know exactly what officials at Penn State and The Second Mile knew and when they knew it. We need to know who took action and who took none. We need to hold <i>people who have chosen public lives of service to youth</i> responsible for <i>allowing </i>children to be raped.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "> <i>We </i>need to care enough. America needs to care about its children. If we do not protect our children . . . who <i>are </i>we?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><br /></span></span></p></span></span></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">While we’re (rightfully) lashing out at the group of men at Penn State who allowed children to be raped – let us also look within. We can learn from this disaster. We can remember what is so obvious but seems to be forgotten so easily – that we should place NO priority above the well-being of our fellow human beings. No institution, no ideology, no career, no amount of money, no damn iconic reputation should ever take priority over the health and safety of a single human being.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We need to put <i>first things first</i>, for God’s sake.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span">In honor of all of Sandusky’s rape victims, I make the following solemn pledge:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span">If I ever witness a child being abused - or hear about a child being abused - first, second, or third hand - I will report it immediately to police and follow up every single day until the case has been thoroughly investigated. If it is not investigated to my satisfaction, I’ll go to the media. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I pledge to do this because NOTHING is more important than the body and soul of a child.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, G</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-85263440335929582282011-11-04T09:32:00.005-04:002011-11-04T11:04:39.053-04:00Holiday Hands Update<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">“The poverty of being lonely, being uncared for and unwanted . . . this is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to alleviate this type of poverty.” – Mama T</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">The miracles that have unfolded during the past few weeks are going to take me a while to process and weave into stories for you. Stories are better than numbers- but numbers are what I’m swimming in, so I’ll throw a few out there . . . we’ve paid one Monkee’s $1000 adoption costs. We’ve served thirty seven families through 165 Monkees (so far). The requests and offers that have poured in via email have doubled those posted on the blog. They’ve all been granted or accepted. We’ve sent three ipads to kids who need them for therapy. Zero people have asked me if their donations are tax deductible. Checks and gift cards from God knows who have arrived at my home by the dozens. Several thousands of dollars have exchanged Monkee hands. I’ve learned how to make a spread sheet. <i>YES,</i> after tears and tantrums, but I learned. They <i>work,</i> those things.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">The stories are better than the numbers, though. MIRACULOUS stories about beautiful people abound. For now, I’m keeping them in my heart. Can’t tell them yet, because our work’s not done.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here is what I’ve learned during the past three miraculous weeks.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><b style="font-size: medium; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">Those who have made requests and those who have offered gifts . . . <i>both groups of people are givers.</i></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This is <i>huge,</i> I think:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">What we’re doing here- <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/10/holiday-hands.html">The Truth about Holiday Hands</a> . . . is that <i>we’re not really just helping people buy stuff</i>. We’re not trying to alleviate material poverty. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here is what we’re <i>really</i> doing: We’re alleviating the poverty of loneliness. The poverty of disconnection. The poverty of feeling unneeded and unwanted . . . the <i>greatest</i> poverty that my hero, Mama T, referred to above. And that kind of awful poverty is alleviated by <i>receiving AND by giving.</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Because when the givers give they remember . . . <i>I am needed. I am powerful. I am capable of Loving my neighbors.</i> <i>There is <b>enough</b></i><b>.</b> And when the receivers receive they remember . . . <i>I am loved. I am cared for. I am not alone. I have not been forgotten. There is<b> enough.</b><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And that’s why we don’t need to judge whether someone’s particular need is worthy. It doesn’t matter. Because we are not<b><i> really</i></b> about meeting that particular need. <i>We are just meeting that particular need in an effort to meet the REAL need.</i> Which is: “TELL ME I’M NOT ALONE. PROVE TO ME THAT LOVE WINS.” We just prove it through a gift card, or a handwritten letter, or a check for $15 dollars or $1000, or a box full of well loved toys or a new ipad or a handmade tea cosie, or an email. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So that's why if somebody tells me she needs a <i>ferret,</i> I’m gonna find a way to get her a <i>ferret.</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Because it’s not about the <i>gift</i>. <i>It’s about what the gift represents.</i> It’s about Love. It’s about reminding each other that We Belong To Each Other. It’s about proving what we believe: that Love Wins. You gotta <i>prove</i> what you believe to<i> somebody</i>, even if it’s just to yourself. Otherwise your belief doesn’t matter much. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">*Sweet Jesus, please don’t tell me you need a ferret. Scared.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Now, down to Monkee Business. So far we’ve placed about 175 Monkees in Monkee Holiday Families. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">“He places the lonely in families. He sets free the prisoners and gives them joy.” – Psalm 68:8 <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">As of this morning, I still had fifteen Monkees waiting to be matched. Fifteen Monkees chomping at the bit to GIVE. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’ve got you ladies. You are on my trustee spreadsheet. I’ve not forgotten you.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This morning, I received a message about a mother of five struggling with cancer, so a few of you waiting Monkees will be matched with this family this evening. Expect an email from me regarding your new Monkee Family.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Here is where I’d like to go from here:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">If you have requested help, but have not yet received an email from me matching you with a Monkee family . . . please email me right away at momastery(at)gmail(dot)com. If you already <i>have</i> emailed me, please do it again and be patient with me. It might take me a while to get it all right, but we will leave no Monkee behind.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Also- I definitely have (at least) another week left in me to dedicate to this project. So go ahead and get quiet and listen. Listen for the name God whispers into your ear, and then send this post to her or him or them. There is <b><i>enough.</i></b> We can help more people and allow more people to help.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And to <i>you </i>- If you need: ASK. If you have: OFFER. Become a part of this miracle, one way or another.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Finally, I just wanted to say <i>thank you</i>. Being a part of this Love Project is one of the greatest honors of my life. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, G</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-9313124431395822422011-10-31T18:36:00.002-04:002011-10-31T21:01:50.224-04:00Melton Wok Halloween<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j5tl0roYoLo/Tq9E0OD_S0I/AAAAAAAADAY/IOFQthgY_Wk/s1600/craig%2Bhalloween.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Yogi Bear</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4tZZcZXNpqg/Tq7sTURl5zI/AAAAAAAAC-c/ZYJdEIuJuVw/s1600/Yogi%2BBear.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4tZZcZXNpqg/Tq7sTURl5zI/AAAAAAAAC-c/ZYJdEIuJuVw/s400/Yogi%2BBear.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669728797510199090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px; " /></span></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Amazing amazing brilliant pants made by my friend, Rachel at<a href="http://www.shiningshakti.com/"> Shining Shakti.</a></span></i></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Scary, Scary Witch</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W8gCqlWmLjE/Tq8gLYDfA5I/AAAAAAAAC_8/Jnj0PiM5fmM/s1600/HALLO6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W8gCqlWmLjE/Tq8gLYDfA5I/AAAAAAAAC_8/Jnj0PiM5fmM/s400/HALLO6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669785835690460050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a><br /><br /></span><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KraLt2YB-kY/Tq8f7nvN2vI/AAAAAAAAC_Y/PImyN0mfAao/s400/HALLO2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669785565022509810" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /><div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><u><span class="Apple-style-span" >Vampire</span></u></div><div style="text-align: center; "><u><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center; "><u><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></u></div><div style="text-align: center; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tTGFFB3vpis/Tq8f3qAx-dI/AAAAAAAAC_M/wOWVqLYGvb8/s400/HALLO.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669785496913574354" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mKKh6z12qXU/Tq8gAFv6e6I/AAAAAAAAC_k/EfcEB8QYf8g/s1600/HALLO3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mKKh6z12qXU/Tq8gAFv6e6I/AAAAAAAAC_k/EfcEB8QYf8g/s400/HALLO3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669785641797974946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I only put this one in so you could see how <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/12/in-preparation-for-melton-christmas.html">very serious my pop-eye gets</a> when I try to make a scary face.</span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8jhOJOnW41U/Tq8gGK3jurI/AAAAAAAAC_w/3aGbfKg6yoI/s1600/HALLO5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8jhOJOnW41U/Tq8gGK3jurI/AAAAAAAAC_w/3aGbfKg6yoI/s400/HALLO5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669785746251430578" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Red M&M</span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ko1YP5Ga0E/Tq8hoV6pKOI/AAAAAAAADAM/qZA2RcClN84/s400/HALLO4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669787432844339426" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mKKh6z12qXU/Tq8gAFv6e6I/AAAAAAAAC_k/EfcEB8QYf8g/s1600/HALLO3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KraLt2YB-kY/Tq8f7nvN2vI/AAAAAAAAC_Y/PImyN0mfAao/s1600/HALLO2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >You know, these costumes are quite representative of how I feel about my Littles. I have one very sweet boy and two girls who scare the bejesus out of me.</span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Pictures of Craig in shirtless Milli Vanilli outfit on their way soon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>ohhh wait</i>...found one.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j5tl0roYoLo/Tq9E0OD_S0I/AAAAAAAADAY/IOFQthgY_Wk/s400/craig%2Bhalloween.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669826119801457474" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Love You.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >G</span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div></div></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-30629055984357352702011-10-22T11:09:00.013-04:002011-11-20T20:36:30.040-05:00Holiday Hands<div><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m6aa5D-52g0/TqLgAKWYM6I/AAAAAAAAC-Q/8ZFM45wd7ow/s1600/Monkee%2Bhands.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m6aa5D-52g0/TqLgAKWYM6I/AAAAAAAAC-Q/8ZFM45wd7ow/s400/Monkee%2Bhands.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666337574568342434" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span> </span>“All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had.” <span> </span>Acts 4:32</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">After reading Tova’s incredible essay about her baby Joy, I started feeling a little sad. Because I thought that one day I’d be writing an essay like Tova’s about <i>my </i>family’s adoption. I had the essay all planned out. I even had our <i>Christmas Card</i> designed. It was going to be a family picture in front of our beautiful <i>LOVE WINS</i> sign and underneath our family of six it would say: </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">JOY TO THE WORLD! <span> </span>Love, The Melton Pot. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>The Melton Pot. </i>I mean, seriously. You KNOW how excited I was when that gem lit up my little brain.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But it was not to be. It is what it is, and it’s not what it’s not.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">One night while I was pouting, Craig said, “Honey, you know, we’re <i>still</i> the Melton Pot.” And I rolled my eyes and said, “OH, C’MON<i>. NO WE’RE NOT</i>. <i>We’re Asian and white. We might be like a Melton <b>skillet</b> of some sort but we needed Africa to be a </i><b>Pot.</b> We are <b>So Not a Pot.</b> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Kay, fine. Not a Pot,</i> he said. <i>Sorry, hon.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway, skillets are fine, I guess. I’m just saying that adjusting to the recent changes in my life has been a little tougher than I thought it would be.<span> </span>There is something that I really, really wanted that I gave my all for and I ain’t gonna get it. Because of LYYYYME. Boo. I feel very five years old sometimes. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Like Tish. Tish is quite dramatic. And I am always telling her that sometimes she is so focused on what she doesn’t have that she misses all the wonderful things she does have. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Whenever I tell her this Craig raises his eyebrow at me. SO annoying.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But he’s right. I do that too. I feel sad that I didn’t get the new person I wanted to love, and so I overlook the hundreds of people God gave me to love. <i>YOU PEOPLE.</i> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">It’s crazy, really. I have this sickness (it’s back, of course) that doesn’t allow me to get out much, but<span> </span>God gave me this computer, and this community, so that I<span> </span>can reach out and STILL offer myself to the world. No matter what, He always gives us a way to stay open. <i>Stay open</i>. This is what I’m learning, <i>Stay Open By Any Means Necessary.</i> Do not allow anything that life throws at you to close your heart. Heart wide open. Always. No matter what. If you can do that, good things will come.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Today I want to talk about Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa . . . the December holidays.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I know, it’s not even Halloween, <b>one holiday at a time,</b> I know it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But we do Christmas preparations a little differently at the Melton Skillet, and it works for us. It is the Melton rule that all Christmas business . . . gift buying, wrapping, etc<span> </span>. . . is <i>done</i> by Thanksgiving. Yep, we miss some sales. But we also spend the month of December in peace, together, making memories instead of trips to the mall. Our minds are not full of to do lists and so stress is low. And since we tell the kids that Santa stops taking gift requests at Thanksgiving, they don’t spend all of December talking about what “they want.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Each of our kids gets <i>three gifts</i> and if there are ever any future complaints, we plan to ask them if they think they deserve more gifts than BABY JESUS GOT. ON BABY JESUS’ BIRTHDAY. After that, any further complaining will result in each child receiving <i>actual frankincense and myrrh</i> instead of Wii games and skateboards. Have fun with your spices, kiddos. That’s the plan.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/12/officer-superhero.html">Staying out of the stores in Decembe</a>r is healthy for our family in many, many ways. This year we’re shutting down the computers in December, too. So we have lots of work to get done at Momastery before the shut down happens.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Back to Monkeedom. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I love you. I <i>really do love you,</i> Monkees. I don’t express how much because I’m afraid of coming across as a dramatic, crazy, cheesy computer lady. But I really do. This community has saved me and made a believer out of me.<span> </span>This community has made me feel safer and braver and cozier out in the big world. You have changed me, supported me. You are like a world –wide family to me, which is the truth, right? We <i>are</i> a world- wide family. That’s how we should all feel. Cozier in the world.