tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68629458465357512522024-03-19T13:52:50.717-04:00this she could doSherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-90166882354329913432011-05-15T06:21:00.000-04:002011-05-15T06:21:31.455-04:00Loving GodSo many days<br />
an empty space<br />
lingers in the place<br />
marked "love for You."<br />
<br />
Where do they go,<br />
these fickle aches<br />
of longing, love<br />
and need of you?<br />
<br />
"Choose," you said,<br />
to give to me<br />
your love<br />
in actions real.<br />
<br />
Do not rely<br />
on feelings, fading --<br />
waiting for Everests<br />
to appear.<br />
<br />
DO love,<br />
consciously, <br />
attentive and active,<br />
regardless.<br />
<br />
It can not be passive-- <br />
"Love the Lord<br />
your God <br />
with all your heart." <br />
<br />
But asks, <br />
demands: <br />
I must ACT <br />
when I don't feel.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-24629296417009054932009-10-19T10:37:00.000-04:002009-10-19T10:37:06.394-04:00Endless GiftsHis gifts go on, even though I am not recording them.<br />
<br />
Today I am thankful for:<br />
<br />
69. salt<br />
70. a teacher who is helping me so much<br />
71. cool water<br />
72. the delicious sound of pasta boiling on the stove.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-69767536878802160772009-05-24T03:46:00.003-04:002009-05-24T05:36:40.309-04:00For Memorial Day<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3y-MhUltmkJ4cC0XvURa336SsmzICGudi9Mplur1tBpchzCIT3_UurH1R2sJto-rQ5DWMpJP4cLIuO4SXFAM50_nPs4ZabHdeOAAxVv2Ide3R7hGZoV2WVWYdV_pFyUXZjCqyprE_sAr/s1600-h/cemetery.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3y-MhUltmkJ4cC0XvURa336SsmzICGudi9Mplur1tBpchzCIT3_UurH1R2sJto-rQ5DWMpJP4cLIuO4SXFAM50_nPs4ZabHdeOAAxVv2Ide3R7hGZoV2WVWYdV_pFyUXZjCqyprE_sAr/s400/cemetery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339314442830759314" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;" class="songs"><br />The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,<br /> But not of war it sings to-day.<br /> The road is rhythmic with the feet<br /> Of men-at-arms who come to pray.<br /> <br /> The roses blossom white and red<br /> On tombs where weary soldiers lie;<br /> Flags wave above the honored dead<br /> And martial music cleaves the sky.<br /> <br /> Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,<br /> They kept the faith and fought the fight.<br /> Through flying lead and crimson steel<br /> They plunged for Freedom and the Right.<br /> <br /> May we, their grateful children, learn<br /> Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,<br /> Who went through fire and death to earn<br /> At last the accolade of God.<br /> <br /> In shining rank on rank arrayed<br /> They march, the legions of the Lord;<br /> He is their Captain unafraid,<br /> The Prince of Peace...Who brought a sword.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">- Joyce Kilmer, 1917<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowW6hq21068bEO-aWdGKvW9r05raCab4AwmPbktWmJvqw-hRG63vzjhmoON36otBYo6M_rXl4va8MFigEReBgcXJKXs9sQlRH7um6MDoEX_mrsGhDj5Q5KdePNqTFJRbQ3ehiaQc4ZtmX/s1600-h/Vietnam+wall+2+%28Small%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowW6hq21068bEO-aWdGKvW9r05raCab4AwmPbktWmJvqw-hRG63vzjhmoON36otBYo6M_rXl4va8MFigEReBgcXJKXs9sQlRH7um6MDoEX_mrsGhDj5Q5KdePNqTFJRbQ3ehiaQc4ZtmX/s400/Vietnam+wall+2+%28Small%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339321792706905346" border="0" /></a></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-9608624262093659402009-04-17T08:20:00.003-04:002009-04-18T04:49:28.858-04:00Sights, sounds, smells<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP21sMLMibVfS1TuUDYoxZNXqBO7d6srrGwRZPM7uurVAFqpVtiDpea5-rQa_xkSZ749o9sDOr1YSro1XaRFGnpOvKVJPkIGM2dn37V8NAeUZF_Zd9dsFwHfi2s5U-BKU6XGmHkuXgyMW/s1600-h/dave-red-fort.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP21sMLMibVfS1TuUDYoxZNXqBO7d6srrGwRZPM7uurVAFqpVtiDpea5-rQa_xkSZ749o9sDOr1YSro1XaRFGnpOvKVJPkIGM2dn37V8NAeUZF_Zd9dsFwHfi2s5U-BKU6XGmHkuXgyMW/s400/dave-red-fort.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325909968291807794" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">66. A well-traveled boy safely returned - a glad sight for this mother's eyes.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2iSJVZQGxFxubfGuD0QqVB-jJlOyQzqf9s7VAuIs8UA1KwyYfQUqd9puF9Xd9Lco09eBz-umS7pj9kbJUfWWvrR9tEHn530f2zyz5AGuxHgFSiNs47kZu45EYtJrmmOJXyohvy4VPDYJl/s1600-h/watermelon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2iSJVZQGxFxubfGuD0QqVB-jJlOyQzqf9s7VAuIs8UA1KwyYfQUqd9puF9Xd9Lco09eBz-umS7pj9kbJUfWWvrR9tEHn530f2zyz5AGuxHgFSiNs47kZu45EYtJrmmOJXyohvy4VPDYJl/s400/watermelon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325906088451184642" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">67. The sound of a spoon digging into a piece of watermelon.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YOxW8khyQ9n8zaDKomyA8GvYTrEWQ0odBX69t7GRiV0JuYDZMHcWvGw1h4drNvlXKrRTxtdku8taHR-jem8nWqUUO3YJBK0-3FnzeXKy8G7g4iNpP43Ayx4ZRUsgVHTdtT8sfl-hkPg-/s1600-h/gardenia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1YOxW8khyQ9n8zaDKomyA8GvYTrEWQ0odBX69t7GRiV0JuYDZMHcWvGw1h4drNvlXKrRTxtdku8taHR-jem8nWqUUO3YJBK0-3FnzeXKy8G7g4iNpP43Ayx4ZRUsgVHTdtT8sfl-hkPg-/s400/gardenia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325937758646304786" border="0" /></a>68. The heavy fragrance of the gardenia bush in bloom -<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">perfuming the evening air.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">69. Small sister's arm around the shoulders of the returning brother.<br /></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-82686657751957952292009-03-13T13:33:00.001-04:002009-03-13T13:37:26.165-04:00Evidence of His Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQWHckSpROBfCvSR-Zxl6AzBbtUOJb0-wuJXI2aQdYiVUISxlUdt8hRJOJJswfqmeOOKBdqOUZnTcvUC-O4hbPKEKDruZv0ZbRah3FzlXi2j55ZurRznPEp2mjMrd2fvfllbicD1dTohg/s1600-h/cherry-tomatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQWHckSpROBfCvSR-Zxl6AzBbtUOJb0-wuJXI2aQdYiVUISxlUdt8hRJOJJswfqmeOOKBdqOUZnTcvUC-O4hbPKEKDruZv0ZbRah3FzlXi2j55ZurRznPEp2mjMrd2fvfllbicD1dTohg/s320/cherry-tomatoes.