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I was watching a news story about the economy recently and there were many families talking about how they were going to have a hard time buying gifts for their children this year. Some said that having their usual Christmas dinner was not an option, because they didn’t have the money for the turkey and the stuffing and the yummy desserts. Some said they were worried about paying the heat bill during the holidays. One man said he just wanted to buy his wife a little necklace, a little something to show her how much her work at home meant to him, but he couldn’t. There just wasn’t any extra. None. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">All of this made me want to stick the fork I was holding directly into my eye. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Then I started thinking about how there are probably many <i>Monkee families</i> in these situations, and that made me want to put my fork down and start brainstorming. Because <i>no way, Jose.</i> Not on my watch. Not my Monkees. We might not be able to fix <i>everything,</i> but we can do <i>some things</i>. We can acknowledge each other’s needs, hear them, and then help each other in little ways, because we belong to each other.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">You know, I’d rather my kids have three Christmas gifts and your kids have three Chistmas gifts, than my kids have six gifts and your kids have no gifts.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And that’s the bottom line here, for me. And I bet it is for you, too. I think I <span class="Apple-style-span">know you well enough to know that you agree.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I figure that everyone reading this has a need this holiday.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Some of us don’t have enough this year. These Monkees need a hand putting food on the table and buying gifts for their kids. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Some of us have a little extra this year. These Monkees need to reach out to other families and share, in order to wake themselves up and connect and really experience what the holidays mean. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And some of us have <i>just enough. </i>These Monkees need to sit back and witness some miracles, to keep believing in people and love.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We<i> all</i> have needs. When we don’t share our needs, out of pride or fear of rejection, we deprive other people of fulfilling <i>their </i>needs. Sometimes we need to receive and sometimes we need to give. Seasons change. So please decide which type of Monkee you are <i>this year</i>, and participate accordingly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This is how I’m hoping this Love Extravaganza will work:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig and I would like to start the party off by offering checks for $75 to six Monkees who could use the money to make the holiday a little brighter for their families.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">SO: </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">If your family could use this money, <i>leave a comment</i> about how you will use it and then email me at momastery(at)gmail(dot)com with your address. Our check will arrive at your home by Nov 1. The end. No strings. Just tell your story, anonymously or not, <i>not</i> so we can judge how worthy you are of the money,<i> everyone </i>is worthy, just so we can know each other and love and understand each other better.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Now.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Obviously, I am expecting more than six requests. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That’s where you come in. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">If you are a Monkee who has some extra this year. . . read the comments. Find another Monkee who touches your heart and reply to her comment. Tell her <i>you</i> will help. Then you both email me and I’ll put you in touch. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><b><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">**Also…if you are a Monkee who would like to donate money to this cause and let me distribute it….email me. I’ll take care of that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">At this point you might ask yourself….how is all of this <i>really </i>gonna work? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Well, how could I possibly know that? </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m going to do this like I do everything else . . . I’m going to ANNOUNCE THAT IT IS HAPPENING and then wait for crazy things to start occurring and then I'm going to become completely overwhelmed with JOY AND PANIC and start crying and hide under my bed and then Craig will try to teach me to make a spread sheet and a Pay Pal account AGAIN and I will yell at him: <i>WHY DO YOU KEEP TRYING TO CHANGE ME??</i> and he will say <i>I am not trying to change you, I just think there are more efficient methods of record keeping than writing things on piles of used paper towels and scraps ripped off of Chase’s homework papers, </i>to which I will reply: GOOD GOD, THIS IS NO TIME FOR A LESSON ON CUTTING EDGE TECHNOLOGY. I AM JUST TRYING TO <i>BREATHE,</i> HERE. <span> </span>And then Craig will take the kids away, for their own well-being, and let me work for a couple days.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And it will all get done, <i>in spite of me</i> . . . the same way that this <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/12/hull-of-gift.html">Holiday Love Project</a> got done and <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/11/dear-evy.html">this Holiday Love Project</a> got done and<a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/10/fight-like-girl-guest-post-by-andrea.html"> this one</a> and <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/11/evy.html">THAT ONE</a> and everything else worth doing gets done. One deep breath and little miracle at a time.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And we will wrap all of this up by Thanksgiving, so that we can rest and celebrate, knowing that our sisters are cared for. And our sisters can rest and celebrate, knowing that their families are cared for.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That’s the plan. Help, please. All ideas welcome.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I LOVE YOU. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">GDo</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">PS. Thank You, <a href="http://thebloggess.com/2010/12/my-heart-grew-three-sizes-and-now-i-have-an-enlarged-heart-worth-it/">Bloggess,</a> for inspiring this idea, and so many others. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com226tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-4314629313660850002011-10-20T08:57:00.006-04:002011-10-20T09:07:39.110-04:00Joy - To the World<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">A Guest Post from Tova </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wzw1Yx2ygao/TqAaFQ_wlzI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/4y51ETNgDYs/s1600/JOY%2B3.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wzw1Yx2ygao/TqAaFQ_wlzI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/4y51ETNgDYs/s400/JOY%2B3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665557008996144946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sd_xKRWDX-I/TqAZ_DiZUfI/AAAAAAAAAFE/6OOHpk_h_do/s1600/JOY%2B2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Dearest Monkees,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Do you remember when Glennon and Andrea started <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/11/true.html">this auction</a> for Joy (Rocky at that time) and Evy? And then a friend joined in with a book sale? And prior that a friend auctioned an Ipad for us? And after this auction we raised another $1,400 by selling paperbead necklaces that had been donated. And then, we received an adoption grant of $10,000.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Yup.<br /><br />That all really, really happened.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />You need to understand that adopting Joy was a complete and total leap in faith. I remember emailing with Glennon and mentioning to her that I felt like we had no business starting this adoption because I felt like we had none of the resources needed.<br /><br /><br />And we didn't.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />No savings, no investments, no loans available, no credit available. Heck, we STILL have our adoption loan from our first adoption. We managed to save and fundraise our way through our second adoption. It was such a gift.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span">I had no faith for a third adoption. I figured we had maxed out our resources. All of them.<br />We had those moments where adoption payments needed to be made and we literally didn't have the money.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />And it came. Every single time. Surprise gifts from friends. Organized fundraising. The grant. This is the first time we are drowning in debt after an adoption. We are flat ass broke and about a month behind, but I am fine with that because it feels so good compared to what we've experienced in the past.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />If you think that I was the faithful, peaceful and trusting adoptive mama through this, you are wrong. I hedged all my bets. Did all the fundraising saying that if this didn't work we would give the money to another family or return it to people.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />The process of adopting Joy brought pain. Struggle. Fear. Questioning.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />As you might remember, Joy has HIV. We were asked by our agency to consider adopting her. They did everything they could to make it possible for us.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />We had relatives freak out. People said the dumbest, most thoughtless things. I wrestled a lot. With what we were doing. To our finances, our existing children, our community.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />There were two things that kept me facing towards Joy.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />1. The question was 'is this harder for me, or is facing the possibility of my child not getting adequate medical care harder?'</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />2. Can I do this? Can I raise my daughter to be kind and gracious, but firm, in the face of some of the most stupid, stubborn ignorance that I've ever seen? In order to do that, I had to learn to be kind and gracious, but firm.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />The first question required more wrestling than I care to admit. But it really was the easy one.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /><br />The second one? That required a lot of support. Some from my counselor who walked me through appropriate and allowable responses to different people's comments. This was an amazing experience for me and impacted all aspects of my life. I had friends who let me bitch, whine, complain and rage. And I have <span style="font-style: italic; ">this</span> community that tells me over and over to <span style="font-style: italic; ">'look for the good'</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; ">'try not to be a jerk'</span>, that <span style="font-style: italic; ">'We belong to each other' </span>and that being gracious is a huge gift. That looking beyond the stupidity and ignorance often leads to healing and redemption.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">And it's all true.<br /><br />At one point we had enough reasons to justify leaving our church. People suggested we do that. But I got stubborn. And maybe a tiny bit tired. We stayed put. We kept trying to talk and to listen. It's not been perfect, but the overwhelming majority are supportive and wonderful. That would not have existed if I had left when it was just overwhelmingly horrible. That's what this Monkee community has given me. Stories from all of you to lean on. To hold onto. Stories of staying still, stopping to listen, or just taking that one more uncomfortable step.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /><br />So, thank you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br />Going to Africa to bring Joy home was excruciatingly difficult as I have a PTSD diagnosis that results from a home invasion/hostage situation I was in the last time I was in Africa.<br />Going to bring her home was the bravest thing I've ever done. I could have stayed at home, but I knew I would regret that more than pushing through the fear.<br /><br />It was fantastic. Our trip was hard, but I was both strong and vulnerable. I was present for my new daughter. I found a lot of personal healing on my trip. There was a lot of weeping, but so, so much joy.<br /><br />And she is.<br /><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E0YCReMrL4U/TqAZ7CV1irI/AAAAAAAAAE4/WzzPvigjwms/s400/JOY%2B1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665556833263520434" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></span><div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i>Since coming home I have watched my little peanut win hearts, break down big huge grown men, and crumble people's fears and hardness. I literally watched one person who was dead set against her, start to cry when seeing her for the first time.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Our child is so special. This is brought home to us again and again. The nurse at her Children's Home told us that they called her their miracle child because they almost lost her. Her pediatrician here, told us at her last visit, that she cannot explain why this child is alive or doesn't have massive brain damage. That her medical records show three times when most other children would have died. That she does not understand how this is possible.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />But she is. She is healthy, happy, thriving, getting chubby, and mentally, emotionally, and physically on target. Not one medical professional has been able to explain her. She is now labeled as technically HIV + but unable to transmit. How's that for shifting people's preconceptions?<br /><br /><br />This makes my heart so glad. I've learned so much on this journey, grown a tremendous amount, discovered strength I had no idea I had, learned that vulnerability is the baddest ass strength of all, and done so much healing.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Thanks Monkees, wish you could all come over for a cup of tea and meet her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sd_xKRWDX-I/TqAZ_DiZUfI/AAAAAAAAAFE/6OOHpk_h_do/s400/JOY%2B2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665556902304109042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nSPkfw0CC4w/TqAaLBQIhbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/BQ2U44W-GJ8/s400/JOY%2B4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665557107849070002" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Note from G:</span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Hm. If Toves hadn't <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/05/handing-you-my-hearta-guest-post-from.html">made herself vulnerable here</a> . . . we would've missed all of this Joy. Hm. Hmmmm.</span></i></span></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">God Bless You, Tova.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-24490288034809009172011-10-08T08:48:00.008-04:002011-10-13T20:41:11.926-04:00STOP DOING ANYTHING<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So - the past month has been pretty bad, I’m not going to lie. I mean, <i>I did </i>lie, like all day, every day, in my cozy bed. One weekend I went to bed at eleven am on Saturday morning and woke up at six pm on Sunday. I was really, really, super sick. <span> </span>Scary sick.<span> </span>We figured that my Lyme was becoming dramatically worse. Craig and I were looking for nannies because I couldn’t care for the kids anymore. We let the adoption go. We adjusted to the idea of playing one man down. We did our best to stay positive, but we were scared.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I saw my doctor last week. When she came into the examination room I was curled up in a ball on the table and couldn’t even raise my head to say hello.<span> </span>Her face looked pained and she said, “Oh, baby,” and she put her hand on my forehead. I thought that was really nice. Doctors should do more of this sort of thing, I think. Then she said, in a nutshell – “<i>You look awful. All your shine is gone. Something is wrong with your medication. This isn’t Lyme. <span> </span>Your body is shutting down because it can’t process your oodles of antibiotics anymore. Let’s stop everything for a few days and see if you feel better, and then if you do, we’ll cut your meds in half.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I woke up the next day feeling like a million bucks. Literally. The first thing I did, obvi, was go shopping. Craig came home and saw all the bags in the foyer and said, without gusto, “y<i>ay</i>. you’re better. yaaaay.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I <i>am</i> better. I mean, I still have Lyme, but I’m my old Lymie self, which is to say that I’m pretty much normal with added confusion, absolutely no depth perception and extreme bouts of fatigue when it’s time to vacuum or grocery shop or bathe the kids. And I’m so grateful.<br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]--></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But I’m also extremely grateful that I got so sick for those two months. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Each morning for the past few weeks, I have peeked out my door with giddy anticipation to discover a gift on my doorstep. Candles, inspirational poetry, organic fruit, stationary, gift cards, cozy pink socks that I’m wearing right now. Each gift came with a note that said some variation of . . . <i>You are loved. We’re praying for you. Love, Anonymous.</i> My neighbors. They got together and planned a Love Ambush for me. <i>I just moved to this neighborhood last year. </i><span> </span>It just amazes me. <span> </span>And it <i>helped </i>me. Just to know that I was literally surrounded by all that anonymous hope and love. And that I didn’t even have to write thank you notes because the gifts were anonymous. <span> </span>I’m a grateful person and a writer, but I <i>despise</i> writing thank you notes. How’d they know? I was thinking yesterday- if I hadn’t gotten so sick, I wouldn’t even <i>know</i> where I live. I wouldn’t be aware of how beautiful this place is, and the people in it. I might not be bursting at the seams to pay it forward, to find the next hurting mama and plan Love Ambush #2. I now have new eyes with which to look at my neighbors, who are <i>miracles</i>. Thank you, Lyme.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig and I started marriage therapy two weeks ago. It’s been hard, but good hard. We feel new- like we’re starting over.<span> </span>We needed this, bad. Craig’s been a single parent for a bit and he’s been scared. It’s taken a toll on him, but he wouldn’t admit it before- he was so busy being hopeful and strong. He’s a hero, I think. We are fine, but we don’t want to be fine. We want to be great. Like my friend said, we don’t want to just be good <i>people,</i> we want to be <i>good partners to each other.</i> And I have a husband who wants this as badly as I do, and who is willing to work and fight for it. But we wouldn’t have known this if my illness hadn’t forced us to face our fears. I now have new eyes with which to look at my husband, who is a miracle. Thank you, Lyme.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I put my kids to bed last night. I know it’s supposed to be precious time - bedtime, but I usually hate it. I read and sing and finally get them down and then they pop up one at a time for an hour and it’s like a twisted game of whack-a-mole. <span> </span>But last night I didn’t hate it. I loved reading to them and singing to them. Because it was the first night in two months that I’d had the energy to put them to bed. To tuck them in. And it was sort of wonderful. I’ve been given new eyes with which to see what an honor it is to care for little souls and hearts and minds. Miracle, really. Thanks, Lyme.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And the Monkees . . . Oh, you Monkees. All your comments and love and emails and encouragement and understanding. One of you sent me a book that is saving me right now. And a beautiful sign that says, “Look For the Good” in decadent hot pink calligraphy. I plan to follow directions. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Now - <span> </span>losing the adoption. Trying to get perspective on that one is interesting. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We explained to Chase that it was <i>over</i> a few nights ago. That there was no baby boy coming home. That God had said nope. We explained that we didn’t know if it was actually a <i>No. </i>or a <i>Not Yet</i>. But we told him that either way, we were fine and hope he’d be fine, too. We told him we were already the luckiest family on Earth and we didn’t need anything other than what we already had.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Chase sighed and said, “Mommy, this doesn’t seem to be working out for us. Maybe we should just adopt a highway.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">For the record- this is my favorite thing that anyone has ever said to me in my whole life, and I am currently researching whether one must pass a background check to adopt a highway. I can see it, honestly. All the Meltons in orange vests, picking up trash on the side of the road. I might rope us all together like a chain gang. I hope we get our own sign: This highway Has Been Adopted by The Meltons. Too perfect.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">There is actually a whole lot of beauty in letting the adoption go, and I’m finding it. <span> </span>Look For The Good, right, Molls? The baby would have taken up all the energy and time and love that I can now offer to the people I already have. The people I’ve grown new eyes for. My parents, my friends, my neighbors, my husband, my children, my Monkees, myself. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Something about the past two months has shifted my perspective dramatically, for now.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m a spaz. I just am. I’ve lived my entire life, up to now, as a complete spaz. The voices in my head are always going a mile a minute and I’m just <i>all over the place</i>. I’m well intentioned, and <i>sweetly </i>all over the place, but still. It’s exhausting to be me, and sometimes I feel like a hamster on a wheel. Like God just gives me projects to use up my energy so I don’t explode or drive people too nuts. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I need to find a way to channel my energy into peace, because I deserve that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So. I am going to stop trying to save the world, and instead use my energy to notice how beautiful the world is <i>just as it is.</i> It occurred to me recently that saving the world might not be my job. It occurred to me that my only real job might be to slow down and notice the world, <i>to</i> <i>be amazed by it.</i> It’s almost too good to be true, but it might just <i>be true.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So I think I’m going to try, for the next year, to live with the belief that <i>the world is all right.</i> This is a tough paradigm shift for me to attempt. Because I usually think, one million times a day…<i>Oh My God, the world is falling apart, the world needs my help. I MUST HELP. EVERYONE NEEDS ME</i>! <b><i>AAAAHHHH!!</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; "><b><i><br /></i></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This, as I reflect upon it, might be the teeniest bit egotistical.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And with the lost adoption and the Lyme and all the confusion and Anna and <i>huh?</i> I just feel exactly like Homer Simpson, in one of my favorite scenes ever, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5CZ58CBGtg">when he’s tripping on magic peppers.</a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I just need to Stop Doing Anything for awhile.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I just want to look around. Love my neighbors. Get to know people. Listen, look, breathe. Appreciate my blessings instead of trying desperately to create new ones. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">In short - I need to <i><b>calm down.</b> </i>Which may be my biggest challenge to date.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m excited. But not TOO excited. <i>Calllllmmmmlllly </i>excited.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m off to do my yoga and then spend my day soaking up my blessings. Looking, listening, breathing, smiling. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Remembering that the world is all right and that it is my privilege, as a child of God, to soak it all up fearlessly. <span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">The world is a gift to me, not my problem to solve.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, G </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-31763417833329234372011-10-04T09:52:00.005-04:002011-10-13T20:42:27.945-04:00Hello Lovies.<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">You are now entering <i>Cliché City.</i> You’ve been warned. When the goin’ gets tough, the Doyle/Meltons fling around clichés.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Today I thought I’d try to answer the <i>G, how are you doing? </i>questions. Thank you so much for caring.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">About the loss of the adoption- so far, I’m actually fine. It’s funny, you want all of these things, and then you get sick and you realize that the only thing you really want is to be healthy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">It’s true that every once in a while I feel a little flabbergasted, when I consider the hours and days we spent on paperwork and the nights of lost sleep and the thousands of dollars and tears and prayers that we’ve used up on this adoption during the past two years. It’s strange to just - all of a sudden - walk away. It tempts me to wonder if all of it was wasted. But deep down I don’t think that any of our efforts to love or to follow our dreams are wasted. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">One time an American visited Mother Teresa in Calcutta and looked around at the hundreds of people dying in the streets and he said to her, “You’ll never save all of them. You’ll never even make a dent. How do you continue this work when you know you won’t be successful?” And Mama T looked at him and smiled and said, “I am not called to be successful. I am called to be faithful.” And I think that’s a good thing for us to remember. <span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">One of my best friends, Jess, sent me a prayer recently about how in the West, we are so focused on goals, on results, on outcomes. But we can’t control outcomes, almost ever, so that’s probably a waste of time.<span> </span>I think we can only be <i>faithful,</i> today, to ourselves and to our families . . . to our friends and our dreams, and at the end of the day, we have to let it all go. We have to quit worrying about what becomes of it all and just be grateful we had the guts to do our little part, as we understood it. <span> </span>And we have to try to remember that it’s better to travel than to arrive, anyway. <span> </span>I think I was <i>faithful</i> for the past two (six) years to what I thought God wanted me to do. I spent my whole mind, soul, and strength on that dream. And so I feel pleased with that effort, and I won’t judge the outcome. It’s okay. I’m a different person than I was when I started this adoption journey, and maybe that’s the point anyway.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">It helps me to see stories <a href="http://cassadas.blogspot.com/">LIKE THESE:</a> to see my friends who started this adoption journey at the same time I did and are home now, raising their Rwandan angels. And to watch <a href="http://hendrychfamily.blogspot.com/">this story unfold.</a>..one of our own...a MONKEE.. in Rwanda, picking up her baby right now, as you read this. As I read these stories - through tears of joy and loss - I am reminded that when and if it’s supposed to happen, <i>it does.</i> There are no mistakes. I did not fall through the cracks, it just wasn’t meant to be for me. Not now. If it’s God’s plan, nothing can stop it, and if it’s not God’s plan, there is nothing you can do to make it happen. <i>Trust me.</i> I've tried everything. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>And still - The universe is unfolding as it should.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">My dad used to say to me: Life is what happens when we’re making other plans.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m not sure I really believed that completely. I sort of thought that you could write your own story. Make your own plan, make it happen. Nah- I thought. Life is not <i>what happens to you</i>….life is <i>what you make it.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But now, in the fallout of the adoption and the Lyme and on and on . . . I have come to believe that both are true. I think <i>Life is what you make out of what happens to you</i>. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Lyme is what is happening to me right now….and I am GOING to turn it into something good, something<span> </span>beautiful and helpful.<span> </span>I read this quote recently . . . <span> </span><i>people can tolerate suffering, but not meaninglessness.</i><span> </span>That’s how I feel right now. It’s fine . . . I’ll be sick, I’ll heal, I’ll let a few dreams go in the meantime. I’m a big girl and I know that nobody promised me that life would be easy. But I’m not letting any of it go to waste. I am<i> going to make it all mean something</i>. Someday.<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe not today, cause I’m too freaking tired.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’ve never experienced anything like what Lyme’s done to me during the past month. I wake up tired, and I spend my morning tired, and then around 2 o’clock I feel as if someone has placed one of those heavy bibs they use for dental x-rays on top of me, and all I can do is crawl up the stairs to bed. And when I get to bed, sometimes I’m too tired to reach for a pillow, or to roll over. <i>Too tired to roll over.</i> It’s true.<span> </span>A couple of times I actually thought . . . I’m dying, I am <i>definitely </i>dying right now. I have what seems to be <i>out of body experiences.</i> My body feels so heavy that my soul seems to hover above. And during these near death experiences I always have two thoughts: OH GOD. They are going to come to take me away and everyone’s going to see how filthy the bathtub is. And also, if Craig remarries someone who can cook I will be <i>so pissed</i>. I will <i>HAUNT THEM.</i> <span> </span>I will mess up all her casseroles.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t know why these are the deepest thoughts I can muster when I’m near death, I’m just telling the truth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So anyway, this Lyme Time has sort of brought me back full circle. I feel like a baby sometimes. I am learning how to take care of myself, maybe for the first time ever. I spent the first half of my life tearing apart my body, then the second making and feeding little bodies, and now, for the first time, I’m learning how to help <i>my own body and soul</i> thrive and grow. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So that’s what I’m doing over here these days. I decided to stop saying “I’m sick” and start saying “I’m healing.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This is how I’m going to make sense of all of this – make it mean something.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Through my own healing process, I plan to learn <i>what people need to heal</i>. Because I believe that all suffering is the same, and that we all suffer from something. Disease, abuse, shame, depression, pride, anger, stress, loss, hopelessness, loneliness and on and on and on forever. And I think we all need healing. Every last one of us.<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So I think that if I can heal, if I can unlock the keys to healing for myself, that I’ll be able to help you, too. I don’t really understand that plan completely yet, but that’s my plan nonetheless.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So far: this is what I’ve got. I’ve got a sign in my kitchen that says:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Deep Breaths</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Take your medicine</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Feed yourself</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Water</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Fresh Air</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sun</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bath</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Friends</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yoga</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Pray</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That’s all I’ve got so far. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">What are you healing from? And what helps you heal? Let’s help each other.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-2185808771924454842011-10-01T08:14:00.006-04:002011-10-13T20:40:48.790-04:00Who's On First?<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px; ">You know these little bags that the Lupus foundation sends in the mail? <span> </span>Great. <span> </span>Hold that thought.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rQMQfdhvrp4/TocEKgJnmSI/AAAAAAAAC9c/Vr3mJz1XwQk/s400/LUPUS.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658496035289798946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I4kWHvto6-k/TocEcL3MefI/AAAAAAAAC9k/E2fEAFpjSyQ/s1600/LUPUS%2B2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I4kWHvto6-k/TocEcL3MefI/AAAAAAAAC9k/E2fEAFpjSyQ/s400/LUPUS%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658496339081460210" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Recent Melton Marital Conversation:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: <span> </span>Glennon, why do we still have these things in the pantry?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: The Lupus bags?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: <span> </span>Yeah. They’ve been in here for years. We have 27 of them now. Are we ever going to <i>do </i>anything with them?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: I don’t know. I don’t want to throw them away, but they probably won’t be yummy anymore. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: Um. What?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: I don’t know. They’re pretty old.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: <span> </span><i>Oookay</i>. Well, do we have anything to donate?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: Huh? Donate?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: Yeah, I mean, we should use these. We should donate something. That’s what they’re <i>for.