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The brilliant reds and greens of fresh cherry tomatoes.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPOhY10fiPw3Fx_RNcIDVWHjK07JDcHpqjOJUo0Ue13ch2TcXv2e2cYNqdR6wnStg43zTVJzZz7F92x_1a0E24o4E85Aejr4Exvo2yXDQFXh-Y2FnNRFriBLTqgsnxjcqhlR99GxRcLE06/s1600-h/moth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPOhY10fiPw3Fx_RNcIDVWHjK07JDcHpqjOJUo0Ue13ch2TcXv2e2cYNqdR6wnStg43zTVJzZz7F92x_1a0E24o4E85Aejr4Exvo2yXDQFXh-Y2FnNRFriBLTqgsnxjcqhlR99GxRcLE06/s320/moth.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Beauty in an ugly corner.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93CIYYH1_jMYT59wTUQTA0E7xa8yAkkdtwqSCZNCuSSt0P6FeZKbwckG59_Sj2NblV4jzWjtr3mhUiyfwUJoCwsi2NtVU-ZW1J3IHkZsqRCoeS-Gdb4CzgdRRxHz-uSn66J3OxkPA0CpI/s1600-h/orchid-backlight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93CIYYH1_jMYT59wTUQTA0E7xa8yAkkdtwqSCZNCuSSt0P6FeZKbwckG59_Sj2NblV4jzWjtr3mhUiyfwUJoCwsi2NtVU-ZW1J3IHkZsqRCoeS-Gdb4CzgdRRxHz-uSn66J3OxkPA0CpI/s320/orchid-backlight.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Translucent beauty.<br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Inxc5UrR8AkIH5o7dB7nxQB0FxylehHivHjpKGqs9I5i2x1PPzyOsH-FD5UVLltdUmaFAVVa7l2koS4rVXspgwLmaLku83vALsaEj2E50mtOavwnMGy-lGQc4nVNFATFg8yweI3DGY1r/s1600-h/romanesco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Inxc5UrR8AkIH5o7dB7nxQB0FxylehHivHjpKGqs9I5i2x1PPzyOsH-FD5UVLltdUmaFAVVa7l2koS4rVXspgwLmaLku83vALsaEj2E50mtOavwnMGy-lGQc4nVNFATFg8yweI3DGY1r/s320/romanesco.jpg" style="cursor: move;" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Logarithmic_spiral">Fractals </a>- in a vegetable (Romanesco cabbage)! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"><span style="font-size:85%;">For more information about the math in this vegetable, try <a href="http://www.mcs.surrey.ac.uk/Personal/R.Knott/Fibonacci/fibnat.html#veg">this very educational site</a> from the UK.</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-4738740356335633092009-03-01T07:05:00.000-05:002009-02-28T22:20:17.227-05:00Snapshots on SundayMore reasons to be thankful:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRxDcME9OGPoSQlSiNQUnEWFiaSnSBRs-dfBkPUSEfFfKVTBlXVtnpB0luSM-ucir-UTM8hCDe-0A-SSqOpoxrvLCA6c9IaQH-coxDG8XP3FxwCBnupKlnC1CZGU4F8OrBz7iBMIRiJYc/s1600-h/cocoa-mugs2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRxDcME9OGPoSQlSiNQUnEWFiaSnSBRs-dfBkPUSEfFfKVTBlXVtnpB0luSM-ucir-UTM8hCDe-0A-SSqOpoxrvLCA6c9IaQH-coxDG8XP3FxwCBnupKlnC1CZGU4F8OrBz7iBMIRiJYc/s400/cocoa-mugs2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307798357683545250" border="0" /></a><br />60. A tray of empty cocoa mugs - evidence of family story time.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wtXhO-JhqhoFlyE98z2u14gFiWoJdhuAMEAeolLdu8J-IJ50IM12bibTpZLLarf_2TicdiUuWBfWyyOfmOXtrehyFD-klf2sK1yz4pDY6xQ5qiG0R3i6SfZAIPZmMXTGisUzjXk5zZWo/s1600-h/crooked-candles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 328px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wtXhO-JhqhoFlyE98z2u14gFiWoJdhuAMEAeolLdu8J-IJ50IM12bibTpZLLarf_2TicdiUuWBfWyyOfmOXtrehyFD-klf2sK1yz4pDY6xQ5qiG0R3i6SfZAIPZmMXTGisUzjXk5zZWo/s400/crooked-candles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307783800558839730" border="0" /></a><br />61. Crooked candles on a simple cake.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-31116117597706244492009-02-26T11:59:00.001-05:002009-02-28T03:59:20.108-05:00Giving ThanksIt has been a long while since I wrote of things for which I am thankful. God's gifts are so many, yet I have found it far harder than I expected to cultivate the attitude of thanksgiving I had envisioned. Today is Ash Wednesday and though my background is not liturgical, I feel led to attend to the season of Lent this year, much as we spend December in increased attentiveness through Advent.<br /><br />As I focus on the life and death of Jesus in the next 40 days, I hope also to focus more on thankfulness, including these:<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">55. The scent of tomato plants in the garden<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7sDPORbCmMzWcXfwYLe0XpHE15XwXIAzDsALH-eDF0yFnuLcb97Km2kWWyLBVO9tpqGbviTVXL5HpX2uzKGIiemJpwPJPAfd3mltggN1JxB8tiBhY6iab1uj9GNtjQTJPyfNPiMDzNBQ/s1600-h/first-tomato.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7sDPORbCmMzWcXfwYLe0XpHE15XwXIAzDsALH-eDF0yFnuLcb97Km2kWWyLBVO9tpqGbviTVXL5HpX2uzKGIiemJpwPJPAfd3mltggN1JxB8tiBhY6iab1uj9GNtjQTJPyfNPiMDzNBQ/s400/first-tomato.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307769764136075714" border="0" /></a><br />56. The sour-sweetness of the first ripe tomato<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5QGGP3HDHXUw-VkFGvx12d64Zp_qGARr_QkmxwOXHw7tjWbx77SGfQHst6S-FayAh9Yum-qylXI3oPcNZGuiXibPQjvsGco0ayvVoWjdP8a0czmmLWJgmfnOKBZ9pyHGl2HLIHIMY8T5/s1600-h/arms-hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5QGGP3HDHXUw-VkFGvx12d64Zp_qGARr_QkmxwOXHw7tjWbx77SGfQHst6S-FayAh9Yum-qylXI3oPcNZGuiXibPQjvsGco0ayvVoWjdP8a0czmmLWJgmfnOKBZ9pyHGl2HLIHIMY8T5/s400/arms-hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307707432563359138" border="0" /></a><br />57. Little girl arms wrapped around daddy's neck - welcoming home<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLoB8tcZLiEX7rbAS8BillUoOsgM7x_L03XfqyfZaDMmdejYpA5CnmN3SqDNO_2s3o8yc2CC2Rn00PBod28wBT23zhv6rHRC-f3jBhf4TSAz4gNW4wZxAW22abo0o1_t9yqaQaNH3dRem/s1600-h/pasta-salad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLoB8tcZLiEX7rbAS8BillUoOsgM7x_L03XfqyfZaDMmdejYpA5CnmN3SqDNO_2s3o8yc2CC2Rn00PBod28wBT23zhv6rHRC-f3jBhf4TSAz4gNW4wZxAW22abo0o1_t9yqaQaNH3dRem/s400/pasta-salad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307709898942448466" border="0" /></a><br />58. A favorite salad - enjoyed only once a year here<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />59. Small hands gathering beans<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:x-small;"><i>Unreliable internet in our remote place prevented me from posting this yesterday, and from adding the photos I would like to share</i></span>.