</i> Why are we just collecting them in our pantry?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: You think the Lupus foundation wants me to <i>donate </i>them?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: Not donate THEM, donate something IN them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: What? How? Donate them to <i>who?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: <i>TO THE LUPUS FOUNDATION.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: Wait. The Lupus foundation wants me to donate the popcorn they <i>gave</i> me <i>BACK</i> to the Lupus foundation? </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: Silence.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: That’s weird. Fine, what do I do, just leave all the popcorn on the porch? Will they come pick it up? What do they <i>do </i>with it? Why did they send it to me in the first place if they just want it all back?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: Silence.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Glennon: What the hell? What? <i>WHAT? What is going on??</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><br /></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Craig: <i>Jesus, honey.</i> It’s not popcorn. <i>It’s not popcorn, Glennon.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><br /></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Thanks for nothing, Tricky Lupus Foundation.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">*Craig has sworn to God that he will not discuss these sorts of conversations with our therapist.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">Happy Weekend, Monkees.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%">G</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><br /></p></div><div><br /></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-58711966341189419132011-09-29T10:04:00.005-04:002011-10-13T20:43:09.162-04:00Take Two or...Got an Hour?<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Dear Anonymous,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Tish’s fish, Sadie, died last week. We’ve been through the passing of a fish before, but this time was special. My little man, Chase, experienced what I can only describe as an existential crisis. He cried and shook and begged me for answers . . . for two hours. He said things like, <i>It’s not about Sadie, mom. It’s that everything we love is going die. How do we survive that?</i> <span> </span>And - <i>I know what you’re going to say about heaven, mom, <span> </span>but how do you <b>know</b> it’s real? <span> </span>You <b>don’t.</b> And I don’t know if I can believe it. </i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span> </span>I didn’t offer many brilliant answers to my baby’s brilliant questions. But I was grateful to be able to tell him truthfully that <i>Yes</i>, I believe that there is some sort of heaven, though I doubt it’s like anything we’ve heard described. When he asked <i>how</i> I believed l told him that I believe because I <i>have</i> to - because if I didn’t believe, the terror that was gripping his heart, the terror of losing the people I love forever would overtake me and I’d have no joy or hope and I’d die inside. I told him that I believe because I have no other choice, because I was made to believe, because if I didn’t believe in life after death I wouldn’t be able to live life before death. I’d panic and then freeze. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">When he asked me what I believed heaven was like, I told him that I believe heaven is a place where everyone loves each other perfectly. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">When he asked me, <i>Why, mom? Why does God send us here, where things hurt so much? Why does He make us love things that He knows we’re just going to lose?</i> I told him that we don’t love people and animals because we will have them forever, we love them because loving them changes us, makes us better, healthier, kinder, real-er . . . stronger in the right ways and weaker in the right ways. Even if animals and people leave, even if they die- they leave us <i>better</i>. So we keep loving, even though we might lose, because loving teaches us, changes us. And that’s what we’re here to do. <span> </span>God sends us here to learn how to be better lovers, and to learn how to be loved, so we’ll be prepared for heaven.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">When I finished this part, Chase looked right into my eyes and his tears cleared for a moment and he said, “Yes. I can believe that part. That sounds right. I believe that.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And I agreed. I thought - Wow. <i>Yes,</i> that’s actually what I believe. I can <i>buy </i>all of that stuff I just said. That sounds <i>True</i> to me, thank God.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anonymous, I am trying to become more loving down here. I am trying to learn. And you, willing or not, have been a teacher for me. I want to apologize for <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/09/hard.html">my response to you.</a> It<i> was</i> a great essay. It really was. But this place has never been about great essays. This place is about Love. And I have learned that sometimes I have to leave a great essay unwritten in order to love better. Because it is better to be kind than to be “right.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">If I speak with the tongues of men and angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">As I read and re-read my response to your comment, Anonymous, I realized that I must have sounded pretty clangy to you. Because what I did was <i>announce that I was going to turn the other cheek</i>, and then <i>didn’t</i>. At all.<span> </span>What I <i>did</i>, actually, was defend myself and then sweetly judge and attack you. My least favorite part was when I wrote <i>“people like you.”</i> I don’t even <i>believe </i>in <i>people like you</i> and <i>people like me.</i> I just believe in people. I’m sorry for using those divisive and unfair words.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">To be clear, I don’t regret writing that essay, just like I wouldn’t change what you said. I don’t spend a lot of time beating myself up and I hope you haven’t either. I’m grateful for this whole process. We needed to go through all of it to get to <i>here. </i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But now I know I <i>didn’t </i>really listen for the love in what you said. I listened for the judgment, so that’s what I found. Seems to be how it works…<i>seek and you shall find.</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">If I’d <i>really</i> turned the other cheek, I would have simply tried to explain to you <i>why</i> I want to adopt, which is so hard for me to put into words, but would have made for an even better, kinder, truer essay. Less sassy, but better.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anonymous, I am so in love with this brutiful world that I feel torn up a lot of the time. I find people to be so beautiful, so strong and this world to be such a painful mess for the brave people who live here. I tend to take on the pain of others as my own pain, because I believe it IS my own pain. Because I really, truly believe that we all belong to each other. I believe that heaven, at first, will be a <i>revealing,</i> a lifting of the fog when we will look back down on Earth and see that we were in fact, one big family. And that <i>hell </i>will be seeing that and knowing that while living our lives, we let our brothers and sisters and mothers and father suffer and starve and die, while we had more than we needed. That will be hell, I think, for awhile. Knowing the truth. Knowing we let our own family members die. But then God will wipe our tears, and forgive us, and make everything new, and redeem us all. And we’ll heal, and become whole and enter our eternal family with forgiveness and understanding and love for all.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That is my interpretation of Matthew 25:33.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And so I just want to be part of my eternal family <i>now.</i> I love being a mama, and I love other mothers. I am awed by our strength and sacrifices and bottomless love and passion and courage. And I don’t understand why I get to raise my babies and some mamas don’t. Why I have every resource I need and <i>more, more, more</i> and some mamas, dying of AIDS, have to travel miles in bare feet to beg for medicine for their starving babies. Babies whom they love and cherish every bit as much as I love and cherish mine. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Thinking about this disparity drives me close to what I would consider the edge of insanity. I hate it. I don’t understand. And I feel compelled to <i>do something,</i> to show my love for and solidarity with these women, these mamas who are <i>just like me</i>. And so I think, I can’t do what I want to do, which is to fix things, to make things fair so that these mamas can raise their own damn babies. But I<i> can</i> give one of their babies a home. I can offer one of these mama’s babies every good thing I have- which is my husband and my children and my home and my faith and my friends and my joy and my hope. I can <i>do </i>that part, I can beg God to use <i>me</i> to answer another mama’s prayers. I can care for her baby since she can’t. I can be part of the <i>second best thing</i>. And I can love that baby and raise him to know how much his first mama loved him too, and when I get to heaven I can put that baby into her waiting arms, because I’ll know her, and she’ll know me, and we will finally be a whole family.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And all of this- it still doesn’t describe completely or precisely why I want to adopt. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">There is a book I love, called <u>Pillars of the Earth</u>. In it there is a man named Tom, whose dream it is to build a cathedral. He sacrifices everything -his family’s money, future, security, even health to realize his dream. Some people, even in his own family, decide that he’s a foolish, selfish, crazy man.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">When he finally gets his big break and the man who holds the power to make Tom’s dream come true asks him: <i>Why?</i> <i>Why do you want this so badly? Why have you sacrificed everything to build this cathedral?</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Tom replies:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Because it will be beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That’s my real reason, Anonymous. I want to adopt because <i>it will be beautiful,</i> to me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">That’s why I’ll never be an adoption advocate, which has been requested of me several times. Because I don’t believe that everyone should adopt. I believe that everyone should discover what she finds to be most beautiful and then create it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So anyway, that’s what I should have said, Anonymous. I should have tried to bridge the gap of understanding between us instead of building a bigger wall. I should have explained instead of defended.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Also, Anonymous.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I may have been extra sensitive for this reason: <span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig and I had to make the horrible decision of letting our adoption go last week. We were as close as a family can possibly get to bringing our baby boy home, but we had to say <i>no, we’re sorry- we can’t.</i> Please give our baby to another family. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">My health, it’s getting worse instead of better- and there was a bit of an intervention from some people I love.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i>Glennon- you’re sick. You’re barely making it through the day. You can’t do this. You must take care of yourself and the family you already have. You must heal.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">It was quite familiar to me, actually. I’ve been through a similar intervention before. <span> </span>That one was tough to hear too, but necessary. Good things came of it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: medium; ">But you can imagine, Anonymous. It’s been hard. After all these years.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">It’s been hard, but not impossible. <a href="http://www.aninchofgray.blogspot.com/">I have a friend who’s doing impossible</a>, and I know the difference. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We have some emptiness now, Anonymous. Empty space in our hearts where we thought that baby would be, an empty nursery, empty time, empty plans where shopping and decorating and nesting used to be.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But if there is one thing I’ve learned about <i>empty</i>, it’s that <i>empty </i>can be more exciting and ripe with promise than <i>full</i>. There is space, now. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">What will come fill it? What will enter our lives? What’s next? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I hope that healing comes next. From this loss and from my disease. I hope that I will learn what healing <i>is,</i> what it means, what it looks like, and that I will be able to share the whole healing process with you. Because we are all healing, right? So we might as well do it together.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love You, Anonymous sister.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">G</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-64088831979085288712011-09-24T10:10:00.008-04:002012-01-14T07:04:57.163-05:00Hard<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This way of life - living <i>out loud</i> - <span> </span>is hard. It’s good, in many, many ways - but it’s hard, too. Most of the people who read this blog don’t know me, but many do. And it’s hard, sometimes, on the people who know me. <span> </span>It’s hard on my family, and my friends. Sometimes I wonder if it’s hard on my poor neighbors, who have to know SO MUCH about us. When I see them outside and they say, “How are you?” It’s funny, because they already know. It makes us closer and further apart somehow- I don’t know. At this point, when I meet a new neighbor- I know immediately, by her face, whether she reads the blog or not. It’s weird. When one of them invites me to coffee, I want to say, “Perfect- could you bring along four hundred extremely personal essays about your life so we can start on even ground?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway – I think living out loud is the hardest on <i>me</i>. I mostly love writing this blog, it serves me, heals me, and it satisfies the creative cat constantly clawing at my insides, trying to get out. It helps me make sense of things, holds me accountable to myself. Forces me out of my cozy, dangerous hiding places. Usually, I crave writing time because it makes me feel good. But sometimes it doesn’t - sometimes I don’t want to write at all – like today - but I still do. I write when I don’t want to write because I have learned that my writing helps my readers. And so I feel a responsibility, a calling, to keep showing up and keep telling the truth about my life and heart and struggles. But it’s not easy.<span> </span>It is not easy at all to allow yourself to be so vulnerable. But this is how I have come to understand that I’m supposed to love the world, right now. So I do it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Loving tirelessly - <i>doing your job</i> - is hard. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I wrote an essay about <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/08/sacraments.html">Beyonce, about sacraments,</a> last week and in it I mentioned that I believe I have four children, and that one of them is in Africa.<span> </span>Someone read that post and left this comment. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:6.0pt;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:6.0pt; margin-left:0in;line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anonymous said...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:9.0pt; margin-left:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Hi Glennon... may I make a gentle reminder that you DO have four children? Please don't discount the one you chose not to raise on this earth. I'm wondering if that's part of your desire to adopt, to make up for that decision?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:24.0pt; margin-left:.5in;line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1.2pt; "><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2011/08/sacraments.html?showComment=1316389951386#c4120735822878949815" title="comment permalink"><span style="color:#0D8F63">SEPTEMBER 18, 2011 7:52 PM</span><span style="color:#0D8F63;text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"> </span></a></span><span style="background:white"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/delete-comment.g?blogID=4132726617541356401&postID=4120735822878949815" title=""Delete Comment" "><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(13, 143, 99); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1.2pt; text-decoration: none; "><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_7" spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="http://www.blogger.com/img/icon_delete13.gif" href="http://www.blogger.com/delete-comment.g?blogID=4132726617541356401&postID=4120735822878949815" title=""Delete Comment"" style="'width:9.75pt;height:9.75pt;" button="t"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Glennon\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.gif" title="icon_delete13"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span><img border="0" width="13" height="13" src="file:///C:/Users/Glennon/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif" alt="http://www.blogger.com/img/icon_delete13.gif" shapes="Picture_x0020_7" /></span><!