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-88131316559240834862009-02-10T09:51:00.097-05:002009-02-10T11:32:37.551-05:00Intertwined, Uprooted<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>It is spring here: the height of our gardening season. One recent afternoon saw me out in the garden, collecting sprigs of oregano, leaves of basil, bunches of parsley, and other green goodness for our evening meal.<br /><br /></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>Last, I headed to collect some mint. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />Ours resides in a cement ring, to be raised above the flooding of the rains. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />It is high season for mint. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>The pot is full and green as I approach it from across the yard. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />But mint is not all that grows there this spring. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />Clover crowds in, vying for space in the damp warmth.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYTwENuBPaocx5k8BXRAJv6RSlRQTk3gWXIljjOlCzW27MDDUVtfF7XMWr4PWLaIQsnNjmj_fyTRsAbbnzlDXRZcNgQzZ1nNq0ImK3SQFKLzeza39MwP7XyRhxQASoEg5UU7H3BmK4WtF/s1600-h/mint-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYTwENuBPaocx5k8BXRAJv6RSlRQTk3gWXIljjOlCzW27MDDUVtfF7XMWr4PWLaIQsnNjmj_fyTRsAbbnzlDXRZcNgQzZ1nNq0ImK3SQFKLzeza39MwP7XyRhxQASoEg5UU7H3BmK4WtF/s400/mint-1.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >The clover has been at its work for a while now, </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >winding vines and runners around those of mint.<br /><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >Unseen, ignored.<br /></span></i></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >The two are intertwined. </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />Clearing the clover will take time, patience, effort: </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >but a necessary task if the mint is to survive, to thrive, </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >to send deep and spreading roots through its earthen home.<br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />Should the rains arrive while the mint</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >is weakened by competition </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >and overcrowding, </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >it may not survive the onslaught - up to 120 inches of rain - in the space of a few weeks.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqO8c7cJUN1uTZ8BzFYfkSrcZu1nnN1MydXk7NQOsjTRAq7jknoKIPVee_lIErb3lAG60g6fAPr9xtn4YalcqywyqlnvFwQkJx9ekTdXcqUjfx7Um5mPCd-v75oDESjDYGLeFrjJU8CqJ/s1600-h/mint-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqO8c7cJUN1uTZ8BzFYfkSrcZu1nnN1MydXk7NQOsjTRAq7jknoKIPVee_lIErb3lAG60g6fAPr9xtn4YalcqywyqlnvFwQkJx9ekTdXcqUjfx7Um5mPCd-v75oDESjDYGLeFrjJU8CqJ/s400/mint-2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>This particular clover is serious about gaining the upper hand. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br /> Already, it is flowering, preparing to bear seed.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFmIg0gNvi5I9HCXSOcNLxIJ0YQU1h7mCeqfEujCZ7YUq2PF06y5O91K-MswaibJHB6bZcFi1gv4ww3l5OO2RJ85MVLynaGk-aWJCT4hQIuCCgTTfe1HqcUPqsf4dpsQC983wNHk1sqN4/s1600-h/mint-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFmIg0gNvi5I9HCXSOcNLxIJ0YQU1h7mCeqfEujCZ7YUq2PF06y5O91K-MswaibJHB6bZcFi1gv4ww3l5OO2RJ85MVLynaGk-aWJCT4hQIuCCgTTfe1HqcUPqsf4dpsQC983wNHk1sqN4/s320/mint-3.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> And so, I begin: painstakingly tracing out and removing </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">each root, each leaf, </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">each trailing stem seeking to put roots in yet another part of the pot.<br /><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >It is tedious work, this uprooting of established weeds. </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >My legs ache from crouching low over the mess. </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >The sun beats hot on my back. </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >Other work beckons from the kitchen. <br /><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >But this seems important, vital work somehow. <br /><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >Why do I care today, about mint and weeds?</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />And then it comes, the soft voice in my mind, </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >showing me why mint matters on this busy</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" > 'company's coming for dinner' afternoon:</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" > </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />Sin -- all sin -- edges into life in the same way as </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >clover has forced its way into this pot. </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />It creeps into some unwatched corner - </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >a tendril from a neighbor, </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >a seed from a passing friend </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >- it slips in unnoticed </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >and makes quick work of spreading roots and seeds, </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />and destruction.</span></i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br /><i>A little gossip here, a seed of impatience there;</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">of what importance is a few moments of sloth, or a tendril of unbelief?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yet soon, sin - or clover - has done its work</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">and we are far from where we could have been </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">from where we - and HE - wants us to be.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br /><i>A friend has come, to aid in clearing the weeds. </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br /><i>The work shared is simpler, less painful, </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>with tinges of </i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i>joy?</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >Can it be that the painful work of rooting out sin is easier when shared?</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsKtumT18420h-rbVYZWHbUfH5_wBNEQxdstWrynT9jcXZmt4dJmaRAoFFWkqpaX6Jnb9ItJeyDsoMlKgtADWmVF8VTIwuZukqVMQRcCAfq_vV5B7LvC23Y1O7gajEqiEFBSeLJPSuAZv/s1600-h/mint-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsKtumT18420h-rbVYZWHbUfH5_wBNEQxdstWrynT9jcXZmt4dJmaRAoFFWkqpaX6Jnb9ItJeyDsoMlKgtADWmVF8VTIwuZukqVMQRcCAfq_vV5B7LvC23Y1O7gajEqiEFBSeLJPSuAZv/s400/mint-4.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"></div><br /><br /><i> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >The work is done</span><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >leaving gaps and scarred dirt where </span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >beautiful</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />yet ugly weeds</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >once grew.</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br /><br />Pulling up sin leaves scars</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />empty spaces<br />waiting to be filled.</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br /><br />The weed will return if I am not careful</span><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >vigilant</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />removing each trace of clover's rebirth.</span> <span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" > </span></i><br /><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br />The sin will return if I am not prayerful</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" > </span></i><br /><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >vigilant</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" > </span></i><br /><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >letting Him root out each attempt of sin to return.</span></i><br /><br /><br /><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><span style=";font-family:Times,";font-size:100%;" >Thank you for the lesson of mint and weeds,<br />for being the REMARKABLE in the unremarkable of life. </span><br /></span></i><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";font-size:78%;" >photos from our mint patch</span><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" ><br /></span></i>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-50641469137523170452008-12-06T23:05:00.001-05:002008-12-07T01:02:29.520-05:00Wounds<blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.</i></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> - <a href="http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/35380.html">Augusten Burroughs</a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is us, really. In our natural, sinful state. Flaws, sins, shortcomings, insufficiencies. And we try, so dilligently, to hold all these pieces together into something that resembles wholeness; something that will fool others into thinking we "have it all together."<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I tried last night - when the dog bit Wonder Boy in the face and he needed three stitches on his nose. He chose me to accompany him to the hospital for the stitches. I would have rather stayed home while Daddy went. It was late and I was so tired, having gotten up at 5:15 for our trip back home after a week away. We walked up to the hospital (a benefit of living here is the surgeon is our neighbor, and the hospital is a 2 minute walk away). We waited while he and the nurse readied the place and the equipment. Wonder Boy was so brave - asking only: <i>"Tell me when he's gonna' stick the needle in." </i><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">But me - not so brave. My stomach started churning. I got flushed and dizzy. The doctor/neighbor noticed that I was not doing so well and had a stool fetched, while I squatted on the floor, trying not to faint. He kindly reassured me that I should not be embarrassed: <i>"this is a very normal reaction,"</i> he said. But I <b>was</b> embarrassed - believing that having a panic attack / fainting spell while my SON was the one in pain and having stitches somehow made me less of a mom, less of a person. Where do these voices come from? The Enemy, I know, whispers into our weakest moments: <i> "You are garbage. You are not worthy of being a mom. You are a failure for not protecting your child."<br /><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I did fail, last night - <b>not</b> by not keeping the dog from biting - that was an accident, and the wounds will heal. I failed to keep the ragged, ugly edges of myself stitched together, despite my good intentions. Most days, I keep things well sewn-up. But I think God writes difficult pages into our stories precisely so that we will be unable to stay in one piece. It is in our brokenness that we cry out: "Save me, Lord, for I am sinking!"