--[endif]--></span></a></span><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1.2pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">The commenter left it anonymously, as is her right. She left it hidden there at the end of the comments section so that not many people, other than me, would read it. I wanted to bring it out into the light today. It’s always, always better to bring darkish things into the light. They become less scary.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">When I first read this comment, I felt …<i>creeped out.</i> Like I had looked down at my bright shiny sparkly heart and found a hairy, poisonous spider crawling all over it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Obviously, the commenter is referring to something quite personal that I shared two years ago, in the <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-testimony.html">Testimony that I gave to my church</a>. She’s referring to my abortion. This stranger thought it was okay to bring this up two years later, publicly, attach it to my adoption, and suggest that my family’s effort to adopt a child is no more than an attempt to escape and redeem the guilt she assumed I must feel as a result of my abortion. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">My, my, my.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">First- Let us be clear, she had every right to make this comment. At Momastery, most of us have agreed to an unwritten rule that we don’t use the truths I tell against me. But no one’s forced to follow this unwritten rule.<span> </span>I walk onto this field everyday without armor or weapons, by choice, and so the risk is that every once in awhile, someone will ignore the rules and shoot, and I’ll be hit. It’s the way it goes. It happens. Usually privately, through email. <span> </span>But it seemed time for you, my Lovies, to know that it <i>does</i> happen. It hurts, and it always, always makes me want to quit writing this blog. <span> </span>But I don’t. When I want to shut off my computer, take my life back as my own, curl up into a protective roly-poly ball, I don’t. I come back here because I want to keep loving and remaining open, even though neither love nor openness are easy. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">This is why each time someone says they can’t do the Monkee thing because they’re not into the “warm fuzzy, sticky sweet love thing” I want to say HUH? Trust me, <i>Momastery love</i> <i>is not warm fuzzy sticky sweet love.</i> It’s <b>tough as nails</b> love. It’s having your heart ripped out, putting it back together, and offering it back to the same world that just tore it up…the next day. It's running toward pain and grief and brokenness instead of away from it. <span> </span>It's turning the other cheek till you get whiplash. It’s resisting the overwhelming desire to quit, to save yourself <i>for </i>yourself. It’s exhausting and uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s ugly, like using your bare hands to search for gold in piles of crap. BUT WARM AND FUZZY, STICKY AND SWEET - IT’S <b>NOT.</b> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So, anyway. When I read this comment, I had many reactions, none of which I will discuss here. In general, I was surprised, creeped, angry…but less so than I’d have been a year ago, which makes me think I might be getting better at this. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I try to live my life the same way that a carpenter who lived two thousand years ago lived his. <span> </span>Once he stood on a hill top and explained how to <i>love well</i> to a huge group of people hanging onto his every word, shocked by the countercultural ideas he suggested aloud. And recognizing it as The Truth. He was telling them nothing new, actually. He was just reminding them of everything that was already written onto their hearts. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">The first time I read the things Jesus said about love, it all rang so true to me that my heart about exploded. It rang hard, but true. Jesus said that when someone hurts you, you should turn the other cheek. He said that you should love the one that hurt you, and you should turn the other cheek over and over and over again. Seven times seventy- seventy times, I think. I’ve been writing this blog for over two years, so I think I’ve gotta be getting close to that number. Let’s just say that the five hundredth and thirty ninth person who tries to hurt my feelings is going to get her ASS KICKED.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But anonymous, you are not lucky five hundred and thirty nine. So, since my Jesus insists, I must turn the other cheek. The beautiful thing about turning the other cheek is that it forces you to break eye contact with the person who has slapped you, and this little turn changes your perspective. Now, all of sudden, you are looking away, forward, to something better, more beautiful, and your heartbeat settles, and your palms stop sweating.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So here I am. I’ve turned. I have a new perspective. I have tried to do what my friend Meghan often suggests, which is to “listen for the love” in what’s said to me. And so I am going to try to answer your pseudo-question, anonymous, with love.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I have no doubt that my abortion has something to do with my desire to adopt. As does my parents’ teachings that we belong to each other, and my Sister’s passion for the powerless, and my gift at mothering, and the extra money and other resources that God’s given me to steward, and my faith, and my<span> </span>relationship with my husband, and my teaching experiences with underprivileged children, and on and on and on. I, and my dreams,<span> </span>are the sum total of everything that has ever happened to me and everyone I’ve ever met and every book I’ve ever read and every song I’ve sung and every friend I’ve loved, and every mistake I’ve made. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">So, I would be silly to pretend to be certain that the two <span> </span>- abortion and adoption - are entirely unrelated<i>. Everything is related to everything, obviously.</i> I <i>will </i>tell you that I’ve been discussing my passion for adoption since high school, years before I knew that abortion would become part of my life. So clearly the direct correlation you’re trying to make is wrong.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I would also like to address your suggestion that through adoption, I’d be assuaging my guilt for my abortion.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Please,</i> let us address that presumption here. Anonymous: Let me be clear<b><i>. I don’t have any shame about my abortion</i></b>. None. I know that’s hard for people like you to hear, because if you are a Christian and abortion has been a part of your life, you are supposed to beat your chest and gnash your teeth forever and repent for the rest of your life and then join crusades to end abortion by any means necessary, and speak through tears to large and small groups of people and swear to them that abortion was the worst mistake you’ve ever made and explain that you pray for your dead baby in heaven every night. THEN<i> </i>your sinner-self will be embraced by Christian society and used as a poster girl. Literally, likely. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But I won’t say or do any of that that, ever. Because none of that is true, <i>for me</i>. I know it’s true for some, and I respect that Each has her own path. But it’s not true for me. I did the best I could at the time with the resources I felt I had.. I’ve apologized, yes-<span> </span>but mostly to myself. I feel sad sometimes for the lost girl I was and I am fiercely protective of that precious me who had to go through that scary day and the days that preceded and followed. Far from ashamed, I’m really, quite, quite proud of her for making it through. I don’t feel ashamed. I feel forgiven and whole and I know that God never let go of my hand before, during, or after my abortion. God and I are clear on this issue. We actually,<i> believe it or not,</i> worked it all out long before your counsel was offered.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;">As Maya Angelou says. “We do the best we can. When we know better, we do better.” Amen. There is no room for shame or regret in my life. I'm too full.</span><span style="line-height: 200%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;">I am too forgiven, too adored, too fully loved, too full of ideas and dreams and passion to waste my precious life pretending to be crippled by something that is imaginary. Shame is an illusion. It can </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;">disappear</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;"> so easily. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">To this day, I will admit that I have confused feelings about the <i>abortion issue</i>. I think that “issues” like abortion are really just “people” so it’s probably best to think of them as such. One at a time. One person at a time. <span> </span>I don’t feel shame about my abortion. But I don’t love abortion either. <span> </span>Both/And. I think there are probably better ways. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But I also think that if you really, really hate abortion, it might be a great idea to go volunteer at a Boys and Girls club, to meet and get to know young people, to become a mentor, to offer a kid another way to experience love and connection- so she doesn’t go looking for it in the wrong places. To try to jump into the mix before it’s too late. I sometimes feel like the picket lines at the clinics are a little too late. <span> </span>Offering unsolicited, creepy suggestions on a stranger's blog who had an abortion fifteen years ago is <i>certainly</i> too late.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">As for me- in keeping with the one person at a time theory….I think that if a young friend confided in me that she was pregnant and was considering an abortion, Craig and I would hold her and love her and tell her that she was loved and that she had many choices. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I think we would tell her that she could live with us and we would make sure she was taken care of, physically and financially, and that if she wanted to keep the baby we would help her start her life.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I think we would tell her that if she didn’t want to raise the baby, we’d raise the baby for her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And I think if she decided that abortion was the only way, we would hold her hand through it and love her afterward and demand that she know that she was as loved and adored the moment after as she was on the day she was born.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I know that’s not how everybody feels, and that’s okay. It’s just how I feel.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love You, Anonymous. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">G</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com95tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-51217410430738944102011-09-21T19:45:00.004-04:002011-09-21T19:52:10.903-04:00How To Help<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><h2 class="date-header" style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.4em; font: normal normal normal 120%/normal garamond; letter-spacing: 0.2em; color: rgb(76, 76, 76); "><br /></h2></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; letter-spacing: 3px; "><i> <a href="http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-to-contribute-in-jacks-name.html">From Anna's blog... An Inch of Gray</a></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div class="date-posts"><div class="post-outer"><div class="post hentry" style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-left: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); padding-bottom: 0em; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><a name="956685688983863140"></a></span><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(142, 166, 175); "><a href="http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-to-contribute-in-jacks-name.html" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; display: block; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></a><a href="http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-to-contribute-in-jacks-name.html" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; display: block; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></a><a href="http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-to-contribute-in-jacks-name.html" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; display: block; "><span class="Apple-style-span">How to Contribute in Jack's Name</span></a><a href="http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/09/how-to-contribute-in-jacks-name.html" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; display: block; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgQXQIxSAdU/Tnk5We8ZGjI/AAAAAAAAClE/clG7xvam34k/s1600/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B087.jpg" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654613865566640690" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgQXQIxSAdU/Tnk5We8ZGjI/AAAAAAAAClE/clG7xvam34k/s400/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B087.jpg" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 299px; display: block; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6VxFs9l_W24/Tnk5H6P_xZI/AAAAAAAACk8/PWBVjoF0aGM/s1600/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B086.jpg" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oq27obK8IqA/Tnk41uU-AkI/AAAAAAAACk0/TChWY0OlNNg/s1600/IMG_5592.JPG" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654613302760571458" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oq27obK8IqA/Tnk41uU-AkI/AAAAAAAACk0/TChWY0OlNNg/s400/IMG_5592.JPG" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 400px; display: block; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YBtFcig_Ku0/Tnk4SJQej0I/AAAAAAAACks/UYSSQB5pi2s/s1600/IMG_5610.JPG" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654612691514199874" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YBtFcig_Ku0/Tnk4SJQej0I/AAAAAAAACks/UYSSQB5pi2s/s400/IMG_5610.JPG" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 300px; display: block; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nEckM1J9gew/Tnk3Gv7BUAI/AAAAAAAACkc/GgNqxY7w5SY/s1600/IMG_4343.JPG" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654611396223127554" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nEckM1J9gew/Tnk3Gv7BUAI/AAAAAAAACkc/GgNqxY7w5SY/s400/IMG_4343.JPG" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 300px; display: block; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MibbUMjSF7w/Tnk2zv27muI/AAAAAAAACkM/RRO5Nu99opg/s1600/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B022.jpg" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654611069788461794" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MibbUMjSF7w/Tnk2zv27muI/AAAAAAAACkM/RRO5Nu99opg/s400/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B022.jpg" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 400px; display: block; height: 299px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SY6oYryo3_w/Tnk2LAbmKXI/AAAAAAAACkE/I2mR7GaZLfc/s1600/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B162.jpg" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654610369862576498" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SY6oYryo3_w/Tnk2LAbmKXI/AAAAAAAACkE/I2mR7GaZLfc/s400/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B162.jpg" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 400px; display: block; height: 299px; " /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4jl9hsPXLYw/Tnk19innqzI/AAAAAAAACj8/Nz0sjKLP52Q/s1600/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B064.jpg" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654610138521643826" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4jl9hsPXLYw/Tnk19innqzI/AAAAAAAACj8/Nz0sjKLP52Q/s400/2011%2BApril%2BiPhone%2B064.jpg" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 400px; display: block; height: 299px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PZ7eNueDRgQ/Tnkw3G-rgqI/AAAAAAAACjc/9iBHB-MGuaI/s1600/IMG_5505.JPG" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654604530464817826" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PZ7eNueDRgQ/Tnkw3G-rgqI/AAAAAAAACjc/9iBHB-MGuaI/s400/IMG_5505.JPG" style="border-top-width: 2px; border-right-width: 2px; border-bottom-width: 2px; border-left-width: 2px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-style: solid; border-right-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid; border-left-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-right-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-bottom-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); border-left-color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-align: center; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 300px; display: block; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Thank you so much for your love and support. I am almost, almost but-not-quite-yet ready to get back on here and write and rant and process and share and cry with you, my friends.<br /><br />But first, I know a lot of you have been asking for ways to make the world a better place in Jack’s name. In addition to one of Jack’s favorite charities, Operation Christmas Child at <a href="http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/OCC/index/" style="color: rgb(142, 166, 175); text-decoration: none; ">Samaritan’s Purse </a>–- (there is a button on the second page of the donation process to select a memorial card), there will be a scholarship set up in Jack’s memory at Dominion Christian School. If you would like to contribute to this fund, please send a donation to:<br /><br />Dominion Christian School<br />10922 Vale Road<br />Oakton, VA 22124<br /><br />There is an additional fund that our family will be able to use for future projects in memory of Jack. We are excited to include Margaret in these decisions. Any contributions to this fund may be sent to:<br /><br />Jack Harris Donaldson Memorial Fund<br />Apple Federal Credit Union<br />PO Box 1200<br />Fairfax, VA 22038-1200<br /><br />Thank you for your loving support during this heartbreaking time. Above all else, we are grateful and dependent upon your prayers as we figure out how to live and breathe. Your outpouring of love has been amazing, and we are thankful that so many of you have been touched by Jack’s life.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="margin-top: 0.75em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; color: rgb(76, 76, 76); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; font: normal normal normal 78%/normal 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4em; "><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1" style="background-image: url(http://i193.photobucket.com/albums/z104/danielle982/An%20Inch%20of%20Gray/annasig.png); background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 65px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Tahoma, Arial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></span></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-30022888289672546142011-09-19T13:02:00.006-04:002012-01-12T16:22:34.827-05:00A New Thing<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vkLSeihKT_w/Tnd19IkfewI/AAAAAAAAC9U/7mCONvK7NYE/s1600/my%2Bmonkees.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>“Behold, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43:19</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m not sure how to explain what has happened in our family during the past week. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I think it might be best to just report it, without commentary. I’m not real sure what any of it means yet, I just know that it means a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Last week, one of my little ones had a full blown panic attack.<span> </span>Heart racing, drenched with sweat, vomiting, clenching my arm so tight that I’m still bruised….repeating “Mommy, I’m dying. I’m going to die.”<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">During the days after the attack, Craig and I came to believe that our baby’s anxiety is due to my deteriorating health. I’ve been sick for a month straight now . . . in bed by 8:30 every night and weak all day. The kids are noticing, and they’re afraid. The whole family is, but it took the ingenuity and courage of our little one’s body to make us all face our fears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">So one night last week, Craig and I sat down to talk. To <i>really </i>talk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I will just tell you that we removed that “love barrier” I wrote about before and we finally told each other the truth.The whole truth, the broken and confused and resentful and lost truth. As we spoke honestly, without holding back, we came to know things that we’d each been avoiding knowing. We admitted that I was really sick. And that my illness was putting some stress on our marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">But we also admitted that my illness wasn’t the real problem between us at all. My illness was just making our real problems harder to avoid seeing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We have come to believe that our real problems are that we’re not taking care of each other in the most important ways. We each have needs that the other isn’t meeting, that the other doesn’t even know about. Our problem is that we are not best friends. We want to be, but we lack the skills to reach each other. We are so different. Craig survives by skating gracefully on the surface of life and I live at heights and depths that he can’t see and doesn’t know how to reach. I do not skate. I crash and fly. So, the Truth of the matter is that within our marriage, we are each lonely. I am high and low and he’s in the middle and we can’t hear each other, we’re so far apart. We admitted this to each other. We said it out loud. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We admitted that we are good at taking care of our children, we are good at taking care of the world- but we are not great, yet, <span> </span>at taking care of each other’s hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We admitted that we needed help. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Because we also agreed that we love each other so crazy much. We will die trying to take better care of each other. There are no other priorities for us. We will find a way to trust each other with our real selves, to become best friends.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">So I called a Monkee whom I love and respect and is a therapist and I said, “Help me, please.” She drove from another state and met me at a coffee shop and let me talk for three hours. Of course she did, because We Belong To Each Other. She helped me find therapists for my littles, to help them deal with having a sick mama, and for Craig and me, to help us learn how to become best friends. That’s what we want. We want to learn how to know each other, inside and out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We start therapy soon. We are afraid and excited. We have felt something shift between us already. We are on the verge of something new.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">It’s kind of like we are deciding, once again, to marry each other. And by choice, this time. I mean, I’m not even <i>pregnant</i>. Craig must be wild about me, to start over like this. To want so badly to be my best friend. And he’s my favorite thing on God’s Green Earth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway, wish us luck.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Also, My Favorite Monkees:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vkLSeihKT_w/Tnd19IkfewI/AAAAAAAAC9U/7mCONvK7NYE/s400/my%2Bmonkees.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654117550319958786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Love You,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "> G</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i>P.S. Thanks again, Lyme.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-89365249491250073192011-09-13T12:44:00.012-04:002011-09-13T20:21:01.803-04:00Anna<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I know that you are worried and that you want to know. But I won’t discuss Jack, Anna’s baby, here. His life and his death are <a href="http://www.aninchofgray.blogspot.com/">Anna’s stories</a> to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I can only tell you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">my </i>story- what I saw with my own eyes yesterday.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I went to Jack’s memorial service. It was as brutal and beautiful as you might imagine, times infinity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">There were hundreds and hundreds <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">and hundreds</i> of guests there. The pastor said that in his thirty year career, he’d never seen the sanctuary so full. Most of the guests - children, adults, teens, elderly- wore teeny Lego cross pins. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And in the middle of the service, we witnessed a miracle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anna, Jack’s mother, stood in front of the masses of mourners and delivered a flawless, tearless, divinely inspired tribute to Jack and to the power of faith. I have never seen anything braver or more exceptional in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Please, don’t respond by saying - <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Oh my God. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I could never do that</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Because what Anna taught me yesterday is that a mother can do the impossible<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> </i>for her child. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">could </i>do what Anna did yesterday. Because Anna is just a woman who decided that she would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">not </i>stop mothering Jack, she would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">not</i> stop honoring her son just because he left the Earth. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And so trusting God to help her, she stood and spoke with power and love and her voice did not quiver, not once. And she honored her boy and proved true his belief that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">With God, Nothing Is Impossible.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">proved</i> that scripture, her son’s life verse, to be true - in front of hundreds of grieving people. Many of whom, like me, had been experiencing a crisis of faith since hearing the news. Many of whom, like me, had spent some time shaking fists at God and then doubting His very existence. Many of whom, like me, walked into that memorial with less faith than they’d ever had in their lives and walked out full to bursting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">As I watched her, in utter disbelief, I thought- <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anna is a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Mother</b>. With a capital M. I am witnessing the essence, the transcendent power of motherhood. It seems, somehow, that Jack’s death did not rob Anna of her role as his mother, but intensified it. Capitalized it. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anna Mothered all of us yesterday. She comforted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">us</i>, she strengthened <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">our</i> faith, she ministered to<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> us</i> in her darkest hour. I don’t think she set out to do that. I think she just refused to quit mothering her boy. I think she just wanted to do justice to her son. He was her miracle and so she honored him by performing a miracle of her own. I will never forget it as long as I live. I will never forget her regal posture, her visible resolve, the mixture of tenderness and toughness in her face. Anna, standing on that stage, will forevermore be my mental image of “Mother.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I have been praying for Anna and her family in a million different ways since I heard the tragic news about precious Jack. And I am still praying. But my prayers have changed since I saw Anna speak yesterday. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Now my prayers sound less like “Help them.” And more like “Help them. And please help me find the strength and faith that they have. Help me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Mother</i> like Anna does. Help me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">believe </i>like she does. Help my son learn what her son knew. Help my daughters trust God like Anna’s daughter does.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">It’s like, this tragedy had me so afraid. So very, very afraid. I was having so many selfish feelings - if it could happen to her, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to me, to my son. Terror. How would I survive being separated from my only son? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anna taught me yesterday to quit being afraid, because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">nothing</i> can separate us from our children. Not even death. I don’t understand it, I’m just telling you that Anna proved it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I know that Anna will hate this, but I have to say it anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">All of my other heroes have been bumped down a notch or seven. Anna is at the top of my hero list, now, and forever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Her name is Written In Blue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anna.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">If you'd like to leave words for Anna...please head to <a href="http://www.aninchofgray.blogspot.com/">her blog. </a></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; color: rgb(31, 73, 125); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:#1F497D;mso-themecolor:text2"><br /></span></i></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-41140332853069495992011-09-11T13:43:00.013-04:002011-09-11T13:52:46.841-04:00For Jen, Who Misses Her Daddy<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UICcZCcLwS0/Tmz0Cx4cKyI/AAAAAAAAC9M/50bPpkPrwME/s1600/DSC08580.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">My church created a memory wall this morning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UICcZCcLwS0/Tmz0Cx4cKyI/AAAAAAAAC9M/50bPpkPrwME/s1600/DSC08580.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UICcZCcLwS0/Tmz0Cx4cKyI/AAAAAAAAC9M/50bPpkPrwME/s400/DSC08580.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159961030109986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DaVazl7MxYg/Tmzz8_JhPBI/AAAAAAAAC9E/LjKVOeRkwFw/s1600/DSC08577.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DaVazl7MxYg/Tmzz8_JhPBI/AAAAAAAAC9E/LjKVOeRkwFw/s400/DSC08577.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159861512190994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ny3fdyqCtcY/Tmzz24aGYyI/AAAAAAAAC88/wUUCe4leuBo/s1600/DSC08597.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ny3fdyqCtcY/Tmzz24aGYyI/AAAAAAAAC88/wUUCe4leuBo/s400/DSC08597.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159756623471394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AmCTmdxM3xY/TmzzvPdLxqI/AAAAAAAAC8s/AVljJTtXymc/s1600/DSC08586.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AmCTmdxM3xY/TmzzvPdLxqI/AAAAAAAAC8s/AVljJTtXymc/s400/DSC08586.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159625371469474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lok-Q6n8c80/TmzzryNe1EI/AAAAAAAAC8k/BkkRuGfeMPI/s1600/DSC08575.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lok-Q6n8c80/TmzzryNe1EI/AAAAAAAAC8k/BkkRuGfeMPI/s400/DSC08575.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159565981373506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKVJx1kADoU/Tmzzl1z7kZI/AAAAAAAAC8c/S-3JSgvHmtU/s1600/DSC08579.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKVJx1kADoU/Tmzzl1z7kZI/AAAAAAAAC8c/S-3JSgvHmtU/s400/DSC08579.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651159463868731794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">It was brutiful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">May God help us love each other.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 115%; "><i>Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down his life for his friend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>– John 15:13</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%"><br /></span></span></span></p><p></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-57767719047176470142011-09-07T15:15:00.004-04:002012-01-12T16:22:17.248-05:00Nine<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FJoq05zMOhY/Tme_IDBgYXI/AAAAAAAAC8E/Oj65FetT16Q/s1600/LOVE.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FJoq05zMOhY/Tme_IDBgYXI/AAAAAAAAC8E/Oj65FetT16Q/s400/LOVE.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649694402531058034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>For I tell you this: At the critical junction in all relationships, there is only one question. What would love do now? <span></span>- Neale Donald Walsh</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Tomorrow is our anniversary.<span> </span>Nine years – Craig and I have been married for nine years. Craig always says<i> - God, it feels like so much <b>longer</b></i>, but he means it sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Some of your most frequently asked questions are about my marriage. <span></span>I get oodles of email about Craig, about how good we are together, about how supportive he is of my wild self, about how<i> lucky</i> we are . . . and the word<i> perfect</i> gets thrown in there every once in awhile.<span> </span>You know I shudder at that word. <span></span>Scary, icky, meaningless word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig and I <i>are</i> good together. We <i>are</i> lucky. And Craig <i>is </i>ludicrously supportive. Also, let us get it out of the way . . . <span></span>yes - he is quite hot as well. <span></span>I personally believe that God made Craig extremely hot so he would not take it personally that his wife is constantly too tired to make out. So that he can look in the mirror and say to his chiseled self, “Clearly- <b><i>her</i></b><i> issue. Everybody <b>else</b> wants to make out with me.”</i> I really do imagine him talking to himself like this in the bathroom after I’ve passed out cold. I’m grateful God thought through this hotness plan. Helps us both out tremendously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Since I’m always talking about<i> looooove</i> - You will probably be surprised to learn that I am not at all <i>romantic.</i> I don’t even understand what romance is, really. . . the closest definition I can muster up is <i>thoughtful.