<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:large;">When I called, you answered me; </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:large;">you increased my strength within me.<br /><em>Psalm 138:4<br /><br /></em></span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">And he answers. And we survive, more broken, and yet more healed than before. That is grace.</div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-79834226347467448472008-11-28T01:53:00.000-05:002008-11-28T02:33:50.915-05:00Gratitude goes on . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAXd9uAy9JrL25wfuk5VWwtQb5yShoRrfpb-uPZQ0aTTYWyKRr9IyKTlxev1yh9eSJtncUuuZy2mfSHa8ZyFulEq_0Ugfz1lRqTqs5gvu962bH90fIepxTZsKkNWM85U4wdp47zVn6Pjv/s1600-h/planting-beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAXd9uAy9JrL25wfuk5VWwtQb5yShoRrfpb-uPZQ0aTTYWyKRr9IyKTlxev1yh9eSJtncUuuZy2mfSHa8ZyFulEq_0Ugfz1lRqTqs5gvu962bH90fIepxTZsKkNWM85U4wdp47zVn6Pjv/s400/planting-beans.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">52. Little girl's giggles as she discovers the joys of planting beans.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ5pMMr4HxS3iQ8syG7gW56cfEooiNXNmzbMuOZ2vi9xKfwCbszLfnNxHaRKmOkCySIQNHEm5h674f3XRmzz0H0AnAlOEjVFC0K9IeOOdL_BAg7P0cGM0NBWioLcSLalyEjIAjcDKTMnP/s1600-h/garden-work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ5pMMr4HxS3iQ8syG7gW56cfEooiNXNmzbMuOZ2vi9xKfwCbszLfnNxHaRKmOkCySIQNHEm5h674f3XRmzz0H0AnAlOEjVFC0K9IeOOdL_BAg7P0cGM0NBWioLcSLalyEjIAjcDKTMnP/s400/garden-work.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">53. Hard work well done.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdhDeTPD_5D0zz4lp2Rs2vf_QrFA-UGQ5VI4KrZQ2KKfCtlaUzkHmWtP6sz1936tJG0XTgMD7OTNyRCMIKR4E2pXdzDUSrSDGRbuMKyCddw3WULFi-EeQUr6_LG_sKKM831ZnVUdeYtg2/s1600-h/garden-learning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYdhDeTPD_5D0zz4lp2Rs2vf_QrFA-UGQ5VI4KrZQ2KKfCtlaUzkHmWtP6sz1936tJG0XTgMD7OTNyRCMIKR4E2pXdzDUSrSDGRbuMKyCddw3WULFi-EeQUr6_LG_sKKM831ZnVUdeYtg2/s400/garden-learning.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">54. Learning together.</div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-5172883987638221552008-11-25T00:00:00.000-05:002008-11-25T00:06:21.202-05:00Just a thoughtFrom <i>i</i>Google's Quotes of the Day: <br />
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<blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the United States there is more space where nobody is than where anybody is. That is what makes America what it is.<br />
- <a href="http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/30182.html" style="color: black;">Gertrude Stein</a></blockquote><br />
I think this is part of why we find life here sometimes challenging. We are used to the idea of space.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-91093195489039284212008-11-22T03:49:00.000-05:002008-11-22T04:05:20.710-05:00One place I'd rather not eat . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAPS7urABk1LNGDV0Yy0DTYSYNyTUXsMYgnEQPz1xii-2u4PVtOXFeuCRo3GG48jLrEJQ9hdx9z6yOfLV6-yia2UAwU89PUwTtEtahLLuyqT_OWzun7SwX-Ksepm4Szq8dQh5d23gUEQG/s1600-h/pigs-organ-soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAPS7urABk1LNGDV0Yy0DTYSYNyTUXsMYgnEQPz1xii-2u4PVtOXFeuCRo3GG48jLrEJQ9hdx9z6yOfLV6-yia2UAwU89PUwTtEtahLLuyqT_OWzun7SwX-Ksepm4Szq8dQh5d23gUEQG/s320/pigs-organ-soup.jpg" /></a></div><br />
No. other. comment.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-10883933490947234922008-11-11T10:48:00.000-05:002008-11-11T11:05:36.349-05:00Random ThoughtsThe weather has turned cold here. Two nights this week have reached 60. The children wake up and shiver, rooting around for blankets in the hidden corners. How used to the heat we have become. But the poor feel the cold most of all. They do not - cannot - eat enough to produce extra body heat.<br />
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My garden is growing. Beans are reaching for the sky, lettuce trying to peek through. The tomato plants are gorgeous - sprouting new leaves nearly every day. But the carrots are being rebellious. They seem to prefer dying underground to growing toward the light.<br />
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School is nearly finished for the year. Songs and prayers, sums, wars, alphabets, and radish sprouts all studied, ingested, retold. And we are changed for the doing of it. Perhaps the teacher-mommy most of all.<br />
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A local girl, without a father, and with a mother whose new husband does not want her around, has found in me a soft spirit. She is certainly in need. Her grandfather, upon whom she relies for shelter, is badly disabled with leprosy. But I am limited by how little of her need I can understand. She had no shoes, it seems. She has no sweater for these cool nights, or so she tells me. It may very well be truth, but I can not read between the lines. I can not see into her soul. I must ask others to do this for me. So I have given a little - our eldest's sandals, too small for her by a bit, but something; a little food; some clothes for a younger sibling. But mostly, I wait to see what our co-workers can discern of her true need. It is hard to know how to help best.<br />
<br />
A 4-year-old-girl's evening prayer brought a chuckle: "Dear Jesus, thank you for Mommy and Daddy and me and everybody in the whole world and my brothers and the neighbors and my friends, and that man to get out of jail <i>(she refers to a colleague)</i>. And thank you that they live in a wood house and everything is ok. <i>(??? perhaps the beavers in the Narnia book we are reading?)</i> And Amen. I said AMEN!<br />