</i> I am incredibly practical about love. I <i>don’t </i>believe in <i>love</i> at first sight. I believe in “wanna make-out” at first sight, but that’s certainly different than love. I just think that Love is something you <i>do,</i> something you <i>choose </i>. . . I don’t believe in <i>love as magical sensation that comes and goes like the tides</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I definitely, definitely agree with Toni Morrison when she wrote that…<i> physical beauty and romantic love are the two most dangerous ideas introduced by man.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I know, so sorry. Seems kinda harsh. But I do, I believe that to be true.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span></span>I don’t believe that God makes one person for each person. I don’t believe in a predestined soul mate for each soul.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t believe that love is Victoria’s Secret and fluffy and stiletto and rosy and soft and <i>destiny </i>and new and steamy and ooooh and aaaaah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I actually believe that love is hard as nails. I believe that love is strong and calloused and exhausted and ugly and painful sometimes. I believe that love is broken and old and shattered and <i>stand up one more time</i> and <i>one more load of laundry </i>and <i>bite that tongue till it bleeds</i> and<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><i><span style="line-height: 32px; ">I.Will.Not.Take.That.Personally.</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 32px; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t believe in movie romance. I think it's fun to watch, but I also think it screws us into believing that love should be easy and pretty and invigorating and so if it’s getting hard and ugly and exhausting, then it must not be love - so we should probably try something else. Someone else. But that’s sort of silly. We don’t think that way about other things. We don’t say to ourselves . . . “Man - this workout is <i>hard</i> so it must not be working!” No, we assume that if it’s hard, it <i>is </i>working. But not so much with love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span style="line-height: 32px; ">Important Disclaimer</span></i><span style="line-height: 32px; "> - Sometimes you just marry a douche bag. <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/12/adrianne-christmas-miracle.html">It happens.</a> In which case Love tells you to <i>hightail it outta there </i>and then Love teaches you that after a short (long ) bit of hell, you are sassier and more beautiful and stronger and more helpful to the universe than you ever would have been if said douche bag never would have entered your life at all.<span> </span>In this case, Love Wins Still. Ha. You will <i>know</i> if your love is <i>good hard</i> or <i>bad hard</i>.<span> </span>We all know. We pretend we don’t but we do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 32px; "><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">My marriage is a holy training ground to me. And Craig is training WITH me. Alongside me. We’ve got the same coach, and our coach is God. (You may substitute <i>Love </i>for God, if you so desire. God must think that substitution is just fine since He, Himself, insists that HE IS LOVE.) Out there, on the training ground called marriage, my job is to allow myself to be healed and transformed into a more loving being. To show up and do the drills and take the hits that this healing and transformation require of me. And that’s Craig’s job too. That’s what we’re here for. That’s why we got married. So we keep showing up. On the same field. Every day. Every freaking day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">But it would be ridiculous to think that <i>Craig </i>is responsible for healing me, for transforming me. Jeez, He’s working as hard as I am on his own self, his eyes aren’t even ON me most of the time. Our eyes are on our Coach. <i><span></span></i>Craig’s taking the hits too, he’s exhausted, too. So we try to encourage each other. When I’m down, he offers a hand and helps me get my footing back. When he’s hurt, I help him to the side line for rest. We refuse to let each other give up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Sometimes I feel like Craig and I are less committed to each other, personally, and more committed to Love. <span></span>To the process. To the transformation. We are<i> using </i>each other, really. In the best possible way. As practicing partners. Teammates.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I can almost <i>feel </i>this dynamic when we argue. Neither of us responds, exactly, to what the other is saying. Because we are both idiots, especially when we are mad. So before responding, we each ask Love what the hell we should say next, and then we say whatever Love prompts us to say, because Love can be trusted, while angry, blinded humans cannot. Love always sees clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And so it’s like there is always a buffer between the two of us, and that buffer is Love. It’s why we have a beautiful marriage. We do. But we are not soul mates. Jesus, no. We’re two ordinary foolish broken human beings training hard alongside each other, with our eyes on our couch. I mean coach. <i>Coach</i>. And that’s why our marriage works. <span></span>We also, as a matter of fact, have our eyes on the couch. <i>Ohhh, sweet couch.</i><b> God,</b> I love my couch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway –<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span style="line-height: 32px; ">That’s </span></i><span style="line-height: 32px; ">why Craig supports me in all my hair brained schemes. Because Love would. <i>That’s</i> why I write so highly of him all the time. Because Love would.<span> </span><i>That’s </i>why he takes the kids away so I can write, even though I don’t make a dime from it for the family, because Love would. That's why we are patient with each other. Because Love insists.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We are in love with Love. So we consult her constantly. And we choose our words and make our decisions based on <i>her </i>advice and feelings. Not ours. <i>God</i> no, <b>not </b>ours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">We are <i>careful </i>with each other. Maybe <i>that’s</i> romance. I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">What I do know is that Craig and I have canyons between us sometimes. Love has, and will continue to be, the bridge that allows us to reach each other. She is our coach. We are the team.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Happy Anniversary, babe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">XOXO<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span">G<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1uquklk-F0U/Tme_QxBueBI/AAAAAAAAC8M/FVs7ErIHYT8/s400/ann.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649694552318965778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></p></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><br /></span></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-65860417042989469332011-09-07T14:59:00.006-04:002012-01-14T07:05:22.102-05:00Nine<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1uquklk-F0U/Tme_QxBueBI/AAAAAAAAC8M/FVs7ErIHYT8/s1600/ann.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FJoq05zMOhY/Tme_IDBgYXI/AAAAAAAAC8E/Oj65FetT16Q/s1600/LOVE.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FJoq05zMOhY/Tme_IDBgYXI/AAAAAAAAC8E/Oj65FetT16Q/s400/LOVE.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649694402531058034" /></a><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;line-height: 200%; "><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>For I tell you this: At the critical junction in all relationships, there is only one question. What would love do now? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>- Neale Donald Walsh</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Tomorrow is our anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Nine years – Craig and I have been married for nine years. Craig always says<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> - God, it feels like so much <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">longer</b></i>, but he means it sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Some of your most frequently asked questions are about my marriage. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I get oodles of email about Craig, about how good we are together, about how supportive he is of my wild self, about how<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> lucky</i> we are . . . and the word<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> perfect</i> gets thrown in there every once in awhile.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You know I shudder at that word. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Scary, icky, meaningless word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Craig and I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">are</i> good together. We <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">are</i> lucky. And Craig <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">is </i>ludicrously supportive. Also, let us get it out of the way . . . <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>yes - he is quite hot as well. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I personally believe that God made Craig extremely hot so he would not take it personally that his wife is constantly too tired to make out. So that he can look in the mirror and say to his chiseled self, “Clearly- <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">her</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> issue. Everybody<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> else</b> wants to make out with me.”</i> I really do imagine him talking to himself like this in the bathroom after I’ve passed out cold. I’m grateful God thought through this hotness plan. Helps us both out tremendously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Since I’m always talking about<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"> looooove</i> - You will probably be surprised to learn that I am not at all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">romantic.</i> I don’t even understand what romance is, really. . . the closest definition I can muster up is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">thoughtful.</i> I am incredibly practical about love. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">don’t </i>believe in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">love</i> at first sight. I believe in “wanna make-out” at first sight, but that’s certainly different than love. I just think that Love is something you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">do,</i> something you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">choose </i>. . . I don’t believe in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">love as magical sensation that comes and goes like the tides</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I definitely, definitely agree with Toni Morrison when she wrote that…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> physical beauty and romantic love are the two most dangerous ideas introduced by man.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I know, so sorry. Seems kinda harsh. But I do, I believe that to be true.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t believe that God makes one person for each person. I don’t believe in a predestined soul mate for each soul.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t believe that love is Victoria’s Secret and fluffy and stiletto and rosy and soft and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">destiny</i> and new and steamy and ooooh and aaaaah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I actually believe that love is hard as nails. I believe that love is strong and calloused and exhausted and ugly and painful sometimes. I believe that love is broken and old and shattered and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">stand up one more time</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">one more load of laundry </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">bite that tongue till it bleeds</i> and <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%">I.Will.Not.Take.That.Personally.</span></i></b><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t believe in movie romance. I think it's fun to watch, but I also think it screws us into believing that love should be easy and pretty and invigorating and so if it’s getting hard and ugly and exhausting, then it must not be love - so we should probably try something else. Someone else. But that’s sort of silly. We don’t think that way about other thing. We don’t say to ourselves . . . “Man - this workout is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">hard</i> so it must not be working!” No, we assume that if it’s hard, it <i>is</i> working. But not so much with love. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%">Important Disclaimer</span></i><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%"> - Sometimes you just marry a douche bag. <a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/12/adrianne-christmas-miracle.html">It happens.</a> In which case Love tells you to <i>hightail it outta there </i>and then Love teaches you that after a short (long ) bit of hell, you are sassier and more beautiful and stronger and more helpful to the universe than you ever would have been if said douche bag never would have entered your life at all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In this case, Love Wins Still. Ha. You will <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">know</i> if your love is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">good hard</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">bad hard</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We all know. We pretend we don’t but we do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">My marriage is a holy training ground to me. And Craig is training WITH me. Alongside me. We’ve got the same coach, and our coach is God. (You may substitute <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Love </i>for God, if you so desire. God must think that substitution is just fine since He, Himself, insists that HE IS LOVE.) Out there, on the training ground called marriage, my job is to allow myself to be healed and transformed into a more loving being. To show up and do the drills and take the hits that this healing and transformation require of me. And that’s Craig’s job too. That’s what we’re here for. That’s why we got married. So we keep showing up. On the same field. Every day. Every freaking day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">But it would be ridiculous to think that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Craig </i>is responsible for healing me, for transforming me. Jeez, He’s working as hard as I am on his own self, his eyes aren’t even ON me most of the time. Our eyes are on our Coach. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></i>Craig’s taking the hits too, he’s exhausted, too. So we try to encourage each other. When I’m down, he offers a hand and helps me get my footing back. When he’s hurt, I help him to the side line for rest. We refuse to let each other give up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sometimes I feel like Craig and I are less committed to each other, personally, and more committed to Love. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To the process. To the transformation. We are<i> using </i>each other, really. In the best possible way. As practicing partners. Teammates.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">I can almost <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">feel </i>this dynamic when we argue. Neither of us responds, exactly, to what the other is saying. Because we are both idiots, especially when we are mad. So before responding, we each ask Love what the hell we should say next, and then we say whatever Love prompts us to say, because Love can be trusted, while angry, blinded humans cannot. Love always sees clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">And so it’s like there is always a buffer between the two of us, and that buffer is Love. It’s why we have a beautiful marriage. We do. But we are not soul mates. Jesus, no. We’re two ordinary foolish broken human beings training hard alongside each other, with our eyes on our couch. I mean coach. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Coach</i>. And that’s why our marriage works. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We also, as a matter of fact, have our eyes on the couch. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Ohhh, sweet couch.</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"> God,</b> I love my couch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Anyway –<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%">That’s </span></i><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%">why Craig supports me in all my hair brained schemes. Because Love would. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">That’s</i> why I write so highly of him all the time. Because Love would.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">That’s </i>why he takes the kids away so I that can write, even though I don’t make a dime from it for the family, because Love would. That's why we are patient with each other. Because Love insists.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We are in love with Love. So we consult her constantly. And we choose our words and make our decisions based on <i>her </i>advice and feelings. Not ours. <i>God</i> no, <b>not </b>ours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">We are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">careful </i>with each other. Maybe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">that’s</i> romance. I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">What I do know is that Craig and I have canyons between us sometimes. Love has, and will continue to be, the bridge that allows us to reach each other. She is our coach. We are the team.