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Little moments stitched together. This is life.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-6424567625913373392008-10-31T13:14:00.001-04:002008-10-31T13:19:49.367-04:00ThankfulnessSo many things to be thankful for, yet so few written down. Here are a few from today: <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">49. Companionable silence</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">50. Holding hands</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">51. Today's sermon</div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-76656332130030785022008-09-13T23:21:00.000-04:002008-09-14T00:42:36.784-04:00Letting goof dreams of a picture postcard life is not easy. We all have them, I suppose: those mental pictures, reinforced by the idol-images of Better Homes and Gardens, parenting magazines, or even Today's Christian Woman and <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<i>dare I say it?</i>)</span> believers' blogs. Someone called a brand of this <a href="http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2008/06/10/the-hardest-part-of-my-job-is-that-everyone-lies-about-parenting/">"Mommy-porn"</a>: perfect images of celebrity moms, perfectly fit, in their perfect rooms, cradling perfectly dressed and mannered children. <br />
<br />
But I think it is idolatry. At least in my own life, these images, ideas, even dreams become idols: my rooms should look "like this;" my children should behave "like this;" my meals should taste "like this;" my life should be lived in "this way."<br />
<br />
Where is authenticity? Where is reality? Life is a messy, complicated thing. It is not, can not be picture perfect. The ugly, the loud, the failure teach by His grace - as surely as do the beautiful, the peaceful, and the gentle. To live in the "someday my life will look like this" dreamworld is to miss the tangible evidences of God in TODAY. <br />
<br />
Yet the dreams persist, creep back again and again to tempt and to taunt. The dream of "perfect" lures me away from <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Phil%201:6;&version=49;">being perfected</a> . And still He calls, beckons me to leave my idols and return to Him. <i>What grace!</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Grateful thanks to <a href="http://aholyexperience.com/">Ann</a> whose<a href="http://aholyexperience.com/2008/09/of-blogging-secrets-porn-and-truth.html"> thoughts and prayers</a> led me to think and pray also; who shares the ugly along with the beautiful. And that is real.</i></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-7670135481873523942008-08-24T11:50:00.002-04:002008-08-24T12:11:07.820-04:00Mother DucksI am awed and inspired, as usual, by <a href="http://aholyexperience.com/2008/08/what-mother-must-sacrifice.html">these powerful thoughts</a> from Holy Experience.Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-54476336234839660572008-08-19T21:40:00.002-04:002009-02-28T04:38:00.293-05:00Morning thoughtsKeeping a consistent morning time to meet with God has never been one of my strong points. I am not a morning person, and any out-of-the-ordinary occurrence seems to upset my routines. Put more plainly, it is pretty hard for me to get up early in the morning unless I have had a good night's sleep.<br /><br />This morning was a good one, and I am meditating on Ephesians 2:10.<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God prepared in advance for us to do.<br /><br /></blockquote>Though this is not a new verse to me, God showed it to me in a new light today. "Good works" always meant to me the work that we do that others see - like living overseas to work with those affected by leprosy. That makes perfect sense, and I think is an appropriate application of the verse.<br /><br />But today's thought is that the good works which God has prepared for me to do are most often the hidden ones: parenting gently, preparing meals, holding a child's hand, welcoming guests, listening carefully to the concerns of my husband and children, praying . . .<br /><br />I think that for this wife, mom, and home educator, these are my main tasks, and were every bit as prepared in advance for me to do as the seemingly larger tasks of my husband's work.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">Father, keep me ever mindful that each task in my day pleasant or difficult, comes from your unchanging, loving hand.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Written a while back, this was not posted then due to internet issues.</span></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-45857170998812038352008-07-30T11:29:00.004-04:002008-07-30T11:40:15.621-04:00A beautiful new lookfor my blog, courtesy of MaddieLynn. As I told her, its cheerful colors and design are inspiring and just make me feel happy! <br /><br />She has been wonderful to work with by email and very prompt. I highly recommend you visit her site if you are looking for a cheery re-work of your blog! The link is in the left sidebar.<br /><br />Thanks, MaddieLynn!Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-90437556346713481672008-07-27T00:25:00.004-04:002008-07-27T12:46:42.679-04:00Of highlights<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXLD1oMTAIeZcriKqd6F5Q22vW1woHcShSXG3AG-NHF5cbN9JuShEu0IDACDQeoVaRXGMi173fh1r9zJGD2SxD-mxxkm0XLDzAOPYEsULKS2eBVEnlvl8X7R_rTGuGJUZW_hb8hYDMR5k/s1600-h/Clouds-edit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXLD1oMTAIeZcriKqd6F5Q22vW1woHcShSXG3AG-NHF5cbN9JuShEu0IDACDQeoVaRXGMi173fh1r9zJGD2SxD-mxxkm0XLDzAOPYEsULKS2eBVEnlvl8X7R_rTGuGJUZW_hb8hYDMR5k/s400/Clouds-edit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227735363512632146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">47. A patch of blue in a clouded sky.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />48. The dull clouds, framing the blue, highlighting its beauty.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /><br />Just a thought - when clouds crowd the sky of my day, threatening to obscure His light, do I see only the gray, or do I look for the brightness of <span style="font-weight: bold;">his Glory</span> breaking through?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lord,</span> let me always see the obstructions and encumbrances of this broken world as frames to highlight your grace, opportunities for your beauty to break through.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">Photo courtesy of </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://freestockphotos.com/">FreeStockPhotos.com</a></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-87653444605409494602008-07-20T12:54:00.006-04:002008-07-21T11:28:29.276-04:00Gifts<div style="text-align: center;">44. A child's hand holding mine.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2CkUTS8pAq3XUYebrumoBQ08FIcqRGxIzGNcdqot1zzmkzW_BkG95PBvk6GtsQBtgs1RWc6F3fO7ys44WQQvo0_nk6itbLI5CI_B9nPo_Xo2wPBjSWNBsmPEKWy5g6A7gBUvQk6b0dLE/s1600-h/Kids-2007-bw-portrait-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2CkUTS8pAq3XUYebrumoBQ08FIcqRGxIzGNcdqot1zzmkzW_BkG95PBvk6GtsQBtgs1RWc6F3fO7ys44WQQvo0_nk6itbLI5CI_B9nPo_Xo2wPBjSWNBsmPEKWy5g6A7gBUvQk6b0dLE/s400/Kids-2007-bw-portrait-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225484917091128706" border="0" /></a><br />45. The sound of their laughter.<br /><br />46. A safe journey.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_swrjBh-wkiYDEkTUaBFAtAOs6mnPYGrFwYSWc-e6ly4_-PZzj2mYwIatgYejry4YO0JcO8PfWhSyeC4v3n2AXp2u0c6YzaTF_wOBzAhq4UIcFjyrzfc_D7q7Eh-qkUFNP2KOSWPdTW9-/s1600-h/One-Thousand-Gifts-very-sma.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_swrjBh-wkiYDEkTUaBFAtAOs6mnPYGrFwYSWc-e6ly4_-PZzj2mYwIatgYejry4YO0JcO8PfWhSyeC4v3n2AXp2u0c6YzaTF_wOBzAhq4UIcFjyrzfc_D7q7Eh-qkUFNP2KOSWPdTW9-/s200/One-Thousand-Gifts-very-sma.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225480522940576482" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Thank you, Father. What grace you bestow.</span></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-54844410344280661482008-07-13T05:49:00.004-04:002008-07-13T07:34:27.448-04:00in a day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwTlYMEVdynaQ8w0toIkRFLv0XfyFEl3pUSV3WyEiiPg3spGwAPxuPoSaXl6fwu8qx7GnrrL5wA3sYt3H1kg6cuKS5nSa_fL1dFh0IR4mzPP7j-FC7b8iJp60eMQoPMd0-yZlNF1dlHBt/s1600-h/waiting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwTlYMEVdynaQ8w0toIkRFLv0XfyFEl3pUSV3WyEiiPg3spGwAPxuPoSaXl6fwu8qx7GnrrL5wA3sYt3H1kg6cuKS5nSa_fL1dFh0IR4mzPP7j-FC7b8iJp60eMQoPMd0-yZlNF1dlHBt/s400/waiting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222456148295449362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">40. A day to be reminded . . .<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDisNX52riFOPsSQMh4s7WsCmKTJcrHMv3v3TsGNL7qyV7ThmifeMqFgJ96oXSYGRtBbGny_F7HZfd4HRtwlZ8EztJwKUNi9q30be10If5sWJOVRIiOwqL70GzvmL7fpT_xoGLFQfBEkf/s1600-h/waiting-hands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDisNX52riFOPsSQMh4s7WsCmKTJcrHMv3v3TsGNL7qyV7ThmifeMqFgJ96oXSYGRtBbGny_F7HZfd4HRtwlZ8EztJwKUNi9q30be10If5sWJOVRIiOwqL70GzvmL7fpT_xoGLFQfBEkf/s400/waiting-hands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222459071036075554" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">41. . . . of hands . . .<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VFZqP9fsOcrP-ML96vaL5TpJUoxy8FpPt0eGsByIGB5a6BSmb386lznKzjbD7_FvlyIOoMBXOum72bpVqZZkd0zgd9s3OrvY8UHWIgywSQqPJznFei4YUVvRpYlOx4S0E8jiakByHZ-g/s1600-h/waiting-feet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VFZqP9fsOcrP-ML96vaL5TpJUoxy8FpPt0eGsByIGB5a6BSmb386lznKzjbD7_FvlyIOoMBXOum72bpVqZZkd0zgd9s3OrvY8UHWIgywSQqPJznFei4YUVvRpYlOx4S0E8jiakByHZ-g/s400/waiting-feet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222459074561754178" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">42. . . . and feet . . .<br /><br /><br /><br />43. . . . and purpose.<br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It's all grace, all from his hands</span></span>.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photos from a clinic I was able to attend.</span></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-13258999608761863852008-06-21T04:57:00.008-04:002008-06-21T05:48:31.297-04:00. . . and giving . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioo08T0PExHsYorBUm5Am87YsnANY8R1scmqXyqZv9zDPXJsl-xhBNmmWg_qanET8IIT-Uwl8mtnp2cHP6de27CILVNWR4eANGvl7ArNIrYYQL09zHHrKmurQzzyqwTx3k_4EnaFKaBeDf/s1600-h/tea.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioo08T0PExHsYorBUm5Am87YsnANY8R1scmqXyqZv9zDPXJsl-xhBNmmWg_qanET8IIT-Uwl8mtnp2cHP6de27CILVNWR4eANGvl7ArNIrYYQL09zHHrKmurQzzyqwTx3k_4EnaFKaBeDf/s320/tea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214267208673980162" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">37. Tea to sooth a sore throat.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-8iKBTASG9weQZtw8TeX_Y8QuzRXdAsYngfCLZPaoQvdcdBIpt7v4mOC-UbvQphqj65j9KoFI8E1LTaJiX-q4-0ZRE8j3FaKixpGUsG4BeUueWiF0pNpoRzoifdTiu__wKI4W5KpO0d6/s1600-h/laundry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-8iKBTASG9weQZtw8TeX_Y8QuzRXdAsYngfCLZPaoQvdcdBIpt7v4mOC-UbvQphqj65j9KoFI8E1LTaJiX-q4-0ZRE8j3FaKixpGUsG4BeUueWiF0pNpoRzoifdTiu__wKI4W5KpO0d6/s320/laundry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214267851183291522" border="0" /></a>38. A dry day. <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Laundry, and other things, drying)</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Dde6h9Iwu6oMZ3nFAKwgvY0Q3O882yC3utyLkmk45YUh4-_-tbHqWT-gZ34BuhO1L_bQ_Szz7Zk5Yn3lsgiKE9uRMbfQWE5ASWvVccrB3f7q1Sq1rbdL0b2jE4WlbTnTU1Fu6zoA-puB/s1600-h/share-towel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Dde6h9Iwu6oMZ3nFAKwgvY0Q3O882yC3utyLkmk45YUh4-_-tbHqWT-gZ34BuhO1L_bQ_Szz7Zk5Yn3lsgiKE9uRMbfQWE5ASWvVccrB3f7q1Sq1rbdL0b2jE4WlbTnTU1Fu6zoA-puB/s320/share-towel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214260240960980482" border="0" /></a>39. The love of a brother. <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Wonder Boy and Princess Grace share a towel after <a href="http://thisshecoulddo.blogspot.com/2008/06/he-gives.html">playing in the rain</a>)<br /><br /></span><span><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:78%;"><span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-77943202741009014212008-06-18T06:37:00.005-04:002008-06-18T10:27:40.931-04:00MoldingSeven years worth of half-spent candles fill a bowl to overflowing. Seven winters of occasional warmly-lit dinners; seven advents spent; seven years of occasional electric-less evenings. Candles don't last long here, soon growing gray and dirty - long before they can be used up.