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">Happy Anniversary, babe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">XOXO<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">G<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1uquklk-F0U/Tme_QxBueBI/AAAAAAAAC8M/FVs7ErIHYT8/s400/ann.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649694552318965778" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; line-height: normal; "><br /></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-38678951992389792122011-09-06T09:27:00.004-04:002011-09-06T09:50:30.795-04:00For the Teachers, Who Have The World In Their Hands<div><br /></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kfyoS-BPi_0/TmYiboeymuI/AAAAAAAAC78/IrbTFgmiNtM/s1600/world-in-black-and-white-hands-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kfyoS-BPi_0/TmYiboeymuI/AAAAAAAAC78/IrbTFgmiNtM/s400/world-in-black-and-white-hands-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649240640701242082" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>This is for all my friends who TEACH. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU">THANK YOU for your world changing work.</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>God Bless You This School Year. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Love, G and all the Monkees.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>P.S. Ummm...don't watch this one in front of your kiddos.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-14299422610822932312011-09-06T08:08:00.006-04:002011-09-06T09:50:45.997-04:00You May Say That I'm a Dreamer...<div><br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jiIXMdYHCCw/TmYN6Qz5P3I/AAAAAAAAC70/24N8iAEleDE/s1600/imagine.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jiIXMdYHCCw/TmYN6Qz5P3I/AAAAAAAAC70/24N8iAEleDE/s400/imagine.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649218077179068274" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=2064354724061"><br /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=2064354724061"><br /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=2064354724061">But I'm Not The Only One....</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Love, G </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>PS. Immanuel = God With Us</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-68855994700037223812011-09-04T10:48:00.006-04:002011-09-04T11:14:56.909-04:00Compassion<div>
<br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28Vi7oSZNDk/TmOR8YEQ9UI/AAAAAAAAC7s/cppfNu47jHM/s1600/compassion.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28Vi7oSZNDk/TmOR8YEQ9UI/AAAAAAAAC7s/cppfNu47jHM/s400/compassion.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648518824091252034" /></a>
<br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><i> compassion is this. your pain- it rushes into my heart, it swirls around and transforms, magically, into love. only then do i offer it back to you. </i></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’m sick this morning, and so I'm home alone while the rest of the family is off at church. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Although an empty house is usually my favorite thing, this morning I was feeling sad, worried, and a little lonely. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">But.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Had I not been home alone this morning, I’d never have been cruising the internet for goodness, and I never would have heard <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/joan_halifax.html">this woman speak. </a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Church is everywhere. Thanks for the blessing today, Lyme.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, G</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>
<br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>
<br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>“There are enemies of compassion. They are pity, moral outrage, and fear.”</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><i> </i></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></p></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132726617541356401.post-27117191653981052232011-09-03T08:47:00.010-04:002011-09-03T09:14:47.108-04:00YES<div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-usBHHzsgsAc/TmIiMmBRjYI/AAAAAAAAC7k/bm2hieO0288/s1600/blink%2B%25281%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-usBHHzsgsAc/TmIiMmBRjYI/AAAAAAAAC7k/bm2hieO0288/s400/blink%2B%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648114482435689858" /></a>
<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I just finished this book, which was a disappointment at first. Since the subtitle is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Power of Thinking Without Thinking</i>, I thought it was going to teach me how to get things <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">done</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> without actually <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">doing</b></i> them. You can imagine my excitement at this prospect, since having to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">do</i> things is one of my major beefs with life. I dreamt there might be chapters like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/07/luuuuuuuucccccyyyyyy.html">Vacuuming without Vacuuming</a></i>, <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2009/10/got-chase.html"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Feeding Children without Feeding Children</i>,</a> <i><a href="http://momastery.blogspot.com/2010/08/dharma-and-craig.html">Remembering Stuff Without Remembering Stuff,</a></i> things such as this. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">But, no.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s mostly about the effect our unconscious has on our judgments and reactions and decisions, which is actually quite fascinating. Today I’d like to discuss a particular section of the book that’s been swirling around in my head for days. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">There is a chapter in the book about improvisational theater. You know, when actors get up on a stage with no script and feed off one another to create a scene and a story on the spur of the moment. My friend Joanna spent years on an improv team in California, and the mere thought of what she did every night in front of hundreds of people terrifies me. I’ve always wondered . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">how do they do that?</i> How do they not pee in their pants every night from fear? How do they make it look so effortless, so natural? How are the actors so confident that all will go well when they have NO idea what's going to happen next?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Here’s what the book had to say about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">how they do that</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“One of the most important of the rules that makes improv possible is the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">idea of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">agreement</i></b>, the notion that a very simple way to create a story – or humor- is to have characters accept everything that happens to them….If you’ll stop reading for a moment and think of something you wouldn’t want to have happen to you, or to someone you love, then you’ll have thought of something worth staging or filming….Most of us are very skilled at suppressing action. All the improvisation teacher has to do is to reverse this skill and he creates a very “gifted” improviser.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And so, of course, I started thinking about how Shakespeare said “all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” And how, if this is true, then we’re <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">all</i> improvers . . . because certainly nobody’s handed a script each morning. We never have any clue what the hell is about to happen to us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And then I thought about how the author said that we are “skilled at suppressing action.”That seems true . . . we are so afraid of action entering our lives…..we don’t want it, we resist it, we reject it. But action, or conflict, is exactly what makes a story or life interesting, worth living, worth telling. Conflict in a story or a life is what changes the person living through it. Conflict is what turns someone into a deeper, better, wholer, person. And that change is what life’s supposed to be about. We are each presented with different conflicts, but the purpose of each of our conflicts is the same . . . change. No conflict, no change. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">What hero do you have that wasn’t presented a curve ball by her improv partner – Life - and allowed it to change her for the better? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And that got me thinking about how most of my pain and anger and confusion result from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">resistin</i>g life’s suggestions. Not necessarily from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">what happens to me</i>, but from my refusal to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">accept</i> what happens to me. My discomfort stems from the way I hang on white knuckled to what I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">expected to happen</i>, or to the way things <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">used to be</i>. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This resistance is draining, fruitless, wasteful, damaging even . . . like an actor having a temper tantrum on stage because he wanted his partner to take the scene somewhere different. This resistance takes me out of the moment. It cuts off energy, ruins the scene, the whole vibe. And it blockades the road that I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">supposed </i>to walk down. The road that was built to change me for the better. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The rule in improv is to accept your partner’s suggestion.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You must say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">yes </i>and respond. Adapt. Allow your ideas and expectations to be fluid. Allow what happens to change the scene and change your character. Improv is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">about </i>change.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">So I thought . . . if life is like improv, would a good rule be to accept life’s suggestions, to say yes and respond? To allow my ideas and expectation about my life to remain fluid? To allow what happens to me to change my life and my heart? Because isn’t life about change, too? Isn’t life about allowing conflict to change me into who I was meant to be?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And then I started thinking about what would happen if I started saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">yes, yes, yes</i> to my Lyme instead of hating it, instead of being so pissed off at it and resisting it and waging war against it. It’s not really my personality to wage war, so my Lyme war takes a lot out of me. I wondered if there might be a different approach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And that got me thinking about how Lyme has changed me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I don’t think I really knew how to take care of myself before I got Lyme. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">A Monkee emailed me recently about how she felt so drained by other people and responsibilities, about feeling like a doormat, about being sucked dry by others and finding no time for herself. And while I read and sympathized and remembered having those feelings in the past, I realized with surprise that I hadn’t experienced those feelings for months.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I haven’t done a single thing I haven’t truly wanted to do for about a year now. I haven’t given away my time or energy to anyone but the people I love. I have done nothing but learn how to nourish my body with good food, nourish my mind with books, nourish my soul with prayer and quiet, <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>care for my family, seek out time with life giving friends, and follow my little dreams. With whatever energy I have left over, I’ve cared for my home and I’ve written. That’s it. When I think about it, it’s actually sort of a wonderful way of life, managing a disease. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Since disease has forced me to slow down and pay attention to myself . . . I am in touch with what I need all the time. I say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">no thank you </i>to things I don’t want to do and to things I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">do want </i>to do all the time, and Lyme gives me the excuse not to have an excuse. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></span><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And I seem to worry a whole lot less about disappointing other people, and what they will think of me when I inevitably do. This makes me wonder if Lyme is changing my character, because I used to worry about that more. I’m fairly certain that worrying about what others think of you stems from pride . . . so maybe my Lyme has tamed my ferocious pride. Nothing else has been able to do that, ever. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe my limited health and energy is a gift, too. You know, when people win the lottery, they always think their lives will be better but often they end up blowing all their gobs of money and losing friends and finding themselves miserable. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s like God gives us these resources, money and energy and health, but maybe when we have too much of something, it loses its meaning and we get lost in it. We end up giving it all away because it’s not precious to us anymore, and we’re left with nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But when our resources are limited, like my energy and health are, we watch how we spend it. We notice it and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">enjoy</i> it when we have it. We’re grateful for it and we make good decisions about who we give it away to. We quit being wasteful. We make more out of less.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And then I think about the Big Curveballs that have made me who I am – bulimia and addiction. These are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">diseases</i> that left me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">healthier and wholer </i>in the end. I’ll go farther, they gave my life meaning. They brought me closer to my faith and my family and my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">real self</i>. They turned me into a writer. They led me to my vocation. Jesus, they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">saved</i> me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">There was a price to pay for my addictions and there’s a price to pay for my Lyme. My family pays through the nose, sometimes. Even so, as I‘m writing this I’m thinking that I’d choose them all again. I like who these curveballs are turning me into. I like the change I see in myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">There have certainly been times in my life when I’ve <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">felt </i>better, but I’m not sure I’ve ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">been</i> better. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">So. Today I say yes, yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">yes, </i>Lyme. I’m not going to fight with you anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All the world is a stage and my improv partner, Life, has suggested Lyme. So I’ll roll with this. I will listen carefully to you, Lyme, and when you suggest <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">rest</i> I’ll rest and I will learn to care of myself through you and that will, in turn, help me learn how to care for others better. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Through conflict, Life teaches us each differently the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">same lesson:</i> “Love others as you love yourself.” Implied is that first we love ourselves wildly and carefully and fully too, and Lyme, you are teaching me how. You are a teacher.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">*Wait, what’s that, Lyme? <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">What’s that you say</b>? You want us to quit saving for college this year and hire a babysitter several hours a week so I can rest??? Really, Lyme? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Okay. Yes. Whatever you say. Yes. Yes. Yes. I say Yes, Sweet Lyme.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Thank you, Lyme. Thank you, God, for my Lyme.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="line-height: 200%; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Let me accept it and learn from it and allow it to change me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%"><span class="Apple-style-span">
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<br /></span></span></p></div>Glennonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08103329694484190302noreply@blogger.com16