<br /><br />Today, it was time for the red candles to find new life. Red brings great joy to this mommy, so fully half of these old pillars are red. A cutting board and large knife soon reduce the pile to small, ugly chunks. A large old can, a heavy sauce pot, and two or three damp matches are applied to the task, and before long, pieces soften and smooth into a deep red gloss.<br /><br />Little hands and eyes crowd, eager to see this process. Questions fill the air. String cut and tied to pencils - the dipping begins.<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSMVQ-joJ1QJc_iOJbUWuOtKBHExaoYNwV1JYXIidVItJd9NhYlppeuN1gxPw9OFtnpe6bemJs-QEM9TRGXdSwtJuW7jZvMlcBGfhMr7b5rrqsxjRR__jz6UAJqoeQ1RFonEP3km0sqSB/s1600-h/candle-dipping-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSMVQ-joJ1QJc_iOJbUWuOtKBHExaoYNwV1JYXIidVItJd9NhYlppeuN1gxPw9OFtnpe6bemJs-QEM9TRGXdSwtJuW7jZvMlcBGfhMr7b5rrqsxjRR__jz6UAJqoeQ1RFonEP3km0sqSB/s320/candle-dipping-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213217745507434530" border="0" /></a>Slowly, 5 small lives (3 homegrown, 2 borrowed) turn bare string into small tapers, ready to be put into service. They will give only a small light, and will burn for but a few moments, but there has been joy in the forming of them.<br /><br />An hour or two of my time went into candle-molding today; an hour or two of <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>, invested in child-molding at the same time. This is what it is, parenting: moments gathered together or scattered around, events shared, lessons learned.<br /><br />With each moment, another layer of wax is added to the candle.<br /><br />With each moment, another layer of <span style="font-style: italic;">being</span> is added to the child.<br /><br />The hand holding the candle must be steady, attentive, mindful of the wax and the water - lest the candle become crooked and unusable.<br /><br />The heart guiding the child must likewise be steady, attentive, and mindful of His Heart - for the child is His child first.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RVOX5Ia_YL9MT_V6XdjdSn2fheAxkZAEhlaOscYP8L0lMhWy0gTcAli5V5tMqwC6VrfMINCJ-GubWQGwQjGR_13NQLdglnRWp7Llqq0eMTyvLZ5u7-spnWMRBkZCc_ojoh8KLhk5Wge8/s1600-h/candles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RVOX5Ia_YL9MT_V6XdjdSn2fheAxkZAEhlaOscYP8L0lMhWy0gTcAli5V5tMqwC6VrfMINCJ-GubWQGwQjGR_13NQLdglnRWp7Llqq0eMTyvLZ5u7-spnWMRBkZCc_ojoh8KLhk5Wge8/s320/candles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213227068961587202" border="0" /></a>Three small candles, newly formed, are prized in this home tonight.<br /><br />Three small lives, forming, are prized in heaven tonight. How brightly they will burn and for how long, is know only to Him <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%20139.13-16;&version=49;">who formed them</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Use me to mold them well, through your grace and for your service, Father.</span></span>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-56129719967773693192008-06-13T23:12:00.000-04:002008-06-14T22:31:56.811-04:00He gives . . .<div style="text-align: center;">33. The night-song of cicadas and crickets.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />34. Hymns to sing, a little off-key, with the children.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMStgi6XHA6X3CvoFt9w9OKrRnI6ZKTZYrKesBkhuc3mbJH-RTS1OXhd64Q9GUH-rb0fmzkuxXS5gR2LD1_LRVtiSiIWayzi_5n4z018q3fdQQhSJreFfnkJi8wzmIqPzTfGn-tazdnTcj/s1600-h/kids-in-rain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMStgi6XHA6X3CvoFt9w9OKrRnI6ZKTZYrKesBkhuc3mbJH-RTS1OXhd64Q9GUH-rb0fmzkuxXS5gR2LD1_LRVtiSiIWayzi_5n4z018q3fdQQhSJreFfnkJi8wzmIqPzTfGn-tazdnTcj/s400/kids-in-rain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211927743933589890" border="0" /></a><br />35. The roof, our monsoon playground.<br /><br />36. Rain pounding on our corrugated aluminum roof: the music of the season.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtE8F8fooBPEXhh7abTw3olp4VDtAtbT_vc2d656p83bo_Y_ZtXj1vk9fXoTjCHf7LaL9Yymui9Xf6FlE9BQEJiZLprRQ4tJvPOV2cvtxthaom1J3c5GXS8aLZWFKVI20r81MXVddzgt7/s1600-h/One-Thousand-Gifts-very-sma.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtE8F8fooBPEXhh7abTw3olp4VDtAtbT_vc2d656p83bo_Y_ZtXj1vk9fXoTjCHf7LaL9Yymui9Xf6FlE9BQEJiZLprRQ4tJvPOV2cvtxthaom1J3c5GXS8aLZWFKVI20r81MXVddzgt7/s200/One-Thousand-Gifts-very-sma.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211929844635112642" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862945846535751252.post-84308838650000713362008-06-01T11:59:00.004-04:002008-06-02T00:00:26.343-04:00Grace that keeps giving . . .<div style="text-align: center;">32. The sweetest pineapple EVER!<br /><br />33. A friend to look after things while we are away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.amazon.com/Runaway-Bunny-Margaret-Wise-Brown/dp/0060775823/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1212376339&sr=8-1"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEdkgk3F9TjeqyTuau3TzX2mTW4Fipf_5pJWjOK1ovi_C5rOBzRWYbpO65PO31nwg35KJmWncHygeDV0D2t4XV0kQfuQPO3kTfqre443v0APuh9Fo_uQPNFEHVd0PysMjFe2DSidzg1AB/s200/runawaybunny.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207116180200896418" border="0" /></a><br />34. Reading Runaway Bunny with Princess Grace on my lap.<br /><br />35. A new generator - keeping us cool this evening.<br /><br />36. The certainty of knowing that HE knows, even thought right now, nothing seems clear to us.<br /><br /></div>Sherilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376580457628076019noreply@blogger.com0